Total pages in book: 144
Estimated words: 133138 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 666(@200wpm)___ 533(@250wpm)___ 444(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 133138 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 666(@200wpm)___ 533(@250wpm)___ 444(@300wpm)
But she left. As angry about her designs as she was at me.
I guess I’m no better, no more important than a dress. I shouldn’t be surprised—my mother left me easily, and my aunt certainly never made me feel wanted, which makes Autumn the latest in the line of women who were supposed to love me but didn’t.
As the door closes behind her, all eyes turn to me for a reaction, and I steel my spine to keep from collapsing in a heap on the floor over the necklace Autumn tossed. When I put it around her neck, it was a way of telling her how I feel. I thought she meant the same thing as she put mine around my neck.
I was obviously wrong. So wrong. I want to pick it up, or curl up with it pressed to my chest.
Instead, I force myself to step over it, giving it no mind—at least visibly—as I walk to the makeup artist’s station. “Can I have a towel, please?”
She shuffles around, moving things on her workstation to find a white towel that she offers me with a weak smile. “Uhm, here, Mr. Corbin. I’m, uh, sorry about—”
I cut my eyes to hers sharply and she quiets immediately.
I rip the towel from her grasp and roughly rub it over my body, wishing I could wipe away the last hour as easily as the oil on my skin. Or maybe the last month, I think scornfully. Once I’m reasonably clean, I slip on a shirt, leaving it unbuttoned.
There’s an entire roomful of people expecting a mix-and-mingle post-show right now, and I don’t give a fuck. I need out of here. But dozens of people approach me, some of them unaware of what’s happened backstage and others wanting the scoop about me and Autumn. I ignore them all, but they delay my escape.
I’m thankful when I finally make it to my apartment. Even Xerxes can’t improve my mood right now, though he tries valiantly. When I peel my clothes off, dropping them on the floor, he curls up in my shirt, licking at the oily residue. I should scold him, but I don’t care right now . . . about anything. I’m empty inside because I gave my heart to Autumn and she dropped it on the fucking floor like it was nothing.
Like I’m nothing.
I climb in the shower, washing oil out of nooks and crannies that should definitely not have oil in them. As I rub shampoo into my hair and down the back of my neck, I feel the chain lying there, heavy and accusatory. I grip it in my fist, wanting to rip it off and be free of the shackle to the woman I love who didn’t love me enough to stay.
But I can’t do it.
I’m too weak.
I release the necklace, but my hand won’t unfurl, and before I know it, I rear back and punch the tile wall of the shower. I grunt and recoil, realizing that the tile has slashed my knuckles. I hold my fist to my chest as I sink to the floor, letting the water pour over me from above, wishing the pain inside would wash away as easily as the blood swirls down the drain.
I don’t know how long I sit there, only that the water turns cold before I reach for a towel. I get dressed, bandage my knuckles, and pour myself a heavy measure of scotch. I flop onto the couch and Xerxes curls up next to me.
“Arf!” he says, and for once he doesn’t sound domineering. He sounds . . . commiserating.
Using my good hand, I pet him and murmur, “Maybe you were right about Autumn. I know you didn’t like her.” He rolls over, giving me his belly for rubs, but after less than a minute, he nips at my hand and barks again, reminding me that he wants his dinner. “Maybe you don’t like anyone unless they’re feeding you, you mangy mutt.”
I’m putting some steak slices in his bowl when there’s a knock at my door. For a split second, I’m filled with hope that it’s Autumn and start to rush toward it. But I remember what she said, what she did, how easily she left . . . and my feet stop.
“Simon! Open the door, now.”
Tobias’s voice is harried and high-pitched as he bangs on the door again.
“Whatever it is, I don’t give a fuck,” I snarl as I open the door.
Xerxes heard Tobias and is already tippy-tapping happily around his feet. I guess he does like some people after all, but also, Tobias usually comes over with treats in his pockets. Food is still his love language, I suppose.
“Jacqueline did it,” Tobias tells me, out of breath from the few flights of stairs. When I don’t respond quickly enough, he plants his hands on my shoulders and gets right in my face. “Jacqueline. She did it.”