“Here’s what’s going to happen. Next Wednesday, you’re going to get your ass in the car I’ll have here to pick you up. It’s going to take you to Saylor’s bakery. You’re going to walk in there and apologize to her, face to face. And you will be nice. Then you’re going to walk out to the little café where I’ll be holding the press junket interviews, sit down beside me, and explain how long ago and why we broke up. You’ll explain that no one cheated and we were simply a case of two people not meant to be together. And then you’re going to publicly apologize for letting the press think Saylor was the reason we had broken up and for not correcting them.”
“You’re being ridiculous. I can’t do that. People would think that I lied and—”
“You DID LIE,” I shout, fingers itching to pick up the glass again.
“I think I have a hair appointment that day.”
Fucking unbelievable.
“Cancel it.”
“No.”
“Cancel it,” I repeat as I squat down and take my sunglasses off so we are at eye level. There will be no mistaking my threat when I speak next. “Or I’ll hold the interviews myself and explain how difficult the filming was because you’re an addict and then casually mention your suicide attempt. How you did it as a publicity stunt because you’re so goddamn in love with yourself and you didn’t think you were getting enough attention. I’ll explain why your daddy has disowned you, how the studio has threatened not to pay you, and why your career is hanging by the same thread your human decency is.”
“You asshole.” She grits the words out. My smirk in response is visual sarcasm. “You can’t do that. What about the NDA? Our paychecks? You just can’t—”
“Yes, actually I can. There are some things more important than money, Jenna. And Saylor is one of them.”
“You wouldn’t dare.” Her hands tremble and voice wavers with a mixture of disbelief and anger.
“Try me, Jenna.” I lift my eyebrows before putting my sunglasses back on. I stare at her a second, let her know I’m not fucking around, and then leave without saying another word.
Fuck, that felt good.
SIX DAYS LEFT
FACEBOOK
Hey @SweetChks . . . Just giving you back all of the things I stole from you over the years . . . Whatever could I mean? #GrudgeCupcakes #10Days
1. Chocolate Chip Cookies
I look at the humungous box of chocolate chip cookies recently delivered to the bakery. And not just any kind of chocolate chip cookies—Chips Ahoy to be exact. Between the play on his nickname for me and the memory of how he’d steal my cookies after school, the gift makes me smile. The thoughtfulness behind it warms every part of me.
And frustrates me considering he won’t answer my call to say thank you. The only response? A text saying six more days. Agh.
Feeling more sure of myself today, I venture into the front of the bakery behind the counter. The talking ceases momentarily until the customers realize how noticeable it is and then start chatting loudly again as if that’s not obvious either.
I talk over the week’s astounding sales numbers with DeeDee as the photographers outside aim their lenses through the window. No doubt they’re grateful they can actually see me after sitting out there for days bored to tears. I certainly have the advantage of living and working in the same building so there is no guaranteed drive to work like most other people they stalk.
I rearrange the display case, wanting to keep my hands busy as I try to get used to the feeling of being watched. It’s almost as if they think I’m going to suddenly break down and confess to all of the horrible things their magazines say I did.
Hey @SweetChks . . . Just giving you back all of the things I stole from you over the years . . . Whatever could I mean? #GrudgeCupcakes #10Days
Chocolate Chip Cookies
Kisses
The delivery boy catches me off guard when he walks in the front door. At first I’m about to tell him to leave, mistaking him for a paparazzo acting as a delivery man just to get in the store somehow (silly, I know but I’m a bit paranoid with forty-plus pairs of eyes watching my every move), but then realize the package in his hand isn’t a camera bag.
I watch as he leaves, how the paparazzi go crazy clicking pictures as if he’s the secret messenger between Hayes and me. And when I open the package, I realize he is.
When I look inside the box, there is a cardboard partition that divides the box in half. One side is filled to the top with so many Hershey kisses I’m overwhelmed with the smell of chocolate. And the other side is empty save for a note taped to its bottom.