I clap my hand over my mouth, fighting a sudden urge to be sick.
“She told us everything,” Siobhan said. “JP saw the post on Instagram and realized she must have taken it from the office one day when they were going to dinner. She got close to him on purpose. Presumably, she clued in that Kelsey is your primary girl.”
“That little bitch,” Wyatt says.
“She’s been fired. I have Charles on damage control. My lawyer,” he adds, looking at me.
“But it’s out there already,” I say, passing Stark my phone. “People know.”
A combination of anger and frustration wash over his face. “Damn that girl.” He passes the phone back to me. “I’m so sorry. But please know that if you do lose your job, the center will cover your salary until you find a new one.”
“That’s nice of you,” I say, “but no.” I hug myself in defense against the cold that has seeped into my bones. The icy chill from the cloud of doom that I’ve known was out there since the beginning.
“Kelsey,” Siobhan begins, “you really should—”
“No,” I repeat, my voice low. “I knew this would happen. It’s my fault as much as Leah’s.” I turn to Wyatt. “I pushed the envelope. I did all the things my dad warned me about. And see?” I demand, my words bitter and hard. “See what happened?”
“It didn’t,” he says. “Leah’s idiocy is all on her. It has nothing to do with you.”
He holds my hands tight. “This will be okay.”
“But it won’t.”
“We can still do the show. And if you are fired, you can audition for shows. You can teach older kids. You can choreograph music videos. This can be a beginning, not an end.”
“I’m sorry,” I say to all three of them as tears stream down my face. Then I meet Wyatt’s eyes. “I’m so sorry.”
“Kelsey, please. You make the show. Your beauty. Your sensuality. Baby, I need you. Griffin needs you. And if you’ve already lost the job there’s no reason not to do the show.”
But none of that matters. Not now. Not when the weight of every lecture my father ever gave me is crashing down on me. “I’m sorry,” I say before I turn to walk away. “But I really just can’t.”
28
Wyatt was numb.
He’d been numb for almost twenty-four hours, and he was starting to fear it was going to be a permanent state.
For hours, he’d been sitting on his rooftop deck, staring out at the Pacific, and trying to make sense of it. So far, he hadn’t managed.
On the contrary, he flat out couldn’t believe it. None of it. Not that she’d walked. Not that he’d let her. Not that Leah-the-bitch had spread those damn photos all over the Internet.
He could sue, of course. She’d stolen the physical photo of Kelsey. And he might, just because the bitch deserved it. But honestly, he couldn’t work up the energy. Because what good would it do?
It couldn’t get Kelsey back.
Couldn’t reshape the show back to the way he wanted it to be. For that he needed Kelsey. But she’d made it perfectly clear she was out.
Thank God, Cass was going to fill in. She’d agreed to come by for a short session tomorrow morning at eight, but it wouldn’t be the same. Her energy was different. Her presence. He was shooting images with a theme in mind, and she just didn’t fit.
He’d make it work—hell, he had to make it work. But it was no longer the show he’d dreamed of. It would do okay. It would get decent press. But this show wasn’t going to launch his career. Wouldn’t prove to anyone—much less himself—that he deserved the Segel name.
It would make a tiny splash in a very big pool. And that would be that.
God, he’d been a fool. He’d feared she wouldn’t see it through that night at X-tasy. And he damn sure should have listened to his gut.
She’d walked away once before and destroyed his life.
This time she was walking away and destroying his career.
He was a fool, all right. He’d gone with his heart instead of his head. And now he was paying the price.
With a deep sigh of regret, he leaned back, kicking his feet up onto the railing as he watched the sun sink low over the Pacific. He had a cooler full of beer next to him, and he’d already downed three. If he sat here all the way until sunrise, he might even work his way through all of them.
The bell over the rooftop door chimed to indicate that someone was at his front door, but he really didn’t give a shit. Kelsey still hadn’t been to his house, so it wouldn’t be her. He wasn’t expecting any deliveries. And his friends knew to text before coming over.
He reached down, grabbed another bottle, twisted off the cap, and took a long swallow. Then another and another, until the bottle was drained. Because what the hell. He was already sore from the knife she’d stuck in him. Might as well anesthetize the wound.
A moment later, the door behind him creaked open, and he sat bolt upright, the bottle held tight by its neck, as if that would do any good against an intruder.
Except this intruder was one he could probably take—Anika Segel—and she was looking at him with such a mixture of concern and irritation that he almost laughed.
“Three stories,” she said. “And no elevator. I’m eighty-five years old, young man. Answer your goddamn door.”
He tossed the empty beer into a nearby bin and was on his feet in an instant, dragging a chair toward her. “I had no idea it was you. Sorry. Why didn’t you call me? I would have come down.”
She snorted. “I managed, didn’t I? And we need to talk.”
“You heard what happened.”
“I made Damien tell me. Don’t be upset with him. That boy may have more clout than God, but I’m an old woman with an agenda, and that trumps most everything. So,” she continued, “our Kelsey was going to be in your show and got cold feet.”
“That pretty much sums it up,” he said.
“You know, I do miss Carlton.”
It was such a non sequitur that he froze in the process of dragging his chair over by hers. “My dad?”
“He was always a breath of fresh air. Always had a perspective other than this ridiculous bubble we live in.” She patted his arm. “Our Kelsey’s a bit like that. Although I suppose if we keep encouraging her to audition for dance numbers, she may lose that.”
“You think she shouldn’t audition?” The moment the words were out of his mouth, he wanted to call them back. What did he care anymore whether she auditioned or not?
“I think it depends on what Kelsey wants,” Anika said.
“She wants to dance. She wants the stage. She’s scared of it.” He held up his hands. “That’s a big part of why she bolted.”
“Mmm. And what are you scared of, baby boy?”
He hadn’t heard the endearment from her in years, and it warmed him enough that he considered the question honestly. And then actually answered it. “That I’m never going to live up to Grandfather. Or Mom. Or you.”
She waved his words away. “Listen to you. What a load of nonsense. What have I done? Nothing except working a job I loved and raising a family I adore.”
“And you had an incredible public life,” he pointed out.