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And then he leaves as if he didn’t just rip my heart out and take it with him.
Fuck me.
I need to chill the fuck out before I actually kidnap him to a deserted island where I don’t have to share him with anyone else.
I go to wash my hands in the bathroom and as I leave, I catch a glimpse of Grace walking down the hall in my direction.
So I know I promised Bran I wouldn’t talk to her, but she’s the one who stops in front of me. Technically, I’m not the one who broke the promise.
She gives me a once-over as if I’m a cockroach stuck beneath her heel, then lifts her chin with an air of simmering arrogance.
Arms crossed, her witchy long red nails tap impatiently on the arm of her black jacket. “What’s your name again?”
“If you don’t remember it, that could be an early sign of dementia. I suggest you call your doctor.”
“You believe yourself to be funny?”
“Not intentionally.”
“I just don’t see it.”
“Your dementia? No one does at early stages.”
“I don’t see how someone likeyou”—she does that condescending once-over again—“can be with a gracious man like Bran. It just doesn’t add up.”
“And that’s any of your business because?”
“I don’t like seeing him wasting his talents or time on delinquents such as yourself. You must’ve threatened him with something.”
I lean back against the wall. “Again, I really don’t see why this concerns you. Hate to say it, but you’re starting to sound and look like an annoying Karen. What Bran and I do with our relationship has nothing to do with you. Pick up whatever dignity you have left and walk away.”
“Relationship?” She laughs, the sound throaty and evil. “Relationship, you say. You’re delusional, boy. Bran doesn’t do those.”
“He does with me.”
“You think you know him better than me?” Her voice and face become stone-cold. “You’renothingin the grand scheme of things.”
“What the hell is that supposed to mean?”
She uncrosses her arms and points a finger at me. “It means you should back off and leave him alone.”
“Or what?”
“You don’t want the answer to that.”
“No, I do.”
A wicked look passes through her beady eyes, then she flips her hair. “Give me your number. I’ll send you a goodbye gift.”
After I do just that to mess with her, she walks away with a sway to her hips and a flick of her hair.
Forget about Bran being uncomfortable around her. I don’t like the bitch one bit. There’s a sinister edge that she hides so well in public and shows so readily in private, and that in and of itself is a red flag.
Could it be that he’s not only stressed due to the agent thing?
I make a note to ask him about that later.
My feet lead me to the studio, and I smile mischievously when I realize I can snoop around without Bran knowing.
