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Behind the Scenes(73)

By:Jessica Blake


He laughs. “Then let’s get out of here.”

My heart lifts in hope. He wants me.

Isn’t this what I dreamed of?

“I can’t just leave,” I whisper. “I should stay for a little longer.”

His face darkens. “Why?”

How does he not get this? “Because he invited me and I don’t want to be rude.”

“You want to impress him.”

I lift a shoulder. “Yeah. Of course.”

Simon’s hands loosen on me, but he doesn’t draw back. “For your career,” he states, his voice flat.

I bristle at the tone. “What’s wrong with that?”

“You have me to help in that department.”

I stare at him. Is he pulling the jealousy card again? It’s amazing how the man can just flip from disengaged to possessive in the blink of an eye.

I place my hand on his arm, trying to still the emotions before they escalate any more. “I think I should go out there for a little while, and then we can leave.”

His eyes flash. “You don’t need him, Sydney.”

“Are you jealous?”

“No,” he quickly says. Too quickly.

I stare at him, hard. “Are you sure?”

Anger flashes across his face and he doesn’t answer.

“Why do you do that?” I ask. “Why do you change so quickly?”

His face jerks. “What do you mean?”

“Depending on the day, you either act like you own me or you couldn’t care less whether or not I’m alive.”

His jaw clenches. “You’re exaggerating.”

“I don’t think I am,” I say with a sad shake of my head.

He steps back. Is it just me or are his eyes glistening? “I have to go,” he announces.

“What? Just like that?”

“See you Monday.”

He turns and leaves the library, slamming the door behind him. And there I am, freshly fucked and alone in a room, both my hair and my dignity a ruffled mess.

*

I find the bathroom.

My legs are still shaking — both from getting screwed and from getting left — but I manage to hobble my way down the hall and into the half bath featuring a crystal chandelier and a vase of roses behind the toilet.

Once I do make it, I clutch the sides of the sink and stare into the drain while I work my throat, trying not to cry.

He’s not going to make a mess of me.

Except he kind of already has. Not only that, he got away with my ripped panties in his pocket, the bastard.

Deep breath in. Deep breath out. When a semblance of calm finally starts to come back over me, I splash my face with cold water and run my hands through my hair, smoothing out the fresh tangles.

Simon’s not at the party anymore. A quick scan of the yard tells me as much. And it’s not like I expected him to stay. After all, hanging around when things get sticky is not Simon Mulroney’s style.

Perhaps I should have just left with him when he asked me to. I didn’t want to be rude or blow my chances of making a good impression.

He doesn’t understand that. Everything was given to him on a silver platter. He doesn’t have to continually pursue opportunities. They’re granted to him because of his last name.

And in those truths lies yet another difference between us.

I grab another drink just to make it seem like I’m participating in the festivities, but there’s not a trace of appetite in me. My head buzzes with everything Simon just said, as well as every touch he laid on me.

You knew this would happen if you screwed him. You knew it would blow up in your face.

Yet somehow I still thought it would be worth it.

No one tries to talk to me. They can probably sense the self-pity wafting off my being. My reason for staying at the party in the first place no longer matters. No way will I make a good impression on anyone when I’m in such a depressed state. Giving up on it all, I decide to say goodbye to David.

He’s standing near the pool talking to a tall woman who looks like she was a supermodel in another life. I wait while they finish their conversation, trying to focus on the chattering around me instead of the shrieking in my head.

“Sydney,” he smiles at me.

“Thank you so much for inviting me,” I start, forcing a smile. “I need to get going.”

“So soon?”

“Yeah,” I nod.

I’d stay, but I just fucked and argued with your son in the library. It’s a pretty complicated situation. I’m sure you understand.

“My roommate isn’t feeling well,” I lie. “I need to stop at the drugstore and get her some medicine.”

“All right.” He points a finger at me. “Thanks for coming. Maybe I’ll see you around.”

I do my best to turn the smile up a few watts. “Hopefully. Bye, Mr. Mulroney.”