Page 20 of Over & Out

“Why not?” I am a dog, right? That’s what the press says. I root through the bin. And I proved that at the restaurant. I was an absoluteassto that woman.

What else is new?

I give the shirt a sniff. It’s a little rough, but not the worst. But before I pull it on, I remember I left my coffee out there. It’s the only thing that has a chance of stopping this increasingly pounding headache.

When I stalk back out, the whole team’s eyes are on me. “You know, normal people don’t have a fucking staff meeting first thing in the morning.”

“Oh, you’re not normal, honey,” Adrian says, his tone pitying.

“And it’s not first thing in the morning,” Mabel adds.

Tru places her hands on her belly. “Normal people don’t put off meetings that their team has worked very hard to schedule because they somehow think the topic of said meeting will justgo away.” She taps her fingers meaningfully on her distended middle.

I glower at Tru. Okay, so she’s right. I have been putting this off. But I don’t want Tru to go. I’m not delusional. I know she has to. But there’s still an absolutely delusional part of me that’s been wanting to wake up to find Tru’s pregnancy a dream. Which of course makes me feel like selfish garbage, because I’m only thinking about myself and my needs, when Tru and her husband are over the goddamned moon.

I close my eyes and tip my head back, gathering strength. When I open them again, I look straight at the server. I’m not sure what I expect. Maybe for her to look wounded, which would be fair. It’s not personal, but it is an asshole move to hate her because she’s replacing my left hand. And a little bit because she pissed me off in a way I think I almostliked.

But she doesn’t look wounded. She looks pissed.She’s clenching her jaw so tight it looks like she’s going to break a tooth. And there’s a pretty little vein throbbing in the column of her throat. I stare at that a shade too long before remembering myself and bringing my gaze back to her face. As Mabel takes the opportunity to go off on some talking points for a meeting we have to do later, I keep my eyes laser focused on Chris, willing her to capitulate. That’s the thing about being a celebrity. Most of the time, it’s a colossal pain in the ass. A thing I war with because I’m beyond privileged to have what I have, even though I never wanted to go down this path in the first place. But I can wield it when I need to. I’ve defused bar fights just by showing up. Made a kid’s wish come true by dressing up in a cape and mask with him in his hospital room. And when someone’s being a pain in the ass? Well, it’s handy to be me. People get flustered. Women get nervous. Or flattered. Or something. Like clockwork. It’s not me, it’s the persona, the image. But I’ll still use it when need be.

But this woman? I’m more than a little surprised that even after a solid minute of me staring her down, she never breaks eye contact. I don’t even think she blinks. Finally, when Tru asks her something, she looks away. But it’s not coy. It’s like she sized me up and found me lacking. Like only other people deserve her real attention.

I wait for her to look back. But she doesn’t. Not after a minute, not after five. Not even when I toss back the last of my coffee, set the mug in the sink, and lean back on the counter the wayGQmade me do for their cover shoot last month. Instead, she readjusts her bracelets, like she’s fuckingbored.

What the hell?

Embarrassed that I stooped so low as to try to thirst-trap her into submission, I jerk the t-shirt I’m still holding over my head. But my head gets stuck in the hole because I’ve tried to stick my head through the arm like a flustered idiot. “Goddamned piece of—” I whip it off. She hasn’tflusteredme. I flip it the right way and yank it on a second time.

“That’s getting washed today,” Cindi says helpfully.

They’ve all stopped talking to watch me. Fuck. “It can get washed tomorrow.”

Some days, Cindi might come over and peel it off me like a frustrated mom. Today, she seems to see I’m not in the mood. I hate that people have to know what I’m in the mood for. I hate more that Tru hired this particular woman to take her place. But even more than that, I hate that, for a moment, I thought she washer.

I run my hands over my hair, then focus on Tru. “I know I said you could hire whoever you wanted, but I don’t wanther.”

This was a bad thing to say, and not only because it’s not subtle or kind. It also shows my mind hasn’t moved on from her like the conversation did five minutes ago. But right now, I don’t care. I meant it. It can’t be her.

Chris’s lips tighten, her fists balling on either side of her snazzy little pantsuit.

“Listen,” I say. “It’s not personal, okay? You’re just not?—”

“Hop,” Tru says in a very controlled tone. “She’s perfect.”

That morning at the restaurant, I was in the foulest offoul moods. I drank myself silly the night before with some dude I met in a bar the next town over. He had no idea who I was. It was fucking glorious. We just bro’d down. I don’t normally do that, but getting drunk alone because I couldn’t handle being back here was a shade too close to the way my dad handled problems. But the next morning, she was the thorn in my side I didnotneed. And I don’t need her now.

I look at the woman again. “She pissed me off.”

“You pissedmeoff!” she exclaims. She said it a little too quickly to be calm and collected.

That should make me happy. But it just makes me feel like a bigger heap of shit. So, of course, I don’t quit. Hopper Donnach in a hole? Throw me a fucking shovel. “I’m pissing you off?” I say. “Guess whatyou’redoing right now, sugar?”

To the side, I see Adrian slip Mabel a hundred-dollar bill.

“Are you kidding?” I say. “You’re betting on me?”

“I’m betting on Chris, actually,” Mabel says.

“Sorry, sweetheart,” Adrian says apologetically to her.

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