Lies Twist The Way We Think

Chapter 14 - Letters

I need a reality check.

What I get are more than a hundred missed calls and texts. Suddenly, the reason Alisa gave me a new phone was clear. People I haven't spoken to in years are messaging me. People who have spent their lives ignoring me clamor for my attention. Coworkers. Classmates. Even teachers.

I grab my new phone, go online, and discover that my email and social media accounts are even worse.
I have thousands of messages—most of them from strangers. My stomach muscles tighten. I set both phones down and stand up, my hand going over my mouth. I should have seen this coming. It shouldn't be a shock to my system at all. One message from my Instagram account draws my attention in specific.

Hey, Hotshot. Miss me?

C. R. D. — M. L. T.

"He texted you?" Avery frowns. "I don't like that." We're sitting in her room, which looks similar to mine, except that it's missing the desk and the same terrifying size.

"Me neither." But I don't look her in the eyes, and I keep remembering the last week, the last months and years and all the things we did. Dean and I share more than our past.

I have a secret...

"Have you talked to Aisha?" She asks, her brown eyes lighting up at the thought. Avery and Aisha get along wonderfully, which is something I am eternally grateful for.

"She wants to visit but that's hardly possible." I sigh. "We have exams coming up. I have exams coming up. I don't know what to do."

Avery sits next to me and leans her head against my shoulder. I lean back, and we sit together in a peaceful silence.

For all that's worth it, I think. I love you.

C. R. D. — M. L. T.

When I return to my room, I hear a voice. "Camille?" A voice calls into my room—female and not Avery or Libby.

"Alisa?" I double-check before opening my bedroom door.

"You missed breakfast," comes the reply. Brisk, businesslike—definitely Alisa. I open the door.

"Mrs. Laughlin wasn't sure what you like, so she made a bit of everything," Alisa tells me. A woman I don't recognise— early twenties, maybe— follows her into the room carrying a tray. She deposits it on my nightstand, cuts a narrowed-eyed glance my way, then leaves without a word.

"I thought the staff only came in as needed," I say, turning to Alisa once the door was closed.

Alisa blows out a long breath. "The staff," she says, "is very, very loyal and extremely concerned right now. That"—Alisa nods to the door—"was one of the newer hires. She's one of Nash's."

I narrow my eyes. "What do you mean, she's one of Nash's?"

Alisa's composure never falters. "Nash is a bit of a nomad. He leaves. He wanders. He finds some hole-in-the-wall place to bartend for a while, and then, like a moth to the flame, he comes back—usually with one or two hopeless souls in tow. As I'm sure you can imagine, there's plenty of work to be had at Hawthorne House, and Mr. Hawthorne had a habit of putting Nash's lost souls to work."

"And the girl who was just in here?" I ask, although I can guess the answer.

"She's been here about a year." Alisa's tone gives nothing away. "She'd die for Nash. Most of them would."

I can't take the elephant in the room any longer, so I drag it into the light. "He's your ex."

Alisa's chin rises. "We were engaged for a time," she allows. "We were young. There were issues. But I assure you, I have no conflict of interest when it comes to your representation."

Engaged? My lawyer has been engaged to one of the Hawthornes and she didn't even consider telling me about that? I know it's private but that should be important, right?

"If you'd prefer," Alisa says stiffly, "I can arrange for someone else from the firm to work as your liaison."

"It's okay," I said. "I don't need a new liaison." Yet. I've seen how she acts, and while she seems to he good at her job, she falls quickly into the pattern of unprofessionalism.

That gets a very small smile out of her. "I've taken the liberty of enrolling you at Heights Country Day." Alisa moves to the next item on her to-do list with merciless efficiency. "It's the school that Xander and Jameson attend. Grayson graduated last year. I'd hoped to have you enrolled and at least partially acclimated before news of your inheritance broke in the press, but we'll deal with the hand we've been dealt." She gives me a look. "You're the first Hawthorne heiress, and you're not a Hawthorne. That's going to draw attention, even at a place like Country Day, where you will be far from the only one with means."

Means, I think. How many ways do rich people have of not saying the word rich?

"I'm pretty sure I can handle a bunch of prep school kids," I say, even though I'm not sure of that. "I'm about to graduate anyway. I don't have time for drama."

Alisa catches sight of my phones. She squats down and plucks my old phone from the ground. "I'll dispose of this for you."

"Wait," I tell her. I grab the phone, ignore the messages, and go to Aisha's, as well as Dean's number. He will have to use SMS now. I transfer both of their numbers, as well as a few others to my new phone.

"I suggest you strictly regulate who has access to your new number," Alisa tells me. "This isn't going to die down anytime soon."

"This," I repeat. The media attention. Strangers sending me messages. People who have never cared about me deciding we are best friends. Disgusting.

"The students at Country Day will have a bit more discretion," Alisa tells me, "but you need to be prepared. As awful as it sounds, money is power, and power is magnetic. You're not the person you were two days ago."

I want to argue that point, just for the sake of it, but instead, my mind cycles back to Tobias Hawthorne's letter to Grayson, his words echoing in my mind.

Not the devil is your enemy.