They continued listening to the music until they reached her place, but he didn’t turn off the engine, and she didn’t motion to get out. The truck idled in front of her apartment before he pulled up in front of a hydrant and put his hazard lights on.
“Cierra, I lied to you.”
“About what?” she asked cautiously. She wasn’t particularly in the mood for any more big reveals.
“Do you want to know why I did what I did?”
“Yes.”
“Because I was jealous. I think you deserve to be treated like the ambitious, funny, talented, gorgeous woman that you are. And for the past few months, I’ve had to sit back and watch this . . . person . . . act like he has no clue who the fuck he’s had the privilege of being with. But you were happy. Seemed happy, at least. And you’re perfectly capable of making your own decisions, and it’s not on me to try and persuade you one way or the other. Because I respect you, I . . .” He shook his head.
“Erik . . .” Cierra began, her voice cracking. She had been wrong. She had been so, so wrong. All this time, she’d convinced herself she needed someone safe. Someone who fit this image of the ideal man for her in her deluded mind. How could she have been so blind? “That day we ran errands, riding around together, it changed things for me. I have feelings for you, and I think I have for a while now, but I was just so scared of repeating past mistakes.”
She looked to him for reassurance but couldn’t make it out. “I really like you, Erik. I think you feel the same way. Now that Julian is out of the picture and my contract is up with your Zelda and Elliot, I don’t know. Maybe we could give it a shot?”
“I never needed you to be ‘mine.’ I just wanted you in my life.” He dropped his eyes and tapped on the steering wheel. “But I don’t know if I can do that anymore.”
“What? What do you mean? I’m never talking to that man again, and I don’t work for your family anymore. We . . . we don’t have to pretend there’s nothing between us.”
“Cierra, I don’t want to be your second place. I’m not proud of the way I acted last night, and I need some time to process all of this. And I think you do, too.”
As much as she wanted to protest, she knew Erik was right.
“So, that’s it?”
He smiled sadly. “I’ll help you with your stuff.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
THE FOLLOWING EVENING, Cierra was lying face-up on her couch, occasionally taking sips of Diet Coke through a curly straw, while Lisa and Mia sat at the small table between the living room and kitchen making various noises of shock, agreement, andoh damnsaround the bluish glow from Lisa’s phone.
In the new world, it turned out that amateur sleuths on TikTok were disturbingly efficient at gathering personal details.Messy Cheffywas still trending, and her name was everywhere. A private chef, two hot guys fighting, one of the wealthiest female business leaders in the country, and all in a sultry setting. The scandal practically wrote itself.
Anyone within a third-degree relation to Cierra now knew about her (unknowing) affair with Julian. Her old sophomore teacher commented on the video:
She isn’t the kind of girl to do something like that . . .
Cierra wanted to die. Even her mom, who didn’t know what TikTok was, had messaged her after a younger cousin had sent her the video. All it said was:
We love you, honey. Are you all right?
She had found herself at the mercy of the algorithm. The video hadn’t been up twenty-four hours yet, but she had called her older sister and Mia to do what she couldn’t — assess the damage.
Lisa sat with a straight back in one of the dining room chairs. The tips of her manicured nails clicked as she scrolled, her eyebrows ranging from furrows to relaxed lines to happily surprised half-crescents. “Okay, so here’s the thing. It’s really notthatbad,” Lisa said.
“She’s right,” Mia added. She was sitting to Lisa’s left, taking sips of her iced vanilla coffee. “I even entered the termMessy Cheffyin my social media listening tool, and it’s reporting a seventy-five percent positive sentiment rating.”
Cierra lifted her head slightly. “They have tools for that?”
“They have AI for everything, sis,” Lisa said. “Here, listen to this:
‘Honestly, I feel so bad for #messycheffy. This situation is fucked. She obviously had no idea, look at her face!’
And it has way more likes than any of the . . . um . . . less supportive comments.”
“Totally,” Mia said. “And you’ve gained fifteen thousand followers since this whole thing started. As your friend and social media director, I have to say, it’s not the worst outcome.”
Cierra let out a gutturalughand got up from the couch. Even though it was almost six in the evening, she was wearing the same grimy T-shirt and pajama bottoms she had gone to sleep in. In her kitchen, she looked in her fridge and cabinets, which were void of anything edible outside of condiments and dry pasta. Roaring hunger assaulted her; she hadn’t eaten since the previous day, ever since she saw the video for the first time. She’d tried to get TikTok to take it down, but it was useless. Copies of the original were popping up like invasive weeds. Views were well into the millions at this point.
