Page 76 of The Final Draft

I walk the last half of the red carpet by myself. Stop, smile, move on.

“Julian, Julian, over here!” they yell at me. I smile. Hand in my pocket. Nod, move on. Over and over.

“Julian, care to comment on your romance-writing career as JB Moore?” a voice yells over the crowd. My smile falters for a half-second before I compose myself and keep walking. I laugh it off and shake my head, working to keep my face neutral.

What the fuck? How did he know?

I duck into the restroom, press send, my call going straight to voicemail. Again.

“Well, you did it, and I really shouldn’t be surprised.” My voice is full of venom. “Hope you feel better now that you’ve gotten your revenge. Congratulations, gorgeous. I never thought you could be so fucking hideous. To think I thought I loved you. And I know for sure you didn’t love me.” My rage devolves to despair, and I choke back my emotion. “I shouldn’t have trusted you,” I say, all my life force drained. I disconnect the call and block her.

My heart shatters, but I splash water on my face and pull myself together. I’m in LA and have a performance to give. I’m a doting friend to Kelsey. I’ll focus on helping her for now. That will be the one real thing I can do in a city full of fakeness. Now that my heart is in a million pieces, I can be fake too.

I remind myself I’m doing this to help Ashleigh and Cole. I dig deep to find the one good thing in this awful situation.

I should be grateful Harper’s true nature came out before I got more involved with her. I can’t be with someone I can’t trust. Her betrayal cuts deep, but better to know now, I tell myself.

I try to stay positive, but it’s tough when you’re heartbroken.

CHAPTER

FIFTY-ONE

HARPER

His texts assure me it’s not how it appears. After sleeping on it, I realize I trust him. My heart is in charge now. From day one, he's been faithful and keeps telling me things aren't always as they look. There’s almost always a spin. While I can’t imagine the spin of him acting like he’s with a singer, I’ll give him the benefit of the doubt for now. That’s what you do when you love someone.

I put my phone on do not disturb so I can work on the last round of edits for our book. We agreed I’d finish it up since he’s caught up with work, and we want to meet our deadlines. I take Noodle for his evening walk and pop in my earbuds to listen to my favorite podcast. That’s when I see Julian’s voicemail and hit play. He called me two hours ago. Maybe he got in early?

“Well, you did it, and I really shouldn’t be surprised.” I stop in my tracks at the hitch in his voice. His angry tone is one I’ve never heard before, and it scares me. I can practically feel the dagger in my chest. “Hope you feel better now that you’vegotten your revenge. Congratulations, gorgeous. I never thought you could be so fucking hideous. To think I thought I loved you. And I know for sure you didn’t love me. I shouldn’t have trusted you.” He says the last sentence as an afterthought, the hurt and heartbreak evident in his voice.

Loved? As in past tense? What is he talking about? What did I do? This is more than not responding to his texts. Noodle and I take the fastest walk on record, and I get home to call him. I didn’t want to talk this out through text or a phone call, but I don’t think I have a choice at this point. His message is dire.

I call him, and it goes straight to voicemail but doesn’t allow me to leave a message. I text him, and it doesn’t say delivered. Did he block me? Since I can’t get in touch with the source, I resort to the internet to track him down. He’s at a charity concert where Kelsey Hamilton is performing. He said she’s a friend, and I believe him.

Julian looks amazing in his dark jeans, crisp white t-shirt, and blazer. My god, he’s sexy. It’s obvious why he’s one of America’s hottest bachelors. Julian is the total package. It’s like he’s made for the red-carpet world.

Although it’s not the familiar goofy grin he has when we’re together, his smile is convincing enough to deceive others into believing he’s happy to be there. Then it happens. A reporter asks him about JB Moore. Shit. His smile slips, and his eyes narrow for a split second before smiling again. Unless you were actively searching for it, you would easily overlook his subtle transformation.

He’s totally blowing off the person who shouted the question, shifting his attention to the venue entrance. He strides down the plush carpet with determination and disappears into the building.

I piece together the timeline. He called me seven minutes after that comment. Seven minutes to conclude it was me. Sevenminutes for him to fall out of love with me because he thought I could hurt him that callously. Seven minutes to think that I’d betray his secret. Seven minutes to give up on me. On us.

Seven minutes. It’s disheartening that he easily ended us so quickly, but what truly disappoints me is his lack of understanding about who I truly am. Did he miss my description of Charlotte? She’s a fighter. She doesn’t let go easily. It’s not about revenge. It’s about going down swinging. I refuse to let him end us that easily.

He kept saying he wanted to know everything about me. Well, Julian Decker is about to learn his lesson when it comes to me. How dare he declare I didn’t love him. I regret not saying the words, but I’ll be damned if he discounts my feelings for him to something less than what they are. Love. Love of the deepest, purest, most passionate nature. I love him down to my core. I’ll have to prove it to him.

I take a deep breath and put my anger and heartbreak aside. I pull out my notebook and put the pieces together. I have a problem to solve. A puzzle. Step one: Find the leak. Prove it wasn’t me. Step two: I’ll get him to love me again. But one step at a time.

I force myself to listen to his message and write it down word for word. I need to address every sentence, every thought, every nuance. He’s not the only one who was doing a deep-dive character study into the person they love. I was paying attention too.

According to Julian, only three people know his secret. His editor has known for years, and she wouldn’t say anything. She has nothing to gain from it. The NYU writing program has our real names, but they wouldn’t release that information, and certainly not to the paparazzi. So that leaves me. And in his mind, I have something to gain. Revenge. Only I don’t. Because I didn’t tell a soul. Not even during the bachelorette party, whenthe girls asked me questions about my writing. I stayed vague, never sharing his secret. It’s his. I would never. But someone did. If I’m going to fix us, I’m going to have to solve this, and soon, before the damage is irreparable.

CHAPTER

FIFTY-TWO

JULIAN

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