The fucking nerve.
She pulls back. "Don't worry, darling, you're not the only rich boy in town." She spins on her heel, walking off with that infuriating stride.
I watch her go, my jaw clenched and my hands balling into fists at my side.
I’m furious, but I refuse to give her the satisfaction of a scene. The park is full with people, and the last thing I need is to feed the gossip mill.
She knows exactly what she’s doing, kissing me in public where she knows I won’t react.
Fuck.
I'm so done with all this shit.
The games, the manipulations, the fucking firefighting.
Every time I trust someone, they turn around and stab me in the back, and I'm fucking tired of it.
I trusted Gina. I trusted my brother. I trusted Bailey.
Look where all that fucking got me.
I grit my teeth.
I won't let them see me break, won't let them see me lose control. I won't give them the satisfaction of seeing me defeated.
25
BAILEY
It's freezing out this morning. And the idea of trudging through this to the office is as appealing as a root canal. I order a cab.
Thank God for modern conveniences.
I slip into the warm car, my breath fogging up the window.
"How are you doing this morning, miss?" The driver looks at me in the rearview.
"I'm fine, thanks."
I look out the window as the streets pass us by when a wave of nausea hits me. I swallow hard.
Car sickness?
I haven't fully woken up yet.
Or I need another cup of coffee.
I ignore it, focusing on the dull gray buildings sliding past.
But then, another wave of nausea creeps up faster than the first one. It’s so strong that I have to clamp my hand over my mouth, my knuckles turning white as I fight against the overwhelming urge to throw up.
The driver's eyes flick to me in the rearview mirror. "Miss, are you alright?"
"I... I need you to pull over."
He doesn't hesitate, veering off to the side of the road. As soon as the car stops, I push the door open, barely making it onto the pavement.
Gross.