ABIGAIL

Two hours later, I’m at the gym, on a treadmill, in attempt to run off my stress and anxiety. I’m not a runner – well, okay, I guess I can’t say that. If you run, you’re a runner.

What I mean is, I’m not a typical runner. I’m not fast. I run twelve minute miles. I don’t have the skinny, toned bodies that runners usually have. (And finding sports bras for a 38DD is a real pain in the ass.)

I’ve only been running for about a year or so, and if you told me before that that I would have actually enjoyed running, I would have laughed in your face.

Until then, the only time I’d ever run was the mile in school, and I dreaded it.

But then last summer I read an article that said running was the best stress release, and so I found a Couch to 5k program and started doing it. I forced myself, no matter how I was feeling.

And it worked, dammit. All those annoying people who said exercise were the best stress relievers were right.

So I run now, my legs pumping trying to get the image of the razor out of my head, along with the voices swirling through my head.

Maybe it’s not from her -- it had a New York City postmark.

You know that doesn’t matter. Who else would send you something like that? And besides, all of her packages have had postmarks from different places.

I check my fitness tracker, notice my pulse rate is through the roof, and try my best o control my breathing.

Unfortunately, the band on my wrist also gives me text and email alerts, and it’s flashing with one new email.

From work.

Elijah.

My heart beats fast thinking it could be from him, and I reach for my phone as if I’m on autopilot.

But it’s not from Elijah.

It’s from Lucy.

Hello Abigail,

I am just writing to tell you that I have been asked to take over the new Ravish line. I am accepting the position, and an official announcement will go out tomorrow. Of course, I wanted to do you the courtesy of letting you know beforehand.

I so appreciate everything you’ve taught me.

Please let me know if you need anything in the future.

All the best,

Lucy

My mind rages, and I hit the button on the treadmill, pushing up the speed. Elijah Armstrong went and hired Lucy right out from under me! Basically taking one of my best editors and making her my competition.

What an asshole.

Is this some kind of Machiavellian trip he’s on? Or is this just how he runs his business, like how some companies pit people against each other so that the weak are left behind and the strong survive?

I decide I don’t give a shit what his reasons are.

It’s a shitty thing to do.

And before I know what I’m doing, I’m grabbing my phone and tapping out a message to the devil himself, Elijah Armstrong.