Page 117 of The Golden Scoop

My phone starts ringing, but deep down I know it’s not Matt. I reach for it anyway.

“Em, where are you?” Julia asks, clearly worried.

“He won’t answer. He doesn’t want to see me,” I say, messy and uneven. “He thinks I—the headline. I didn’t write that. And now there’s nothing I can do.”

“Emma, slow down,” Julia whispers. “Breathe with me for a sec.”

She counts to three, then back down to one. My mind’s still racing. But after a couple of times, I feel my heart settle.

“Thank you,” I mumble.

“Always,” she assures. “Now, I’m at your door. Why don’t you come back here, and we can figure this out together?”

“There’s nothing to figure out, J,” I mutter. “I think I’ve already lost him.”

TWENTY-SEVEN

Matt

Last day of filming should be exciting. Not just in honor of another project wrapping up, but for the small break that usually comes after. I’d already been making plans in my head, researching all these places I could take Emma. Some relaxing, most adventure packed to satisfy her never-ending itch.

One headline and that’s ruined.

I haven’t spoken to Jennifer—yet. I’m sure she’s waiting for me to finish up so whatever crisis she sends me into doesn’t affect the social media material she’s got her minions gathering today. Either way, it’s a bomb ready to explode in my face.

My head’s been a mess, disconnected enough it feels like I’m operating half a second behind myself. Focus keeps slipping, drifting back to that email, the note, her messages… back to how peaceful she looked before I left.

Maybe I should’ve stayed. Taken things slow. But I didn’t trust myself not to let my insecurities trample over everything, her included.

Emma’s been calling and texting. I stare at my phone for longer than I should. Her name’s right there. It’d be so easy to give in. There’s nothing I crave more than to hear her voice, but I need to get through today first. I don’t understand what’s happening. The evidence is there, clear in the way that headline has been burning into me since first thing this morning. It’s hard to believe it. Might be naïve, but I don’t want to believe it. Doesn’t sound like her.

At some point in the day, I’m intercepted on my way to our last team interview before we’re off to celebrate. Everything happens so fast, I’m not aware that someone’s dropped a Walkie-Talkie into my hand until Frank’s voice comes through.

“Mr. Hunt, do you have a couple of minutes to spare? Miss Emma is here but doesn’t have authorization on file to enter today.”

Damn. I want to see her, I just need… a little more time. My thoughts need organizing, my emotions need control. I can’t risk saying something I’ll regret, and I still have the rest of the day to get through.

“Hey Frank,” I say, pressing down on the button. “I really can’t right now.”

They don’t give me time to over-explain. To a degree I’m thankful for it. I can’t allow myself to fall apart. That would mean Emma’s capable of trying to ruin my career—and I refuse to believe that.

By the time I get home, I’m drained. It’s been hours of fake, practiced-to-perfection PR smiles, scripted exit interviews, and too many hugs I didn’t really care for. I sit in the garage, staring at nothing. Eventually, the motion-activated lights turn off.

Then, I force myself to move. My feet stop in the hallway, as if there’s something stopping me from going further—away from her. I push through to the bedroom, undress, and drop onto the mattress. For a moment I lie there, wondering how one person can make a house feel like something’s missing.

I sigh and reach for my pants that were discarded by the foot of the bed, my phone still tucked into the pocket. My fingers hover over her contact, my chest tightening with every breath. I want to reach out. Truth is, I’m scared I don’t know which version of Emma I’m talking to. The one I love, or the most ruthless gossip columnist in the city.

No matter what the answer is, I can’t bear the thought of her hurting. Of her thinking I’m like all the other guys she’s dated who never call her back. Her voice would be the end of me right now, but a text I can do.

I need a minute. I don’t want to say the wrong thing. I will talk to you, I just can’t do it over the phone.

I fall asleep hoping she understands, and my heart feels a little stronger when I wake up to her reply.

Mills

Let me know when you’re ready. You waited for two years; now it’s my turn. Don’t give up on me.

She gives me exactly what I asked for without pushing. Space, patience, no pressure. And when it starts to feel like this might not be cracked beyond repair, the devil on my shoulder wakes up with a grin.