It paid off.
So why can’t my family be happy for me? Maybe then I might share some of my wealth with them, but who in their goddamn mind would give money to anyone who is being abusive?
Seems like a toxic trait to me.
I wipe the tears away, then start second guessing myself. If I gave them money, I bet they’d suddenly and magically start being lovely.
Is that what I need to do?
Pay off Mom’s mortgage. Clear my sister’s student debt. And get my dad’s girlfriend new boobs.
Jesus.
I drop my head into my hands. I just want them to love and care for me. I’m not paying for their support and affection. Tears leak through my fingers as my pity party continues.
I hate crying about them.
I hate feeling so alone in my success.
I lift my head and wipe my eyes, letting out a teary laugh at my panda eyes. Then, as I always do, I take a deep breath and carry on.
Alone.
I reach for the cotton wipes and makeup remover and start the process of turning back into Savannah Sinclair, the woman, not the actress.
After I’ve reapplied my own makeup and pinned up my hair, I get changed.
I haven’t spent much time in New York. Before becoming famous I’d never been here, so I’m excited to go out tonight.
Sliding the matching apple green jacket over my pantsuit, I reach for my purse. Then, with one last look in the mirror, I step outside.
Ryder is leaning against the opposite wall with one leg lifted and his arms crossed.
God, he looks so handsome.
And grumpy.
The door clicks behind me, and I walk over to him. He drops his foot to the floor and straightens his suit.
“Ready?”
I nod, but don’t move as he stares down at me. I wish he would pull me into his arms and kiss me.
He’s your bodyguard.
Stop it.
“Everything okay?” I ask.
“Yes. Let’s go.” He moves, his arm reaching behind me, but he doesn’t touch me.
I hide my disappointment, which has no place existing between us, and make my way through the building.
I just need a drink or two or three.
That will make today better.
I’m done being sad.