“Tell Ron to get a hold of me if there are any other jobs.” Sean tugged his wrinkled jeans over his hips. “And these”—he stuffed the DVDs into his back pocket—“are going with me.”
By the time he’d found and pulled his T-shirt over his head, she’d crawled under the covers again. Was he supposed to feel sorry for her? She’d filmed him doing private things, things she should’ve asked to see. It would’ve been different if it was someone in bum-fucked Egypt watching him brush his teeth and getting off. It was Abigail. The one person he thought he could learn to trust. Women are all alike. They take what they want and leave the rest.
Goddamn it, Abigail was supposed to be different.
What in the hell was he going to do now? He’d not only fucked his boss but broke up with her before they could even make a start. If Ron didn’t call within the next few days with something lined up, he’d know his ass had been canned. Women were vindictive. Abigail would be no different.
Shutting the door to her apartment proved harder than he thought it would be. The damn dog sat in the living room watching him through accusing eyes. She knew he’d hurt her mistress. God, he felt like shit.
Chapter Eight
Abigail watched as Ron rearranged the props around a makeshift campfire.
“What do you think?” he asked. “Should we put the tent over there?”
The shoot wasn’t going to take place for another hour. The performers were inside Carl’s cabin, rehearsing their lines. Ron was going like gangbusters getting the set just right. Everything grated against her nerves. The sound of the crickets, the lazy slush, slush of the brook behind the cabin, Ron’s cheerful voice; everything made her want to scream.
“Put it wherever you think it would look good.”
He stopped rummaging through the boxes. “All you’ve done all afternoon is sit on that log and mope. What’s up your ass?”
He waited for her to make a snide comment, but she knew it wouldn’t come. “Nothing’s up my butt. How much longer until Carl will be ready? I want to get back.”
“Why?” He pulled out a blue-and-white-speckled coffeepot. “Got a hot date with your stud?”
The look on Sean’s face when he’d found the videos stung her all over again. “No. He’s not my stud.”
“Hey, I was just kidding. Jesus, Abs, you need to go home. You’re bringing bad mojo up here. Anyway, you’ve signed off on the script and everything. Carl’s got this under control. I’ll stay until the shoot’s done. You look like hell. Go home and take a hot bath.”
The way he ticked of his instructions made her want to scratch his eyes out. He was a good friend, but she wanted to be alone. She needed space to think things through. Justin had not only taken everything away from her on that night she’d left him, but he was still managing to take everything away from her now. “Call me if there are any problems.”
“Will do, boss lady. Call me when you get home. It’s a long drive, and I want to know you got home okay.”
“Ron?”
“Yes?”
“Do you think sometimes good people do bad things, but it doesn’t make them bad?”
He spread a green-and-red-checkered blanket on the ground. “Sure. Remember that time in the ER when Eric got punched in the face? That guy’s wife had just died. He did a bad thing, but did that make him a bad person? No, his fucking wife had just died, and Eric was the one who was supposed to save her. Why do you ask?”
The thought of not buckling her seat belt crossed her mind. It was a long ride home. Anything could happen. “No reason. I’ll call you later.”
Ron’s image grew smaller and smaller in the rearview mirror as she drove down the gravel path. She’d call him when she got home. After she pulled into the empty parking lot outside the warehouse and went into her empty apartment. Well, empty except for her dog. Just then she realized how empty her life really was. She might call him. Maybe.
* * * *
“That’ll be sixteen dollars and forty cents.” Sean stared at the Raggedy Ann and Andy bookmark hanging by the register. “Sir?”
“Sorry.” He dug for his wallet and handed the clerk a twenty-dollar bill. “Wait, can you hold on to that? I’ll be right back.”
The clerk scrunched his brow and tucked the twenty into the thick book. There was one more book Sean wanted. He’d been studying it for the last thirty minutes before putting it back on the shelf. The pictures reminded him of her, the woman who had betrayed him. The woman who’d seen him for a moment, then let him go. That was what was eating at him more than anything else. She hadn’t fought for him. Instead, she’d let him walk out that damn door this morning without a single word.