I quickly change back into my work clothes and pay for the dress and shoes before heading back to the office. The moment I step foot through the door, my phone rings with Colton’s ringtone.
“Hello, Mr. B,” I tease, earning me a goodhearted laugh from the man who’s stolen my heart. I haven’t told him that yet, but when he gets back, I have a special dinner planned.
“Violet, love,” he greets. “I have my flight booked; I should be landing at about seven.” The noise on the other end of the line is jarring, but his voice cuts through the ruckus. “I’m going to have to go, but I’ll see you tonight.”
“I can’t wait,” I reply, but the line is dead before I can get the words out. My heart sinks at the thought of him with another girl. I told him to take the contract, so I can’t blame him, but even with all his reassurances, my negative mindset takes hold of me and holds me hostage.
I get to my desk and set down my shopping when Clarissa calls to me from her office. Before I make my way in, I grab my notepad and pen and step over the threshold to find Blythe sitting in one of two wingback chairs that face my boss’s desk.
“Blythe, hi.” I smile over at Colton’s agent, but she only offers a slight nod in greeting. Something is wrong. My stomach flip-flops wildly, and I wonder what’s happened because both women look like they’ve swallowed a lemon.
“We have a problem,” Clarissa announces. “Sit.” She doesn’t gesture to the chair, but I take it anyway with worry creasing my brows. “Colton is in LA, he’s on his way back, and we needed to explain the situation to you before you see him.”
“Okay,” I drag the word out, but something tells me my worst fear has come to pass. They look at each other, anxiety painted across both women’s expressions. “I’m a big girl, just tell me.”
“The producers have made sure to build this brand from the ground up. As you know, Colton is the face, the man of the line,” Blythe intones coolly, but there’s a hint of something I can’t quite put my finger on.
“Yes, I know.”
I don’t feel comfortable. I’m out of my element, and knowing that something is going on that Colton didn’t tell me about doesn’t help calm me. Not right now.
“They’ve found him a girlfriend,” Blythe utters the words that have my stomach bottoming out, falling like a lead weight at my feet. Every fear, every concern I had, has come to life, and I don’t even know what she looks like.
“And… I mean, I’m with him. We’ve made it official.”
“Not publicly.”
“But what if we told them I’m—”
This time, Blythe looks at me with her cold stare, and I know I’m stupid for even suggesting I be the one they use for the show. I’m not made for television.
“I’m not the bitch in this scenario, but I have to be honest, Violet,” Blythe divulges, shifting in her chair to face me fully. “We need this business. They’re both coming in for an interview, and you’ll need to be the one to talk to them.”
“That’s why you told me.” The moment I realize it, my heart sinks along with every bit of confidence I had riding on my relationship with Colton. We didn’t talk about what we were. We didn’t make it official, but the time I spent with him meant something to me, and I thought it meant something to him.
“Fine.” I shrug, trying not to show the pain in my eyes. I blink back the tears and focus on my notepad. “Can I be excused now?” I’m not looking at my boss, but I can feel her stare on me.
“Yes, of course.” At the sound of her voice, I shoot up and race out of the office, making a beeline for the bathroom. Once I’m locked in a stall, I sit my butt on the toilet seat and cry. All the years of agony I’ve lived with locked behind my smiles tumble free, and I can’t stop the emotion from pouring down my face.
I no longer care about my makeup. I don’t have an inkling toward appearances. My chest is tight as sobs wrack through me, attacking me with violent shots right to my heart.
My hands tremble as I swipe at my cheeks, but the more I try to clear my face of the salty emotion, more fall from my eyes. I’ve been hurt before, I’ve been broken, but that was when I was a teenager. Surely, I’m stronger. I’m all grown up, an adult.
Aren’t grownups meant to be less susceptible to pain and heartache?
I don’t know why I’m crying for a man who didn’t even message me to let me know what happened. But I allow myself to expel every bit of pain that attacks me.