Chapter 58
Benita gripped her steering wheel a little too tight, her knuckles pale against the leather.
The road ahead was lit only by the occasional streetlamp and the distant red haze of Oakland’s skyline, but all she could see was the look on Cillian’s face—closed, cold, unreachable.
“Let’s cancel the kiss, Benita.”
He’d said it like it was nothing. Like she was nothing.
How could people be so flaky? One minute he was confessing his feelings, the other he said he was sorry it happened.
God, she wanted to scream.
Instead, she floored the gas a little harder, letting the music thrum against the windows. The gallery exhibition was everything Shanon had said it would be.
Bourgeois. Luxurious ambiance. Good wine.
But she didn’t drink. She sat still looking at her phone every two minutes.
“What did he say?” Shanon had asked, “Did he confess to taking the warehouse?”
Benita swallowed hard. She knew Shanon would not believe it. Anyone in their right minds would not believe that Cillian
