Page 92 of All of You

“What signs?” Flint asked. Demanded.

“Probably the biggest one was that her manager or PR person or whatever she is, Nikki, she had me sign some new confidentiality agreements and a few other forms I don’t even remember. I’d thought it was because the old ones I’d signed when I’d agreed to the fake relationship were void or something, but now I realize it was likely because she was going to up the ante, and me going public with the information that our relationship was all for show wouldn’t sit well after that big announcement she made.”

Erin recoiled and looked at Flint. “That doesn’t sound like Whit. She’s dedicated and motivated, but I just can’t see her using you like that. Why would she want you to think it was real when she already had the fake set up that you’d agreed to?”

I ignored Flint’s clenched jaw. “That I don’t know, nor will I pretend to understand. At this point, all I can say is I should have known.”

“Why?” Erin pressed, God love her.

I forced a laugh, feeling no humor whatsoever. It was kind of her to seem so clueless.

“I don’t know what she could have seen in me other than the story of it. The guy who inspired the song, and here he is, seemingly a good guy who has ties to her cousin, so she knows he can’t be all bad, and he’s decent-looking. Beyond the visual, I’m just a regular guy. I don’t have incredible talent or money or even ambition. I certainly don’t have military career aspirations, though I know she couldn’t have known that to begin with. It just… makes no sense. And I knew that, but I ignored it.”

That was the killer. I’d had those cow-eyed thoughts and shoved them away. I’d even sort of brought it up with her, and in retrospect, she’d done nothing to reassure me, had she?

It was all jumbled together. Every touch, every look. And how convenient for her that I was always the one putting on the brakes physically, so she didn’t have to seem like she wanted that distance, though she’d never done much to force the issue. I’d thought it was her being respectful, but from this side of things, I suspected it was a convenience. She didn’t have to sleep with me to get me to cooperate.

That’s not how it was.

That still-hopeful part of me, the smallest shred, wouldn’t believe that. I wished the rest of me could believe it—that she’d wanted me like I’d wanted her. That she’d cared for me in some real way.

That thought was the reason I knew I’d be okay. That little glimmer of something positive, and it came as a rushing relief for me. I wasn’t tempted not to get out of bed, or stop going to work, or drown myself in so much whiskey I wasn’t thinking about her all the time.

I hurt. I felt terribly sad. But I knew I could get up and do it again the next day, and for that, I thanked God, my therapist, my friends standing in front of me, and myself.

Flint practically growled, either at my expression, or what I’d said, I didn’t know. “You’re wrong about that.”

The oven beeped, and he turned to help Erin removed the pizzas while I pondered his claim and what he meant by it.

CHAPTER FORTY-THREE

Whit

The speculation that Ben and I had split began immediately.

Apparently, some paparazzi had caught him leaving the hotel the night after the awards show, and even though that had always been the plan, and he didn’t say anything to anyone, of course, they were wondering. They had no idea that he didn’t know he was the soldier who’d inspired my song. No one knew, and no one knew what he thought I’d done.

It wouldn’t have been news except that Ben had been photographed with a woman I guessed was Bec based on what I knew about her. There were pictures of them holding hands at a restaurant in Nashville, of them hugging, and even though I knew I had no right to be upset, and that there was nothing wrong with him having a meal with his friend, it added salt to my self-inflicted cuts.

I got home the Friday after the Grammys. I hadn’t hidden out—I’d been genuinely busy, all kinds of interviews and photoshoots and PR that Nikki was drooling over. I’d kept it together when people asked about me and Ben. I didn’t say anything—just that I liked to keep my private life private.

The fact that I’d shared a private secret on stage in front of millions of people made that whole concept ironic, but so far, no one had called me on it since the Grammy wins were decent enough news.

That, and the restraining order my lawyer had threatened Colton Danes with late in the week when he put his hands on me yet again in the hotel lobby.

But Nikki called Friday to say that the photos of Ben with a woman had surfaced, and now, the rumors had it that he’d been cheating on me all along, that maybe it had all been for show (good guess), and that I’d probably been cheating with Danes, were running rampant.

A week after that, a rep from John Smith Johnson called to notify me they weren’t interested in working with me at this time. Nikki practically screamed at me when I opened the door to her late that morning, but I felt nothing but relief, and of course, that ever-present misery over knowing I’d ruined what was probably the best thing I’d ever have in terms of human relationship.

“How are you not more upset about this?” she yelled, pacing back and forth in my entryway.

“I’m done. I’ve made so many bad decisions in the last year to try to appeal to them, and I’m done. If they can’t see through the rumors and nonsense, then I don’t want to work with them. I’m a human woman who dates human men, and I’m also the target of more gossip than the average person. That’s not stopping, and I’m done cowing to them like I’m some sort of ruined woman in search of redemption and not a talented, successful, desirable option for their project.”

Wow, that felt good.

“I don’t know what to say,” Nikki said, body still, eyes wide.

I ran a hand through my hair and wished she was someone who understood me a bit more intuitively. “Say you understand. Say I’m right. Say you agree and we won’t pursue working with people who are so hypocritical and demanding.”

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