Steal(Seaside Pictures Book 3)(5)

I didn’t care.

I never would again.

I checked emails.

Or maybe I just checked out mentally. I had to when I was around her, thinking never did me any good — thinking was what got me into this mess. Because in life, thinking leads to thoughts, and naturally those thoughts led to dreams, possibilities. And then, when those come crashing down, what do you have left?

Sadness and jack shit. That’s what you have left.

What possessed me to think I could do this?

Oh that’s right… my own damn pride at knowing that I won. That at the end of the day, she needed me — and I had the power to destroy her just like she had destroyed me.

Us.





INCOGNITO.

My mantra.

My goal.

My hell.

I should be on set instead of hiding out at an abandoned coffee shop down the street.

I should be making sure my actress wasn’t setting the director on fire, just like I should be making sure that she was doing her job, the job she was getting paid for.

Two years ago she’d been fired from three different films.

Two years ago she was still doing drugs.

Two years ago I was still in love with her.

Two years ago she broke my heart for a second time without even realizing it and providence brought her to my agency, my doorstep.

I was the freaking Luke Skywalker of her world.

I’d dreamed of that moment. The moment she’d come crawling back and I’d sneer in her face, tell her to drop dead, then laugh while the door hit her in the ass on the way out of my office.

But that was the thing about revenge. Nobody ever warns you about all the other feelings that attach themselves to that one word.

Like regret.

Like what ifs.

Or the soul-sucking sadness that still hadn’t let go and I wasn’t the type of guy to get sad and mope. No, sadness almost always turned to anger.

So, I wasn’t sad about Angelica.

I was pissed.

I was still pissed.

I checked my watch.

She’d been on set for an hour, I’d gotten shit done, and I was drinking cold coffee.

Yeah, nobody ever warned me how lonely revenge was.

Or how bitter it tasted.

I took another sip of the cold brew. As its acidic tang invaded my mouth, I closed my eyes and savored the bitterness.

“Hey,” A chipper female voice called to my right. “Aren’t you Will Sutherland? From that Adrenaline boy band?”

And there it was.

Shocked it only took an hour for someone to actually notice me. Typically, I was mauled right away. Then again, that’s what Seaside did to a person. It made them believe that just for one second they were normal.

I partially blamed the descending of rock duo AD2 along with Jaymeson and the rest of young Hollywood sniffing around the area — Zane Andrews, my favorite client included.

So many movies were slated to film here it was laughable.

Maybe the locals were getting used to it.

Just like I was getting used to not having to look behind my back or see myself trending on twitter because I’d gone and done the impossible.

I, Will Sutherland, had aged.

Hell.

I ran my hand over my face and took off my black-rimmed glasses then tossed them onto the table. “Yeah, I am.”

She was probably around twenty-eight, which meant when we were famous, the One Direction of our time, she would have been graduating high school with stars in her eyes and posters of my ass all over her bedroom.

Fantastic.

“I thought so.” She pulled out her phone and wagged it in my face. “You were my biggest crush for so long, I even dated a guy who looked like you.”

I’d heard creepier.

“Wow, awesome.”

Fact: I’d become a musician to chase a dream.

Fact: I’d tried acting once and sucked so bad that they were tempted to cut almost my entire part.

Fact: Acting reminded me of Angelica, so I refused to put a freaking mask over my face and draw a smile on it just because fans used to think of me when they touched themselves.

I winced.

When the hell had I turned into such a jackass?

“Yeah, of course.” I cleared my throat and grabbed the phone, then stood.

The woman sucked in a breath, her eyes dilating as she eyed me up and down, her throat moved slowly like she was just now realizing that rather than growing up and letting myself go by way of drinking and drugs — I’d done the exact opposite.

Weights. Protein shakes. Bland food. No salts. No alcohol.

So basically no fun.

I was no fun.

God, how many times had I gone out with a woman only to hear that same damn thing?

Boring.

No fun.

Boring. Boring. Boring.

The woman bit down on her bottom lip then took a step next to me while I pointed the phone at us and gave the best smile I could conjure up.

The picture snapped.

She hadn’t even been looking at the screen but at my face.

I knew what she saw. Wavy golden hair, deep brown eyes, a strong jawline, and enough muscle to be able to lift her against the wall with one hand, while stripping her naked with the other — and all without breaking a sweat. That was what they all saw, what they all wanted. The outer wrapping, the pretty package, and who gave a damn that whatever was inside me might be dark? Broken? As long as the package looked good…