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Now I have neither.
My career might not end because of Brad, but this movie was to be the very thing that took me to the next level.
To the heights of Thomas Reynolds.
Fuck him and fuck her, too.
What was I thinking, getting involved with Mallory? Despite everything, she fucking turned her back on me. She kept me in the dark, and then when push came to shove, she was no better than him. Now both of the Reynolds have taken a stab at ruining my career.
I take a few deep breaths and try to keep my anger at bay.
I can’t get off this godforsaken island until tomorrow at the earliest. My only goal is to get so drunk I don’t smell her on my pillow.
That’s how I’ll get through this night. Tomorrow, who knows . . . ?
The only good thing that came out of this is that I no longer have to deal with Brad.
That was a blessing in disguise.
I slam the bottle onto the table so hard that I swear I can feel the floor shake beneath me.
She made a fool out of me. But that’s not even the worst part.
No, the worst is that I miss her.
No amount of booze will wipe her from my mind. She is all around me in this godforsaken hut. A ghost tormenting me at every turn.
The memory of her still hangs in the air.
There’s only one answer—lift, drink, and repeat.
The liquid flows down my throat, burning like acid as it goes. I don’t stop. I’m not sure I could if I wanted to.
46
Mallory
@Stargossip: Finally, more Twisted Lily gossip. Things are getting dicey. Lawyers for both sides have been called. Careers ruined. Millions lost. It’s about to get juicy!
@Ihatehollywood: Enough already. This is old news.
@TeaganStewardfanclub: That studio can stick it.
@Moviesaremylife: Moving on . . .
Well, the world didn’t officially end when I left the island. It got messy for a while, but luckily, I found a great attorney to take on Teagan’s case.
Yep. The studio tried to go after her for breach of contract.
Ironically, the one thing that saved her was the well-documented safety issues on the set. Teagan and her little Twitter stunt saved her ass after all.
By sending the dirt to @Stargossip, Teagan had laid out the whole case.
In the end, the studio was found at fault for trying to make a movie in such poor conditions.
Don’t even get me started on the unions. When they got wind of what happened, they were all over it.
Heads rolled, and ultimately, the studio dropped the case against Teagan for breach of contract, trying desperately to sweep the issues under the rug.
On the other hand, I’ve been hiding in my apartment for the past few weeks.
Trying to find an agency that will hire me.
Unfortunately, it’s slim pickings.
Seems that nobody is eager to hire the daughter of Thomas Reynolds.
I can only guess as to why . . . unsavory methods being at the top of the list.
Not that it’s the only reason. I’m not surprised since I’ve been all over the news. Everyone knows how my client, well, former client, walked off set, got on a boat, and just left a movie that would’ve made her career. Mine, too.
It wasn’t just @stargossip that spread the word. The news of what happened on the island, including speculation about my relationship with Paxton, went viral. It became such big news that every media outlet in the world reported on it.
The. World.
This would only happen to me.
The worst part about everything is how it all went down with Paxton. I can’t eat or sleep whenever I think about what I did to him. I don’t live under a rock.
I know my actions took a hit on him and his career. The thing is, I had no other choice, and I couldn’t tell him why.
It breaks my heart.
On the island, when everything was fresh, and my anger at Theresa was still filtering in my blood, I couldn’t think past helping Teagan.
The abuse she suffered from her mother’s actions is unfathomable. But now that I’m away from everything, I can only think about Paxton.
I miss him.
I miss him so much I can barely breathe.
Somehow, in only a few weeks, I went and fell in love.
Doesn’t matter, though. He will never trust me again.
The sound of my phone has my jaw locking because I know who’s calling.
As if my week isn’t bad enough, the ring tone of Melanie Martinez’s “The Principal” gives away who it is. . .
My father.
“Dad,” I answer, my back muscles tightening as I wait for the lecture I’m about to receive.
I knew this call was coming, but I had hoped I’d have some more time to lick my wounds before I had to speak with him.
It would have hurt less.
No such luck.
Bring on the torture . . .
