Page 108 of Undone By The Mountain Daddies

Chapter 28

Sienna

Iarrive at Beverly Hills in the early hours of the morning, just in time for sunrise. And it’s super disappointing. I’m not high enough, even at the top of the hills, for the colors to pop.

I watch it from my window, taking sips of coffee as I stretch out on my designer couch, the one imported all the way from Switzerland. I was twenty-two. Wanted all of my furniture to be one-of-a-kind. Like me.

I cringe at how insufferable I was.

Palm trees sway in the distance. Seeing those used to make me feel better. Today, not so much.

I used to associate the trees with this place when I was young, dreaming of the day I would get to drive down roads lined with them, like in the movies. Top down. Music up. Hair blowing in the wind.

Except I did that this morning as I drove up here, and in an attempt to make myself feel better, I now feel worse.

I feel further away from Grammy, from the guys, and from myself.

Being in this house isn’t helping. I cringe just looking around. There’s too much space. It’s highly unnecessary.

But I used to love the idea of a lot of space. Grammy and I didn’t have any back in Michigan. Our house was tiny. I couldn’t even dance in the kitchen without running into the table.

All this space is useless. I forgot about dancing, just like I forgot about Grammy the second I moved here permanently.

I pour the rest of my coffee down the sink, hit with another wave of sadness when I peer out into the kitchen and see only my reflection in the shiny cabinets. Nobody else. Just me. I used to enjoy my own company, up until two weeks ago.

I drag myself upstairs. I have a big day ahead of me, and I need to spend some time prepping.

I take a shower, lathering my hair with my favorite shampoo. I used to love the smell of it, but now it just smells way too sweet to me.

I shut my eyes and rinse my hair and imagine I’m back in the mountains again, smelling the boy’s shaving cream. I’m stepping out of the bathroom, and Cash is there looking like a god in the hallway.

When I open my eyes, disappointment crashes over me.

I untwist my wet hair from the towel and blitz it with the hair dryer. I should probably do something with it, run a curling iron through the ends—make myself somewhat presentable. But it feels like too much effort. I’ve got no energy left in the tank. The anxiety has zapped it all.

I apply BB cream to my face, some blush, bronzer, and call it a day. My favorite mascara is sitting on the counter, calling my name. But I really can’t be bothered with doing my lashes.

Besides, the whole world has already seen me at my worst, makeup-free, hair a complete mess. I’m here to do something about the career I’m still on the fence about keeping. I’m not here to model for Vogue.

I secure my hair back with a clip and throw on a black matching knit top and pants. It’s respectable. I might be able to salvage some of my dignity in it, since it shows very little of my body.

Not like wearing modest clothing is going to make much of a difference.

The entire world has already seen my ass.

I decide I can do better than a boring black outfit. Trying to cover things up and make amends will only make things worse because it shows that I’m bothered.

And if there’s one thing worse than having your ass out, it’s being embarrassed.

Own it, Sienna.

I rifle through my closet and pick out something that feels more like me.

I find a white mini skirt and pair it with some killer stiletto boots. Because if I’m actually doing this, resigning for good, I’m making a statement and going out with a bang.

I wear black tights under the skirt and, for the top, choose a black turtleneck sweater to match the knee-high boots.

I grab my favorite bag, do one final check in the full-length mirror, and jump into the Bentley.