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41
I Hate You
HUDSON
I check my phone again. It’s been five hours but Parker hasn’t texted me back. That’s odd. I usually don’t wait so long for a response.
I go into Instagram to see if there’s anything of interest there and her story comes up first on the row of stories.
So I go into it and see several stories. The first one was posted fifty-four minutes ago and it’s of her, in a thin silver dress that barely covers her ass. What the fuck is she trying to do? Why is she not answering my texts?
Because she’s busy bitching around, playing hard to get obviously. God, she fucking annoys me. I thought—I thought she was different.
I go into our chat on Instagram and call her three times, before trying to video call her. There’s nothing. She’s just not picking up.
Fine. She wants to be difficult? Fine.Fuck her.
I grab a beer and pace around the silent penthouse before emptying two more bottles and taking a line of cocaine.
And then I try calling her again, but she doesn’t pick up. There’s just the fucking annoying ringing tone. Anger surges through me and I fling my phone across the room. The sound of it hitting the floor and the glass cracking, makes me feel good, but not good enough. I want to hurt someone. I can feel the hot pressure building up inside of me.
I grab my keys to the Mustang and take the elevator where Jen approaches me as soon as I step out into the hotel’s foyer.
“Mr. Saylor-Tyne, would you like anything this evening?” she asks in her chirpy voice.
Honestly, I don’t get why people are so happy all the time. I can’t understand it or even begin to imagine how they feel. When they smile and laugh or glow, they genuinely mean it. Unlike how I have to fake it every fucking second. There’s nothing to be chirpy about.
“No,” I say thinly as I brush past her.
No, Jen, I certainly don’t want
any-fucking-thing from you.
She must look confused right now because I’ve never spoken to her like that ever since she began working here. It’s always nice Hudson, reasonable Hudson, kind Hudson. Unfortunately, tonight it’s vacant Hudson with anger fueling my quick steps as I reach the revolving doors.
The valet has my car out front and I climb in, shoving the keys into the ignition and starting the engine.
As the car roars to life, I rummage around the console for my other phone and when I find it, I pull out onto the road.Hopefully, I won’t break this one too.
I try calling her once more. She doesn’t pick up. This time it takes me straight to voicemail.
“Hi, this is Parker, leave a message.”
“Why are you being so fucking infuriating? Are you busy sleeping with some other guy right now? I bet you are. Answer my calls!” I shout.
I go into my tracking app and add Parker’s phone number into the search box before pressing the search icon.
The map loads and sure enough Parker’s phone signal is pinging off in SoHo. She’s seven minutes away from where I am, at a club called Wild Vixen.
I know where that is. It’s one of New York’s most notorious spots for bitches.
When I reach the club, I flash my ID at bouncers and they stamp my hand before I take the staircase down into the nightclub.
It’s dark and illuminated with pale green strobe lights. Music pulses through the air and my eyes are searching the sea of sticky bodies dancing.
I see her. She’s near the bar and she’s smiling and talking to a dark-haired guy who’s standing close to her. Too fucking close for my liking. His right hand is on the bar, but I can see it moving closer toward Parker.Fuck that. I already know I’m going to break every bone in his body as I move in their direction.
I push through the crowds of people, a few of them swearing behind me as I shove them out of the way.
