Ray shakes his head sadly. His expression pisses me off, so I find his nipple and give him a hard pinch.
“Mother bejeezus!” he yelps and crosses his arms to cover his chest. “I know we’re close, but not like that! Never like that!”
“Yes, yes. We all know your type is assholes, which is the complete opposite of me,” I quip back.
He rubs his nipples. “They’re not all assholes. The guy I met in L.A. last week seemed nice.”
“The one who flirted with every breathing being there, including me?”
“Well, that doesn’t change the fact that he was nice,” he says with a sniff. “And what about you? Don’t forget youronlyex was also a cheating asshole.”
“He’s your cheating asshole of an ex too,” I mutter, but zip my lips at Ray’s glare.
He hates being reminded of Andrew, the guy who played us both. I think he forgets that, despite the heartbreak that bastard put us through, without him, we wouldn’t have met and become best friends.
In fact, if I hadn’t met Ray, then life as I know it wouldn’t exist. He wouldn’t have scouted me to audition for the boy band his company was creating, MYTHS never would have blown up and dominated the charts for years before ourgroup breakup, and I wouldn’t have my current successful solo career.
So, I guess, in a way, I have to thank Andrew for all of this. Not that I’ll ever admit that out loud. That bastard can rot in my past, where he belongs.
I bump Ray with my shoulder and choke down the rest of the scrambled eggs. I’ll need the energy to hit the gym for the rest of the day. I’m attending New York Fashion Week on behalf of Ralph Lauren in a couple days, and after the hassle of the fitting, I doubt they’ll be happy if I suddenly pop a button the day of the event.
Ray chews his rubber eggs much more slowly, his eyes still on me. “Speaking of types…Rowan seems to fit yours exactly. Towers over you like a giant, broody enough for the both of you, and glowers like he’s about to break someone in half with his bare two hands. He probably could too. Easily.”
I laugh because Rowan is very much built like a tank. He’s the perfect size to hide behind while he bulldozes our way through a crowd of paps. But he’s more than a giant brute, as I learned yesterday.
“He’s kind, too. He bought us snacks. He didn’t have to do that,” I say, feeling this strange wave of protectiveness wash over me. The idea that anyone could take Rowan at face value and fear him unsettles my stomach.
I rub my belly, thinking maybe the unappealing breakfast is the cause of my weird state.
“For someone who practically grew up in a world of lies and deceit, you’re too trusting.”
“I joined MYTHS when I was twenty,” I interject.
“Exactly. Achildwho grew up in this cutthroat industry that’ll chew you alive and spit you out like yesterday’s trash. I don’t know how you would have survived without me,” he says dramatically.
“Alright, we get it. You’re the best agent turned manager there ever was. Your mentees won the lottery getting you as their guide,” I deadpan. My empty praise earns me a satisfied grin, and he claps me on the shoulder.
“Which is why you should listen to me when I say this: don’t get too attached. Some people’s actions are not genuine. Don’t forget what happened last time,” he says softly, like speaking quietly will make the memory sting less.
It doesn’t.
“I thought we agreed to erase that from our minds? Never to be spoken about again?”
There’s a look of pity in his eyes now, and that somehow pisses me off more than the gloating or goading. It reminds me of the unconcealed, pitiful glances those distant relatives of mine shot me at my parents’ funeral.
So-called blood relatives, I’d never seen before in my life, coming with half-hearted condolences and late birthday wishes. Nobody asks for their parents to die in a tragic car accident on their twenty-first birthday.
Legally able to drink and legally without any family? I’ll take a life of abstaining from alcohol, thank you very much. Not that I drank much anyway. Alcohol lost all its appeal the moment a drunk driver swerved onto the wrong side of the highway and hit my parents’ car head-on and killing them instantly.
They say death brings the worst out of people, and I had first-hand experience of that the day of the funeral. The people who claimed to be my family pretended to care in front of my face, but had no problem talking about me and my family behind my back.
The poor Tobitt boy. His parents had it coming to them. Even when they were younger, they were always doing shady things at all hours of the night. But now Milo’s alone, he’ll need family. And family helps each other out. Maybe he can introduce my son to…
And on went all the ways my connections would benefit them.
I had no delusions about their poorly hidden intent of trying to butter me up now that I’d made something of myself. They wanted to use me under the pretense of helping family.
None of them were there when our family was struggling with Mom’s hospital bills from when she’d collapsed years prior from exhaustion. Or when Dad had to take on all those extra shifts at work just to cover the bills.
