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“Do you?” I ask. Sleeping without him is impossible and the bags under my eyes have their own bags. I miss him so much and this is ridiculous.
“You know I want to see you.” He sounds irritated. He’s been so busy we’ve barely spoken since I left his house.
I sigh into the phone because I’m being a selfish, petulant child about this. I need physical reassurance, not empty words and promises aboutone dayandafter the press junket is over. “Then why can’t we check into some hotel under an alias? Have David book the room and bribe someone to sneak us in—separately.”
“Ash, they’re following me. I can’t shake these guys, not when they’re trying to get photos of me and Kate.”
I can’t hide the rising panic in my voice. “Seriously, we can’t see each other before you leave?”
“Time will fly,” he promises.
I look around my darkened room and recognize that as a lie. Time will fly for him—he has a pretty woman smiling at him while he promotes a highly anticipated rom-com. For me? I have nothing. I can’t even go on social media without seeing Poppy gloat over my breakup.
“We can video call every night,” he says, and I’m sure he’s trying to assuage me with that seductive voice and the promise of dirty talk, but I’m not in the mood. It’s another lie anyway. After hours of promoting his movie and answering the same questions a million times over, with all the travel and time zone changes…he’s going to be exhausted. I’ll get a text like last night’s.Too tired to talk, miss you.
It’s so predictable it’s boring, and I can see the ticking clock behind each word. Our time is up. He’s moving on, even if he doesn’t know it yet.
“Ashley,” he says in a softer voice. “I miss you.”
“Then fucking meet me halfway,” I snap, dropping onto the couch. It knocks a soft sob out of my lungs. If he loved me as much as I love him, he’d be willing to risk it. He’d find a way.
He won’t even consider it.
“I can’t.” His voice is pained, at least. He cares enough that it hurts.
I can’t talk to him anymore. I end the call, dropping my phone onto my coffee table and my head into my hands. We’re done. I know we’re done because I’ll never fit into the life his dead uncle wanted for him. Hell, Gabe will never fit in that life, either, but he’ll never stop trying.
My phone rings and for a moment I consider letting it go to voice mail. Some broken part of me can’t let go, though, so I accept the call without looking at the number.
“Unless you changed your mind, I don’t want to talk to you,” I say, putting my feet up on the coffee table and leaning back because I want to talk to him. I want him to make everything all right.
There’s a long pause. “Um…Ashley?”
All the air leaves my lungs. I know that voice, though I’ve never heard it on my phone. “Nic?”
“Guessing you were expecting someone else,” he says with a little laugh. “How’re you doing?” His voice softens with the question, and I know he knows about the breakup.
I frown at my toes. I’ve painted them twice today, and it’s not even noon. I’m unemployed, directionless. The man I love won’t see me. Even my best friend is a secret.
“I’m good,” I lie. “You?” Shit, I should say something about the wedding. “Um…congratulations, again.” I never told him congratulations in the first place, but I doubt he’d remember.
“Thanks. Hey, I’m calling because Jessie mentioned you were looking for work, and long story short, there’s this project that might be perfect for you—I’m in LA to meet with the creators tonight for dinner if you want to tag along.”
“Yes, I’d love to,” I all but shout into the phone as I leap to my feet. I need to get out of my house and out of my head. This project, this opportunity, could be worthwhile.
Nic gives me a time and promises to send a car. I spend the rest of the day primping and finding the perfect outfit to impress—a sleeveless jumpsuit with a deep V-neck, a sweet apricot yellow at the top, deepening to the color of a ripe peach down the flowy legs. I pair it with strappy heeled sandals and leave my hair in long, sleek waves.
I have no idea what this job is, or if I even have a chance, so maybe I’d be better in something more professional, but I’d be less me. I’m sick of feeling less myself right now. Old Ashley had confidence. She knew what she wanted, and she went after it.
She didn’t sulk around her house because she couldn’t have the attention of the man she wanted. She went out and lived her damn life.
When the car pulls up and I step outside, I don’t care about the cameras. I even smile, a secretive little smile all my haters can choke on. Poppy can choke on it. Gabe…my smile falters, but he won’t ever see the photos that will end up online. He’s too busy with his own curated life.
The restaurant is swanky and I’m early, but Nic is too. We sit at the table and order drinks. When the waiter leaves and Nic smiles at me—politely—nothing happens to me. No butterflies, no heat between my legs. He’s still handsome—his bone structure won’t ever let him be anything else—but not in the all-consuming way I remember. He’s just…a guy I knew growing up.
“Jessie put you up to this?” I ask, twisting the bangle on my wrist.
“Yeah. Timothy wants me to back this project. I read the screenplay on the flight and thought about you.”
