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But as much as I blame myself, I blame him more. And as much as I hate him, he's incredible at what he does,and the associat
ion with his name will do wonders for her. She’s the girl I’d do anything for. I’ve proven that over and over again. Every day I regret pushing her away. Lying and telling her I wasn’t into her that way nearly killed me. I couldn’t believe she fell for it. I was sure she’d see right through my lies. I broke her heart, but I did it because she deserves better than anything I could offer her.
She has no idea how much she means to me.
And she’ll never find out.
**
Getting up is so hard. It always is. I hate mornings, probably because I spend half the night awake. I can’t remember the last time I had a decent sleep, unless you count the nights after my grandmother died when I was doped up to the max on sleeping pills and booze.
I drag myself out of bed and wander into the living room. The place is quiet, meaning Harry is either out or sleeping. I glance at the clock on the front of the oven and sigh. It’s nearly two on Monday afternoon. Not that I have anywhere to be, but I feel like a slacker sleeping all fucking day. I have one more exam and then I’m on break, so it’s not like I do nothing, but I can’t shake that feeling that if my mum was alive she’d be disappointed in me.
But she’s not alive. You have nobody, remember?
Except Lacey. Lace is the only person I have left, and I refuse to lose her because my father wants to waltz in and fuck everything up. My hands clench into tights fists beside me. What the fuck does he want with her? Hasn’t he messed up my life enough?
All I can do is hope like hell this is a fucking random crazy fluke. It’s just an interview. He’ll meet with her, along with forty-nine other applicants, and he’ll choose one of them. Then this whole mess will just go away.
It has to, because I’m not ready to deal with this.
Chapter Four
Lacey
Dear Ms. Anderson,
I’m thrilled to inform you that you are one of our five finalists who have qualified for an interview. Please be at my office at 3pm on Wednesday afternoon. Please prepare any questions you might have about the internship.
I look forward to meeting you.
Sincerely,
Rebecca Hastings,
Assistant to Aaron Wilmot
I reread the email at least ten times, and each time my heart beats a little faster with excitement. Holy crap, that was fast. I only emailed off the application this morning and he’s already narrowed down the field. Thank God Professor Jameson found me yesterday or I might have missed out.
A one-in-five chance at this. I still have no idea what I’ll be doing—if I’m successful—but I don’t care. He could have me mop the floors and I’d be happy just to be able to pick off at his knowledge.
Ariel wanders into the kitchen and examines my face, a hand perched on her hip. Her pretty eyes narrow, her lips pressing into a straight line as she studies me closely.
“What’s got your panties in a twist?” she asks, her lips curling into a smirk. “Backstreet Boys announce another tour?” She sniggers at her own joke and helps herself to my toast.
“Funny,” I say, narrowing my eyes at her. “I got shortlisted for that internship I told you about. I actually might have a chance at getting this.”
“That’s great, I’m happy for you,” she says, almost sounding genuine. She reaches for a banana, peeling the skin away from the flesh.
“Yesterday you thought it was a terrible idea,” I say, arching an eyebrow as she breaks a piece of her fruit off and shoves it in her mouth.
“I just couldn’t understand why you’d want to work through your time off.” She shrugs, her hand covering her mouth as she chews. “But I know you really want this, so of course I’m happy for you. When do you find out?”
“I have an interview on Wednesday.” My stomach shifts as the nerves begin to set in. I’m not prepared for an interview. What is he going to ask me? What if it’s a panel of people? I clutch my stomach, feeling sick.
“What are you wearing?” Ariel asks. She raises an eyebrow as she lowers her gaze over my faded, ripped jeans and tee shirt. “I sincerely hope it’s not that.”
“I haven’t even thought about it,” I admit, ignoring her jab at my fashion sense.
