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“What?! No, I?—”

“The Oscars after party?” I charge with a glare. “Where was that in theagreement?”

She tenses, squirming beneath my accusatory stare. I still feel her hands on me, the dread in my stomach the entire night as she used every opportunity she could to take advantage of our situation and shred every clause of our verbal contract.

After that, I was done. No publicity was worth that kind ofhumiliation, so I “broke up” with her the next day as dramatically and publicly as possible. I needed it to stick that time.

“Oh please,” she scoffs, resecuring her anger. “What did you think was going to happen that night? How exactly were you planning to show the world we were together without actually being together.”

I shoot daggers back, but I’m done with this. I’m so tired of having this conversation.

“Whatever. Just leave me alone, okay? It’s over. Done. Go find someone else to boost your numbers.”

I push past her, stunned when she grabs my arm and shoves me back into the wall.

“No. What itisis breach of contract, sweetheart,” she sneers. “We agreed to six months and an engagement. You barely made it three.”

“No,youbroke our contract. We said limited physical contactfor appearances only.”

“Ha! You’re such a hypocrite, you know that?”

I shake my head at the irony. The fact that I’m not a hypocrite is the very reason I couldn’t make this work, and I’m more angry with myself than anyone for the misjudgment. This mess is my fault as much as hers. I was vulnerable and weak from my world breaking apart when PR came at me with a “brilliant” plan. I knew these fake relationships were a thing, but I’d never done it before. I had no clue what I was getting into, and it only took a few public appearances to make it clear I’m not built for these games. I couldn’t do it, and the after party from hell was the final straw.

“I just don’t understand! What did I do wrong?” she asks, changing tactics. Her tone is less angry and more desperate now.

“You didn’t do anything wrong!”Idid by agreeing to the asinine plan in the first place.

“But we had such a good time,” she argues, and I almost bark a laugh.

She clearly has a very different narrative in her head than I do. But I knew that from our first “date.” What I didn’t know was how things would escalate. Or that my life would collide with a ray of sunshine like Callie.

Yes, Callie, the woman who makes me feel theoppositeof how I’m feeling right now.

“Yeah, and that’s all it was,” I say flippantly. “Look, I don’t want to be a dick, but I have to get back. To my friends. To mygirlfriend.”

I try to move again, and she blocks my path.

“Just give me one more chance! I’ll get you that meeting with Reese Aster!”

This time I can’t stop the harsh laugh. Six months ago, I would have done anything for a sit-down with the editor in chief of The Daily Star. Ibeggedher to set up an interview with her contact so I could tell my story and set the record straight after everything went to shit.

She refused. Wasn’t part ofthe contract.

Of course she makes the offer hours after I sold my soul to Orin Cantea.

Now I can’t wait until she sees those headlines.

“Are you actually bribing me to go out with you?” I taunt. “Come on, Jana. Don’t. You don’t need that. For the hundredth time, I’m seeing someone. You need to let go.”

Even if our arrangement hadn’t been a total disaster from the beginning, the fact that I’m in a real relationship now changes everything.

“No, I don’t believe that!” she hisses. “There’s no way you’re seriously dating that little country slut.”

Blood drains through me, cold, then hot. I’m so livid I have to clench my fist to keep from breaking something. “Don’t evertalk about her like that!” I seethe. “You don’t know anything about her.”

This is bullshit. I’m done.

“Get out of my way,” I snap, moving past her again.