New phone who dis?
My laugh comes out like broken glass, sharp and bitter.
Dante
Cut the bullshit. I gave you a summer of drugs and hookups on my yacht. This is how you thank me? Violating your own fucking journalistic integrity?
Susan
Welcome to the real world. Your little romance with America’s sweetheart? That’s GOLD. I did you a favor. You got your redemption story. Everyone wins.
Dante
Fuck you and your “favors.”
Susan
Don’t be so belligerent, darling. I’m hardly the only reporter on Reese Sinclair’s tail. How else do you think I knew about the shooting location earlier this month?
The thought that there could be more of this didn’t even occur to me. This is what Reese meant when she told me about living her life in the spotlight. I’ve experienced my own fame, but this…this is a fucking monster I can’t manage.
Susan
She’s a superstar. I simply got to break the story first and make a pretty penny by selling that photograph. Don’t believe me? See for yourself.
I open the link Susan sent to find dozens of articles from different news sources reporting on the beach sighting. The same photo is attached to each article. Me helping her into my car, her eyes tilted up at me, my hand resting on the small of her back. It must have been taken when we were leaving.
Fuck. I try to call Susan, but it goes to voicemail. I call again and again until I hear,The number you have dialed is not in service. Please check the number and try again.
Blocked. Seriously?
My sister’s warnings ricochet through my skull like bullets. God, that stupid fucking name-drop about Reese this summer.
The bragging. The boasting. I can’t help but feel responsible.
Anger builds in my body, the way it did before my fist landed in Quentin’s annoying sneer back at the World Cup.
I pace around the cabin. I need to run through my lines for my scene today, but I can’t focus. My mind keeps running back to the day on the yacht.
You’re always so well-researched, Susan.
Off the record, of course.
I barely told her a thing. Barely said yes, and she still fucking got on our tail because I somewhat confirmedRobyn Hoodwould be shooting in Redwood National Park, which stretches hundreds of miles.
Those asshats at theStone Timesconstantly terrorize people. My ears start to ring, and I stop pacing. Can’t get angry. Can’t risk everything again. What am I going to do? Let myself snap again and risk losing everything a second time?
Need to calm the fuck down.
Calm down.
Maybe if I tell Reese about Susan now, she’ll understand? She’d get that I talked to Susan before I met her. Before I saw under the mask she wears just as tightly as I wear mine.
The thought rings hollow in my mind.
There’s no way Reese would understand me talking to the press about her.
And I don’t blame her. She’ll see me as another Ricky trying to use her for fame, and she’ll end whatever it is that’s going on between us.
