I stop breathing as my eyes scan the article.
Does billionaire Christian Devereaux have a new love interest? It would certainly seem so. After being spotted at his beloved theater last night with a gorgeous, albeit young, man on his arm, questions abound. The couple was seen sharing a kiss in front of the theater after the production. Sorry, ladies, it seems New York’s most eligible bachelor and property mogul has chosen a different path.
Sources tell us Christian has been out west securing a new property, and that’s where the two reportedly met.
Not much information could be found about the man on Devereaux’s arm. At least for now, twenty-two-year-old Zeke Hastings remains a mystery.
“WHO THE FUCK DID THIS?” I bellow, certainly waking Zeke up with my outburst.
“I don’t know, Tal, but how are we going to protect Zeke? Not to be outdone, other sources are catching on, and the articles are getting uglier. I’ve been telling you for years that you’re this city’s golden boy,” Eloise says. “People are protective of you, which means they’re going to rake him over the coals.”
I’m so tired of being woken up like this. First, the textsabout Derek after Zeke and I’s first night together, and nowthisbullshit. Every time we take a step forward, the universe is there trying to push us backward. Instead of taking it as some sign that we’re not supposed to be together, however, I’m choosing to believe it means we’re going to do incredible things together and we’re making some evil cosmic force nervous.
But seriously, can we not have one morning to bask in our happiness?
“Shit,El. They printed hisname.”
“And theyoutedyou,” she reminds me.
“I honestly don’t care about that. I outed myself when I kissed him in public, but this is something else entirely.”
Coffee. I need coffee.
Making my way into the kitchen, I see the playbill from last night on the counter.
Last night.
Dahlia.
Eloise starts on the plan of action.
“I’ll call Mom and Dad an?—”
“It was Dahlia,” I say, cutting her off.
“Dahlia? Are you sure? How does she even know you’re home?”
“We ran into her last night at the theater. She said she’d heard through the grapevine that I was going to be there.”
“What abitch.You know I hate her, right?”
“El, I’ll call you back, and thanks for letting me know.”
My hands shake as I go through the motions of starting the coffeemaker, so once I hit the button, I plant them on the counter, trying to collect myself before I make the next call.
But it’s no use.
I’m vibrating with rage as I hit the green button to connect.
It goes to Dahlia’s voicemail.
She’s either asleep or she’s avoiding me because she knows she fucked up.
I call again.
And again.
And again.
