“Loren, I had contacts stored from executives that I can’t get back without making a billion phone calls of numbers that I now don’t have. You see the problem here?”
“Yep,” I say. “Sounds like a real f**king problem. Sucks for you, man.” I shrug.
“I’m not acting,” Scott snarls. “There aren’t cameras rigged in here. This is serious.”
I glare. “As serious as you approaching my girlfriend every goddamn day and calling her a slut?” I take a step towards him. “You’ve been making our lives miserable for the past three months. And you just walk around here—smiling.” Another step closer. “You think I’m the weakest person in the house, so you’ve been going after me and Lily. But get this straight, Scott. I’m the last person you wanted to f**k over. You try to pull my arms like I’m a f**king marionette, and I’ll yank yours out of the socket.”
His nose flares.
And before he has a chance to say a word, I ask, “So how’s texting going for you? Has it sucked?” I reprogrammed his auto-correct. Every time he types in yes, it reformats to say cocksucker. No is now blow me. And the phrase, I’m on my way is retranslated to I want to smell your ass**le. It’s as unpoetic as I could get. And I f**ked with probably fifty common phrases and words.
His skin reddens the longer he fumes. “The cat shit was you too?” The litter box was in the laundry room. Decided to give him a surprise in his expensive loafers.
“That was Sadie,” I say. “Congratulations, you’re the first guy she’s ever hated.” I clap, watching his face morph into pure rage. Good. He looks how I’ve felt.
He closes the gap between us quickly, and I drop my hands.
I threaten, “You make our lives hell; I make yours hell. That’s how this works, Scott. You leave me alone, we have no problems. Your choice.”
Scott tries to break me by simply staring into my goddamn eyes. That’s not going to work. I’ve stared down Jonathan Hale many times before—Scott is sweet in comparison.
“Did you come here to cry?” I ask him. I could have easily accepted my father’s help and f**ked over his life, emptied his bank account, totaled his car. What I did was small but still significant—or else he wouldn’t be so upset.
“Fine,” he finally says. His eyes flicker to Lily, but I sidestep so he can’t see her. “I’ll play nice from now on.” He slips his cell in his pocket and then he shoves the bagged bottle in my chest. “Cheers.”
He backs up, waiting for me to unwrap the paper bag.
I don’t have to. I’ve opened enough Maker’s Mark to recognize the red waxy seal on the neck. He handed me bourbon whiskey.
He wants me to drink and break my sobriety. It’s not going to—
Lily darts beside me with a high-pitched scream, steals the bottle out of my hands and chucks it at Scott. The bottle, still in the bag, makes a loud impact on the wall beside his head. He jumps back in surprise, the glass shattering and whiskey dripping down the wallpaper.
I’m so stunned that I can hardly move. Did Lily just…yeah, she did.
“Don’t you dare give him alcohol like it’s nothing,” Lily says.
Scott grinds his teeth and flashes a pained smile, his lips twitching. Then he slams the door on his way out.
It takes me a moment to speak. “Lily Calloway,” I say, shocked beyond belief. I turn my head towards her. “Did you just defend me by throwing perfectly good booze at a douchebag’s head?”
“Yes,” she says with a nod and then tilts her chin up for further effect.
I touch my heart. “I’d propose to you, but I already did that.”
She smiles but tries to stay serious, pressing her lips tightly together. “He can’t screw with your addiction.”
“He’s not.” I draw her to my body.
Lily shakes her head, more worked up than me. “He’s like Draco Malfoy,” she says, resting her hands on my arms. “Slimy and evil and a complete narcissistic buffoon.”
“Plus he has blond hair,” I add.
She catches the humor in my eyes. “It’s not funny. The whole thing is so not funny.”
“Lil…” I cup her cheeks between my hands. “No one is going to mess with us or make our lives harder just for shits and giggles. Okay?”
After a short moment, she nods in agreement.
My hands fall to her ass that peeks out of the button-down, but she walks out of my grasp. I watch her bend down to the wet paper bag. “I’ll clean this up,” she says. “You shouldn’t touch the alcohol since you’re taking Antabuse.”
I grimace, but she can’t see my expression, her back turned to me. I haven’t exactly told her that I stopped taking the meds. After the premiere of Princesses of Philly, everything got crazy. Superheroes & Scones has been packed, more and more manuscripts are sent to my office, Rose bugs me to bug Lily about the wedding, and then Scott—I started running on empty.
The last thing I wanted to do was take Antabuse, accidentally eat something cooked with alcohol and puke. I don’t have the energy to check the ingredients of all the restaurant dishes. So yeah, I flushed the pills that physically make me ill if I relapse.
At the time, it felt like I unstrapped a fifty-pound weight from my ankles. Now I’m just terrified to see the disappointment in Lily’s face if she finds out—or worse, she’ll blame herself. Like it was her fault for not motivating me more or not realizing it sooner.
I’ll tell her.
Not today.
Maybe when the reality show ends, when everything slows down and I can stomach the thought of popping those pills. I’ll come clean, then.
I pass her a waste basket. “Be careful,” I warn.
She pinches the ends of the paper bag like a dirty diaper, the glass shattered inside, and dumps it into the trash.
“This stuff with Scott stays between us,” I remind Lily. “The moment Rose knows that he’s f**king with us, she’ll want to end the show.” Connor will probably convince her otherwise though. Rose’s fashion line has seen a major boost in sales since Princesses of Philly aired. But we don’t want to be the ones who ruin her success or cause her trouble.
“I know,” Lily says, standing up next to me. “We can’t tell anyone.”
25
0 years : 07 months
March
LOREN HALE
I wake up at 5 a.m. with a massive headache and nonstop, rambling thoughts. I sit on the edge of my bed, careful not to disturb Lily who lies on her stomach while she sleeps, arms outstretched to embrace her pillow.
I pull the blankets up to her shoulders, and she lets out a quiet sigh, her eyes still closed. I wish I could fall back to sleep next to her, but I can’t turn off my brain this morning.
I leave the room, gently shutting the door behind me. Shower. Coffee. Office. It’s like I’m a full-fledged adult. Most days, I feel like I’m still pretending.
When I aim my sights on the bathroom door, Connor suddenly steps out of his room and into the narrow hallway.
I freeze in place, scanning his navy blue, cotton pants, shirtless with abs that make mine look like child’s play. He’s going to take a shower in the communal bathroom. And I’ve been more or less avoiding him since the premiere, when he confessed to not loving Rose.
“Morning, beautiful,” he banters like nothing has changed between us. He saunters to the bathroom and holds open the door for me. “After you.”