Page 75 of Rival for Rent
“I’m so. Fucking. Stupid.” I buried my face in my hands.
“You’re not stupid,” he said. “You were just young. People will understand.”
“No, they won’t,” I said, my voice cracking. “You think this kind of behavior is acceptable? People are going to call for me to resign. The Butterfly Center won’t want anything to do with me. I’m going to be a pariah. And I don’t even—fuck.” I shook my head. “Even my parents know. So I didn’t only fuck up my life—I dragged them down too.”
“You didn’t fuck up your life,” Mason said softly. Kindly. It made me feel even worse. I started crying in earnest, curled on the kitchen floor like a damn toddler. A pathetic excuse for a man.
At some point, he put his arm around me. I barely noticed until I was crying into his shirt, watching the train wreck of my future unfold in my mind. All of it ruined because of one reckless, stupid mistake I made when I was twenty.
“It’s okay,” Mason murmured again and again. “It’s okay.”
But it wasn’t. All I could think was that I was not only destroying my career, my reputation, my family’s trust—I was ruining any chance I might’ve had with him. Mason was strong. Mason held it together. Mason didn’t fall apart like this.
His arm, which had felt comforting seconds before, now felt like a weight of judgement. I couldn’t take it.
“I—I need to go,” I said, pulling away from him.
He watched as I stood. “Go where? Into work?”
A laugh bubbled out of me—high, brittle, and wrong. Work? Where everyone had probably seen the video by now? Where their CEO was now a punchline?
“No. I—fuck, I can’t do this anymore.”
I turned and headed for the stairs. Mason stood too, following me.
“Kai, wait.” He placed his hand over mine on the bannister. “You’re not thinking clearly right now. I don’t think you should be alone.”
“You think I’m going to kill myself or something?” My voice was high and ragged. I jerked my hand free. “What, and make the story worse? Not only did the CEO of EnviraTech make a sex tape, but he killed himself when people found out?”
“That’s not what I—”
“Leave me alone, Mason. Please.”
“I’m only trying to—”
“Leave me alone,” I snapped, and stormed up the stairs.
I spent the rest of the day in my room. In bed, mostly. I could hear Mason moving around downstairs—probably pushing himself in ways that would make Dana throttle him—but I couldn’t bring myself to care.
Texts and calls kept coming in. Most I ignored—friends, acquaintances, people I hadn’t spoken to in years suddenly feeling entitled to check in. Kevin wanted to know if I was the one who released the video and was already threatening legal action. Carolyn had called and texted about a dozen times, begging me to get in touch. My mom called again too, left a voicemail, then sent two follow-up texts that made me want to die.
Eventually, I fell into an anxious, half-conscious sleep full of shifting dreams—something was chasing me, and every time I thought I knew where I was, the scenery changed. When I woke,my head ached, my mouth was dry, and I couldn’t even summon the will to get up.
I didn’t know what time it was when there was a knock at my door.
“Go away, Mason,” I called out.
“You need to eat something,” he said. “It’s six p.m.”
“I’m fine,” I said, knowing I sounded petulant. Knowing it was a lie. “Go away.”
“Not until you eat something.” The door creaked open, and there he was, holding a glass of water and a plastic bag looped over his good arm. “It’s just leftover donuts. But you need the calories.”
“I don’t fucking care,” I said bitterly.
“And I don’t fucking care about you not fucking caring.”
He kicked the door shut behind him and walked over to the side of the bed. He set the water on my nightstand and handed me the bag. I peered inside. He was a liar. It wasn’t just donuts. There were baby carrots, grapes, and a roast beef sandwich wrapped in a napkin.
