Page 11 of Behind the Scenes
What had been disguised as gifts was actually a way to annoy me until I finally gave in to her.
She would try to wear me down with the calls. With the gifts. Until I couldn’t get her out of my mind.
Do people really think this type of courting would work? On me?
I scoffed at my own thoughts. A better word for this would bestalking. Harassment. But that was fine. I could do something against that. In my world, I could make them pay for it.
She embodied the kind of person I hated. People who thought they were entitled to a person’s time. Like just because they asked, the entire fucking world would stop turning for them. Like just because they existed, every single thing they ever wanted would be at their fingertips.
Even people.
My chest felt tight. My skin burned. Even just the slight brush of my cashmere sweater against my back and stomach was starting to annoy me. It was out of my hands. She had somehow pushed my once perfectly curated space—mysafespace—out of my control.
And the fucking smell.
I had once loved the smell of roses, but this was overpowering, so much so that Ana let out a sneeze at my side. She ruined that for me too.
I held my hand out to Ana, and she placed the small, white envelope on it. Guilt was evident on her face, but at the end of the day, it was Harley’s fault. Ana was just an assistant and no match for the guerrilla tactics she was employing.
“I don’t blame you,” I murmured and looked at her. “People like this… I don’t expect you to go up against them.”
“I know, but I run the front desk. I’m supposed to?—”
“Call me and let me know when things get out of hand,” I said, forcing myself to give her a smile. “And that’s what you did. You did good, okay? No one is mad.”
I held her gaze until she nodded, then turned my attention tothe envelope. Another burst of anger washed through me, and I all but ripped it open to look at the small, typed note. She hadn’t even bothered writing it herself. She had it fucking typed.
Lazy and entitled.
I heard you liked the flowers.
That’s all it said. I would respect her more if she’d just written a very straightforwardfuck youinstead. At least that had some creative flair—and some honesty.
I heard you liked the flowers.
I was tempted to set them all on fire and have it broadcast all the way across the fucking continent so she knew what I really thought about her gifts.
I crumpled the piece of paper in my hand and threw it to the floor.
“Call in that favor to Artem,” I said, turning to look at Ana. “I need a flight to wherever the fuck Harley is now.”
“Last I heard, she’s filming in Los Angeles, but I could check with her manager to make sure she’s still there?—”
“I’ll take care of it,” I said as I pushed past her. “This ends now.”
Why is my heart pounding?
The loud hum of the private plane was drowning out the sound of it racing through my ears, but I could still feel the erratic beating in my chest.
It started as soon as I cracked open the file on Harley.
Her picture was right in front. Not just any headshot, though—her newestVoguecover. She wore an open blazer, the sides covering her nipples but leaving the crease of her breasts visible. Her black, curly hair looked wet, and her makeup was a bit smudged. The kind of smudged that takes work, not the one that happens after one night tangled in the sheets.
I let myself wonder how much smudgier it would look like then, and then I shut it down.
Her loose pants hung low on her hips and gave me a perfect view of her flat stomach. If I squinted, I might even see the remnants of a happy trail.
I had seen what she looked like before, so there was no reason for my eyes to be glued to that fucking cover for the first fifteen minutes of the flight.
