Page 164 of The Influencer

“I don’t—” I can’t fucking breathe. “Want to—anymore—” I pant.

“What happened?” he asks in a very demanding tone that I really like, but also makes me want to sob again.

“Gideon said I was too much drama and Adam asked him to tell me not to come because it would be better for you that way. What did you say to him, Asher?”

“Hey, listen to me. It’s gonna be okay. Don’t cry, please. Meet me at the marina in two hours. I’ll talk to Adam.”

“No,” I say. “I can’t be out in public like this. Besides, apparently everybody fucking hates me, and no thanks.”

“Please, Jade.”

I make myself swallow the overwhelming amount of saliva in my mouth and choke out, “I’ve spent most of my life being unaccepted. Unacceptable, even. And fine. Whatever. People are fucking assholes. But I don’t have to deal with that anymore,” I choke. “I created an entire existence where I don’t have to hear how disgusting and embarrassing I am. How much of a freak or a drama queen I am. He never even gave me a chance, Asher?—”

“I said I would talk to him?—”

“You already did that.”

“Jade—”

“I have to go.”

I click out of the call and squat down, putting my face in my hands and sobbing. Not to get too deep, but right now, I can’t help but notice I’m crying even harder than I did after my last night in New York—the night where I was paid to give a man a blow job and he ended up raping me in a bathroom stall in the East Village.

I swear to fucking God, that hurt less than this.

46

asher

“Why aren’t you dressed? We gotta leave in like ten.”

“Get in here and have a seat.”

Adam is holding onto one side of the guest bedroom doorframe, leaning into the room, already dressed, minus his jacket. I’m sitting on the bed, my phone at my side, wearing what I woke up in—a Flames t-shirt and flannel pants. I haven’t shaved, I haven’t made one move toward my garment bag because I’m not fucking going anywhere until I find out what the fuck happened to Jade today.

“Seriously, Ash, we gotta go, the boat?—”

“I don’t give a fuck about the boat. Sit.” I point to the bench at the foot of the bed.

Adam doesn’t have a seat, but he does come into the room, leaning back against the wall to face me.

I have a headache that I can’t be sure isn’t a migraine, but I am sure what caused it—my complete and total breakdown at his kitchen table last night when I realized everything I was putting at risk and everything I was about to lose.

“What?” he snaps impatiently. “Make it quick.”

“You told Gideon to tell Jade he shouldn’t come to the party tonight?”

“Fucking Gideon,” Adam mutters, looking away. “I asked him not to say anything to you.”

“That makes it better?”

Adam glares at me.

“I just got off the phone with Jade. He was very upset.”

Adam sighs. “All the more reason he probably shouldn’t come to the party.”

“Well, he’s not, so thanks for that.”

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