I groaned, peeling the duvet down to my waist and turning to face her. Jillian gasped, slapping a hand over her mouth.
“Have you been crying?”
I propped my back against the headboard. My eyes were the size of tennis balls, but I think I’d run out of tears, energy, and damns about a couple of hours earlier.
“Allergies,” I mumbled.
Jillian’s delicate eyebrows twitched. She had the maddening skin complexion of a Kardashian after the Photoshop treatment, curly black hair, and eyes the color of toffee. Her dress, a lilac tweed number, was borrowed from my closet.
“What’d the clients say?” I sniffed.
Jillian and I had incorporated Brand Brigade, our public relations consultancy firm, when we were both at a crossroads. Jillian had been working for a nonprofit organization as a PR specialist and got hit on by every privileged douche in and outside her office, making her life miserable and her then boyfriend jealous, while I’d interned my way through two political campaigns that had ended in a scandal and annihilation respectively, clocked in forty-five-hour weeks, and gotten paid mainly in compliments.
Finally, we’d both decided we’d had enough and could do better on our own. That was four years ago, and we’d never looked back. Business was booming, and I was proud of my ability to provide for myself, even if my mother viewed it as an act of defiance.
Now I was doing what I did best—getting people out of the pickles they’d gotten themselves into. Because as Jillian had said, there were two things we could always count on in this world: the IRS cashing in our checks every April 15 and people’s unique talent for making mistakes.
“They said that we’re hired and that they loved the Real Bodies presentation you made for Swan Soaps.” Jillian plonked next to me, grabbing one of my pillows and hugging it to her chest. “They want a three-month trial run, but they signed the contract and paid the advance. They’ll go over the fine print tomorrow. It’s a huge opportunity, Ari. Stuffed is the biggest reusable-diaper company in the world.”
I cooed and gushed over Jillian nailing this client, but my heart wasn’t in it. It was still bleeding all over Christian Miller’s limestone office floor.
Jillian bumped her shoulder against mine. “Are you going to tell me what happened? Because we both know the allergies were just an excuse so I could talk about the deal.”
There was no point keeping secrets from Jillian. She had the instincts of an FBI agent and the ability to smell bullshit from continents away.
“Dad’s case is going to court.”
“You’re kidding me.” She reared her head back, her mouth dropping into an O shape.
“I wish I was.”
“Oh, honey.” Jillian rolled out of my bed and returned a few minutes later with two glasses of red wine. She toed off her heels and discarded them in the hallway. “Promise me one thing—don’t overthink this. They have nothing on your dad. You said so yourself. We’ll spin PR gold around this case and make him look like the angel Daddy Conrad really is.” She handed me one of the glasses, which I noticed could double as a bucket and was completely full.
I took a sip, blinking at an invisible spot on my wall.
“Should I be looking into this more?” I grumbled, mainly to myself. “I mean, if you strip away the fact that this man is my dad, the allegations against him are pretty gross.”
Jillian shook her head vehemently. “Hello, I grew up with you, remember? Been to your house every day since junior high. I know Conrad. He’s the guy who takes you to the Cloisters every month, who gave his secretary a yearlong paid vacation when she gave birth. Hello? Who cares what Amanda Gispen says?”
I wanted to take every word Jillian had said and ink it into my flesh.
“If Amanda lied—why would she go all the way to court?” I played devil’s advocate.
“Because he turned her down? Because they had a thing and he broke things off?” Jillian offered. “There could be a hundred different reasons. People perpetuate drama all the time. Amanda can say whatever she wants.”
“Under oath?” I took another sip of my wine. “She could face jail time if she gets caught.”
“She could, but it’s unlikely. I just don’t see this thing having legs, Ari.” Jillian offered me a comforting smile. “He’ll be fine.”
I nibbled on the side of my lip, my thoughts ping-ponging from Christian’s hate-filled eyes to Dad’s expression, full of pain, embarrassment, and disbelief.