I look away because I suddenly feelvery sober.
Very alert.
Ever vigilant.
And the warning bells are sounding.
The elevator doors close, taking me to the top floor with Anna and Johnny.
“Well, it was nice meeting you guys,” I say as the doors open.
Anna takes my hand and walks out with me. “I’m sorry, Dee. I know how hard this is, but maybe it’s for the best, you know? But I’m so glad I got to meet you,” Anna says.
“Yeah, same goes. You’re a stellar bird,” Johnny states, taking Anna’s hand and walking ahead of me toward their penthouse suite.
“Thanks. It was lovely spending time with you all…” I trail off, knowing they probably can’t hear me as I’m mumbling while heading toward my suite. I fumble around in my clutch to find my door keycard. Swiping it, I push on the door, but as I do, the elevator chimes. Colt, Jessi, Dingo, and Sia all walk out. I quickly step into the suite and turn around in time to see them walk past my door. Colt doesn’t acknowledge me, but Jessi does, and she smirks, giving me a look that reeks of, ‘I won.’
Colt’s laughing as he stumbles, and Jessi grabs him by his tank top. As I pop my head around, I watch her yanking him through the door and slamming it behind them.
And there goes Colter Slade.
The guy who taught me to be spontaneous and to live a little.
In and out of my life in the blink of an eye.
The tap dancers in my stomach are going wild as a wave of nausea grips me. I close the door and rush to the ensuite. Clutching the bowl, I barely have time to take a breath before everything in my stomach comes rushing up.
I gag, dry-heaving as fresh tears slip down my face. I’ve clearly had way too much to drink. I mean, I drink—but usually cocktails or champagne, never this hard stuff. And now, I feel utterly wretched. Deservedly so.
Another violent spasm wracks my body, forcing me to lurch forward again. My knees dig into the freezing tile, a dull ache settling in from today’s mess with the minions. My breath shudders, and then it happens—I break.
And I mean,really break.
This isn’t just regret.
This is a pit of despair.
Deeper than when Joseph kicked me to the curb.
This feels like drowning, a weight shackled to my ankles, dragging me under, no matter how hard I fight to surface.
What a massive mistake this was.
Not only have I been photographed with rock stars by the paparazzi, but I also know, deep in my heart, how much I will have disappointed my father. How much hurt he will be feeling right now. How much my selfishness will have affected him personally and his business.
Maybe this is for the best?
After I use the bathroom, I end up crawling into a ball on the tiled floor next to the bowl. While dozing in and out of sleep,another wave of nausea hits, and I’m heaving into the bowl again.
When I eventually wake, the sun is shining through the window, but it’s very early around sunrise. I slowly stand, feeling like someone has run me over about seventeen times with a truck, then reversed over me one more time for good measure.
Standing, I gaze into the mirror. I am taken aback by the reflection staring back at me. I’m pale, eyeliner and mascara have run down my cheeks. And my hair? Well, let’s not go there.
Taking off my ripped clothes and trusty Converse sneakers, I get into the shower and try to wash away the mess of the past forty-eight hours. I start with my hair and face, scrubbing them into submission, stripping away any remnants of the rock chick they were trying to turn me into. The warm liquid soothes my sore body. I am aching from yesterday’s fall and the minor beating thoseevil minionsgave me. Sleeping on the tile floor probably didn’t help those pains, either.
Once finished, I step out of the shower and think about what I can do with my life. Obviously, I need to find somewhere to live. I can’t stay here forever, especially with the memory of Colt on the couch and in the bed, not to mention the penthouse suite next door. Everything’s a reminder of him, and I need to get away from it.
While drying myself with the fluffy bath towel, I decide to stay with my parents until I can find something of my own. I don’t have any girlfriends I can share a house with. In fact, I don’t have any friends at all. None of those socialite nasties could be classed as any sort of anything.
