Page 85 of Never Been Worse

“Wes,” I whisper, but he shakes his head.

“I'd wait forever, but I’m glad I won’t have to.”

THIRTY-THREE

HARPER

My blissful little bubble barely lasts two more days. Two days after the most perfect Sunday known to mankind, Wes leaves our bed before the sun rises for his run, pressing a kiss to my lips. When he returns, he drags me out of bed and into the shower, eating me out before fucking me on the bench.

We get dressed together before he heads off to Ashford to meet up with the band at the studio on Riggins’ property. When I finally shuffle down to the kitchen, I stare into the fridge, realizing I am, ironically, out of my creamer. Instead of running to the store, I add it to our grocery list and decide to get a little treat at my favorite coffee shop in Evergreen Park.

That was my first mistake.

My second was standing at the counter, waiting for my coffee and not running the second I heard Jeremy’s voice.

“Harper,” he greets, stepping beside me.

My head snaps toward him, and when I take him in, I realize how terrible he looks. Tired and worn down, his shirt wrinkled. When we were together, he never left the home without looking completely put together. I used to help him with that, making sure his things were taken to the cleaners, laying out his outfits, and ironing his shirts as needed. I doubt Clarissa makes sure he goes to bed at a reasonable hour, lines up the supplements he uses, or makes his lunches.

A bolt of satisfaction rips through me, knowing he’s a mess without me, but it melts away the moment he says, “We need to talk.” I’d forgotten about the letter Jeremy put into my box of things until I was putting away the few items I still cared for. Upon opening it, Jeremy’s familiar writing instructed me to call him so we could talk, but I rolled my eyes at his self-importance and shoved it in a drawer, never thinking of it again.

But now I’m wondering if maybe I should have given the note my full attention.

“Jeremy, I’m not doing this. We have nothing to say to each other. I’m trying to get my coffee, go home, and get on with my day. Please, I’m begging you not to ruin what has already been a pretty great fucking day.” As seems to be his way, Jeremy ignores everything I say.

“I saw the design Holden posted. The centerpiece to Clarissa’s line,” he starts, and my blood goes cold, the breath stalling in my lungs. “And the new one you’re working on.” I turn my head slowly toward him. “I want them.”

“You’re insane,” I whisper, and he tips his head to the side.

“Am I?”

“If you think I’m going to justgiveyou more designs? Yes. You’re out of your mind.”

“I think you’ll find you’re much more amenable than you think,” he says. I roll my eyes at his audacity.

“We have nothing to talk about—” I start, still staring straight ahead as I do, but his next words have my blood going cold, my body turning toward him slowly.

“I know about everything. A sweet little bird told me all about your agreement with Holden. That assistant you got fired?” The breath in my lungs stutters, and I stare at him open-mouthed and watch as a small, vindictive smile spreads on his lips. “Now, if you don’t agree to sit at a table with me and talk, every tabloid and newspaper in the tri-state area is going to know the real reason the band is taking a break.” My blood goes still in my veins as he stares at me. “That’s before it goes national, of course.”

I’m trapped in a corner, once again at Jeremy’s mercy, and I don’t know what I did to deserve this.

“Harper?” The barista calls my name, and stiffly, I move to grab the coffee I know I probably won’t be able to drink, not with the way my stomach is roiling. At the very least, I know I have to play the game, sit with him, and let him spill his bullshit.

I turn on my heel, spotting a small table in the corner, and move toward it quickly while Jeremy takes his sweet fucking time pulling out his chair and sitting.

He sits with his arms crossed on his chest, leaning back like he owns the world, before he finally speaks.

“You know, she really hates you,” he says with a shit-eating grin as if the mere idea of some random woman hating me brings him joy. “So much so, she sought me out. She called me up and told me everything. How your marriage is fake, Stella’s pregnancy, the worries about what the press will say.” Nausea churns in my stomach, and I hold the coffee in my hands, letting the warmth sink into my cold hands to ground me. “God, she even told me that her former boss hired a private investigator to look into me.”

My mind churns with this news, something Wes never told me, but I try not to show my lack of insight as he keeps rambling.

“Not sure what he’d find, of course.” But for a flash, his face shows anxiety that they will findsomething. I spent so much time with Jeremy, reading into his every move and facial change, I can see there’s something he doesn’t want anyone to know.

I also know from that look alone he’ll do almost anything to keep his secret safe, which is terrifying.

“Whatever they find, it can’t be worse than trying to save your reputation by marrying some has-been rock star. Or worse, marrying some loser seamstress to hide your friend’s bullshit.” I let his insults roll right off my back, knowing he’s looking for a reaction I refuse to give him.

He’s taken enough from me, and I have a feeling he’s only going to try and take more.

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