Page 65 of Fool's Gold

Outside of bringing her pleasure with my head between her legs, I offer nothing good to her life. Not to mention, I obliterated any opportunity to touch or taste her again after the things I said.

“If you’re going to run this piece,” I tell Brian, “I want it done tastefully. Whatever you need to know about Empire’s new relationship, you will get through me. I want approval before its release.”

My teeth threaten to clatter together and crack, straight down through my jawbone. Empire’s new relationship. Saying it out loud feels much less real than hearing the words inside my head. My mouth is nothing but a piece worked by someone else. I can’t escape myself in my own mind.

Reality skews sideways.

The picture of her and Jacob having coffee has seared itself behind my eyes, so even closing them offers no respite from the torture. I have no fucking right to get upset about it, none.

It’s better this way, for everyone. Empire deserves to flourish in a place where she’s not crushed under my fist, even if I’ve had to make the fist in order to keep her protected.

Jacob is handsome and a rising star in his own right. He’s stable, according to rumors, and even a perfunctory investigation into him showed nothing other than him getting caught with some pot in high school.

The guy is so vanilla the worst thing he’s done is smoke a joint.

Empire deserves good things, and Jacob is in a much better position to provide them for her. Primed, in fact. I hate him. I hate him more than any enemy waiting in the dark with a shiv.

Look at her smile.

I lift the phone screen in front of me again and only realize then that Brian is still chatting away merrily.

“Would there be any way to get an interview with Miss Stone herself?” Brian presses, a note of desperation seeping into his voice. “The press has been all over the story of you and her, yet it would truly put us ahead of the pack if we get a statement from her about her relationship.”

“No,” I growl. “She is not to be approached, either. The best you’ll get is going through me.”

Fat chance any of the media outlets will actually do as I ask. They’re opportunists. They’re prepared to swoop in the moment they scent a fresh death and peck away at the carcass of the subject until there’s nothing but dried-out bones.

The last shred of hope leaks out of me with every exhalation. My head throbs in time with my heart.

“It was worth a shot to ask. Thank you for your time, Mr. Ortega. I know I speak for everyone when I say we’re very excited for the release of Wretched.”

I hang up on him.

In the next beat, I’ve got the liquor bottle in hand, hurling it across the room like some sort of rocket shot into space. It careens into the opposite wall and smashes into pieces, every shard sharp and designed to slice through the pain.

But it won’t end. And it’s my fault. It’s all my fault for having feelings for her in the first fucking place and losing control over myself. A grown-ass fucking man and I never learned to keep my hands to myself. Or share.

Freedom seems like a really small thing until you lose it. This is something Empire needs, for her own good and for her growth. How can I begrudge her a chance to be free?

I’m nothing but a cancer. Bringing her down into the darkness where she has no hope of evolving into the star she’s meant to be, the woman she’s meant to be. She’ll wither if I keep her.

The walls close in around me. The air grows toxic, heavy, eating away at my insides every time I fill my lungs. Rather than stick around, I grab the phone and shove it into my back pocket like it’s burning me.

Olivia and Bennett’s place always held such happy memories. Now it holds death and murder. Those brief moments of happiness with Empire will have to last me a lifetime.

There’s more booze in the living room.So much booze I can drown in it if I want to. And right now, I really fucking want to.

Suddenly I’m in my own living room, with my own cabinet of amber bottles staring down at me. Maybe if I’m drunk, I’ll be able to talk myself into giving her up, for good.

Or maybe I’ll just fucking die.

TWENTY-ONE

Stress replaces laughter in my life. I can’t really remember what it felt like to live without the weight, dogging me no matter where I go.

At home, on set, things are strained.

It’s not just Marcus, either. Although he makes everything worse. Just when I’ve gotten used to him making things better. Where I found safety in his arms, there’s nothing now but a wild sense of anxiety.

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