Page 82 of Breaking Hollywood

“Morning,” I say, my voice sounding rough.

I walk over to the railing and rest my arms against it, looking out at Hollywood.

I hear his glass clink against the glass tabletop as he picks it up, but he doesn’t say anything.

Even though I feel a little sick inside, I force myself to turn around and face him.

I notice now that his hair is damp, and he’s dressed smarter than he has been for the last couple of weeks. He’s been wearing athletic shorts, as they’re all he can get on over the boot, but today, he’s wearing black cargo shorts and a white short-sleeved shirt.

He must have bathed without my help. And he had to have taken the boot off to get the shorts on and then put it back on. Couldn’t have been easy for him to manage alone. Clearly, he didn’t want me helping him.

I rest my back against the railing. I see Gucci is sitting by the pool, her head tilted to the side, watching me.

I look back to Gabe, who definitely does not want to look at me. “Have you eaten?” I ask him. “I can make breakfast—”

“I’m fine.” Another drag of his cigarette. A tap to get the ash in the tray. Another drink of his liquor.

“Okay. Well, I was going to make coffee. Would you like—”

“I said, I’m fine.” His eyes snap up to mine.

Well, at least he’s looking at me now, but honestly, I wish he weren’t.

His eyes look hard and cold. A complete contrast to how he was looking at me in the dark of his room last night.

A chill coats my skin even though it’s warm. I rub my hands over my arms.

He looks away, drains his glass, and puts out his cigarette. Getting his crutches, he gets to his feet. “I have a few meetings today, so I’ll be out for most of the day.”

He never said anything yesterday about having meetings today.

A little voice whispers in my head, He wants to get away from you.

“Oh. Right. Do you need me to drive you?”

“No. I arranged for a driver to take me.” He starts to head for the door to go back inside.

“What should I do today then?”

He stops moving, the line of his shoulders taut. “Do whatever the fuck you want, Ava. You don’t have to check with me. I’m not your boyfriend.”

And there it is.

“But you are my boss.” I force my voice to sound stronger than I feel.

The silence that follows is intense and painful.

“Then, as your boss, I’m telling you to take the fucking day off,” he bites out.

Then, he’s gone, and I’m left standing here.

I go over to the table and pick the glass up.

Vodka.

I grab the ashtray and take that and the glass inside where I wash them out. I feed Gucci.

Then, I stand here, in his apartment, feeling hurt and a little lost, not really sure what to do with myself.