Page 40 of Texts From My Exes
“—Sure it is. You think your little friend thought this through? A TikTok dating stunt? Cute. But dangerous. It would be a shame if someone started digging into her family or even into her. Who knows what might crawl out of the closet once my team does a little digging and you know we specialize in that.”
My chest tightened as memories of my past came pounding into the present. Dead things were supposed to stay buried but he had an uncanny way of digging them up and bringing each and every one personally back to life. “Leave her out of this.”
“Relax.” He chuckled, low and dark. Good, he was in his supervillain era. “I don’twantto hurt her. I want what I was promised. And you, Ezra—you ran. You owe me. That’s on you, not her.”
I gripped the railing until my knuckles went white. “It was my choice.”
“Yes. And I’m fairly certain you’ll choose her. Because you’ve got that same look you did when you got your first paycheck.” His voice sharpened. “Obsessed. Hyper-focused. Determined. You won’t let her go.”
He let the silence stretch. “And I won’t letyougo either, not until I get what I’m owed.”
The line crackled faintly. “So. Plan your first outing. Make sure it looks good. Post. Upload. Tag us as your sponsor. The network will be thrilled, do what you need to do to convince her to play nice and we’ll be in touch, this will be fun. You’ll see.”
The call ended with a click.
I stared at my phone like it had burned me.
Inside, I could hear Harper humming to herself over the sound of running water, completely unaware that I’d just pulled the devil back into our orbit.
CHAPTER
SEVENTEEN
HARPER
So…it wasn’t supposed to…do that. It’s a medical condition, I have a doctor’s note and everything. Want me to send it? I’ll send it anyways.
—Kyron
Ourfirst official outingmeaning, one we actually filmed since he was the only one I actually chose one more date with, was exactly what I expected: forced, awkward, and stupid.
Dinner was a disaster. Ezra looked like he’d rather be anywhere else, his jaw tight every time the camera’s clicked around us. Graham had sent a skeleton crew. A guy with a camera and a producer who would randomly ask questions and a sound dude, that was it. Suddenly it felt real and it felt hella awkward and stupid. I tried to play along, smile for the network, but halfway through the meal he muttered under his breath, “this is why we’d never work.”
I snapped my head up. “Excuse me?”
He didn’t even flinch. “You hate being here. I hate being here. Why are we pretending?”
My blood boiled. “Maybe becauseyoucrashed my life like a wrecking ball in designer jeans and now we’re both stuck in this mess?”
The cameras were loving it. Our poor waitress looked like she wanted to crawl under the table.
By the time we left, I was vibrating with irritation. And then—because apparently the universe has a sense of humor—our next stop was an escape room.
Perfect. Lock me in a small space with him. What could possibly go wrong?
Spoiler: everything.
He wanted to brute-force every puzzle. I wanted to actually read the clues. Within twenty minutes we were snapping at each other like feral cats.
“Well, I guess this is it,” I muttered, throwing up my hands. “We just die miserably together, in a fake dungeon, because we can’t even solve a riddle about shapes.”
He glared at me, arms crossed. “Fitting end, really.”
The camera operator in the corner looked like Christmas had come early.
We finally stumbled out, sweaty, annoyed, and very muchnothand-in-hand. The ride home was quiet enough to hear our own teeth grinding.
Back at the apartment, he mumbled something about a shower and disappeared. I didn’t hear the water running, so I stormed in—ready to yell—only to be greeted with full-frontal Ezra.
