Page 118 of The King Contract
Maybe Mack’s right. Maybe after some time apart, she’ll come back around and talk to me again. Even if she only wants to be my friend, I’ll take what I can get.
“I think she’ll come around quicker than you think,” Mack says, nudging my arm. “But it depends on you.”
I lift my head. “What do you mean?”
“First, you’ve got to stop moping,” Mack says matter-of-factly. “That’s an immediate ick for any woman.”
I snort. “Fair.”
“Second, you’ve got to let go of worrying about what others think of you. Easier said than done, I know. But when you were with Millie, you forgot the rest of the world existed. She fell for the real you, the Noah King who likes to have fun and loves his mates and family and bleeds salt water. Be that guy.”
I squint my eyes at one of my best friends. We give Mack so much crap, I forget how smart and insightful he is.
“Thanks, Mack.” He pretends to dust his shoulders and I give him a playful shove. “I mean it, and I’m sorry for always giving you shit. And for thinking you’d blab about the contract. You’re a good friend.”
“Iama good friend, but I’d be lying if I said keeping that secret didn’t nearly kill me,” he says, standing to his feet. He holds out a large hand to help me up and I accept, rising from my stoop. “Never pull that again.”
“It was your idea!”
“Yeah, well, don’t let me find out about that sort of thing,” he hisses, holding up a finger in warning. “My public relations stress levels can’t handle it. Come on, we’ve got interviewers to charm.”
He starts towards the radio station entrance and calls over his shoulder, “Remember. Be yourself.”
50
MILLIE
Movingmy body is hard work. My limbs ache, my eyelids are heavy, my throat is dry. Even watching repeats ofCriminal Mindscan’t distract me from the gnawing in my chest. It’s been over a week since Noah was standing in this room, soaked from yet another summer storm after what was meant to be a wonderful, celebratory night. It went from hope and excitement to utter devastation.
The photography exhibit itself was great. I worked the room and spoke to people I knew and many I didn’t. I exchanged my own business cards for the first time and discussed photography with other enthusiasts. It was better than I could’ve imagined, displaying work I was proud of in front of my friends and strangers. A couple of days ago, someone made an insane offer for some of the digital pieces, and wants to contract me for their new website. It almost pulled me out of my slump. All I wanted to do was call Noah with the great news, and it hit me all over again.
I disabled comments on my social media straight after I posted the break-up post. I wanted the whole mess to disappear. Heaps of people messaged me privately, but I haven’t opened a single one of them. I can’t handle any of this right now.Especially saying goodbye to Noah. Even if he hadn’t made some mistakes, I know I had to let him go. He needs to focus on his career, and I don’t want to get my heart broken . . . although it might be too late for that.
When there’s a knock at the front door, I groan and instruct Winston to sit still. He’ll go away eventually if we ignore him. Ellis has let Winston stay home with me every day this past week while she manages everything at Beans.We had so many people coming by to get a glimpse of me that Ellis ordered me to stay home for a week. It’s worked out pretty well. Winston and I have a good system of snacks and nap sharing going.
The knocking picks up its pace and the continuous banging grates against my nerves. “Go away!”
“I still have a spare key!” Dan’s voice booms back. “I’m knocking out of politeness.”
I lift the blanket over my head and groan. Dan has showed up every day without fail since Noah left the country. Ellis gave him a key to our place so he could check on me when she wasn’t around, much to my chagrin. I don’t need anyone checking on me. I need to be left alone.
“I’m coming in!” I hear the rattle of the door unlocking, followed by the swing of it opening.
I peek over my blanket and watch Dan lumber into my living room, his gaze sweeping over me tucked under the fluffy sheet of burnt orange fabric. “You look like shit. Again.”
I scowl at him as he makes his way over to pat Winston, looking way too big to even fit in my home.
“Shouldn’t you be flirting with Hawaiian goddesses in bikinis right about now?”
“I fly out this afternoon.” He takes a seat on the pouffe near the window, and I almost laugh at how ridiculously oversized he looks.
“I’m touched you came to say goodbye.”
He frowns, offended. “Of course I would say goodbye. How are you today?”
Still angry.
Still humiliated.
