But I do hate the way I’m feeling right now. How all of this has left a bitter taste in my mouth. Like a shot of tequila, but without the warm feeling and buzz inside.
I open my eyes, and let out an audible gasp.
Checking Account
$108,274.52 available
I rub my eyes to make sure they’re not deceiving me.
I’ve never seen that much money in my checking account in my life.
Sure, after Dad died and the inheritance money came through, I had a nice little bump in my UK account that I’ve put into savings for a downpayment on a house. But that figure. It blows my mind.
Yet, I can’t help but look at the money and feel cheap. Like I was an escort, paid not for sex or company, but to ensure I left afterward. I never would have taken the money if Connie and the documents weren’t so convincing.
This scandal will ruin Alexander’s career.
If it comes out that Alexander is gay, he will lose everything.
And she’d asked what would happen to me. Was I prepared for what would unfold if my identity was revealed? The trolls would tear me apart. The press would comb through every part of my life. They’d air all my dirty laundry for the world to see.
And then she delivered the ultimate blow.
Alexander was on board with it.
He wanted to pay me off. To make all of this go away. To give me one hundred thousand dollars so that I’d go along with whatever narrative they put out and never discuss it with anyone.
I wanted to speak to Alexander. To hear it directly from him. But Connie told me that wouldn’t be possible. Now all I have left from our time together is this hush money, his white T-shirt, the door hanger, and those poxy earbuds.
I pull my seatbelt on, and move the car into drive when the radio host stops me in my tracks.
“And now, the moment all you Morganites have been waiting for. The world premiere of Alexander Morgan’s brand-new single. The studio version of the live track that’s currently sitting at number one on Spotify,Stolen Moments.”
I pull out of the parking spot and work my way up San Vicente and onto Sunset Boulevard while the song plays out. My hands begin to burn from the tightness of my grip on the steering wheel. When I stop at a red light, a huge billboard of Alexander stares back at me, naked except for a pair of Hugo Boss briefs.
Really?
Are you fucking kidding me?
Is it going to be like this everywhere I go now?
I change the station, the song too painful to hear, and opt forthe soothing sounds of KOST 103.5 FM instead. Kelly Clarkson’sBehind These Hazel Eyesplays out.
“You’re right, Kelly. You’re right,” I say out loud, as I pull into the garage underneath my apartment. Alexander won’t get to see any tears I cry behind these hazel eyes.
“Who broke your heart?” Andrew shouts from the kitchen.
He’s rummaging through the shopping bags to see what I got while I relieve myself in the toilet. His voice is barely audible over the NBA Finals blaring in the background on the TV from the lounge.
“How long have you got?” I say, returning to him in the kitchen.
“So, how was London?” He tilts his head sideways as he pulls out the pringles can and helps himself to a handful.
When I finally got back last night, Andrew wasn’t home. He was staying over at his partner’s house, who he’s been with for nearly six months now, a new record for him. Andrew and I started out as friends with benefits when we first met two and a half years ago, but over the last eighteen months, our relationship has evolved. We moved in as flatmates a year ago and now he’s one of my closest friends.
“A roller coaster,” I say, grabbing two spoons from the utensil drawer and the Ben & Jerry’s cookie dough ice cream from the shopping bag.
“You want some?”
