I stare at him. Wide-eyed. Shocked. Feeling accomplished. “Wow.”
“Now we need to figure how to go about marketing it so we can get the word out.”
Our eyes hold and I’ve never been more thankful to have him as a brother than I am right now. He’s always been protective of me but after our parents died, he stepped up to the plate more than I’d ever imagined he could. It was us against the world. He’s stuck by my side and been my number-one supporter throughout all the ups and downs, sorrows and joys.
Sure I’d had Mitch to pull me from my grief, but it was Ryder who was my rock.
Still is.
A small part of me knows my parents are smiling down on us right now and that gives me hope that things might finally be turning around.
My screen lights up.
The distractions continue.
I’m so engrossed in perfecting little details on the cupcakes that it takes me a bit longer to check my phone. And when I do, I have to scrape a splatter of frosting from the glass to read the tweet.
And I finally have an answer.
@HayesWhitOffcl
The public has spoken. 7 billion people in the world. And I CHOOSE YOU @SweetChks ONLY YOU
#GrudgeCupcakes #ActionsRLouder
Wow. Now there’s a declaration in one hundred and forty characters or less if I’ve ever seen one. The man certainly knows how to get my attention.
Yes, Hayes, actions are louder.
SIX DAYS LEFT
FACEBOOK
Hey @SweetChks . . . Just giving you back all of the things I stole from you over the years . . . Whatever could I mean? #GrudgeCupcakes #DayFour
“Hayes.”
“You’re a hard lady to track down.” I don’t hide the spite in my voice or the fuck you lilt in it. Jenna repositions herself on her lounge chair where she sits in the sun so her cleavage is more prominently on display. “I can see the recovery’s been rough on you.”
I catch her ghost of a smirk before her lips turn into a pout as she slips on her mask to embody the part of depressed victim.
“You have no idea, Hayes. It’s so good to see you. Thanks for coming to check on me. Why don’t you sit down?”
When she puts her hand in mine and tugs on it, I glare at her. A do you really think I’m buying your bullshit right now look on my face.
In the moment I question my judgment of character. How I ever looked at her and saw anything other than what she really is. An attention-hungry junkie willing to use anyone and every situation to her advantage.
“This isn’t a social call, Jenna. This is me coming to you because you’re too chickenshit to answer your phone and deal with the mess you created.”
“Oh, Hayes.” She chuckles that fake laugh of hers and it feels like nails on a chalkboard. “Relax. No one’s talking about it anymore.”
My fists clench as I try to restrain myself from picking up that tall glass of gin sitting next to her and smashing it to make sure I have her attention. But a part of me wants her to not take me too seriously. If she blows me off then she’s had fair warning, and I’ll gladly handle this on my own terms.
“Here’s what’s going to happen. Next Wednesday, you’re going to get your ass in the car I’ll have here to pick you up. It’s going to take you to Saylor’s bakery. You’re going to walk in there and apologize to her, face to face. And you will be nice. Then you’re going to walk out to the little café where I’ll be holding the press junket interviews, sit down beside me, and explain how long ago and why we broke up. You’ll explain that no one cheated and we were simply a case of two people not meant to be together. And then you’re going to publicly apologize for letting the press think Saylor was the reason we had broken up and for not correcting them.”
“You’re being ridiculous. I can’t do that. People would think that I lied and—”
“You DID LIE,” I shout, fingers itching to pick up the glass again.
“I think I have a hair appointment that day.”
Fucking unbelievable.
“Cancel it.”
“No.”
“Cancel it,” I repeat as I squat down and take my sunglasses off so we are at eye level. There will be no mistaking my threat when I speak next. “Or I’ll hold the interviews myself and explain how difficult the filming was because you’re an addict and then casually mention your suicide attempt. How you did it as a publicity stunt because you’re so goddamn in love with yourself and you didn’t think you were getting enough attention. I’ll explain why your daddy has disowned you, how the studio has threatened not to pay you, and why your career is hanging by the same thread your human decency is.”
“You asshole.” She grits the words out. My smirk in response is visual sarcasm. “You can’t do that. What about the NDA? Our paychecks? You just can’t—”
“Yes, actually I can. There are some things more important than money, Jenna. And Saylor is one of them.”