“What do you mean, stay here?”
He removed a credit card—no, a key card, a room key—from the wallet and laid it on the table between us. “Until I get back. It’s a very nice room.”
“I’m not staying in your room.”
“Darling, I don’t want to fight.”
“I don’t have to care what you want anymore.” My hearthammered. This was my moment to find my voice and use it. “I trusted you and you used me. It won’t happen again.”
“Could we have a little less drama, please? You’re acting as though I held you captive in my basement. You’re hardly the innocent victim here. I took an interest in you. Ill-advised, perhaps. But I’m not responsible for your romantic disappointment.”
“You abused your position to take advantage of me.”
“You got what you wanted. You were begging for it.”
“I wanted to be a writer.”
“Then be a writer.” He sipped his whiskey. “Or be the derivative second-rate talent you were shaping up to be. It’s not my fault you can’t produce an authentic thought without me.”
“You stole from me to write your book. You self-absorbed, narcissist hack.”
“I gave you your fifteen minutes of fame. I had no idea you’d be so bitter about it. Have another drink. It will put you in a better mood.”
“You’re not listening to me.” He had never listened. He never really cared. He took two years from me I could never get back. I wasn’t giving him another minute. “I’m done. We’re through.”
“You won’t get better from Diggs.”
I threw my wine in his face.
At the bar, Tim stood. There were audible gasps around us. “Oh, I say.” “Here, now.” The server hurried toward us, threading between tables.
“Cliché until the end.” Gray wiped his face with a napkin. “I suppose it was too much to hope for some originality from you.”
I grabbed the oyster plate and upended it in his lap.
The melting slush spattered and spilled, soaking his pants. Empty shells scattered and slid, bouncing on the carpet at my feet.
“You vicious little bitch!” Gray started up from the banquette, dripping. Furious.
But Tim was in the way, calm and solid. “All done here?”
“Yes,” I said, and swept out.
—
I was on fire.
“Well done,” Tim said as we drove home.
I glowed. “I fought the dragon.”
“I couldn’t hear what you said. But you crushed him.”
“I doubt it. He’s kind of uncrushable.”
“Like a cockroach.”
I snort-laughed at the image of Gray. Not a dragon. A bug. “Exactly. But it was epic. I was awesome. I didn’t freeze. I finally told him off. Plus, he won’t have time to eat. He’ll have to change clothes before the signing.” Gray hated missing meals, I remembered with satisfaction.
