“Starts next week.”
She hums, slowly nodding her head as she places her mug back on the table. She has this coy grin on her face as if she’s holding herself back from saying something.
“Do you want to play hooky with me today then?” she asks, and my heart flutters as if she’s flat-out proposing. “We can go to the movies or something. I just need to stop at the theatre to grab my laptop—” She stops herself, a shadow crossing her face. “I forgot it last night.”
It occurs to me then that she still hasn’t told me what happened yesterday. It must have been something big for her to show up at my door like that. And by the way she’s avoiding my gaze, it must have something to do with her laptop still being at the theatre.
I decide not to beat around the bush.
“So what happened last night?”
Straightforward but devoid of accusation.
Still, she turns sheepish. Almost guilty. And,shit, maybe I shouldn’t have asked.
“Promise you won’t get mad?”
I puff out a half-scoff, half-laugh, but Connie stays serious, and we stare at each other for a quick loaded beat.
“I promise,” I finally say.
She sighs softly. “Oliver is in town.”
Fuck.
She’s right.
I do get mad.
The rage I have for that loser ignites in my veins like a flameto gasoline. But I stay perfectly still. I’m not—I can’t—Iwon’truin it this time.
“You saw him?” I ask, desperately trying to keep my voice leveled.
She nods, watching me from under her lashes like she’s studying my every reaction.
“He’s been, uh … persistent.” But then she shakes her head, waving her hands in front of her. “Nothing happened though,” she starts to babble, “I was just giving him a tour of the Remington, and I didn’t even really want him there, he’s just kind of good at weaseling himself into situations,”—her eyes are everywhere but on me—“and then, well he said he had some good news and wanted to celebrate, and I was like, celebrate? For what? And he was like oh I’ll tell you at dinner and I was like no tell me now,”—her gaze finally flicks to me—“and that’s when I learned he stole my screenplay and sold it to Universal.”
I let the flurry of her words settle between us while I piece everything she said together.
“You wrote a screenplay?” She nods, eyes wide. “And he stole it and sold it to Universal.”
“I mean—” She lets out an exasperated sigh, and I can see the exhaustion in her hazel eyes. “He claims it was his idea, which okay, I guess he’s right. But Iliterallywrote the whole thing myself. But it’s his word over mine, and his mother is Susan Renfort, for god’s sake.”
I have no idea who that is, but I still understand the gravity of what she’s implying. My heartbeat triples in rate, my nostrils flaring.
“That entitled piece of shit,” I say, dragging my hand over the scruff on my cheeks. “I’m going to fucking kill him.”
She laughs, but it’s weak and defeated. “I wish.” But then she smirks, her eyes on me. “I did tell him that I hoped he choked on his own spit and died, though.”
I chuckle and drag my chair closer to hers. Lifting her hand to my lips, I kiss her knuckles,my lips lingering on the tattooed heart on her middle finger, before flashing her a grin.
“That’s my girl.”
She laughs softly as if a small puff of air is all the energy she has left. Leaning my elbows on my knees, I keep her hand enveloped between mine as I look up at her.
“So what are you going to do?”
Her expression turns slightly crestfallen.
