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Good god, I’ve been an epic shit-linger.
I scramble off the floor and grab my phone. I have to think fast. I have calls to make, apologies galore to give, a painting to wrap up, delivery to schedule, and a noggin to pull out of my rumpus. Oh, and a potential soulmate to try and get back. That’s quite a lot for a single morning, so I best get started.
CHAPTER 17
Ellis
You know the nasty feeling of anxiety you get where you’ve done something extraordinarily terrible, and you’re pretty sure you’re either going to get sued or arrested unless you act fast and freaking up and get your ass to Switzerland with a fake ID, a wig, and maybe some plastic surgery to change your face? Um, yeah. That’s me right now.
Pacing my apartment.
And no, I don’t have a bugout bag packed.
Before I wrote the article, I sent a couple of feeler emails to some shitty magazines. It wasn’t hard to get their contact info. When working in the industry, it’s easy to find it. I got a response back immediately even though it was well in the middle of the night. Yes, they wanted the story, and yes, they were willing to pay for it. After I wrote the article at Ash’s house, in the guest room, and sent it off, I tested the ring, and it slid off my finger like it was three sizes too big. I held it in my right hand for a while as tears streamed down my face. I was a mess of snot and red eyes before I could even think about gathering my few things together and getting out of there.
Ash slept through it all. He slept through me ruining his life, setting the ring on his nightstand while I tried so hard not to look at his exquisitely beautiful—in a rugged manly way—face, and me making a fast getaway and going back to my apartment. I can only imagine how he woke up this morning.
I’ve been imagining it ever since I got to my apartment and crammed myself onto the window ledge in my living room just because it overlooks the street. While I tried to figure out what my next move would be, I chewed my fingernails down to nothing, and then I checked my bank account and was shocked to see that a ten thousand dollar payment had gone in. It was the amount I agreed on. I knew selling the story wouldn’t make me a millionaire or anything. But this is enough money to take care of a good portion of my student loans, pay most of my dad’s outstanding bills, and get me through at least the next month while I find another job, though I might never work in New Orleans again. I realize I might have shot myself in the foot by publishing the story. Ash’s granny might see to it that no one will ever hire me.
Regardless, I tell myself it isn’t the worst thing in the world. The job wasn’t what I thought it would be anyway. I really only wanted to be a journalist so I could work with my dad and make him proud, but I can now scratch the latter off my list because I’m never going to make him proud with what I did. I know he’ll find out because I used my real name when the story was published. I didn’t want to take the coward’s way out. It’s not going to make him any sort of proud even if he finds out I did it for him. Instead, he’ll probably be mad at me for a good long while, and things will be strained. Maybe when I promise him I’ll never do anything like it again—mostly because I think I’m giving up on being a journalist—then he’ll find it in his heart to forgive me.
After sitting by the window and watching the street for the remaining part of the night, I forced myself to drag a slightly more comfortable kitchen chair over, sit my bottom down, and make a list of all the jobs I can get with my current degree. There are quite a few actually since I know companies would hire me for their communications department. At least, I hope.
Maybe I’ll have to move away from here before I can get another job. I guess I should have thought of that before I acted like a big sleaze head. I’d like to tell myself I wouldn’t have done it if it weren’t for the curse, and I’d like to believe it too. Except it makes me seem soft-hearted, and when it comes to the Cromwells, I never want to be that.
Do I feel regret?
Yes. Yes, I do. Ash wasn’t an asshole after all. He turned out to be a really nice guy, and hey, even if his art isn’t my flavor, whatever. Some people like it, so good on him. He might be spoiled and have advantages I don’t have, but he was quick to help someone who needed it—my dad—even though the someone was a complete stranger. Ash didn’t harm my family personally. He was just the one person I could get at in order to stick pins into the Cromwells. I wanted to give up on my plan after I got to know Ash. I swear I did. It was the curse, though. I couldn’t just walk around with the ring stuck to my hand, believing I was his soulmate for what…the rest of my life? That would have been crazy.
