Page 11 of The Love You Win

Maddox Graves looks up from his phone with raised brows. “No.”

“Right. That would be weird. How would you even set something like that up? You’d need an assistant to handle everything. Or a website where women could bid. Or men. I’m sure there are plenty of men out there who would want to date you, too. But I guess if you ever need some quick cash, you’ve got options.” Sweet baby Chris Hemsworth, someone stop me.

My date looks at me like I’ve grown a second head. He doesn’t dignify my verbal vomit with any kind of response, and I think that’s worse than if he just came right out and called me an idiot.

“But then again, you’re Maddox Graves,” I say a little too loudly. “You probably have plenty of money.”

I know this isn’t a real date and I should be happy my brain has picked this moment to get all the weird out, but holy hell, this is mortifying. If I was actually trying to impress this guy, I would have already slunk out of the restaurant on my belly like some kind of pathetic slug.

“Maddox Graves?” a feminine voice squeals. “Oh my god, I thought that was you.”

I glance up to see a very excited teenage girl standing a few feet away from our table. I must have said his name a little too loudly. She’s looking back at an older couple who must be her parents.

“See, Dad? I told you it was him.” The girl has heart-eyes when she returns her attention to Maddox. “Could I get a photo with you? And an autograph?”

Maddox barely spares me a glance to gauge my reaction. Which is probably a good thing, because my heart is sinking into my stomach. His face transforms in an instant from one of bored disdain to a bright smile. He sits a little taller in his seat, and gives the girl his full attention.

That smile is an iceberg, and that it’s so easy for him to pull it out for anyone but me scrapes along the hull of my heart. I’m the Titanic, and I’m going down. Cue the orchestra.

“This dinner is important for my career, Isla. The least you can do is stop babbling on like a bimbo every time you get nervous.” Alex’s grip on my upper arm bites into my skin. He hisses the words in my ear so none of his colleagues can hear. It takes all of my effort to keep tears from pooling in my eyes.

“You put me on the spot, Alex. You know this kind of thing isn’t as easy for me as it is for you.”

His scowl makes me wither. The way he looks at me makes my heart hurt. A man in an expensive-looking suit approaches and Alex’s scowl instantly morphs into one of the charming smiles that drew me to him back in high school. The kind of smile that makes you feel you’re the only one in the room.

The kind of smile that seems to be reserved for everyone but me.

I shake my head, dislodging the intrusive memory as Maddox’s voice rolls across my skin like thunder along the plains.

“Of course, I’d be happy to take a photo with you.”

“Honey,” the woman who must be her mom says, “don’t interrupt them. It looks like they’re on a date.”

Maddox waves his hand dismissively. “It’s fine. You’re not interrupting anything. I’ve always got time for my fans.”

Ouch.

The girl barely spares me a glance as she jumps up and down, drawing attention to us. When she leans down to snap a photo with Maddox, people look more closely at what’s going on, and I can hear the murmurs starting. These people might all have money, but there’s a genuine celebrity in their midst. The women get hungry looks in their eyes, and the men are excited that one of their sports idols is sitting a few tables over.

None of them seem to register the red-haired woman sinking lower and lower into her chair.

After they take a photo, Maddox signs a piece of paper she scrounged up somewhere.

“Oh my god, thank you. I am such a huge fan. You’re so hot.”

Maddox chuckles as the girl scurries back to her parents’ table. The dad gives him a nod of thanks, which Maddox returns with a smile. And suddenly we’re surrounded by five more women batting their eyelashes at him and asking for photos.

Gregory rushes up to our table with an apology. “I am so sorry. This should never have happened.” He shoos the women away, but Maddox stops him with a chuckle.

“It’s all right, Greg. They just want a couple of photos. I don’t mind at all.” Never once does Maddox glance my way to see if I mind. And I probably wouldn’t, if he’d asked. Or spoken more than a few words to me. Or made me feel more than an inch tall.

The waiter shoots me an apologetic look, which I return with a shrug. What am I going to say? That Maddox can’t take photos and sign autographs for his fans? I have zero claim on the man. Heck, I didn’t even want to come tonight. It shouldn’t bother me in the least.

But after the fourth selfie and autograph, the line to greet tall, hot, and dickish shows no sign of dying, and I am feeling bothered. Bothered that Maddox has been such an absolute prick when I’ve done nothing but try to be nice. Bothered that he saw right through the expensive dress and the perfect makeup and decided from the first moment that I wasn’t good enough for him. But most of all? I’m bothered that I’ve let all of this get to me. Even a little.

A selfie for my socials isn’t worth this.

I don’t say a word as I grab my purse and get to my feet. I don’t spare a backward glance for Maddox or his adoring fans. Lifting my chin even though I feel like crying, I silently make my way to the door. Screw this. Screw my stupid ex, and asshole, Maddox. I may fight back tears, but a new determination fills me. I’m moving on. Kacey, the sweet hostess, frowns when I approach the exit.

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