“I have to go,” I say.
“Call me or text me. Anytime. I mean it.”
I end the call and stare at my laptop. The tile floor is cold. I've been sitting here so long my legs have gone numb.
A notification appears from a girl I barely know from college:
Congrats on landing the billionaire. Some girls have all the luck
My chest feels like someone's standing on it.
Now a notification from Evan.
Voice memo. I play it.
“Holly, I just saw. We'll handle this.”
His voice is tight. Controlled.
Handle.
I play it again.
Handle. Like I'm a crisis, not a person.
I don't respond.
Three more voice memos arrive. I don't listen to them.
Finally, I record one back:
“Hey. I can't—I know you want to talk, but I'm still trying to process everything. Was this planned? Samantha wanted you to stop making 'unapproachable ice king' your brand. Devin needed you to seem like a human being instead of a board meeting in a suit. And now the headlines are saying exactly that. 'Finally stable.' 'Ready to lead.' It's all working out perfectly for you.”
Send.
His text arrives within seconds:
Evan
The PR benefits aren't why I care about you
How can either of us know for sure? When I'm so ... convenient?
I'm coming over
Don't
Holly please
I need space. I need to think.
Think about what? You can't believe I orchestrated this.
I don't think you orchestrated it. But you're benefiting from it.
That's not fair
At least you look beautiful in the photo.
