END THE CHARADE

SUTTON

What had gone from the hottest kiss in my entire life had quickly soured overnight. The freaking Post had somehow found out about my burns and written about them. It was mortifying. The most private thing in my life was now splashed across the internet for strangers to read and judge me for. I was thankful that there hadn’t been any photographs accompanying the article, but their word choices were dramatic enough to paint a pretty descriptive picture.

It was one thing for me to have feelings and opinions about my scars, but it was another for someone who had never even seen them to describe them as “traumatizing” and “unflattering.” I truly hadn’t been prepared for this level of invasion. Even after Joseph’s mom had mentioned it last night, it hadn’t occurred to me that the press would stoop this low. And for what reason? Who the hell cared to know this much about me?

ME?!

I wasn’t mad at Joseph per se, but I was mad.

Everyone at work had at least seen the article, and while most didn’t say anything out loud, they all stared when I passed by, no doubt wondering what my scars looked like. Eventually, I had to be pulled into Human Resources before being sent home for the day. They’d told me that my personal life was disrupting the hospital and they needed to figure out how to proceed.

The buzzer at the apartment alerted me that someone was at my front door, and I wondered who the heck would be at my house before noon. Standing up to answer the call, I was only a little surprised to hear Joseph’s voice responding back to me.

I pressed the button that allowed him entrance into the building and walked over to the front door to unlock it before sitting down at our tiny kitchen table. Joseph stormed through the door, almost breaking it off the hinges, his blue eyes searching the room until landing on me.

“Sutton, I’m so sorry. Are you okay?” He knelt in front of my body and wrapped his strong arms around me.

I pushed him off, so I could look at him. “Not really. How’d you know I was here?”

“I went to the hospital first. They told me you went home.”

Putting up a finger, I stopped him. “They sent me home. I didn’t come home voluntarily. They made me leave,” I said, starting to get choked up. If I lost my job because of this fake arrangement bullshit, I’d never forgive him.

Joseph pushed himself upright and sat in the other chair at the table. “They sent you home? What reason did they give?”

He switched into business mode quicker than I’d taken a breath.