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I want to run after him.

Instead, I return to the lounge on unsteady legs, feeling like something inside me just died.

Beth, Jim and Six all sit there, scrolling through their phones. We’ve traveled together for two weeks straight but Josh was the part that made me happy. Josh was the part that felt like home.

When our flight boards, Six grabs his blanket and spreads it over the two of us. Beneath it, he reaches for my hand. I suspect I’ve got about thirty seconds before he tries to move it to his dick. And I can’t do this, not for another moment.

“Hey,” he says. “I know we still need to talk.”

I pull my hand away and reach for the headphones. “No, we don’t. Whatever this was, it is definitely over.”

I honestly can’t believe I ever dated him in the first place.

PART V

HOME

“It’s almost too broad a topic for just one book.”

From Mainland US: Adequate Medical Care and Lots to See

32

DREW

I wake to sun streaming through the floor-to-ceiling windows of the cottage I’m renting at the Chateau Marmont. I have fifteen missed calls from Davis. Not a single one from Josh.

I shuffle out of bed only to draw the drapes closed, and then I return, flopping face down on the mattress.

I’m not sure how to go back to my regular life. I’m not sure what made my feet move before. I thought I knew. I thought I wanted to be vindicated, that I wanted to make more money than my stepfather, have more fame and clout than the whole family put together, and possibly use it to ruin my stepfather’s firm. But now it just seems…petty. Now it just seems like I’ve been fueling myself with rage because I had nothing else to drag me out of bed in the morning.

I get up long enough to order an Hermès scarf for Beth. I have it hand delivered along with a note thanking her for the trip and telling her how much I enjoyed spending time with her. I apologize, too, for the way things worked out with Six. It must have been pretty clear it was over on the way home, but there is a small part of me that wants to make sure she knows, that wants to make sure Josh knows, though it will change absolutely nothing. How could it? I can’t jump from one brother to the next, and Josh cares too much about his mom to throw that kind of grenade into the middle of the family, even if he was staying here—which he is not.

Eventually, I accept the calls from Davis, as it’s only a matter of time before he shows up at my door—he knows this is the only place I stay in LA—and the next morning I find myself walking into my publicist’s conference room for a strategy meeting I don’t want to be at.

I hate my publicist’s big, soulless office complex, all gray cement block and glass. The first-floor room looks as if it could survive a bomb blast, though I wouldn’t want it to. Same goes for the expressionless people sitting around the table.

“What the hell did you do to your hair?” Davis demands, as if the room isn’t full of officious strangers in suits, listening avidly.

Two weeks ago, I’d have felt like I needed to apologize, as if it was someone else’s hair I cut without permission. Now I’m just irritated. “It’s called a haircut, Davis. Are you unfamiliar with the term? Have one of your suited minions look it up for you.”

Stephanie, the publicist, frowns at me and puts a hand on his shoulder. She often winds up playing peacemaker, but he’s the one she will defer to in the end. “Settle down. Maybe this is good. We’re showing the new, more serious side of her. It can be like she’s turned over a new leaf.”

Davis slumps in his chair. “No one will want to fuck the more serious side of her, however.”

I imagine Josh hearing this—I suspect he’d be out of his chair. What did he say to that surf instructor? Come repeat that on shore, asshole. I’d love to hear him say that to Davis.

“I looked like this when you met me,” I remind him, taking a seat at the far end of the table. They both blink as if they’d forgotten I had a voice at all. “You thought I was pretty enough then.”

“But were you famous then?” he asks. “No, you were not.”

“I still think we should say she went to rehab,” Stephanie tells him. “No one is going to believe there weren’t illegal substances involved.”

Davis shakes his head. “There are too many photos of her in Hawaii. Let’s just stipulate that it isn’t discussed in interviews and release a statement implying she was at rehab without stating it outright. Just refer to some much-needed time away. Everyone will assume it’s rehab, she apologizes, people move on.”

I sit back, listening to them discuss me as if I’m not in the room. As if I’m an entity rather than a person. How long has it been like this and why did I allow it? I suppose because when it started, I just felt lucky and I didn’t want to jinx it. And what’s different today is that I no longer feel lucky. I don’t care quite so much if I jinx it.

“I’m not apologizing,” I say flatly. “And I’m not letting anyone imply I’m on drugs.”