Page 15 of This Side of Beautiful

“You’re right, and I don’t want or need to know. You make sure you show up and not out for the rest of these shows, or I’ll fire you myself. And the next time you’re in trouble and can’t see it, I won’t waste my time saving a woman who doesn’t want to be saved,” Landon said quietly before exiting the bedroom.

I grabbed the pillow, covered my mouth, and screamed until I was hoarse. I wanted to destroy the room, break every glass. I wanted to hurt someone. I wanted to hurt myself.Neededto hurt myself. The overwhelming desire to feel more pain swelled within, and I rushed into the bathroom, searching through the empty drawers of a rented home. Landon’s leather toiletry case rested on the counter next to the sink. He had to have a razor, because he shaved. I rummaged through the toothpaste and mouthwash, a few condoms, and grabbed the silver razor.

I pushed the lid on the toilet and sat down. I spread my thighs, prepared to slice myself in places no one could see. My old scars had healed and were so faint that they appeared more like stretch marks. The visible scars on my left wrist and forearm were covered with butterfly tattoos.

I closed my eyes, waiting for the sweet release from the agony. Then, as if a light switch had been flipped, my subconscious released what had happened the night before. The discomfort and disgust I’d felt whenever Cash touched me. And because I was high and drunk, I’d been leaving with a man I had no attraction to, to do things I wouldn’t have wanted to do but would’ve been too powerless to fight. Landon had calmly protected me from myself despite the insults I’d inflicted. He still refused to allow anything to happen to me. And he’d been a gentleman this morning even though he wanted me. Landon hadn’t let his body overrule his mind and heart.

Why would he be interested in awoman like me?A woman who had only demonstrated impulsivity and destruction. Cutting myself in his bathroom with his razor would further solidify his perception of me.

With a shaky hand, I placed the razor back in his bag. I washed my face and rinsed my mouth with his Listerine, then pulled on the too-big shorts that managed to grip my waist. I walked into the closet. His clothes were neatly folded in his open suitcase on the bench in the middle of the space, so I grabbed a discarded red Nike hoodie on the floor and pulled it over my head, smelling hints of Landon. He probably hadn’t offered the hoodie because he’d worn it. I found my heels, torn dress, and purse with my cell tucked inside on one of the shelves, then sat on the bench and pulled out my phone.

A pic of Landon with me over his shoulder leaving Porter House had flooded the internet. We were portrayed as a couple, and the gossip sites were saying he’d fought with Cash Black over me. I didn’t know how long I remained in his closet, sobbing over the fact that, two days back in the game, I’d already failed miserably.

When I tiptoed through the mansion on my way to the front door to catch an Uber under my pseudonym, a shirtless Cedrick walked down the hall toward me. Although more muscled and ripped than Landon’s, his chest didn’t affect me as Landon’s had. I saw a man who barely tolerated me and, after last night, probably hated me.

His gaze traveled up and down my body, and he snorted. “Should have realized Landon brought you here. He has a weakness for helpless women. Or women who pretend to be helpless to get the attention of men like him. Which one are you?”

“I have a headache, and I need to go.” I went to walk past him, though he partially blocked my path. “Move the hell out of my way.”

“Stay away from him.”

“Tell that to him.”

“You heard me.”

“And you heardme,” I said loudly.

I resisted the urge to run from the negative, poisonous energy that bounced off Cedrick. I’d dealt with men like him most of my life. Arrogant, brilliant, controlling, selfish, and used to taking what they wanted no matter who was hurt. The type of man that Landon said he hated, yet he didn’t recognize those traits in his best friend.

“One more misstep, and you’re gone. I don’t care what Del promised you.”

“Tell me something I don’t know.” I glared at him. “Can I go now?”

When he didn’t budge, I shoved him away, and soon, I was riding in the back seat of a Toyota Prius on my way to my hotel, praying that my antics from last night would blow over soon. I belonged on that stage, and nothing would ever stop me again. Not even myself.

Once I returned to the hotel, determined to ignore any contracts I’d signed and run back to Los Angeles to recuperate, I threw my clothes in my suitcases, ignoring the cameras outside my suite. Del banged on the door, insisting that I open it, and when I didn’t, he convinced the hotel manager to let him in my room, citing his concern that I would hurt myself. The cameras followed as he stormed in, demanding answers.

“When I call you, you answer me,” Del yelled.

“I thought you worked for me.” I zipped my bag angrily.

He surveyed the room. “Where are you going? You’re supposed to be here until Monday.”

“Doing what? My show was last night.”

“Supporting The Hollow Bones. Your schedule included being here for them. Their last show is tomorrow night, and after what happened last night, your fans want to see you and Landon.”

“What exactly happened last night, Del? Huh?” Then I remembered the cameras. “I want them out of here. Now.” They continued to record, and I placed my hands over the lens of the closest one. “Get the hell out of here.”

Del waved his arms. “Go for now. I need to talk to her.”

The producer, who was also one of the cameramen, shook his head. “Del, we signed a contract. We already can’t follow Hollow Bones like you promised, and now this. We agreed to certain hours of recording and we can’t just stop because she wants us to stop. That’s not how this works, and you know that.”

Del wiped his brow. “Please, give me a second.”

I pointed to the door, and they reluctantly left. When the door closed, I whirled around on him. “Do they work for you or me?”

He placed his hands on his waist. “You’re busting my balls. You asked for this. You wanted cameras to follow you, and these are the rules, especially for a fallen star trying to make a comeback. They can record whatever they want.”

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