Page 132 of The Publicity Stunt

It’s far from it.

My eyes are still puffy from all the crying, my voice still hoarse from all the silent screaming, and my heart is still trying to recover from all things Hayden Parker.

So instead, the only response I can muster the strength for is a weak smile and a nod.

Zawe narrows her eyes and tilts her head to the side, in a way that shows she knows this isn’t the usual response to a compliment from her. “Have you not had your coffee yet?”

A confused knot forms between my brows. “I had some before leaving.”

“Then why do you look like that? And I’m not talking about the tragic color pairing of your pantsuit and heels,” she says, prompting me to look down at my outfit.

“Have a seat,” she quickly adds before I can process the fact that I decided to wear my red pantsuit with my green pumps. I look like an inside-out Christmas tree.

I slide into the chair across Zawe’s desk and she leans back, still looking at me with her narrowed eyes. “You all right, April?”

I almost laugh. Almost. Because I’m only now realizing she’s the first person to ask me that question since the meltdown I had at Parker’s apartment. “All right enough to not let it affect my job.”

And as soon as that diplomatic lie leaves my mouth, I see something rarer than a four-leaf clover. I see Zawe Cooper smile. It’s more of a smirk, but I’m still counting it as a smile.

“You know,” she says, “when HR hired you as my assistant, I didn’t think you’d last more than a week.”

I purse my lips, unsure of where she’s going with this. And frankly, a little scared.

“But then on your first day at work, I was forced to change that opinion. There was just something about you that reminded me of myself. I couldn’t pin it down at first, but then it came to me.” She interlaces her fingers and leans forward, resting her weight on her elbows. “What were you running from when you moved to the city?”

Her question catches me so off guard, I freeze for a good three seconds.

“Don’t worry. I won’t pry if you don’t want to disclose the details. To be honest, I don’t really care what drove you to come here, but it was something, wasn’t it?”

I rack my brain for anything other than the monosyllabic sounds coming from my mouth. “How, uh, how did you—”

“Oh, please, everyone is running from something or another. You and I were just smart enough to run toward Manhattan. I was in the same boat as you once upon a time. Granted, it might not have been as bad as your situation, or it could’ve been worse, but that doesn’t matter. What matters is that there’s only so much you can keep running from. At one point you will have to stop and face whatever it is that’s chasing you. And I’m here to tell you that you’re strong enough to handle it, or else you wouldn’t have lasted more than a week with me.”

Her smirk slowly turns into a soft smile. “Take a few days off. Get some rest.”

“Oh, no, that’s not necessary, Zawe.”

“April.” Her voice bounces back to its usual acidic tone. “It isn’t up for negotiation. I say, you do. That’s how it works at Paramore. Remember?”

“Right,” I say and get up. I walk toward the door and turn back around, stopping short of opening it. “Thank you, Zawe. For the …”

Her eyes are glued back to the screen in front of her as she waves her hand at me. (Read:This little pep talk never happened. You can leave now.)

A small smile forms on my lips and I give her one last nod before stepping out the door.

* * *

Two hours and one takeout box later, I finally enter my apartment. Maybe it’s because I don’t have to go to work on a Monday or the fact that I’m coming back to my own place after four whole days, but I instantly feel at least twenty percent better.

I walk into my kitchen and set the takeout bag on the island, inhaling the musty scent of my unattended apartment. There’s a tiny part of me that just wants to go back to Parker’s place, smother him with hugs and kisses, and pretend like the divorce papers never happened. And if I focus on that part long enough, I might just follow through with it. But then there’s the other part. A not-so-tiny part. A part that’s fucking terrified. Terrified I’ll just be going back to the very thing that broke me.

I stare at my hands, picking at the corner of my nails. I’m scared Parker’s going to grow to hate me. The longer he stays with me, he’s going to see what he lost to save me, and then he’s going to hate me.

I can’t handle his hate.

Indifference, yes. Not hate.

My therapist says it’s an underlying fear of abandonment that started with my parents’ car crash.