Total pages in book: 84
Estimated words: 79040 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 395(@200wpm)___ 316(@250wpm)___ 263(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 79040 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 395(@200wpm)___ 316(@250wpm)___ 263(@300wpm)
“Know what?” Aubrey asks.
“Does she know who wrote the story you’re slapping her name on?”
The look on Aubrey’s face isn’t surprised like when Jameson mentioned an “overlap” in the time Vaughn spent dating Aubrey and me. This time, she looks guarded and worried. She looks like she’s wondering how I know she didn’t write the story, because she knows damn well she didn’t. Any points I was willing to award her go down the drain. “We don’t know what you’re talking about,” she says. Now she is hooking her arm in Vaughn’s and smiling. The expression seems full of plastic and fake things.
“I saw you two at the convention,” Vaughn says, ignoring my question and Aubrey’s reaction. All he cares about is his wounded pride. “How long was this going on, Charli? You and Jameson behind my back.”
I’m opening my mouth in absolute shock. Is he seriously going to try to turn himself into some sort of victim? He told me to stay home and brought another woman to an author’s convention to parade her around as the author of a book he stole from me. He was probably fucking her for months before that. All that, and he tries to turn things around on me?
Vaughn sniffs and his lips turn up in a sneer. “I always knew you were a slut. You show up in… that,” he says, gesturing to my costume. “And you just go fucking your way from one powerful man in publishing to another, don’t you? Because you always knew your book wasn’t good enough to stand on its own, didn’t you? You were always so goddamn unsure and insecure. It was exhausting. Why do you think I had to cheat?”
“Please,” Jameson says. His voice is a dangerous, low sound. It makes me picture some big predatory animal crouched in tall grass, waiting for its moment to strike. “Set him straight,” he says, looking at me.
I raise my eyebrows. I was expecting him to jump in and defend my honor. I think I wanted him to. But then I realize he probably feels like I deserve the chance to defend myself. My feelings for Jameson swell in a warm, pleasant rush. Most guys probably would just punch Vaughn right now, or they’d start yelling and insulting him. But Jameson is different. He wants me to grow from this, I think. He wants me to feel closure and have the chance to know I spoke my mind and faced my demons.
“You’re wrong,” I say. Okay, not exactly the best start, but my throat feels like it’s being gripped by an invisible hand and I’m trying not to speak in that “I’m about to cry any second out of pure nerves” crack in my voice. I take a few deep breaths and focus on the ugly look Vaughn is giving me–like I’m something he stepped on and wishes he could get off his shoe.
“Wrong?” He laughs. “That’s rich, coming from–”
“No,” I say. “It’s my turn to talk. You know, the worst part about dating you was that you actually made me feel like the one who was in the wrong. I thought I was being a bad girlfriend because you had to tell me ponytails made my ears look big, or that I looked ridiculous when I wore that blue dress I love, or that I was chewing like a cow and that’s why you made a scene and got us to leave dinner with your friends early. I thought it was my fault that I couldn’t lose more weight for you or find time to exercise like the girls you were always showing me on your phone. I thought you were trying to motivate me and I was the one in the wrong for letting it hurt my feelings.” I shake my head, because the memories alone are making suppressed emotions try to raise up from the depths. “But it was just you. The whole time it was only you. You couldn’t feel good about yourself without putting everyone else down, could you? Without putting me down? I was just some emotional punching bag to you, and I’m so glad I finally found somebody who appreciates me for me.” I put my arm around Jameson’s and realize I mean what I just said. I really am glad I found him, even if I am bitterly confused about what happens next with us.
Vaughn is just glaring, though. If any of my words really sank in, he’s not letting it show. He rolls his eyes at me and folds his arms. “Feel better, Charli? Been waiting to get that off your chest, have you?”
“I do. Yes. I feel much better.”
“Well, let me tell you–”
He’s cut off by a chorus of whoops and cheers.
I look, and I see four men in various skimpy costumes dance walking through the room toward us. One of them is doing congo fists in his little tiger speedo and mask. Another is pumping up the crowd, raising his arms and shouting something I can’t quite hear. A third cups his hands around his mouth. He’s in a police uniform with a leather vest and booty shorts. “Where’s the bad boy? We’re here to punish the bad boy!”