Page 99 of Catfish

Reagan doesn’t say anything else as she makes her way out of my office.

She doesn’t need to.

She doesn’t know who lies underneath the suit or that it was my words that said I missed her.

I do.

She never will.

? Don’t Call Me Angel — Ariana Grande feat Miley Cyrus & Lana Del Rey ?

He ordered me wine, knowing that I hate it. Aware that I’m not above taking the whole bottle and breaking it over his fucking head.

I agreed to this meeting on one condition—staying the fuck out of my way. Keeping his pathetic “nice deeds” to himself and stop contacting Mama to have new flowers planted every spring and the snow blown out of her driveway.

It’s times like these when I wish Marty was home so I could just point and tell him to go kill it—him.

“You look amazing,” Grant vouches, bringing his wine glass to his lips and eyeing me over the rim. He’s dressed to the nines, lacking his glasses so that his amber eyes glow in the dim setting of the restaurant.

“Fuck off,” I mutter while looking over the menu.

The deal was to have dinner, to talk about his brother’s wedding, and how Jed, allegedly, wanted me to do it.

It sounds like a setup. Why in the hell would Jed want me to plan his wedding? And speaking of…

“Where’s your brother?” I drawl, glancing up at him.

Grant licks the taste of his wine off his bottom lip. “Should be here any second.”

Sliding my sweaty palm down my dress, I focus on my on-and-off again shaky breaths as I try to read the words on this expensive ass menu.

I won't believe a thing Grant says until I see his brother, and he personally asks me to do his so-called wedding. I haven't heard anything about him dating, not that I kept tabs or looked into him, but with him being a Hardison they draw attention.

Frankly, I avoid the family altogether.

Their father could give two shits, he wasn’t a huge fan on my not being a socialite from a well-bred family. However, their mother…I think she’d attempt to strangle me with one of her Berkin bags.

“Did you want me to order an appetizer?” Grant asks.

“No.” I place my menu down, not hungry.

Not wanting to be here.

Amazed at myself for even coming here to see my ex-boyfriend while I sit with my ex-fiancé and talk about life, how he’s moved on and how I still want to kill Grant.

And how I’ve stayed the same.

“Then can you maybe look like you’re not being silently tortured while seated at this table with me because people are staring at us.” I glance around the room, catching a few people looking in our direction.

This is exactly how it used to be. Grant and I could never go anywhere without people gawking or sneaking photos of us. We were like the American Prince Harry and Meghan; adored, fantasized, and gossiped about.

Except when I broke up with Grant, I was easily forgotten.

Which is fine by me.

“No one important,” I voice, picking at my black napkin. “And you’re used to this shit.”

“Important or not,” Grant voices through his teeth. “It’s my reputation on the line.”

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