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Lemon juice on a paper cut seems like child’s play compared to this.
“Time to come home, Mallory.” His voice has my hands clenching at my sides. This is why I don’t like to speak to him. There’s no, how are you? No concern for my well-being.
Just the need to control me.
“I’m not—”
“No. Enough. I have humored you for the past few years, waiting for you to finally come to your senses, but I can’t allow this to continue.”
“It’s not up to you,” I snap, so sick of him constantly acting like I’m a child he can command.
“That’s where you’re wrong. You’ve embarrassed yourself and me. You have no other options.”
“I’m not going to work for you.” I practically scream down the line, and all I get is his laughter in return.
“You’re lucky to have me because you couldn’t survive otherwise. I opened so many doors for you. You tried and failed.”
“You didn’t open any doors for me. If anything, your name alone closed doors in my face.”
“Stop being dramatic and ungrateful. You’ve been an embarrassment to my name. You’ll come work here, where I can make sure you don’t get into any more trouble.”
I’m seething. All I see is red as I play his words over and over in my head. He’s so much worse than Theresa Steward.
Teagan was strong. She took her life into her own hands, and here I am, a grown-ass woman, allowing this man to pull me down.
No more.
“I’m done. If you can’t support me in my choices, I can’t even talk to you anymore.”
“Don’t you dare—”
I don’t bother saying goodbye. I just hang up.
Too many other problems are on my plate right now. My rent, for one. It’s due, and paying it is going to hurt.
I have a little money put aside, but living in the city is ridiculous.
Without a job, I won’t be able to live here for another month. I’ll have to break my lease, lose my security deposit, and pray the landlord doesn’t give me shit and lets me out of the lease to find a place I can afford.
The only way not to move is to call my father back and beg, and I would rather get a job doing anything else than that.
Which is exactly what I’ll do.
I grab my computer, my mind made up.
I’ll find a temporary job to buy me time to find more clients. I can do this.
The first thing that pops up on my computer screen is a tabloid article with Paxton’s picture staring back at me. Worse yet . . . there’s a woman grasping his arm.
My stomach roils, and I know I’m going to be sick.
I don’t bother to read the article. It could be his friend for all I care. Seeing his face was hard enough.
I didn’t think it was possible, but that one picture manages to break my heart a little more.
47
Paxton
@Stargossip: It seems the studio isn’t giving up on Twisted Lily after all. No clue when they’ll start shooting, but if my sources are correct, they’re currently recasting the part of Lily. Any takers?
@Teaganfanclub: We don’t care!
@Betterthanfiction: I’ll stick with the book. Thank you very much.
@Thatsnotmyname: Brad is washed up. I don’t know why they are bothering.
Shit isn’t getting better.
I thought they said that time heals all wounds, but whoever said that was a fucking idiot.
Because even weeks later, as I walk down a bustling Fifth Avenue, my mind is still consumed with anger and bitterness.
No matter how much time passes, I can’t move past what happened on that island.
The funny part is, I don’t even give a shit about the movie falling apart or the money I lost when the deal imploded. All I can think about is her betrayal.
She left without a backward glance.
Without a care to what it would do to me.
I survived, of course, but she didn’t even give a fuck.
She just plain ole left.
Taking my heart and slamming it on the floor in the process.
Luckily for me, Brad was wrong, and this shit show didn’t end my career.
I’m fine.
Still swimming.
In fact, I’m heading to a meeting right now to discuss a different project. One that doesn’t involve Brad Wright.
That was the best thing that came of this whole debacle. I never have to see that idiot again.
I’m about a block away from my friend and client, Charles’s office, when I stop dead in my tracks.
There, walking toward me, is Teagan Steward.
And as if the betrayal only happened yesterday, the anger builds up inside me as I realize that I have to face her once again.
“Well, well, well. Look who it is,” I spit out sarcastically as she approaches me.
Her eyes go wide when she finally sees me, and she stops in front of me, an attempt at a smile on her face. “Paxton, hi.” She may be saying hi, but her body language is anything but friendly. Her gaze darts around as if she is trying to find an escape. I don’t blame her; she cost me a job and the studio millions.
