Page 23 of Sweet Surrender

But not Sienna.

I couldn’t let it go more than I could let go of wanting her approval for some unknown reason. Another first, giving a shit what anybody thought of me, man or woman.

I was no closer to calming down when I reached my office, where I once again parted crowds and silenced chatter simply by walking down the hall. I caught more than one worried look on my way to the solitude of my office.

How was I supposed to get anything done when the only thing on my mind was tracking down that actor and using that man bun of his to slam his face into a table?

I needed a release. I needed to forget everything for a little while.

I needed a night at Dante’s club. Whether or not the pink-haired woman was there didn’t matter. I would find some willing body to take out my frustrations come hell or high water.

11

SIENNA

“Iam so sorry about that.” I smiled as I took my seat across from Jacob, but inside was a different story.

How? How did he always do it to me? I told myself to be the adult, to have the cooler head, yet there I was, flustered and furious, not to mention feeling like a smacked ass thanks to the little scene Noah had caused.

Jacob waved it off. “Nah, don’t worry about it. I guess you have a lot of people who want a piece of your time.”

“Something like that.” The salad I was enjoying the hell out of only a few minutes ago didn’t look so appetizing anymore. Was there anything Noah couldn’t ruin? “Did those couple of minutes on your own give you time to think about the plan we put together for you?”

“Oh, I’ve seen all I need to.” And then he did something incredibly stupid. He reached across the table and covered my hand with his, using his thumb to stroke my knuckles. “I think we’re going to work together very well.”

Oh, goody. Harassment.

The worst part was, I couldn’t stab him with my fork the way reflex demanded I do. Not if I wanted to continue working. It didn’t take much to spread ugly gossip. I, of all people, knew that. And there weren’t many more dangerous egos than the ones belonging to actors.

Withdrawing my hand, I maintained a weak smile to keep the mood light. “Let’s be careful,” I warned. “That’s the sort of thing that had your agent reaching out to me in the first place, remember?”

His laughter was warm and affable as he offered a helpless shrug. “Can’t blame a guy for trying.”

Were they all the same? I was starting to think so. It seemed like I was too young to feel so cynical, but the only other option was naïveté, which I couldn’t afford.

We made plans to chat the following week, closer to the opening of his latest film, which happened to coincide with starting rehearsals for his upcoming play. I would be working overtime trying to monitor the goings-on with his leading lady since he was notorious for having flings with his costars. Again, the reason he needed me. There were some pretty pissed-off boyfriends and husbands back in California, and his agent didn’t want the same mess erupting in New York.

Thanks to the gnawing in my stomach, it was a shame I couldn’t focus on the thrill of signing a new client. Fucking Noah. It was like he got off on trying to make me feel small, the way he did back in the day—looking down at me, laughing at me, and treating me like a child. It was the same now, only I wasn’t a little girl. He didn’t know half of what he thought he did.

The thought of it had my blood pressure at an all-time high by the time I reached the spin studio for the class scheduled after my lunch meeting. I had stuck to salad to keep from feeling too full while working out. At the time, I figured that would be my biggest problem this afternoon. Stupid me, forgetting how Noah tended to pop up to ruin even a good day. It was sort of his thing.

Aria wasn’t around when I finished changing in the locker room. At first, I was concerned, but then I remembered the text she’d sent earlier in the morning about not being able to make it to class today.

I was that pissed off over Noah accusing me of flirting with a client. After he’d practically eye fucked Gretchen all through the interview earlier in the week. He had the nerve to act like he had no idea what I was talking about when I accused him of the same thing.

If anything, I was glad he’d decided to act like such a prick. It reminded me of everything wrong with him, which was something I needed to remember after feeling so jealous of Gretchen. He wasn’t worth my jealousy. He was barely worth the oxygen he used to survive. I couldn’t give him that power over me.

At the same time, I couldn’t get the image of his face out of my mind as I battered my body, peddling until sweat rolled down the back of my neck and dripped from my chin. That bastard. The audacity to treat me like I was… well, no better than him.

I didn’t feel any less bitter by the time we cooled down. No amount of exercise could get Noah off my mind or keep me from resenting him the way I did. To judge me, to make a fool out of me—again.

And dammit, I kept letting him do it. Why?

I had originally planned on going back to the office after my meeting, but considering I kept swinging back and forth between wanting to kill someone and wanting to cry out of sheer frustration, it seemed a better idea to go home and take care of whatever I could from there. Yes, I was letting Noah Goldsmith get to me. I hated it but felt powerless against it. And not powerless in that good way, like I felt at the club.

The club.

I couldn’t get it out of my head. The memories would bubble to the surface when I least expected them, like now, on my way home with a gym bag over my shoulder and a true crime podcast playing in my AirPods. Not even the most gruesome mass murder was enough to ease the churning sensation in my gut.

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