Disconnecting the call, I broke into a run. Ignoring my assistant and the stern look he threw my way, I opened the door and slid into the backseat.
Joan looked up, startled. She’d been picking apart a tissue, the remains in her lap. But I couldn’t see any evidence of tears on her face.
“Joan, I’m sorry. I didn’t know about all this.” I gestured broadly, trying to encompass the hair, the spray tan, the disrespect, all of it. “I should have stayed at the house this morning. I wish you had called me, or you could have told them no, to all of it. You didn’t need some ridiculous makeover.”
She looked away briefly before clearing her throat. “It’s fine. But I think I’m going to head back. Let you do your thing. I know you have a party afterward.”
My phone was still clutched in my hand. It started vibrating, but I ignored it. “We don’t need to go to that.”
“It’s okay,” she argued. “You go ahead. I’m sure the film will be great.”
Her voice was flat and emotionless. Fear climbed up my spine, and I shifted closer, even as I felt her getting farther and farther away.
“Please don’t do this,” I begged, deliberately placing my buzzing phone in my pocket. “It was just a miscommunication. I’ll make sure Gloria doesn’t overstep again. When I said that—what you heard when you got here, I wasn’t criticizing or?—”
“It’s okay,” Joan repeated for what felt like the hundredth time.
But none of this was okay.
“No.” I could hear a desperate edge in my voice, feel it reflected in my thundering pulse. I was grasping, trying to hang on to smoke.
And she was already gone.
“I know you didn’t mean anything by it when you called me a farmer,” she said. “It’s the truth.”
“Right, but—” I tried again.
“It’s not a surprise to me. I’ve always known exactly who I am, Ian. And now you do, too.”
Her face was a mask, closed off and impatient. The words, the final nail inthe coffin. Joan hated wasting time. I knew this about her. And it was clear that she wouldn’t be wasting any more of it tonight on me.
I could feel her writing me off—in her heart, in her mind, in her whole fucking life.
My phone would not stop buzzing. The sound was stark, offensive.
“You should go,” she said. “It’s your big night.”
Everything about her, from the severe frown on her face to the tight set of her shoulders, screamed that she was worn thin and jagged around the edges, like a dry ink pen scratching across paper, with nothing left to give.
I stared at her, trying desperately to figure out what to say, how to fix this. But she wasn’t even looking at me anymore.
The urge was there to take her hand, to hug her, kiss her. But this fucked-up disaster made it feel like the last night I might get to do any of those things, and I didn’t want it to be like this.
So, with pressure building behind my sternum, I opened the door and stepped out.
Darren waited a few feet away. He must have caught up with me.
Eddie J came over immediately, shutting the door and straightening my tie. “You’d better get back over there. She’s blowing me up now, too.”
I could hear his phone vibrating with angry accusation.
“I don’t want to leave her,” I said hoarsely. “It wasn’t supposed to go like this.”
My assistant sighed. “I know. But you are contractually obligated to be at this event. I will make sure she gets back to the beach house safely. I promise. I’ll take care of her.”
Resigned, I stepped away. Darren led me down a more direct route to the theater. We didn’t talk, and I was grateful. I felt hollowed out and so damn angry at myself for letting this happen.
All the inner rage found a new target when we stepped inside. Gloria waited in the lobby.
