Page 64 of Wide-Eyed
“There was no point defending myself.” Lyssa sighed. “No one believed that I didn’t know Paul had a wife after the way I’d acted. But I didn’t, I swear I didn’t. He said they were separated. And even if I did know—I’m not the married person. Why couldn’t people save that anger for Paul? Or the Hollywood guy?”
“What Hollywood guy?”
She waved a hand. “Some celeb cheated on his wife, and the internet decided I was the problem.”
“That doesn’t make any sense.”
She gave me a look. “That’s the internet.”
“Why didn’t you say on your livestream that you two were”—I searched for the right word—“an item.”
“Firstly,” she listed on her fingers. “I was too hurt to think clearly. Secondly, what would be the point? He’d already made me look like a hysterical shrew. And I did exactly what he counted on. I was unhinged. I threw his Glamie Award at his head.”
If only it had been two inches lower. She would have scalped him.
“People have a hard enough time believing women when they have model behavior,” Lyssa continued miserably. “Let alone unlikable ones like me. The internet demands perfect victims.”
“You’re not unlikable.”
She shrugged. “Clearly you haven’t been reading the comments.”
“I like you.”
The words came too easily. I could have kicked myself.
“For now,” she said darkly. Then she sighed. “Did you hear what Paul said before security took me away?”
I shook my head. “Everyone was talking, and your phone was pointed at the floor.”
“Yes. But he gave me his pocket square, do you remember?”
“He said wipe your eyes? Or something like that?”
“No. He said, ‘For your beat.’”
It took me a second to put this together. Then I winced.
“Paul had watched my ‘Get Ready with Me,’” Lyssa confirmed. “He was expecting me. And because I wore my feelings on my sleeve and confided in the internet, he easily outmaneuvered me. Like it was nothing. It barely filled a ten-minute block in his calendar.”
“What a cruel piece of shit.” Words that should have stayed in my head tumbled out. “Why would you ever drop your knickers for him?”
Lyssa scowled. “It was different at first. He obviously didn’t introduce himself by saying, ‘Hi, I’m Paul. I’m a terrible lay, and I’m going to steal your work and ruin your career. And I’m married.’”
“Even so,” I grumbled. The man wasn’t even objectively good-looking. And I knew he sucked in bed.
“Villains never say they’re villains, Mike. They pretend. Paul was so interested in my career. I thought … I really thought he saw potential in me.” Her voice broke and I white-knuckled the armchair. “I thought I was his protégé and he was interested in me because he knew I was going to be successful. I thought he had respect for me. And he did. Kind of. But not respect the way I wanted—he respected me the way a carnivore respects a steak. As a consumable.”
Even though she knew this, I thought I should say it. “That guy sucks, Lyssa.”
“Yeah.”
“You did nothing wrong.”
“Thanks.”
I could tell from the way she said it that she didn’t believe me. A fat tear rolled down her cheek. A little part of me died when I saw that, and it wouldn’t come back to life until I got to sink my fist into that Manhattan fucker’s face. It might take me a while. But sooner or later, I was going to fuck Paul up.
We sat in my lounge, lost in our thoughts. Lyssa pulled the fluffy blanket off the top of the couch and snuggled under it.
