Page 143 of Wild Eyes
You don’t deserve her. She was always out of your league. This will get easier.
But that last one is a lie for sure. Skylar is my person. My life could never be better without her in it. I’ve sentenced myself to a lifetime of misery to respect her wishes.
“I know you. And you are the hardest working, toughest motherfucker I know. So quit moping and start acting like it. Go fight for her.” With that, he pushes to stand, wipes his hands over his pants like just being near the barn has made him dirty, and then turns to walk away.
But not before calling back over his shoulder, “Oh, by the way, her dad and agent hacked her email and distributed the photos. She burned the world down on morning television today. Fired everyone. She’s trending on every social media outlet. I’m pretty sure she’s going to win that award this weekend too.”
What?
“Why didn’t you lead with that?”
“Wanted to be a dick first.”
My mind spins. I want to kill her dad. I want to give her the biggest high five. I want to watch her win that award.
I wanther.
I don’t think twice before calling out to Ford’s retreating form, “Can I borrow your private jet?”
And I can only imagine the smug smirk of on his dickish face as he responds, “It’s fueled up and ready when you are.”
CHAPTER FORTY-ONE
SKYLAR
BREAKING NEWS: Skylar Stone is going to win tonight. I already know it.
I breathein through my nose for three, out through my mouth for three. But the butterflies crashing against my rib cage don’t seem to care.
This isn’t my first award show, but it is the first one where I’ve felt truly invested in the outcome. I want to win. I want to win so badly it hurts.
Not for the clout and not for what it could do for my career going forward.
I want to win solely to prove to myself that I can. That, all on my own, I can create something worthy of an award. With my own words on a page, a small production studio, and a lot of passion, I am worthy of my career.
That not every bit of it was fake.
That’s what I need to finish my story. To prove that—not for lack of trying—I cannot be defeated.
My limo progresses through the red-carpet line, and I take out the compact in my purse to check my red lipstick one last time.
I’m not fucking around. I’m in full vixen mode and I don’t care how I look to anyone else.
The car ahead moves into the unloading spot and I give myself a quiet, “You got this, Skylar. You’re a fucking badass.”
No one else is here to tell me, so I might as well tell myself.
Ford will meet me at the entrance, since he’s attending with his dad, whose band will be performing tonight, so at least I won’t have to walk the red carpet alone.
I’m sure my ex-parents and ex-agent will be here too, acting like all is well in the Skylar Stone world. But the joke will be on them when Belinda rakes them over the coals for failing to work in the best interests of the asset.
Then I’ll sit back, sip champagne, and watch them all sink.
The divider drops. “Ma’am, we’re next. I’ll get out to open the door for you. Security is already in place.”
I nod to my driver in the rearview mirror. “Thank you.” Then I wipe my damp palms over my red Oscar de la Renta dress. It’s structured, classy, and powerful. My parents didn’t choose it and neither did my agent. There’s no “image” I’m going for—I just plain likedit.
“Here we are.” His kind eyes flash to mine. “You ready?”
