Page 158 of Beautiful Trauma

“How do you expect me to sneak off?”

“You’re a smart woman. You’ll figure it out.”

And with that he hung up.

“Fuck!” I shouted.

“Ms. Korolova?” Andrew asked from outside the bedroom.

“Sorry. I’m okay. I just…dropped something on my foot.”

“Okay.”

I listened as his footsteps walked away from the door. Pacing around the bedroom, my mind spun with out of control thoughts. I had to find a way to ditch Andrew, so I could get to the airport.

My gaze fell on the nightstand. At the sight of the sleeping pills, an idea flashed in my head. I stalked over and grabbed them. After popping the top, I pulled out four pills before pouring the remainder of the bottle into the top drawer. As I gazed at the pills, I tried imagining if they would be enough. Andrew was a heavy weight, so it would take a lot to put him out.

Heading into the bathroom, I grabbed my highlighter brush. After laying the pills on the counter, I crushed them up with the end of the brush. Once they were powder, I slipped them in the bottle before stuffing it into my pocket.

With my heart beating wildly in my chest, I left the bedroom. Andrew sat at the bar in the kitchen. “Good morning,” I said pleasantly.

“Good morning.”

Eyeing the coffee mug before him, I asked, “Can I top you off?”

He smiled. “That would be nice.”

Feeling like a horrible bitch, I picked up his mug. I brought it over to the coffee maker before I pulled a mug out of the cabinet for myself. “When did Kellan leave?” I asked absently as I eased the pill bottle out of my pocket.

“At seven-thirty. He had a meeting across town at eight.”

With my back to Andrew, my trembling hand poured the powder into the mug. “Why so early?”

“They were meeting with a real estate developer about some of their buildings.”

“Oh, I see.” Throwing a glance at him over my shoulder, I asked, “Do you take it black or cream and sugar?”

“I like a little cream.”

“Can you grab it from the fridge for me?”

“Of course.”

As he went to get the milk, I shoved the bottle back into my pocket. I then jabbed a spoon in the mug and started stirring when he sat the cream down. With a smile, I asked, “How many splashes?”

“Let’s go for two.”

Nodding, I poured the cream. Since I wanted to disguise the bitterness, I hit a third splash. “Oops, I’m so sorry. You said just two.”

“It’s okay.”

“Are you sure?”

“It’s fine.”

I handed him the mug. “I think I’ll do three splashes myself this morning although as tired as I am, I should get an espresso.”

“I know that feeling,” he replied.