Page 59 of The Rebel

Fuck me.

“Jenner,” Walter said, “would you like to do the honors? Since you’re the man who made this all possible, who negotiated a deal that’s more than fair for everyone.”

A deal?

That’s fair?

For everyone?

“I think it’s only right if the news comes from you,” Jenner said.

And when that news hit my ears less than ten seconds later, my fucking stomach dropped, and my entire world … came crashing down.

TWELVE

Rowan

Igripped both sides of the sink, staring at myself in the reflection of the mirror above it, positive that I was going to be sick. The little I’d put in my stomach this morning, which was just a small cup of black coffee, was threatening to rise at any second, the acid burning the back of my throat.

I couldn’t stand this feeling.

I’d rather have the flu than be nauseous.

And the most recent bout had lasted much longer than it ever had before, starting yesterday afternoon, when I’d gotten back to LA, the driver taking me straight to the office instead of my house, where I immediately stepped into a meeting that lasted far into the night.

A meeting that triggered a level of anxiety I hadn’t anticipated.

When I finally got home, I didn’t touch any wine.

I didn’t order the Thai food, like I’d planned to while I was on the plane, prior to knowing about the meeting.

I drew myself a bath instead and tried to find some Zen, unsuccessfully, followed by a night of tossing and turning until I gave up on sleep altogether and returned to the office.

It was there, a few hours ago, that I received Cooper’s text.

Cooper

Did you make it back to LA safely?

I had known he was going to reach out at some point. After all, we’d made plans to see each other tomorrow. Given the way he’d been communicating since I’d given him my number, I wasn’t surprised that I’d heard from him first thing.

But I just didn’t have it in me to respond.

Even though, periodically, I stared at his words a few times an hour. Each time, my heart rate increased, my throat tightened, and the nausea kicked up a gear.

What have I done?

I’d played with fire.

That was what I’d done.

I had known that from the moment I’d met him in the bar, his name instantly resonating the first time he’d said it. His face identical to the pictures I’d seen of him online at Spade Hotel openings and movie premieres, interacting with celebrities at galas and tournaments, always looking every bit the hotel royal that he was. But if I was being honest with myself, he was even handsomer in person, something that felt nearly impossible because he was sexy as hell on social media.

Cooper Spade.

What was I even thinking?

I released the sink and reached into my purse, digging around until my phone was in my hand, and after I unlocked the screen, I read his words again.

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