When she finishes her speech, I should feel peace and kindness, but the only feeling burning through me is the one that always is—anger.
And I indulge in letting it out. I step closer to her, towering down over her small stature. “First, you don’t know me, and so far, there is no reason for me to let you.”
I stalk forward, and she staggers back.
Good. My skin tingles from her discomfort.
“Second, until you have to bury your father, who killed himself because he couldn’t live in this world without your mom, who had passed away six months earlier,youdon’t ever get to say you know howIfeel.” Another step. “Untilyouhave to drag yourself out of bed to face a staff of thousands with a smile on your face while wishing more than anything that you were lying in the ground next to your dead parents, you don’t get to say you know howIfeel. Until you have to sleep in a hotel because you can’t stand to be in the home you grew up in without having a meltdown, you don’t get to say you know howIfeel.”
I take one last step, and she cowers, taking one back.
“You don’t know me. You only know whorapedme.”
Feeling the peak of my rage melt to vulnerability and then regret, I spin on my heels and stalk off.
At least my therapist would be proud that I used the R-word—well,maybe.
Just when I think this conversation is over, this damn girl has one more smart comment.
“Guessing that means I’m fired?” she shouts at me.
Even though I’m contemplating how this will ever work, I like her fire. It reminds me of myself from a few years back. Before the world ground me to ash. And maybe her fire will spark mine back to life.
I turn and smile at her, confused with my own feelings. “Be in my office at eight a.m. sharp.”
With that, I leave her and walk off with Max and Keanu. Keanu chuckles and I bite my cheek to contain my smile at the light hearted giggle that just left this giant.
Time to get ready for the worst date of my life.
After airbrushing my face and stepping into a gorgeous black Coco Chanel slip, I pull my hair into a tight ponytail and wrap a strand around the band. Stepping into my favorite black Sergio Rossi pumps, I consider calling this whole thing off. I definitely did not want to waste tonight, spending two hours getting ready. But I know there will be paparazzi out—and maybe even Callum downstairs.
I shouldn’t want to impress him since, but I can’t help it.
Max and Keanu escort me downstairs to the lobby to meet up with Trent. And when the elevator doors open, I close my eyes and picture Callum standing there with flowers. He takes my hand in his, and we go to the most incredible dinner together.
I open my eyes.
Instead of Callum, I get Trent with no flowers and eyes that are plastered to my chest.
Fuck my life.
“Wow, you look fucking incredible, Becca.” He walks up to me and leans in, his lips sitting on my cheek for way too long.
I pull back with a smile on my lips. “Thank you. Are you ready?”
He offers me his hand and turns, facing the exit. “Whenever you are, babe.”
Biting back every word begging to break free and before I slap Trent across the face, I slide my fingers in his. And when I look up, knives cut deep into my already-shredded heart.
Callum is sitting on a couch with a few other guys. The guys are all watching TV, and he … he is only watching me with his jaw clenched tight.
The only reason you are here right now is for this moment. For him to see you have moved on.
But, holy fuck, it hurts.
Trent starts walking, pulling me, and my body goes rigid, chills shooting down my arms.
But I shake it off as best I can and follow in step with Trent. “So, where are we going?”
