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Destiny and I had a whirlwind of a relationship together. She had a mean side, and I had a sarcastic side and putting the two of them together was a recipe for disaster. On top of that, she was a thrill-seeker. Within our first year together, she grew bored of me, and I grew tired of having to deal with her snide remarks about my writing. I ended things, and though she acted as if she didn’t care, I knew that wasn’t the case. It killed her that someone as “boring” as me could grow tired of her.
“It’s been too long if you ask me. I’m happy that you’re doing well for yourself now, though.” She smiles, placing her hand on top of mine and giving it a squeeze. “You know, I’ve been reading some of your books lately, too. Part of me thinks you should come write for Hourglass. I’ve kind of missed the way you talk about women. You always had this intense combination of admiration and sexual aggression.”
Suddenly things are a lot clearer. It’s not some weird coincidence that she’s come to the same party as me despite working for the rival publishing house. Subtlety was never her strong suit, and it’s very apparent that she’s after me. It’s flattering, but it’s the last thing I want—especially tonight.
“Don’t play shy, Liam,” she says softly, leaning in even closer. I can smell her perfume, still as intoxicating as it was years before.
“I think you have the wrong idea of how this night is going to go, Destiny.” When she wraps a hand around my neck and pulls me in for a kiss, I pull back and look at her intently. “How much have you had to drink tonight?” What little scotch she had from my glass can’t be all she’s had tonight.
“A little. A lot.” She smiles. Then she kisses me again.
Instinctively I pull away and look for a way to escape this situation. I’m really not in the mood to deal with drunk exes at a party I’d much rather not be at anyway. As I look around the room, I make eye contact with Harlow, and my heart stops. The smile on her face falls, and I instantly recognize how this looks. Fuck. No, this isn’t happening right now.
“Harlow,” I start. Before I can say anything else, she turns and storms off, pushing through the crowd of partygoers until she’s disappeared from my sight.
8
Harlow
I'm such a fucking idiot. I used to think that I was pretty smart having gotten into Brown, but tonight it was clear that college had been a fluke. I was stupid enough to believe that Liam wasn't as big of a player as all the men he wrote about even though he based a lot of them on pieces of himself. He was just as big of a playboy as they were, only this time, that flirting had consequences for real people.
Humiliation is the first emotion that hits me like a bucket of ice water. I feel cold and sick to my stomach. Pushing through the crowd aimlessly, all I know is that I have to get away. I need to breathe, take in everything in peace, and get my head back on straight. I am not going to cry at a company event like this. Not with so many authors here. Not with Kristen here. She wanted me to prove that I could be a leader, and leaders didn’t cry over something like this.
I make a be
eline for the bar on the other side of the roof, instructing the bartender to give me the hardest liquor he has in stock. Taste doesn't matter, nor do I care much about the frills that I usually bother with. I need something to burn these feelings away before they bubble over.
I toss back the shot and groan softly, squeezing my eyes. It hurts differently, but it's the kind of hurt that I need to distract me. I order another and put my face in my hands.
I can hear the nasty voice in the back of my head snickering and pointing her finger. I did this to myself. I knew three months ago when Liam and I started this whole thing that I wasn’t supposed to go down this road. It would only lead to more pain and more heartbreak. All I would do was get my heart stomped on. But I followed through with it anyway. I let Liam’s charming nature and his deep, husky voice lull me into a false sense of security.
The second shot stings just as much as the first, but I'm becoming accustomed to it. I motion for another when someone taps on my shoulder. I spin around expecting to see Liam, but instead, I find Kristen grinning.
“I was wondering when you were going to show up!” she exclaims.
I want to ignore her and go back to drowning my sorrows in booze, but I straighten up and force a smile. “Sorry, I had a family emergency, but everything's okay, and I'm here now!”
“I’m so glad you are! I’ve been meaning to talk to you and Liam about how the work has been going.” She glances to her left and her eyes light up instantly. “Speak of the devil, Liam’s right over there.”
“The devil indeed,” I mutter under my breath.
Kristen waves him over, and I grit my teeth, willing myself not to look at him. I don’t know what would piss me off more—to see him look apologetic about that random woman he was kissing or to see him unfazed by it.
“So, I've been reading everything that Harlow has sent over, and I absolutely love it! At first, we weren't so sure about the affair storyline, but it seems like it's working out and the added scenes of guilt that you added make it feel more complex,” she praises.
“Yeah, I think Liam really has a knack for capturing the cheating aspect,” I say, finally finding the strength to look him in the eye. I want him to feel the anger in my words, the sharp, icy dig I've just made.
Instead, he sighs and turns to Kristen. “I'm delighted you like where the story is going. Harlow's a fantastic editor, and she's made this entire process much more enjoyable for me. Normally I hate getting criticism, but she knows her stuff. She has a way of picking up on things and seeing more than what's presented at face value.”
He looks back at me with sincerity, as if he’s saying more than what he’s actually saying. Is this his way of saying “it’s not what it looks like?” Because it looked like he was making out with some woman that was much more attractive than I could ever aspire to be.
Kristen opens her mouth to say something else, but her phone rings before she can. She digs through her purse to find it while excusing herself. Left with just Liam in front of me, I turn around. His hand grabs at my wrist, but I quickly pull it back.
“No,” I say firmly. “Don’t touch me.”
“Please,” he begs. “Just let me explain what happened. If you don’t like what I have to say, you can slap me in the face and tell me to fuck off.”
I want to do both of those right now without even hearing him out, but I can’t make a scene at this party. No one can know that we’re together, and if I start hitting him and telling him to run back to the slut at the bar, people are going to know we have more than just a working relationship. Rather than doing this here in public, I sigh, roll my eyes, and head to the door so we can talk in private.
