The Sweet Life #2: Lies and Omissions Francine Pascal (manga ereader txt) 📖

fury inside him began to boil over. How dare she do this to him? He was Bruce Patman. Yes, he was worth millions, maybe billions, but he always thought of himself as a good guy. Someone who cared about people, someone who wanted to protect the environment, someone who would never come on to a strange girl at a bar. She was in trouble and all he had wanted to do was help her.

How could she smear his name and alienate the woman he loved? In his mind, this Robin person owed him an explanation. And he was damned well going to get it.

He slid off the bar stool and stumbled out to his car in the parking lot. For a bleary second, he couldn’t see it, but the remote on his key chain lit the parking lights and made his two-seater beep. He slunk into the driver’s side and put the key in the ignition. He had no idea how many drinks he’d had, but the road wasn’t spinning, so he thought he was okay to drive.

He swerved out of the parking lot and followed the blinking blue arrow on his phone down the map to Robin’s new house.

He made it there in three minutes. It was late, and the house was dark. She was probably sleeping. Not that he cared. He hadn’t had a good night’s sleep since this whole thing started. Why should she get to sleep?

He stumbled out of his car and slammed the door.

“Robin!” he shouted, his words coming out a tad bit slurred. “Robin Platt! You have things to say about me? Well, I’m here. Why don’t you come say them to my face?”

The house remained dark. Bruce shouted louder.

“You afraid, Robin? You should be!”

Down the street, a dog barked. Next door to Robin’s house, a light came on.

“I tried to help you, Robin. You asked me for help, and I gave it to you!”

Now a light came on in Robin’s house. Bruce staggered down the front porch to her door and tugged at it. The knob wouldn’t turn. He banged on the door hard.

“Robin Platt!” He banged on the door some more. After a minute, he left the door and climbed into the shrubs to look in the window. Inside, he saw a living room filled with boxes. He smacked the window so hard it cracked.

Down the street, a siren wailed.

“I’ve called the police!” shouted a scared voice from inside. Robin’s, he assumed.

“Good! Let them come. Then you can tell them what a little liar you are! Is this how you feel good about yourself? By making up lies?”

Bruce banged at the window again and the small square of window broke. He heard a scream from inside. Numbly, he looked down at his hand and saw a trickle of blood where a shard of broken glass had sliced his hand. He knew he should feel some kind of pain, but he didn’t feel anything. The alcohol, he guessed.

As he was studying his wounded hand, a black-and-white police car screeched to a halt in front of Robin’s house, half in and half out of the driveway. Two uniformed officers jumped out, drawing their guns.

“Step away from the house!” one of them cried.

“Put your hands up where we can see them,” demanded the other.

Bruce turned around, blinking against the white searchlight the officers had turned on him and the house, blood dripping from one hand. He was temporarily blinded. One of the officers moved slowly toward him.

“Wha…? I’m not the criminal!” he bellowed at them. “She’s the one…she’s the one who’s destroying my life!”

He swung his arms wide to make his point, showing off his wounded hand. The officers took one look at his bleeding palm and at the broken window behind him and had nearly all the evidence they needed. This case? Open and shut.

One officer signaled to the other, who began moving slowly around to Bruce’s blind side.

“Look, sir, we just want to talk, so come over here, hands up, and we can talk.”

“That’s just what I want to do! I want to talk. That’s why I came here!” Bruce waved his arm around furiously. He desperately wanted to make them understand.

But before he could, something big and heavy came down on him. The officer closest to him had lunged and tackled him. His face hit the concrete sidewalk hard, and he tasted blood in his mouth.

“Do yourself a favor and don’t struggle,” the officer said as he wrenched Bruce’s arms behind his back and clicked cold, metal cuffs on his wrists.

For a second, Bruce really didn’t understand what was happening. His brain moved in slow motion. Why was he wearing handcuffs?

“You have the right to remain silent. Anything you say can be held against you in a court of law…”

“I’m not a criminal!” Bruce shouted, but he only got a knee in the back for his trouble. The officer’s knee knocked the breath out of him for a second, and he gasped to recover. Bruce couldn’t remember a time when anyone had put their hands on him like this. He commanded hundreds of people at his company and foundation and elsewhere. Nobody treated him like this. As he squirmed under the officer, he glanced up and saw Robin’s door open a little. A blond head stared out at him with frightened eyes.

Another officer walked up the stoop and began to ask her questions. Nobody put handcuffs on her. Why was nobody arresting her? She was the one who deserved it. The unfairness of it all just shot through Bruce like white-hot lightning.

“There she is! The lying little bitch! I swear…I’ll…” Bruce sputtered.

“That’s enough!” the officer on top of him said. He grabbed Bruce by the arms and yanked him to his feet. The officer pushed him roughly toward the police car. In seconds, he’d been dumped in the backseat. The officer slammed the door, and Bruce was left alone, sitting on his handcuffed hands. Both officers were now talking to Robin, who