8
JENNA
“It’s a bright, new, sunshiny day!” I tell the ceiling in the guest bedroom in the townhome I shared with Nathan.
My fiancé said he had to work when I got back with the food and didn’t want to eat dinner with me. And he took his plate into the den to work. I holed up in the guest bedroom to self-medicate with pasta and cheesecake to try to forget that my ex-freaking-fiancé faked his own death.
The lamplight illuminates the carnage from my emotional-support takeout therapy session.
There’s pasta glued to my chest. I pick at it and stumble around in the dark, looking for my bra.
After rummaging around in the piles on the floor, I put on some clothes from a few days ago. Yes, I’ve been spending a lot of time here. Not that I’d ever admit it to McCarthy.
A chime from my phone is loud enough to wake up Truman, who is apparently sleeping on my bra. The dachshund raises his head, the lace bra cup on his head sliding down like a hat as he yawns.
I grab the container of leftover mozzarella sticks and chew on my breakfast as I scroll through the fifty messages on my phone.
Lots of threats. Accusations that I am a liar and a cheater and a slut. All from unknown numbers.
Andreas must have started getting savvier after McCarthy freaked him out. Or it could be Brock.
Hmmm… Which ex is stalking me? Who knows? Who cares?
Delete, delete, delete.
“Praise Jesus there’s cheesecake left. Wine’s all gone, though. Boo.”
Nathan’s already left for the day.
He’s been either staying late at the office or leaving for work early recently.
Suspicious? No?
No.
Nathan loves me, and he’s working hard so that we can have a wonderful future and give our children the idyllic, stable childhood I never had.
“I’m ignoring you!” I say to McCarthy’s voice, which, for some reason, has taken up residence in my head. “You are miserable and want the rest of us to be miserable as well.”
The empty kitchen doesn’t respond.
“Not this girl! I’m here to make the world a better place! One reformed billionaire at a time.”
Yes,my life is a mess, but Iam actuallygood at my job. Sure, it may not seem it right now, what with McCarthy’s reputation technically being worse off than when I started this contract, but hey! Nowhere to go but up, right?
Today is a new day.
Though, McCarthy is, shall we say, less than thrilled when I show up at his penthouse at six in the morning.
“Goooood morning! Who’s ready to be the best version of himself today?”
He slams the door in my face.
I resume my knocking.
Truman barks because, unlike me, who is really reaching for that positive attitude, Truman, for some reason, is actually excited to see McCarthy.
“Just because he bought us dinner and breakfast and a midnight snack does not mean he’s someone you need to suck up to,” I hiss at the dog.
