“He said it was the best PR stunt of his career. That you’ve got Lucen in your pocket and me wrapped around your finger.”
Darren stiffened. The tension rolling off him was palpable. “Max said that to you?”
“No. Leah overheard him on the phone.”
He dragged a hand down his face, exhaling hard. “Christ. Of course he did. He lives for this kind of crap.” His eyes snapped back to hers, sharp. “Yes, Max suggested it. Yes, I went along with it. But not because of the role. It wasn’t a damn tactical decision, Emma. I said what I did because it was true. Because you wrote something brilliant, and I wanted you to know that. Yeah, maybe it was wrong to do it on stage. But in that moment, it felt bloody right.”
Emma folded her arms in front of her, fingers digging into muscle. She wanted to believe him.
But in her mind, she saw Max smirk from the sidelines while Darren made her fluster on stage. The thought was revolting.
And then all that flirting, all that attention—forher. Not some impossibly perfect model. Just plain old Emma Whitehart. Careful, prudent Emma, who never, ever let anyone close enough to hurt her. Who had thrown aside every layer of self-preservation for a man she’d admired for years, but known only for days.
One who spent his career convincing people to believe anything he wanted them to. And who she knew had cheated on someone in the past.
The words fought their way up, a final protective instinct taking over.
“But how am I supposed to tell what’s real?” she whispered.
She could barely breathe, but the words ripped out of her anyway.
“I mean, you’re an actor, Darren.”
He blinked, reeling back as if she’d hit him. Emma’s cheeks felt numb and pale. Like she had retreated into herself and wasn’t really there.
Then he stepped closer again, voice raw. “So what—you think because Leah heard Max running his mouth, everything between us is a hoax? The lunch, the elevator, opening up about Alana—was I acting then too?”
Her lips parted, but nothing came out. Everything tangled in her mind, and she couldn’t tell if it was him she didn’t trust—or herself.
He gave a single, sharp nod. “And the kiss?”
Emma’s breath hitched. A small voice inside her begged her to say something, anything, but fear drowned it out. Whispering cruelly that if she tore it apart herself, at least she was the one holding the pen.
Her silence seemed to shatter something within him. A cold edge crept into his voice. “Right. You know, I’ve shown you more of myself these past few days than I’ve shown anyone in years. I guess I should take it as a compliment that you think I’m that good of an actor.”
“I just—” Her voice broke, tears pressing behind her eyes. “I don’t know how to trust this.”
“That’s the problem, isn’t it?” His words came jagged and fierce. “You’d rather destroy it yourself than risk it being real.”
Her chest twisted hard. It was as if he’d plucked the thought straight out of her brain. And still, she couldn’t bring herself to answer.
Darren’s jaw clenched. He yanked her clothes out of his duffel and dropped them on the table with a thud that rang of finality.
“You know what, Emma? Figure it out. Or don’t. But I’m done.”
He slung the strap over his shoulder and strode past her. She flinched as the door slammed shut behind him.
The silence that followed roared in her ears. A crushing loneliness closed around her, stealing the breath from her lungs.
He was gone.
He wasgone.
And she’d been the one to drive him away.
Emma stood there under the harsh lights, unmoving. Staring at the pile of clothes until the room dissolved into a cold, blinding blur.
Chapter 37
