It stings that she’s willing to throw that back on me so fast after sharing it with her, but it’s fair, and so I take it. “Not just about him, but yes, he’s a lot of it. But the board won’t keep me in this position if I don’t provide results, Brystin.”
“So you used me.”
Of course that’s how she feels.
Why wouldn’t she? It’s the truth. “I did. I did use you. But I didn’t know you. And it benefits you too, baby. My success is your success.”
“Benefitted me? You could have ruined me!”
“I wouldn’t let that happen. Never.” Though, it wasn’t something I really had any control of, and it’s a lie to say otherwise.
“Everything you said this morning—about wanting me from day one—”
“All true,” I insist. “Every word of it. I swear on my mother’s grave.”
“Right. But you wanted me for ratings.”
“No!” I shake my head, even though she can’t see me. “I mean, yes, but I wanted you, too. In my bed. In my life. It was two birds, one stone.”
“So strategic in how you deal with your desires.” She moves the phone away from her mouth so the next part sounds muffled. “I’m such a fool. Always such a fool.”
“Don’t do that.” I stop my pacing, so frustrated I think I could shred the Armani suit in front of me. “Don’t blame any of this on you. You are talented and beautiful, and I coveted those things about you, both professionally and personally, I admit it. And I’m sorry. I’m so fucking sorry I didn’t tell you yet, but the truth is, I would never have taken a chance on you any other way, and then you, you, you…” I have so much I want to say that the words get stuck in my throat. “You turned my world upside down, Brystin. You changed my priorities. Don’t you see that? You changed me. Can you believe in change?”
“I want to.”
“Then do. It’s the truth. Believe me.”
“I just…do you see why you’re asking too much? After everything you know about me?”
The problem is that I do see it. She’s been burned, and now she’s afraid of the fire, and I’m a fucking inferno to her right now.
I can’t help but think this would be a better conversation had face-to-face. “Baby, let’s talk about this when you’re here. No more half truths. I’ll tell you anything you want to know. I’ll make everything right.”
“I don’t think I can.”
Panic shoots through me like a line of cocaine. “What do you mean you can’t? You’re already on your way—”
But then I hear her talking to the driver, telling him to drop her off at the next corner.
“Brystin, don’t do this. I deserve a chance to talk to you about this.”
“It doesn’t matter what you say, Hadrian. Don’t you see? I don’t know how to trust you.”
“No, no, no. Don’t say that. I’m the same person you spent last night with, Brystin. The same person.”
“How do I believe you?”
“You tell me.” I’m desperate. “Tell me what I need to do, and I’ll do it.”
“I don’t know what you can do,” she says, and I hear a car door slam. Hear the sounds of traffic around her. “I have to get my head around this first. I’m sorry.”
I try convincing her not to hang up for several seconds before I realize she’s already gone.
“Fuck!” Needing to throw something, I pick up a random shoe and spike it hard, narrowly missing the full-length mirror.
Thankfully.
Not that I believe in superstition, but I need all the luck I can get right now.
Actually, what I need to do is think. Because like hell is this over. I’m not letting her get away from me. If she needs space or time, fine, but not until we’ve talked this over in person. Not until I’ve had a chance to say everything I need to say.
So what do I have to do to make that happen?
Phone still in hand, I dial the number of the guy who was driving her car. “Hey, it’s me.” He starts to tell me that Brystin got out of the car, but I cut him off. “Yeah, yeah, I know. I need you to, uh…” I take a beat. The guy’s on my payroll, and he’ll do whatever I ask, but for once, instead of using my power however I see fit, I want to be sure I’m doing the right thing.
“I need you to follow her,” I say, finally. Which maybe is still an abuse of power, but at least I took a second to consider it, and that’s progress. “She’s upset. And I’m worried about her. So if you could follow her and make sure she gets wherever she’s going, and then let me know where she’s at.” If she goes back to that apartment, and if Elvis is still there, I might have to consider bringing a gun when I show up.
As predicted, the driver agrees.
While I wait for his call, I jump in the shower and get dressed so I’ll be ready to go. I’m so eager to hear from him that I answer my next call without checking my ID. “Yeah.”
“So you’re not dead, then.”
“Dad?” Fuck. I pinch the bridge of my nose. “I was actually just going to call you.”
“Then I saved you the trouble, didn’t I?”
Interestingly, the person who taught me not to apologize or admit I’m wrong is the man on the other end of this call. He believes that apologies make men look weak, and I know I’m caught between a rock and a hard place here—as always with him—because he will either want me to stand up for my choice to not come and then belittle me for my priorities, or he’ll want me to grovel for missing the dinner last night, and then berate me for it.
It’s a lose-lose, so instead of trying to hold out like I usually do and deflect any accusation of wrongdoing, I cut to the chase. “I’m sorry I didn’t show last night. Something came—”
He cuts me off. “Fine, fine. I’m sure you have your reasons. Listen, I’m calling about something Steele was telling me last night.”
I’m still too focused on Brystin to be able to truly appreciate my surprise. “Okay. Go on.”
“He mentioned your cockamamie plan to get ratings for this new show of yours. Some sort of media scandal.”
Ah, shit.
I’m going to fucking murder my brother.
And then I’m going to fire his fucking ass.
That is, if I’m not fired first. My father’s never been into shock marketing. He prefers more conservative methods to get ahead. “I know, Dad. It was a mis—”
He goes on as if I haven’t said anything. “I thought it was quite arrogant of you to believe anyone would care enough about who you’re dating to tune in until I saw the ratings. Remarkable. The taste of viewers has declined over the years, but it appears you know how to take advantage of the fact.”
Uh…what?
“Are you…giving me a compliment?” I can’t remember the last time he said anything that was even remotely like approving.
“I’m saying you might have been the right one for the job. Keep it up, and the board will be convinced as well.”
He hangs up then. Without a goodbye because Samuel Seymour is too important to waste words on formalities, even with his children. Especially with his children.
And I stand in my living room, staring at my phone in awe.
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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