Page 78 of Open for Negotiation

Scarlett

I feel like a giant anvil is pressing me into my mattress. My chest hurts so much I can barely breathe.

My heart hurts.

I thought I’d experienced true heartbreak in my life, but all of that shit is nothing compared to what I’m feeling right now.

Mascara is still caked to my face from the insane amount of tears that have left my eyes over the course of the last eight hours and my throat is scratchy and sore from crying. I’ve mostly ignored my phone that is currently laying on the pillow beside me, but when Eden’s face pops on my screen for the third time this hour, I know I need to answer before she sends in the goons to check on me.

I roll to my back, holding the phone up to illuminate my face and answer the video call.

“Hi,” I say.

“Honey, oh my God. Are you all right?”

This just brings on more tears. “No, I’m really not all right, not at all.”

“What can I do? Do you want me to come there? I can see if someone can take care for of Dad for a couple of days.”

“No.” I shake my head. “I can’t ask you to come here on a whim.”

“The offer is on the table, fully standing, okay?”

I nod then roll to my side, curling my legs into my chest. “How bad is it?”

I don’t have to specify for her to know what I’m asking. I want to know how bad the reaction is on social media and news stations.

She sighs and her face falls. “It’s very similar to what happened with Coach Whitaker.”

“Oh my God.” I cover my face again.

“Just don’t go online, okay? At least not for a while. It’ll pass, it always does.”

“I’m not surprised. Sex scandals equal views, ratings, and clicks. It’s just so fucking unfair.”

“Listen, let’s not focus on that, okay? Let’s focus on you, because this doesn’t feel like a normal upset. You seem distraught and heartbroken. Have you talked to him?”

I shake my head. “No, and I won’t. I can’t. I told you earlier, I can’t face him again. If I do, it’ll make my next steps that much harder.”

“What do you mean? What next steps?”

“I’m coming home. I just can’t be in this city anymore. Not after today.”

“Shit, Scarlett,”

“No,” I stop her. “Don’t try to talk me out of this, please. I already quit my job. There is nothing tying me here anymore. I can find another job at home, maybe, if they don’t put two and two together, and if I’m there, maybe no one will recognize me on the streets.” Maybe if I’m there, not everything will remind me of him.

“You know I would love to have you be closer to me, but I want to make sure this is what you really want before you do this. You love Atlanta.”

“It’s tainted now,” I admit coldly.

“That breaks my heart for you.”

We spend a few moments talking a little further about what legal steps I’m going to take and my plan for starting the move before saying our goodbyes.

Legally, I know that I could go down that road and actually prove that Miranda is responsible for this, for filming me without consent, but I just want this to disappear. I don’t want to weave myself into their shit any more than I’m already woven.

I didn’t mean to fall in love with Max. I didn’t mean for any of this to happen.

I’m just a magnet for completely fucked-up, unavailable men.

I spend another four hours cycling through crying, sleeping, and staring at the ceiling, then in what must be a sleep deprived, emotional haze, I swipe my finger over the screen of my phone, open Twitter, and click the trending tab.

Right there at number three in the United States, there it is: Architectural Sex Scandal Revealed on Live Television.

And at number six: Scarlett Hale and Maxwell Duke

And number ten: Fortress Atlanta Sex Tape.

A guttural, embarrassed, heartbroken sob escapes my throat and I drop my phone to the floor… crying myself to sleep, trying to dream of better times, of beautiful smiles and the salty Savannah air.

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