Goodness, how much time have we wasted here? If I’m late for my meeting because of this shit sack, I’ll come back and make him eat his belt.
I cross my arms over my now sticky shirt and say, “The coffee was clearly cold, because if it hadn’t been, I would’ve felt it, considering you splashed it right onto my white shirt.”
“The meeting is in forty minutes, and this moron had to dirty your outfit! Mr. Williams hates tardiness. He’s gonna murder me if we’re late!” He turns to the customer and cracks his joints. “You’re dead meat.”
Okay, now things are about to escalate.
Dixon points his thumb back at me while addressing the rude old man. “Do you have a single clue who he is? Hmm? He’s an internationally renowned author, and you had the audacity to ruin a shirt Ipersonallychose for him? Do you have a death wish?”
I grab Dixon’s arm and attempt to drag him out of the coffee shop. “Dude, stop it!”
“What are you doing? I’m not done teaching this dog a lesson!” he grumbles, fighting against my grip.
I wrote each and every single one of my novels under a pen name, so Dixon revealing my identity in a coffee shop will only cause trouble for me. I can’t let him ramble any longer.
“Do you realize you’re making everything worse? Get your ass out of here!”
“Huh? Why? He deserves to be chased out!”
I widen my eyes and press my lips into a thin line, silently warning him to shut up and follow me.
It takes him a second, then his eyes spark with mischief. “Fine, I get it, but just one last thing.”
“Oh my god, Dix, please don’t.” I facepalm myself, silently praying for a way out of this mess. “You’re gonna get us in trouble.”
“Hey, you old pig!” he calls out, loud enough for everyone to hear. “When you make a grave mistake, you’re supposed to apologize!”
The old man’s face contorts in a mixture of rage and shame, but we can’t admire it for long because Dixon grabs my arm and leads us out of the coffee shop.
Thankfully, the car is parked right in front of the building. I urge Dixon to get in and drive us to RTStar before we actually end up being late. He settles behind the steering wheel while I climb into the passenger seat. As he’s about to turn on the ignition, his phone starts ringing.
“It’s Jason,” he points out. “He couldn’t reach you, so he called me instead.”
I pull my phone out of my back pocket. Four missed calls. It’s not as much as I expected, but still, he doesn’t have to call every second of the day to keep track of me.
Jason hasn’t changed much in the last eight years. He’s still as cruelly handsome and as possessive as he used to be. After the day I… Anyway, I packed my stuff from the apartment in Seattle and moved to New York with him.
I couldn’t bear to stay alone. One second in my thoughts sent me spiraling, tumbling down the abyss of guilt and self-hatred. I’m better now. I don’t hate my guts anymore. Okay, that’s maybe not entirely true, but it’s not a lie either. At least, I’m happier. I moved on a long time ago, and I’m completely fine with what I did.
Not everything was horrible after that day. As a matter of fact, I signed my first publishing contract with RTStar around the same time. I had been working in the agency part-time for five years until Mr. Williams, the CEO, offered me a full-time job as an editor.
I turned him down, of course. My dream had been to become an author, and if I worked full-time, I wouldn’t have been able to work on my novels and finish my degree. So when he told me he wanted to sign me as one of his authors, I obviously agreed.
Dixon became my manager a few days after I signed with RTStar as a full-fledged author. He was overjoyed by the promotion and wanted to treat me to an expensive steak. I felt bad revealing I’m vegan, but then he told me that the only thing that mattered was that we celebrate together–not what we ate.
My life is pretty comfortable. I’m doing great financially, and I spend my days doing everything I want. In seven years, I wrote and published fifteen international bestsellers. Good job, me!
Nothing else changed. My life stayed pretty much the same. Like a cycle: I write, they sell out; after work, I find myself a hot man and get laid.
Well, until recently I did. Since I started dating Rachel Smith, a Hollywood actress, I refrain from sleeping around out of respect for her. We agreed to be in a relationship for our mutual interests.
She doesn’t know I’m gay and is only dating me to piss off her ex-boyfriend, which she made crystal clear. It sounds silly, but I don’t care, since it keeps nosy people from digging into my life and finding out I like to suck dick like a fucking lollipop.
“Aren’t you gonna call him back?” Dixon asks, taking a left turn.
I massage my temple. “No. He needs to learn the definition of personal space and patience.”
“Alright.”
