Page 82 of The Boss I Can't Stand
“I don’t think you do,” I said. “Because all I’m seeing is you running around in some fake version of your life, and it’s as shallow and empty as your media smile.”
He crumpled the gift bag in his hand, his voice unnervingly calm as he said, “If that’s the way you feel, then maybe it’s time for our ‘fake’ relationship to end.”
“Maybe it is.” My chest constricted painfully as I said the words.
“No point in dragging this little charade out anyway,” he said. As if to twist the knife, he added, “I can still get the PR boostEvery Dayneeds from our breakup.”
“We can’t be breaking up if we were never actually together!” I snapped, anger thrumming through my veins as I reached for the ring on my finger. “Here, take it!”
Finn put his hand out for the ring. “Good,” he said. “It was meant to be Layla’s anyway.”
Those words hit hardest of all, and I staggered back, disgust washing through me in waves. Iknewthere was something off about the ring.
Something he hadn’t been saying.
And after all this time of wearing that rock on my finger, learning it had been meant for his ex felt like the worst betrayal of all. I turned around and stormed out of the building, intent on getting back to our penthouse—his penthouse—to pack whatever I could carry of my stuff and get the hell away.
I never wanted to see Finn Lockhart again.
29
FINN
Itossed back and forth across my king bed, eyes closed, chasing sleep but never catching it. Not when every inhale reminded me that the sheets smelled like Sierra—that goddamn intoxicating concoction of peach blossoms and strawberries.
It was fucking brutal.
And it wasn’t even real. It couldn’t be, considering I’d had the housekeeper change the sheetstwicesince our fight at the screening last week. Since coming home to find her things packed up and Lord Meowington pacing moodily across her bed in the guest room. He’d been sleeping in there for days, looking at me with nothing but disdain every time I tried to shoo him out.
When I tried to give him his weekly bath, he actually bit me. And he managed to shred one of those little sweaters that Grace had insisted he needed. He loved those. Jesus, even my own cat was pissed at me for her leaving.
I flopped over and rubbed my eyes with the heels of my palms, hoping that would somehow stop the onslaught of images that racedthrough my mind. It was allSierra, Sierra, Sierraon repeat. Whenever I had no more work distractions to keep me occupied, she was all I could think about.
“Fuck,” I growled into the darkness. Was this what Mom did during her depression spirals—sit around and get upset about all the things that had gone wrong? Maybe, like me, she stayed up all night, counting all the red flags she’d missed like counting sheep, hoping to drift off to sleep.
I grumbled, flopping onto my other side, reaching for my phone on the nightstand. If I wasn’t going to get any sleep, I might as well get some work in. Clearing out emails was mindless enough that I could manage it running on barely any sleep, and at least it would make me feel productive. And it would remind me what really mattered—which wasnotmy relationship with Sierra.
She and I…we had never been more than a PR plan. There was always a termination date in place. So what if it happened a little earlier than either of us expected? It was nothing to lose sleep over.
Even if that was exactly what I was doing.
I opened my inbox, scanning my emails. I started responding to inquiries from Brenna and meeting requests and even arranged some work lunches with a couple of investors to discuss Hart of Gold’s next big production.
But when I came across an email from Jillian sent only five hours ago, I hesitated. I could never be sure what terrible things might await me in an email from her. That’s where this whole fake relationship nonsense had started, after all.
Curiosity got the better of me, and I opened the email to find a link to several articles. More reviews from the rough cut screening had rolled in late last night, and like most of the reviews that had come before, these all managed to slip in some pointed references to my breakupwith Sierra, the authors using it as clickbait to get their own articles trending.
I hadn’t realized at the time, but quite a few people had overheard snippets of our fight at the screening, and speculation was rampant. Clicks onEvery Dayarticles were through the roof now that Sierra and I were officially declared over. And coming off the back of Trey’s interview with Milli, it really looked like Sierra had been caught in a cheating scandal.
Sympathy poured in for me online and in the tabloids, which Jillian said was the best thing that could have happened leading up to the premiere and the theatrical release in mid-December.
Logically, I knew she was right. I wanted the clicks. I wanted the publicity. I wanted everyone talking aboutEvery Day Is Sunday. But was I wrong to wish that my private life could just be…private? For once?
The pearly sheen of sunrise lit up my window. I’d somehow scrolled away the last few hours. I gave up on the idea of sleep, got up, and showered in a bathroom that was still filled with Sierra’s things.
There were shampoos and moisturizers and makeup sponges in every cupboard. I made a mental note to have the housekeeper dispose of it all. I took my time getting dressed, doing my best to ignore Sierra’s socks that had gotten mixed up in my drawer.
Like some sort of divine distraction, my phone rang, and I surged toward it on the bed, surprised to see Liam’s name pop up. I was supposed to see my brothers later this afternoon. Maybe he was calling because he had to cancel?
