Page 4 of In Love with Lewis Prescott
“So...what are you going to do?”
My cousin’s hesitantly spoken words hit me straight in the chest. I’ve just filled her in on how I fired Vlad yesterday. As I sit in the corner of the same coffee shop I visited yesterday, I squint at the spreadsheet on my laptop screen.
“Honestly, Naomi, I have no freaking clue.” When I exhale, my shoulders fall forward, like I’ve been shoved over.
I barely got any sleep last night. I tossed and turned as a million worried thoughts flashed through my brain. I take another gulp of coffee, ashamed of how defeated I sound. I can’t remember the last time I felt this dejected—not even at work when I was regularly facing off with mansplaining jerks who doubted my abilities because I’m a young woman. Those moments were actually enlivening. I’d get this hit of adrenaline every time I verbally laid them out in a meeting or on a jobsite.
But this? This is something else entirely. This is my whole chest aching at the thought that I’ve screwed up the most precious thing my grandparents left our family.
I contemplate blurting to Naomi that I had a random interaction with a TV star yesterday at this very coffee shop, just to change the subject, but when I open my mouth, all that comes out is a soft croaking noise. I can’t even get the words out, I’m too upset.
As wild as it is that I literally bumped into Lewis Prescott, the shock of our brief encounter proved to be only a fleeting distraction. When I drove back to my grandparents’ house, the gravity of my situation lingered over me like the weight of a thousand cinder blocks. I couldn’t escape that sense of failure then, no matter what I tried to distract myself with. I still can’t.
While Naomi reassures me that it’ll all end up okay, I pull up the news on my laptop. I don’t have the heart to tell her that her well-intentioned words of encouragement are doing little to ease the dread pooling at the pit of my stomach. So instead I hum affirmations to her every few seconds while skimming my news feed. When I come across a photo of Lewis flashing double middle fingers, his mouth open and his face beet red like he’s mid–angry scream, I make a choking sound.
“You okay?” Naomi asks.
“Um, yeah...just gimme a sec.”
I quickly skim the text in the article.
It’s been a rough month for disgraced TV star Lewis Prescott. First, he gets canned from his hit show,The Best of It, after threatening the showrunner during a heated argument. Then his Victoria’s Secret model girlfriend breaks up with him that same night at Chateau Marmont, in full view of paparazzi.Comme c’est tragique!And how can we forget our favorite hunky veterinarian’s infamous meltdown that followed?
I click on the video clip beneath the paragraph, my mouth open in horror as I watch a dozen paparazzi shouting at him.
“How’s it feel to lose your girlfriend the same day you lost your job, big shot?”
“I heard you punched the showrunner because he called you ‘bimbo pretty boy.’ Is that true?”
“Lewis, come on! Stop and give us a photo, man. Just this once!”
I feel my pulse race as I watch them swarm him like a pack of wolves zeroing in on a deer. He tries to maneuver around them but is constantly stopping and backtracking as they push closer, shoving their bodies and their cameras in his space. It’s clear he’s about to lose his shit—his skin turns redder and redder by the second, and his jaw muscles look like they’re about to rip through his skin.
“Aww, come on, pretty boy,”someone taunts.“You can’t give us one picture? Answer one question?”
I wince as Lewis stops dead in his tracks and turns around to address whatever cruel jerk just goaded him.
“You want a picture, you fucking low-life pieces of shit?”His voice booms so loudly, I jerk back against the couch. I turn down the volume on my computer and look up, grateful that there’s no one else in hearing range.
Lewis’s hazel eyes are wide and wild with fury as he steps forward, causing a handful of the photographers to stumble back.“Here! Here’s your motherfucking picture!”He flips double middle fingers.“Fuck you all. Go to hell.”
My jaw falls to the floor as the video ends, and I skim the rest of the article.
Prescott hasn’t been seen since the night of his profanity-laden tirade. It’s a far cry from the intensely private actor’s cool, calm, and charming demeanor. He famously refuses to answer questions about his personal life, sometimes walking off midinterview whenever a reporter presses about his romantic life or his family. Looks like this rising star finally hit his tipping point. Is he gone forever? Is he keeping a low profile to quell all the bad press? Is he planning a comeback? Let us know what you think in the comments section! And if you spot the hunky star, snap a photo and tag us!
No wonder Lewis was so skittish when I ran into him yesterday. He’s being tailed by the paparazziandthe public. On top of that, gossip news is treating his personal and professional hardship like it’s an amusing clip from a reality show. God, what the hell is wrong with our culture that we think it’s okay to treat a human being like this in their lowest moment? I make a disgusted noise.
“You okay?”
The sound of Naomi’s voice jolts me. Oh right. I’m still on the phone with her.
“Um, yeah. Sorry. I got lost in my thoughts for a bit.”
“I know what you’re thinking, Harper,” she says. “Don’t you dare feel guilty about what happened with the remodel. It’s not your fault.”
I shove aside all thoughts of Lewis. As bad as I feel for him, I don’t even know the guy. I’ll probably never see him again. I refocus on the failed renovation and the fact that I still have no clue what to do.
“But itismy fault, Naomi. If I had been more careful—”
