He’s quiet for a beat, seemingly kicking himself for revealing that I’ve absolutely carried him to this position. Finally, he says, “Then you believe me about Hadrian.”
I blink back tears.
Because he’s right—if I believe this part, I have to believe it all. Have to believe that Hadrian lied when he said he always wanted me. Or rather, that his speech earlier wasn’t about love. It was about how he wanted me only for his show. For his ratings. Have to believe that he used me exactly the way Elvis says he did.
I’m not taking Elvis’s word for it.
And I’m not standing here listening to another word he says. Slamming my suitcase shut, I point to the door of my room. “This is my space. Get out.”
He doesn’t move. In fact, he settles in, a challenging sneer on his face. He knows I can’t make him budge if he doesn’t want to. “You know, I’ve thought a lot about the two of you together. Imagining what he does to you.”
Refusing to listen to this, I start past him. He grabs me by the wrist. “Was he rough with you? You can’t convince me he’s gentle. I didn’t realize you had to be forced to be into it. Did he even let you come?”
“Let me go.” My teeth are gritted, but his eyes are dark, and when his grip tightens, I’m certain he’s going to do something terrible.
It’s either the worst thing in the world to say or a shot at getting out of this. “And not only did he let me come, but he could also go all night. I haven’t had a reason to be so tired in a decade.”
I imagine he wouldn’t want to show what little his dick can do in comparison to Hadrian’s. Luckily I’m right, and he lets me go.
Abandoning my suitcase, I tear out of the apartment. I’ll figure out what to do about my stuff later. Right now, I’m glad to be away from him.
And now I need to talk to Hadrian.
<
Hadrian POV
I love you.
Why couldn’t I say it? It’s three simple syllables.
After finishing the shit I needed to do for the office, I hit my home gym, and all I’ve been able to think about as I’ve done my AMRAP workout is how I feel like I spent all night talking to Brystin—well, talking and fucking—and somehow couldn’t manage to say the most important words on my chest.
I’m not scared. Fuck that shit. I refuse to be scared.
Maybe it’s that invisible ring still on her finger. Or maybe it’s that I’m worried I’ll scare her. It’s also possible that I’m worried I don’t have enough experience with the emotion. What if I’m wrong? What if it goes away? What if she doesn’t say it back?
Fine, I’m fucking scared. Terrified out of my mind. From what I’ve gathered, that piece of shit husband of hers could never bring himself to say it, so I’m still doing better than he is.
I’m also plainly aware that there are other things I should tell her about our arrangement. I need to clear up the air, let her know that I used her too, and the only excuse I have for it is that I wanted to succeed. Frankly, I’m surprised Elvis hasn’t told her already.
But she came into this wanting the same thing for herself. I guess the difference is that she was always honest about it, and I wasn’t. If she feels at all the way I feel about her, she’ll understand. I definitely think it needs explaining before I give her my heart.
Scratch that—before I tell her she already owns it. I always wondered how anyone could want to do that. Make themselves vulnerable by giving away such a vital part of their being. I didn’t realize that being owned by someone else was a sort of freedom. This is the most tied I’ve ever been to a woman, and yet I feel like I could fly.
Imagine how I’ll feel when I’m married to her.
My incredibly domestic fantasies are interrupted by a phone call. Sweating, I pause my workout music to check the caller ID and answer instantly when I see her name on the screen. “You couldn’t go ninety minutes without hearing my voice, could you? Well, I’m good and sweaty right now. If you want me to get you there too, we can have a little phone sex.”
I know something’s wrong when she doesn’t laugh. She’s been giggling at every stupid joke of mine since last night, but this time she doesn’t even acknowledge my comment. “Why did you greenlight our show?” she asks, out of left field.
A bad feeling crawls like a bug up my spine, but I tell myself I’m being paranoid. “Because it was a good idea. Or do you mean why did I give you the host spot, because I can remind you when you get back here. Are you on your way?”
“You didn’t need someone bringing you an idea like that. You have whole teams of people with ideas. Especially if you weren’t sure that you were going to give me the host spot. You could have brainstormed something in house. Given the spot to Jessa Jones.”
She’s talking fast and her voice is pitched higher than usual. If I had to guess, she’s trying to hide that she’s upset.
If she’s upset and these are the questions she’s asking…
“Brystin, where are you? Come back to my place, and we can talk about this.”
“Talk about what exactly? Is there something that you need to tell me?”
I run my hand through my damp hair and start pacing the length of the gym. “I have lots of things to tell you, but you obviously have something specific you want me to say. Did something happen? Did you…?” She couldn’t have, could she? “Did you talk to Elvis?”
There’s a pause, like she’s trying to decide what to reveal. That silence tells me everything—she knows.
“Look, Brystin, whatever he said, that’s only one part of it.”
“He was at the apartment,” she explains, sounding more like the woman I spent the night with. The woman who wants me to know all the things about her life. “He wasn’t supposed to be, but he was, and he was awful, Hadrian. He basically admitted that our marriage arrangement was only ever supposed to be for him, and I’m sick about this part, he was having the doorman keep tabs on me.”
“Fuck. Are you kidding me?” I’m already heading to my bedroom closet to change. I don’t care if I’m sweaty and gross—I’ll go after that motherfucker right now if she gives me the okay.
“He was…I don’t know. Maybe I should give him credit. He was being honest for once.” There’s a dig at me in there, I’m sure of it. “Anyway, one thing led to another, and I told him.”
My heart is thundering in my chest. I already see how the rest of the conversation went down. She told him about me, or that she was leaving him, or something to that effect, and he got vicious in return and threw me under the bus.
Part of me is ready to deny. It will be my word against his. He can’t verify any of the conversations we had that night in my library.
But Elvis has a talent for getting her to believe in him.
More importantly, she needs to know. “He told you that I planned to create a scandal, didn’t he? To promote the show.”
I hear the hitch in her breath, as if she’d prayed it was a lie, and I’ve dashed her hopes. “Did you?”
I want so badly to defend myself, but I know she’s looking for honesty. “Yes. I did.”
A muffled sob slips into my ear, and I’m slayed right in the heart.
“I did, Brystin, and that’s true, but it’s not the whole truth, okay?” Now I’m pacing my closet, and I feel like a wild cat in a cage. “It’s only part of it. Come home, and I’ll tell you everything. Where are you?”
“I don’t…” She trails off and follows up with a sniffle. “I’m in the car. We just left. I don’t even have my things.”
“Fuck your things. We’ll get them later. Just come home, and I’ll explain.”
“I don’t know, Hadrian. I don’t know.”
Anger surges through me. Anger at Elvis for fucking me in the ass when he was even more ruthless than I was. Anger at myself for not being straight up in the first place. Anger at the goddamn board and my fucking father who’ve pressured me and pressured me to make this network something, whatever means possible.
“Look, Brystin.” I’m terrible at apologies and even worse at admitting I’m wrong, but I know they’re what’s called for. “I wanted the best chance possible for a hit show. I knew I needed a hit concept, and a fresh, hard-hitting anchor, and I should have trusted that was enough—and I do trust that it will be enough. Once the viewers are there, they’re going to stay. They’ve been staying. But you have to get them there in the first place, and—”
She cuts me off. “That’s what marketing is for! And time. It takes time and word of mouth—”
“I know, I know. Believe me, I know, but I didn’t feel like I had time.”
“Why? Because you wanted to impress your father?”
New Book: Back Home to Marry Off Myself
Loredana’s father left the family for his mistress, leaving them to fend for themselves abroad. When life was at its toughest, her father showed up with “good news” after 8 years of absence: To marry off Loredana to a paralyzed son of the wealthy Mendelsohn family.
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