Page 4 of The Retreat

Imogen was looking around her at the devastation Talia had left behind. She couldn’t believe a small lawyer had managed to wreck the place like this. It looked like The Hulk had popped in for a coffee, only to be told they were out of hazelnut syrup.

Of all the people to walk into this out-of-the-way café, it had to be Talia, didn’t it? Imogen had never had an enemy in her life before, but she couldn’t deny she had one now.

That pissed her off. Talia had no right to take the high ground. To make this Imogen’s fault. No one was blameless in the situation. Least of all Talia.

But before she could go much further down the path of who was truly to blame for Talia finding Imogen in bed with her girlfriend on that rainy Tuesday, Imogen was promptly given bigger fish to fry.

‘Imogen!’ Lou called, furious. ‘What the hell is going on?’ she demanded, arms crossed furiously.

Amid the chaos, Imogen couldn’t come up with anything but the truth. ‘Umm, well, that was my ex’s ex, and we kind of have a bad history… I guess she has rage issues?’

‘The place is wrecked because of your personal life? OK. You’re done.’

The words hit her like a punch. She was fired? She hadn’t done anything.

‘Are you serious?’ she asked, voice trembling.

‘You’re supposed to save me money, not cost me! Get your things and leave. Now.’

Imogen’s vision blurred with a surge of anger, and she opened her mouth to protest, but the words wouldn’t come. What was the point?

She grabbed her apron and yanked it off, her hands shaking. She slammed it onto the counter. Then, without another word, she turned on her heel and stormed out of the café.

The weight of everything crashing down on her was suffocating. There was no way to catch up now. Rent? Bills? That was a joke at this point. She’d been living on borrowed time for too long, and now the inevitable had arrived. She was out of options.

But one thing was clear. There was no way in hell she was going to let Talia off the hook. She needed a talking to, putting it mildly.

Imogen had no idea what she expected to get out of a confrontation, but she wasn’t going to let her walk away scot-free. No way. Talia was a wealthy lawyer, and she’d just taken what little Imogen had. How was that fair? Did the punishment truly fit the crime? And as for the crime, she wasn’t even the criminal. She was only an accessory after the fact.

It didn’t take long for Imogen to track Talia down. A quick Google search and she had the address of Talia’s company—some fancy building in the financial district.

Imogen found a bus that took her practically to the doorstep, which was some luck at last. It was a hot day, and the bus was sweltering and packed, which only exacerbated her rage. By the time Imogen reached the tall glass building, she was ready to tear the fucking thing down with her bare hands.

She stormed inside, her heels clicking on the cool air-conditioned tile floor with every step. It was all too polished, too pristine, too fake. She hated everything about it. Everything about her.

She approached the receptionist, her voice tight. ‘I’m looking for Talia Knox.’

The receptionist smiled, her fingers hovering over the keyboard. ‘Talia Knox? Let me check... She’s in a meeting right now, but if you wait a moment...’

‘I’ll wait,’ Imogen cut her off. ‘Tell her my name is Imogen, and I’ll be here until she comes down,’ she declared, not hiding her anger.

The receptionist looked nervous and uncomfortable, but Imogen didn’t care. She had no patience for pleasantries now. She was going to… What exactly? There wasn’t a plan, as such. But yelling would figure heavily. Maybe she might even break something in the lobby, cause a scene—like for like.

She perched on a seat and looked around her. There was a tall plant pot in the corner. Looked a bit heavy, though. Maybe if she leaned against it and pushed…

‘What the hell,’ said a cold voice.

Imogen looked up, startled. She hadn’t expected Talia quite so quickly. She thought she’d have more time to plot. But cometh the moment…

Imogen stood, getting a better look at Talia now that she could meet her eye properly. She looked as sharp and pristine as ever, her fancy suit hugging her petite frame perfectly, her grey eyes cold and controlled, her shiny dark hair in that anally retentive bun. The woman was pulled tighter than a Victorian corset.

‘Imogen,’ she said, her voice flat. ‘What the hell are you doing here?’

Imogen didn’t answer immediately. Instead, she took a step forward, the anger still bubbling beneath the surface. ‘You just got me fired.’

Talia’s lips pressed into a thin line. ‘This isn’t the place,’ she said. Imogen noticed she was trying to be quiet. Embarrassed, was she?

A laugh escaped Imogen’s lips, sharp and bitter. ‘You don’t get to do that. You just went apeshit at my place of work, and I was blamed.’

Talia’s expression faltered, just for a moment, before she crossed her arms and stepped back. ‘I’m not doing this with you now.’

Imogen was lightheaded with rage. ‘You don’t get to control this,’ she hissed. ‘Not after what you’ve done. That was my job. And now I’m flat broke. Because of you.’

Talia looked down for a second, a flash of what might be guilt flitting through those cool eyes. But she quickly masked it with indifference. ‘Imogen, you know what…’

Imogen squared her shoulders, ready to tear into her again, but before she could open her mouth, Talia glanced over her shoulder. ‘Oh Christ,’ she muttered miserably.

Imogen followed her gaze to see someone glide out of the elevator, a very tall, elegant woman. Imogen smiled. She didn’t know who this woman was, but she could tell from Talia’s reaction that she was important to Talia in some fashion.

This was way better than the plant pot.