Page 4
He pulls me through the side hallway into the private back room, which has soundproof walls and a stocked minibar. The door clicks shut behind us, muting the madness.
I sit heavily on the worn leather couch, my heart still racing.
“Did they follow me?” I ask.
Harry peeks through the blinds. “Looks like it.”
“Seems I ruin everything I touch,” I sigh. “Your place has always been free of paparazzi.”
“Shut up!” Harry crosses his arms. “You can’t keep living like this.”
I close my eyes.
For once, I agree.
Harry pours himself a drink and drops into the armchair across from me; his legs stretched out like he owns the whole city.
“You know,” he says, taking a sip, “when I opened this place, I pictured it as a quiet escape. Cozy. Classy. You—” he gestures at me, “—you’ve just turned it into a TMZ drop zone.”
“I aim to please,” I mutter, eyes still on the ceiling.
He grins. “What are we calling this one? ‘Jack Calloway: Homewrecker Extraordinaire’?”
“Keep going. I might put it on my next movie poster.”
He snorts. “Might as well lean in. ‘Based on a scandal. Inspired by real bad decisions.’”
I chuckle despite everything. “You should be my publicist.”
“No thanks. I like having hair,” he answers, referring to Mike, my very skillful and very bald publicist.
We sit like that for a bit, the easy silence of old friends filling the space between our words. I needed this. Not advice, not more fire alarms. Just… normal.
Harry taps the edge of his glass. “So what now?”
I shrug. “Hide in your bar until the paparazzi forget me; then, I’ll head home for another round of sleep.”
Harry laughs, and the conversation switches to the restaurant and funny stories about some of the patrons. An hour later, I head home. The penthouse feels different when I walk in.
Quieter.
The kind of quiet that presses against your skin. No music. No perfume lingering in the air. Just silence. Thankfully, my bed is empty. I’m relieved. No awkward goodbye. No need to fake interest in her favorite TikTok account. No need to let her down easy while knowing I’ll never see her again.
I pour myself a glass of water and lean against the island.
That’s when my phone rings.
Dad flashes across the screen.
I hesitate before answering. My dad rarely calls unless it’s serious—well, I guess today is pretty serious.
I swipe to pick up. “Hey.”
“Son,” he says, and just that—son—carries more weight than I expected.
“Let me guess,” I say. “You saw the news.”
There’s a pause. “Hard not to. It’s all over the TV. You are trending on my golf app now, too.”
Table of Contents
- Page 1
- Page 2
- Page 3
- Page 4 (Reading here)
- Page 5
- Page 6
- Page 7
- Page 8
- Page 9
- Page 10
- Page 11
- Page 12
- Page 13
- Page 14
- Page 15
- Page 16
- Page 17
- Page 18
- Page 19
- Page 20
- Page 21
- Page 22
- Page 23
- Page 24
- Page 25
- Page 26
- Page 27
- Page 28
- Page 29
- Page 30
- Page 31
- Page 32
- Page 33
- Page 34
- Page 35
- Page 36
- Page 37
- Page 38
- Page 39
- Page 40
- Page 41
- Page 42
- Page 43
- Page 44
- Page 45
- Page 46
- Page 47
- Page 48
- Page 49
- Page 50
- Page 51
- Page 52
- Page 53
- Page 54
- Page 55
- Page 56
- Page 57
- Page 58
- Page 59
- Page 60
- Page 61
- Page 62
- Page 63
- Page 64
- Page 65
- Page 66
- Page 67
- Page 68
- Page 69
- Page 70
- Page 71
- Page 72
- Page 73
- Page 74
- Page 75
- Page 76
- Page 77
- Page 78
- Page 79
- Page 80
- Page 81
- Page 82
- Page 83
- Page 84
- Page 85
- Page 86
- Page 87
- Page 88
- Page 89
- Page 90
- Page 91
- Page 92
- Page 93
- Page 94
- Page 95
- Page 96
- Page 97
- Page 98
- Page 99
- Page 100
- Page 101
- Page 102
- Page 103
- Page 104
- Page 105
- Page 106
- Page 107
- Page 108
- Page 109
- Page 110
- Page 111
- Page 112
- Page 113
- Page 114
- Page 115
- Page 116
- Page 117
- Page 118