Page 77 of Never To Be Mine

“Exactly. I watched people I cared about destroy themselves trying to meet those impossible standards. Fad diets that stripped their bodies of nutrients. Eating disorders that hospitalized them. All because some casting director said they needed to lose ten pounds or some magazine called them out for gaining weight.” I felt my jaw tighten at the memories. “My mom had friends who would literally pass out on set because they hadn’t eaten in days. And everyone just accepted it as normal. So many of the women were afraid they were going to be the next actress splashed across the tabloids with a baby bump when it was just a burrito belly.”

“That’s awful,” Juno said. “But I get it. Trust me, I know better than anyone about those standards.”

“You’re gorgeous,” I said. “Never let anyone tell you differently.”

“Thank you. I’m healthy. I’ve accepted not everyone is supposed to be a size two.”

“Absolutely. And the worst part was seeing how the industry marketed ‘health’ products that were anything but healthy. Detox teas that were basically laxatives. Appetite suppressants that fucked with people’s hearts. Meal replacement shakes full of chemicals and artificial sweeteners.” I met her eyes. “These products preyed on people’s insecurities while making them sicker.”

She nodded slowly, understanding dawning in her expression. I loved that she listened and believed me. We were of the same mind. When had anyone, even my family, allowed me to get up on my little soap box and preach?

“So when I decided to start B Well, I wanted to do something different. I wanted to create products that actually helped people be healthy. Not just look a certain way but feel good, have energy, nourish their bodies properly.” I sat up in my seat. “I know my smoothies aren’t going to solve eating disorders or fix Hollywood’s toxic culture. But maybe if I can give people one genuinely healthy option that doesn’t taste like cardboard or cost a fortune, that’s something.”

“That’s really admirable,” she said. “I had no idea.”

“Most people don’t. They see the surface—the Instagram posts, the influencer marketing, the whole aesthetic of it. They assume it’s just another vanity project from a rich kid with nothing better to do.” I smiled, but it felt a bit sad. “Which, to be fair, was exactly what you thought when you first met me.”

“Guilty,” she admitted. “But I was wrong. I’ll admit it.”

I’d never explained my motivations to someone outside of my family. It felt good to share it. Especially with her.

“You know what’s funny?” I said, trying to lighten the mood. “You calling my smoothie ‘rat piss’ actually helped me more than you probably realize.”

She laughed, covering her mouth with her napkin. “How is that possible?”

“Because it forced me to prove that my product wasn’t just marketing bullshit. It made me work harder to show people that B Well is legitimate.” I grinned at her. “So thanks for that.”

“You’re welcome, I guess?”

“You’ve already admitted you like it now. No taking it back.”

“Fine. It’s decent. Happy?”

“Ecstatic.”

We finished our meals, the conversation flowing easier now. She told me about some of the more ridiculous products she’d run into over the years. Something called “tree jerky,” which turned out to be plain tree bark with some salt and pepper sprinkled on it. An appetite-suppressing suppository, which Juno did not try herself. And a “toxin cleanse” that was just a store-bought laxative in a new package.

I told her about the time I’d accidentally created a smoothie that turned people’s tongues bright green for a full day and my brothers had never forgotten.

By the time the waiter brought the check, I realized we’d been sitting there for over an hour and hadn’t checked my phone once. That was rare for me. I was usually glued to the damn thing, monitoring social media, responding to messages, keeping tabs on everything B Well related.

But sitting across from Juno, I’d forgotten about all of that. She had my complete attention in a way that was both comfortable and terrifying.

I paid the check before she could argue about it, and we walked out into the bright California afternoon.

“So,” I said as we reached our cars. “Want to come see my place? After a meal like that, a little time staring at the ocean helps digestion.”

She laughed, not that polite chuckle she sometimes gave when she played it professional. “That is complete bullshit.”

“Maybe. But it’s a nice view.” I leaned against my car, trying to look casual even though my heart was suddenly pounding. “Come on. I’m literally right on the beach. The view alone is worth it. My house is about three miles from here.”

I could see the internal debate playing out behind those blue eyes. This was a bad idea and we both knew it. Going to my place, alone, after everything that had happened.

“Okay,” she said finally. “But just for a little bit. I really do need to get back to the office eventually.”

“Deal.”

I gave her my address and she plugged it into her GPS. The drive back to my place took about fifteen minutes despite being close. I kept glancing in my rearview mirror to make sure she was still following me, half-expecting her to change her mind and peel off at some intersection.