“He pawed you in front of photographers. Chased you like a mangy mutt at the auction.” His voice drops to a lethal growl. “And don’t even get me started on what he said he does to you during filming.”
That gets my attention. “What did he say?”
He looks at me now. Really looks at me.
He shakes his head. “It doesn’t matter.” Then, full force, “You’re. Not. Going. End. Of. Story.”
Now that he’s got it out of his system, it’s my turn to lose my fucking shit.
I poke his chest and lay into him and his thick, arrogant head.
“You don’t get to dictate who I’m on set with.”
He backs up, just a step. “Okay, okay.”
Rage pulses in my ears. “Remember how I said I need to be professional, Harrison?” I say, every word shaking. “This is me. Being professional. Whether you like it or not.”
Gabe returns then, worry edging his features, an enormous bowl of churros and chocolate dipping sauce in his hands. It’s clearly meant to be shared.
Well, too bad.
“What’s going on?” Gabe asks, frowning.
I snatch the enormous bowl out of his hands.
“Not a thing,” I snap, blowing past him and heading straight for my bedroom. “And if you don’t want to come tomorrow, Harrison Evans, good news. You don’t have to.”
I march down the hall and slam my bedroom door.
Hard.
I sit on the edge of the bed, anger surging through me like a runaway train.
I grab a churro, dunk it in the chocolate, and chew angrily. The nerve of him.
He has no idea what it’s like for me. I have to work with the man who publicly humiliated me, all while smiling through it. Pretending I’m deeply in love with a man whose face I want to punch every time I see it.
Someone call the Academy Awards.
I take another bite, so sick of crying today.
But the tears come anyway.
I grab yet another churro, basically chain-eating them, drowning my sorrows in cinnamon and sugar to keep myself from screaming. Because that’s how pissed off I am at Harrison Evans.
He doesn’t understand.
Nobody does.
And that’s the part no one warns you about.
Even in the most crowded room, I feel completely alone.
I pick up my phone, ready to call Kali and tell her to get me the hell out of here, when?—
Knock. Knock.
I sniffle. “Go away,” I bark.
