Pizza My Heart(A Billionaire Romance, Part 2)(22)

“You have to be seen eventually,” he reasoned. “Nobody faults you for what happened.”

“Everyone faults me,” I said. “Haven’t you been online?”

“I thought you didn’t have social media,” Devon said, pursing his lips.

“I don’t have to have it to see what people are saying about me.”

“What did I tell you about following that stuff?” he asked. “Just stop. It doesn’t do anyone any good—you least of all.”

“I looked like an idiot, Devon,” I sighed. “Even worse, I looked like a pathetic idiot. I thought you said that Chaz vetted this interview.”

“He thought he did, too,” Devon said, looking grim. “I’ve blacklisted Kelly. She got her scoop, but only once.”

I shrugged. “That means literally nothing to me.”

“It’s a big deal in showbiz,” he said. “She used to be Chaz’s go-to media contact. He’d feed her stuff ahead of the competition, but that’s not happening anymore. She’s out of the fold.”

“Again, I fail to see how that should make me feel any better about what happened.” I flipped a page of the novel I was marching through, not caring that I hadn’t washed the makeup off my face or the product out of my hair since my TV appearance. Nothing mattered right now. Nana was gone, I’d moved in with a movie star, and I was an international laughingstock. Taking a shower was awfully low on my list of things I needed to accomplish. Finding a new life was number one.

“June, I can’t change what happened,” Devon said, sinking down to sit on the edge of the bed. “I’m so sorry that happened to you, let alone on live television. What do you want me to do? Name anything. I will do anything to make you feel better.”

“Find me a time machine,” I suggested.

“So you can go back in time and avoid Kelly?” He smiled. “Good plan.”

“So I can go back in time and not take that pizza delivery to your hotel room in Dallas,” I said, hating myself for loving it as that smile faded.

“You can take it out on me,” he said patiently. “I can play the whipping boy for you, June. I told you I’d do anything to make you feel better, and if this is what it takes, I’m happy to serve.”

“Just leave me alone. Please.” This wasn’t going to plan—if I even had a plan. I was just hurting and lashing out indiscriminately. If it were Chaz in front of me, I’d be giving him the same earful. It was awful that Devon was prepared to let me lay into him. What Kelly had done—and what my parents had done—wasn’t his fault. There was no way any of us could have suspected that was going to happen.

I guessed I was angriest at myself. Somehow, I should’ve avoided crying, should’ve avoided the tough questions, like Chaz had coached me. Of course, he hadn’t been able to coach me about what to do if my parents resurfaced in the middle of a live television interview, but there it was.

“I’ll go,” he said. “But you really can’t stay in here forever.”

He turned to leave. “Devon, wait.”

“What is it?”

“This sucks,” I said, slapping my hands against the bed, frustrated and helpless. “I love you, but this fucking sucks.”

“I know it does.”

“I’m just not ready to get back out there, okay? My life is in shambles right now.”

“I get it, June. I just hate seeing you torn up like this.”

“I wish Nana were here.” The words escaped my mouth and I gasped, covering it, wishing I could unsay them. What a ludicrous thing to wish for. Nana was dead and gone. She’d chosen to be dead. Wishing for her was no better than wishing for a time machine to fix my problems. I was a grown woman. I had to deal with this.

“It’s okay to wish Nana were still here,” Devon said. “I wish she were still here, too. Can you imagine what she would’ve done to Kelly—and your parents—if she had been there backstage? I don’t think Chaz would’ve been able to hold both of us back.

I gave an involuntary guffaw at the picture of Nana wheeling on set, her eyes blazing with a holy fury, chasing everyone away as Chaz tried to hang on to one of the handles of her wheelchair, dragged along by her rage.

Devon grinned and kissed my head. “I have to head out for a taping. I’ll bring back some takeout or something to eat. You in the mood for anything?”

“I think I could go for pizza,” I said, smiling as he laughed.

“Pizza, it is.”

I took a shower, flushing sticky products from my hair, lathering it up with shampoo and rinsing it three times until I was satisfied. I scrubbed at my face with a washcloth until the entire surface was black and tan with the makeup that had coated my face for whole days. It would be a miracle if I escaped this without a rash of pimples.