Chapter 70 – Pretending You Are Mine Novel

Ross: Want me to come over?

Ollie: No. I just want to be alone.

Ross: I don’t like you being in your room all by yourself.

Ollie: I love you for caring, but I just want to sit here and cry alone.

Ross: Can I at least bring you something? Maybe find Candace and accidentally run a razor over her head, right down the middle perhaps? I have impeccable accuracy. I also know where Professor Wheeler’s office is. I can stick a dead fish in it somewhere.

Ollie: I’m not going to stop you if that’s what you choose to do.

Ross: I’ll keep a razor in my pocket at all times, then. The fish, well, that will have to be specifically planned. But seriously, anything I can bring you?

Ollie: No, I’m good. Thanks.

I set my phone down, then p**ss my palms against my eyes and let out an ugly sob.

This is so unfair.

All of it.

The loss of the internship, the loss of credit even though I performed everything required. I even wrote an article that was within the scope given to me.

Yet I’m losing everything.

My job.

My dreams.

My housing.

My man . . .

I’m not going to negate the fact that I’m the one who sl*pped up. I’m the one who broke Silas’s trust. Even if it was accidental. That’s on me, but what Candace did? I’m still trying to wr*p my head around it, how someone can be so maniacal.

How one mistake can have such an adverse effect on the outcome of my life and everything that was important to me.

Then again, that’s what Silas must think of me. That I took a piece of his life and sold it for gain. And he’s dealing with a shitstorm from the media. I know, because I’ve looked. Sarah too.

All because of Candace. There’s no doubt in my mind that she’s Roberts’s favorite right now, something I strived for throughout my internship, but now, now it feels like a baseless desire.

Why would you want to team up with a man like that? With someone who has absolutely no heart or awareness for the people around them? Someone who would derail a person’s future with zero regard for how adversely it will change their life.

I grab a tissue from my nightstand and blow my nose before wiping my eyes again.

At least I felt like I made the right decision by choosing to leave.

And headb**ting Candace. I hope she has a concussion. I can still hear the sound it made when our heads collided.

Sure, it cost me my graduation and reputation, but I walked away knowing I did the right thing.

As for what I’m going to do now? I have no freaking clue. Roberts not only got me kicked out of the School of Journalism, but he’ll prevent me from obtaining any internship or job here in Vancouver, which means, I have to go back home.

The thought of walking back there with my tail tucked between my legs only to see my dad’s “I told you so” face creates a whole new level of nausea. Something I can’t think about right now, even though I probably should since my time here is quickly dwindling.

Sighing, I slowly climb out of bed and fill up my water glass. That’s when I see the box of things I collected while dating Silas and all the little items I saved to put in a scrapbook.

Maybe because I love self-inflicting pain apparently, or maybe because I miss him more than anything, I pick up the box and carry it to my bed. I set my water on my nightstand, then fl*p open the box. I swipe away my tears, making way for fresh ones, and pick up the first thing at the very top. The picture frame I brought into work of him. I never changed the picture out of pure spite. Nope, I made everyone stare at his abs.

I set the picture down and then pick up another one. It’s a selfie of the two of us. He’s k**sing my cheek, and I’m smiling. I choke down a sob as I stare at how incredibly happy I was. How happy he was.

I set that down and grab the map we used at the zoo. It’s folded in half from where Silas stuffed it in the back pocket of his jeans. I remember watching him do that and thinking it was an odd thing to think was hot. But I did. I thought it was so hot, and I had to check myself because we were still friends.

Another picture of us, this one is of me sleeping on his bare chest.

The labels to the yogurts we shared together.

Napkins from the bar.

Another picture of us from one of the events we went to together. I found it online and printed it out.

Agitators paraphernalia.

A business card from . . .

I stare down at the business card, remembering when I got this. We were at the sponsor event for Silas, and I was trying to break him by fondling him all night. But there was a break in my pursuit to drive him crazy. That was when we spoke to JP Cane and Ryot Bisley . . . the owner of The Jock Report.

JP handed me his card in case I could help him with his charities.

I r*b my l*ps together and once again swipe at my eyes as an idea forms in my head.

I grab my phone from the nightstand and text Ross.

Ollie: I think I have an idea.

He must be on Ollie watch because he texts back right away.

Ross: Uh, an idea for what?

Ollie: It’s kind of crazy, but I think it might be the solution I need.

Ross: Are we talking about stalking Silas? Creating a PowerPoint on how you didn’t f**k up but sort of did in a small way? I really think we need to just let him be for now.

Ollie: Not about Silas, he has asked me to leave his life, and I’m going to respect that.

Ross: Okay, then a solution for what?

Ollie: Leaving school.

* * *

“I’m actually sweating for you right now, and you know how much I despise perspiring,” Ross says into the phone.

“I know, I’m sorry.”

“Are you sure this is a good idea?” Ross asks.

“No, but what else am I going to do? Go back to Oregon? That is the last-case scenario.”

“I know, but The Jock Report? They just ran an article about your article and how the media manipulates stories for views.”

Yeah, that didn’t bode well for me. After I told Ross my plan, we pooled together our money and bought the cheapest airplane ticket we could find to Los Angeles and then put the hotel on my credit card. I’m here for twenty-four hours with a mission to talk to JP Cane without an appointment. And with a big black mark on my name.

“It won’t be easy,” I say. “But I need to at least try. I’m all out of options.”

“Okay, but call me as soon as you’re done.”

“I will.”

“Good luck. Love you.”

“Love you too,” I say before hanging up the phone and sticking it in my purse. Dressed in a deep purple pantsuit and a white blouse, I clutch the strap of my purse and walk through the doors of Cane Enterprises. I know Ryot Bisley is one of the owners of The Jock Report, and JP is an investor, but since he’s the one I made a connection with, he’s the one I’ll try talking to first.

When I reach the front desk, I casually say, “Hello, I have a meeting with JP Cane.”

I don’t.

The assistant looks up at me and says, “ID?”

I smile and dig into my purse for my ID. When I hand it to her, I’m almost worried she’s going to run some quick background check, but instead, she scans it and then prints out a visitors pass for me that I stick on my shirt.

“Through security, top floor.”

I smile and say, “Thank you.”

I work my way through security, get searched, and then head to his office. The building is beautiful. Full of live plants and modern lines, I could see why working for Cane Enterprises would be relaxing even though the demand for success is high.

When I reach the floor I’m supposed to be on, there’s another receptionist, so I stop at her desk. “Can I help you?” she asks.

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