Page 47

WTF

Declan

It had been hours since Abi had responded to any of my texts, and it was driving me crazy. I knew she had her own life, and a few weeks ago I hadn’t known she existed.

But her silence was stressing me out.

And I missed her, damn it.

I hit the FaceTime button, knowing it was kind of a dick move to not text her first before doing it, but I also knew she was off tonight so she was probably at home. Hell, she was probably baking in my kitchen or binge-watching something on my TV.

It rang and rang, to the point that I almost hung up, but then she answered.

I was immediately grinning like a total chump because I loved her face. I loved her stubborn chin and freckle-sprinkled nose and those brown eyes that I could stare at for hours and never tire of.

“Why have you been ignoring me all day?” I asked. “Too busy joyriding in my car to talk to me?”

“No, I was just really busy,” she said, and I realized at that moment she looked more serious than she ever did.

And she wasn’t really looking at me, she was looking down.

“Something wrong, Mariano?” I asked, unease settling into my gut.

“No,” she said, lifting her chin. “Everything’s fine.”

But the fact that she wasn’t saying anything else meant everything was definitely not fine. And then I noticed the background.

“Where are you? I assumed you would be lounging around my place.”

“Yeah, I actually started moving back home this afternoon,” she said, like it was no big deal.

“Why?” I asked, dread settling into my stomach. “You still have time left on our deal, remember?”

“Yeah, our deal,” she said around a weird laugh that was a hundred percent artificial.

“Since we’re pretty much done with pretending and my apartment’s finally ready, I figured it was time.

I left your car keys on the counter, and I just need to run by in the morning for the last of my things.

On that note, you should probably go public with our breakup soon, don’t you think? ”

My head was spinning and I didn’t know what the fuck was happening. Yesterday she’d been all over me, and today she was telling me to publicly end our fake relationship. Was that it—had everything been fake to her?

“Is that what you want?” I asked.

I had a million other questions I wanted to ask, but my pride wouldn’t let me say any of them. I was scared to ask, scared to hear her answers.

She looked into the camera then, holding my gaze for a split second before looking away and saying, “That was always the plan, right?”

“I guess it was,” I said, hearing a roaring in my ears.

“Well, thanks again for everything,” she said, still looking everywhere but at me. “It was all really wonderful and I promise I’ll never crash your fancy apartment without permission again.”

She gave me a fake smile as she referenced what’d started everything, but it felt like a big proclamation that I fucking hated.

Abi Mariano was out.

“Great,” I said, feeling like I couldn’t get enough oxygen in my lungs. “See you around, Abi.”

“Yeah, you, too,” she said, and instead of saying goodbye or waiting for a response, she disconnected the call.

I sat there staring at my phone for what felt like hours.

What the hell?

Was I seriously the world’s biggest chump? The negotiated time we were to spend together was over, so now she was gone?

What about New York?

What about Kansas City?

The more I thought about it, the more I just couldn’t accept it. Something must’ve happened, or there was some detail I was missing, because there was just too much between us for it to disappear like this.

It consumed me all night, and I flew home the next morning.

I damn near went straight to Benny’s from the airport, but then I remembered she had class. I went to my apartment instead, which suddenly felt depressing as fuck when I walked in.

I’d really gotten used to the sound of her being nearby.

I grabbed an orange juice and went out on the balcony, hoping the fresh air would do something to lighten the heaviness in my stomach as I waited for her.

But it didn’t because her notebook was sitting there, under the umbrella on the table.

It immediately brought back the image of her on that first night, writing in that notebook when she was supposed to be waiting for me by the door.

I grabbed it and took it inside, but when I dropped it on the counter, a piece of paper fell out. I bent down to retrieve it, but the sight of my name scribbled among an entire sheet of words caught my attention.

My name was at the top, followed by random notes everywhere, like someone jotting down recipe ingredients on every inch of a recipe card.

Declan Connor Powell

—arrogant, wealthy, careless, soulless, easy to charm with “normalcy” because it’s a novelty to him, takes calls from billionaires at all hours of the night because it’s the only thing that’s important to him, “I will not be blackmailed by a maid,” “reminds me of the freckles on your shoulder,” “You are stunning for a felon”

Well, shit.

I dropped the paper like it was burning my fingers because, what the fuck?

I felt like I’d been punched as I stood there in the kitchen, staring into space as her words kept coming at me again and again.

Easy to charm with “normalcy” because it’s a novelty to him.

Soulless.

What the fuck?

I rubbed the back of my neck, trying to convince myself that this had something to do with fiction but failing because she’d written quotes of things I’d actually said to her.

Was that what she really thought of me? Had she thought that the entire time?

I looked down at her notebook and I couldn’t help myself. I knew it was a gross invasion of her privacy, but I picked it up and opened it to the first page.

Chapter One

Connor

The first thing I noticed about Connor was that he didn’t smile. Ever. He was far too important to be bothered with things like emotions. Pleasantries. Those were things experienced by people beneath him.

The second thing I noticed was his watch. It looked was impossibly absurdly expensive, even though I wasn’t sure exactly what it was that made me think that.

You could just tell.

And he glanced at it constantly, as if every one of his moments moment he breathed was so valuable it must be tracked, recorded for posterity by the gentle ticking of the feather-fine golden second hand that surely cost more than my car.

So it was no surprise that when his green eyes landed on me, the only thing they expressed was boredom.

I couldn’t stop reading, even as every word she’d written begged me to throw the notebook across the room.