He skips the pleasantries and goes straight to yelling. "Brielle, you're on fire!"
"What?" I blink, bleary-eyed. "Did the building catch—"
"Not literally! You're trending. Have you checked your email? Your Instagram? The fucking news?"
I frown, shoving a handful of cereal into my mouth. "No. Why?"
"The whole world is losing its shit over Blackstock admitting that you're the love of his life."
I choke on the cereal. "He…what?"
"You seriously haven't seen his statement?" Joel asks, and then clears his throat. "After watching the love of my life get struck by a car, I felt helpless. But lashing out at Mr. Andrews, who was only trying to help, was wrong. I'm sincerely sorry for the damage I've caused, not only to Mr. Andrews and everyone at Blackstock Agency, but to Brielle Dabry, who deserves better. Brielle, I'm so fucking sorry, princess."
"What the fuck?" I whisper, stunned. Asher was there when I got hit by the car? He saw it? I never even questioned how he found out and ended up at the hospital with me. I just assumed Miles got ahold of him. But…he was there.
How? Why?
"You're big news right now," Joel says. "And the best part? You're no longer blacklisted! Blackstock sent recommendations out to every agency in New York early this morning. Nina wants to see you."
"Nina?" I blink again. "As in, Nina Livingston?"
Joel snorts. "No, the other one. Yes, that Nina. She wants you on our team. You should see the offer. It's—shit, Brielle, it's impressive."
I set the cereal box down, my hands suddenly unsteady. My fingers clamp down on the phone so hard the case makes a faint popping noise. For a second, I think I've cracked it, but it holds. I wish I could say the same for my brain.
I try to focus on what Joel is saying, but every word brings a fresh, stinging flash of memory…the inbox full of rejections, the way Asher smirked when he confirmed that he had me blackballed, the desperate, hungry look on his face when hemade his proposition. The way the pen rolled off the desk before he asked me to get it. The feel of the marker against my skin while he wrote his filth across it. The way he looked when he told me that making me hate him was his biggest regret.
Every time I try to escape, I end up back in his fucking office, reliving another memory.
Even now, Joel's voice comes through as if from the bottom of a chasm, warped by distance and the rush of blood in my ears. "Brielle? You there? Say something."
"Yeah, I'm here," I manage, but it sounds like a lie. "Sorry, just…processing."
Joel is too hyped to notice. "It's a six-figure starting package. Nina says you can name your own hours. This is it, Brie. You did it."
Except…I didn't do it. Asher did it. Joel wouldn't be on the phone right now if I weren't all over the news. If Asher hadn't sent a recommendation for me. He's not here, but he's still everywhere, haunting me.
I try to picture myself accepting the offer anyway. I try to imagine working for Nina, taking meetings, and managing talent. I try so fucking hard to picture it. But my brain won't cooperate.
Every fantasy ends in that corner office, with me on my knees, or bent over his desk, or pinned to the wall with his hand around my throat and his breath in my ear. It ends with him, always with him.
My heart starts thumping too hard, too fast. I can't breathe. I can't even pretend.
Joel is still talking. I hear him say "powerhouse" and "influencer" and "press conference" in rapid succession, and I feel like I'm about to vomit.
"Hey," he says, softer now. "You okay?"
I force my fingers to unclench, but they barely move. My breath comes in short, shallow bursts, like I've been running for years.
"I can't do it. I'm so sorry, but I can't do it," I say, and then hang up. I don't mean to, but I just…fucking can't do this. I can't.
I stare at the screen for a few seconds before launching the phone across the room. It ricochets off the arm of the couch, bouncing onto the rug before landing facedown. There's a split second of satisfaction—finally, something that doesn't bounce back—but a split second is all it lasts.
"Damn you, Asher," I whisper, grabbing the edge of the counter until my knuckles turn white. I want to scream, but nothing comes out. Not even a whimper. "Damn you."
The only thing worse than loving him is living in the shadow he leaves behind.
No, that's not true.
