The Rom Con(75)

“For what?” I ask, genuinely confused.

Jack’s jaw tics, and Cynthia holds eye contact with him for another beat before turning to me. “On this new relationship, of course! Jack, you seem to have somehow won over one of my star writers. Well done.” Though her tone sounds more accusatory than congratulatory.

He dips his head in acknowledgment. “I’m a lucky man. Now if only I could figure out how to win her over professionally,” he says in a flippant, half-teasing but not-really-teasing way. “Brawler could use more strong female voices, and I’m not above using all the tools at my disposal to poach her away.”

I goggle at him like gargoyle horns have just sprouted from his forehead. Me, work at Brawler? Is he high?

Cynthia seems a little shell-shocked herself. She looks from him to me, her expression concerned. “Is this true? Are you considering leaving?”

“He’s just kidding. I’m very happy at Siren,” I assure her firmly, beaming him a death glare.

“Are you, though?” Jack drawls lazily. He’s a serial killer about to strike; a cat batting around a mouse before devouring it whole. “Because I seem to remember you saying something about the work feeling unimportant. Or was it uninspired?” He snaps his fingers. “Wait, I remember now. You said it wasn’t exactly changing anyone’s life. That you were killing time until you could write something that matters. Yeah, that was definitely it.”

This must be what it feels like just before you drop dead of a heart attack: dizzy and short of breath, limbs numb, blood pulsing in your ears while a dull, heavy ache slowly expands to fill every space from which you might draw air. I can’t think or speak or even move. Anger and regret tangle around my heart, squeezing until I think it might rupture under the strain.

But I think what hurts the most is that he took something personal between us—something I trusted him with, something that was ours—and twisted it into something ugly. Something meant to hurt me. Despite what I’ve done to deserve his vitriol, I can’t believe he would take things this far.

“How could you.” It comes out in a hoarse whisper. I brush away a tear that’s managed to break through, and I watch his face change, remorse finally making a long-overdue appearance.

I can feel everyone’s eyes on me but I can’t bear to look at them, to see their stunned expressions or the judgment in their eyes. I can’t face Cynthia, or Nat and Gabriel, or anyone else here.

So I turn and rush out.

I hear his voice calling my name and telling me to wait but I don’t stop, pushing through the crowd and tearing out of the ballroom like my feet are on fire. I’ve almost made it to the elevator when his hand grasps my elbow. “You don’t get to run away from me,” he says roughly, out of breath.

“Oh really, so I should stick around for some more abuse? Thanks but no thanks.” I wrestle past him to the elevator and stab the DOWN button a couple of times, willing it to arrive and whisk me away from this nightmare I can’t seem to wake up from.

“You know, I’m pretty sure that in this situation, I’m the one who gets to act betrayed, not you.”

I whip around. “So you’re the innocent victim and I’m the bad guy, do I have that right? Despite the fact that I’m not the one who just humiliated you in front of your boss, your coworkers, and your friends. In fact, I never did anything to you at all. But congratulations Jack, you got what you wanted. I likely won’t have a job tomorrow, but you can rest easy knowing you got your revenge.” I punch the button a few more times for good measure while hot tears blur my vision.

“You feel humiliated? Well, join the fucking club, Cassidy. All those people in there have been laughing at me behind my back for God knows how long, and you brought me here tonight so they could do it in person!” His anger is a visceral thing; it’s rolling off him like radioactive waves.

“That is not why I brought you here.” He snorts in derision. “Jack, I don’t know what you think you know—”

“Here’s what I know,” he cuts me off. “You’ve been lying to me since the day we met. I have no idea who you are or if anything you’ve told me is true. I don’t even know if this relationship was ever real.”

“It was real,” I insist, to myself as much as him. “It is real.” It’s the most real relationship I’ve ever had.

“You’ll forgive me if your word doesn’t mean much right now.” He palms the back of his neck, twisting away from me to glance back at the ballroom. “I don’t understand why you’re even out here right now. I just gave you everything you needed for your story. That is what you were looking for, wasn’t it? For me to act like some sort of ignorant asshole? Some chauvinistic caveman?”

I feel sick. “Who told you?” I whisper.

He looks incredulous. “That’s it, that’s what you have to say to me? Who told me?”

“No, I’m . . .” My head is spinning and I’m having trouble forming cohesive thoughts. I’m in the eye of the storm, an emotional tornado that’s plucked me off the ground and spit me high into the air. “No, that’s not all I have to say.” My phone is going crazy in my purse, but I ignore it.

His eyes flash with temper. “So you’re not going to bother denying it, then? No more lies?”