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“Honesty?” I say. “That’s an impossible standard?”
“Trust is earned. You didn’t earn it. You just expected it.”
I pause to mull that over. “Say more.”
Pierce stands up, buttons his suit coat, and says, “Mon chou, if I’ve got to explain that part to you, well… watch the video. Take a good look at it. Because that look on your face when she’s up there on that stage?” He sighs. “It hurts me to see it. It really hurts me. Because once upon a time you were the far better guy in this friendship and somehow…” He shakes his head. “I dunno. Somehow, we’re now equal. And I always figured maybe one day I’d learn to be more like you. Not the other way around.”
And then he walks out.
“I’m not the one avoiding her!” I yell after him. “She blocked me!”
But all I get back is a faint, “Boohoo,” as he makes his way out of the Aureality offices.
It’s bullshit. I mean… what the actual fuck? I’m not the one who lied. Repeatedly. I’m the one who was trying to help. I’m the one who has his back. I’m the one who got her that deal, a great deal too. And she’s the one who refused to take it.
Right?
Right?
I flip the TV on to see if they’re still interviewing them on the morning show, but they’re not. They’re gone.
So I do a search for the Sexpert, and not because Pierce told me to, either. It’s just… I haven’t seen it yet. I’ve been avoiding it, actually. The first video is the one about blow jobs, but the one right below it is the footage at the TDH building last week.
I press play and the sound comes on. Pierce and I are on stage. He looks stressed. I look… I lean a little to make sure I’m seeing this right. Because I look…
Smug.
Do I? Or am I making that up?
Oh, no. No. I’m definitely smiling.
Jesus. Was I happy that morning? I honestly don’t recall smiling like that.
There’s no footage of Eden at this point. No one was looking at her while Pierce was doing his little act up on stage. But as soon as he says Myrtle’s name, a camera goes looking for her. Finds her. She’s laughing it off while Eden… Eden is horrified.
The goons appear and start dragging Myrtle away, but I catch a glimpse of Eden, who is not watching Myrtle, but staring up at the stage.
At me, I realize.
The angle flashes back to the stage to find Pierce’s reaction. He looks… devastated. And I look… holy shit.
Am I laughing? What the fuck is wrong with me?
Eden makes her way up on stage and the whole thing changes, the focus no longer on Myrtle’s valiant attempt to beat the shit out of her security detail as she’s led up the aisle to be booted from the company, and now it’s all directed to Eden’s speech on stage.
I’m standing next to her. In the very same spot I started out in next to Pierce. And again… I’m smiling. Like this whole thing is my proudest moment.
I blink at me on the screen.
Unable to recognize myself.
Holy shit. No wonder she blocked me.
My self-righteous gloating is… sad.
Who are you, Andrew Hawthorne?
What have you become?
CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN – EDEN
I go home after the morning-show interview. Which may not sound like a big deal but it is because I’ve been at Zoey’s house since the whole Sexpert débacle happened eleven days ago and aside from the one trip home to my dad’s for dinner (and dessert, of course) we’ve pretty much been hermits. We just put our heads down and forgot all about the threats, nasty comments, and opportunities that were never meant to be.
We put our heads down and we worked. We worked our asses off.
Because we realized something while we were having dinner with my dad.
We make our own opportunities. We don’t need permission from anyone to make a new opportunity. And even if Pierce’s lawyers rip us apart in court and take the Sexpert away, it won’t matter. We’re going to make sure of it.
So we’ve been making a lot of changes. For one, we have a website now—courtesy of her mad design skills. And two—well, the URL of that website isn’t Sexpert.com.
And ya know, ya’d think that after a whole month of unexpected beginnings and middles, I’d be prepared for the unexpected ending as well.
But it was a very sweet surprise.
I take the elevator up to the second floor because I’m hauling my overnight bag of dirty clothes and a stack of pink bakery boxes filled with sweet, delicious desserts, for research, of course.
The elevator dings and I get out, smiling at the other people in the elevator when I exit. God, what a difference eleven days make. When I was here last I was a broken mess. My heart aching for the love that was never meant to be.
