Page 121 of The Arrogant One
My eyes squinted shut, and my jaw clenched at the sound of his voice, at the emotion that was embedded into each syllable, at the anger.
I rested my forehead against my steering wheel and pleaded, “Please. Please, Lockhart. Just open the gate. Let me tell you everything. And then, once you hear it all, if you want to kick me out, fine. If you never want to talk to me again,I’ll fight like hell to make you change your mind, but”—I lifted my forehead and stared at the camera that was pointed right at me—“I will have to be fine with that too.” The emotion was thick in my throat, and it was already threatening to spill. “But don’t shut me out, not until you at least hear my side.”
I knew that after today, there was a chance I’d never drive to his house again.
I’d never feel his arms around me.
I’d never see him.
It would break me.
Oh God, it would wreck me in ways I’d never felt before.
But hadn’t I put myself here?
I could hear him breathing. I swore I could sense his mind going in a million different directions. And eventually, the sound of the gate unlatching and the metal clanging overshadowed those noises.
I carefully drove through, taking my usual spot in his driveway, and once I parked, I made my way up to his door. Normally, he was standing there, waiting for me when I arrived.
I didn’t realize how much I’d loved that until I no longer had it.
And I didn’t realize how much it would hurt to not have it until I stared at the closed door, my hand wrapping around the knob and opening it, a pang of emotion tearing my chest apart.
I found Lockhart in the kitchen, standing at the island with both hands pressed against the counter, leaning into the stone as though it were holding him up. A tumbler, of what I assumed was whiskey, sat between his hands.
I set the stack of papers in front of the glass. It was four pages that I had printed as soon as I got home fromSeenand stapled in the corner before I rushed over here.
“Please sign that.” I even brought my own pen and placed it on top of the pile.
He didn’t look down. He didn’t break eye contact with me. The only thing he did was lift a hand to pick up the drink and take a sip. “Are you Dear Foodie?”
There was no question in my mind that he had figured me out.
But hearing him say those words made it even more real.
I nodded toward the stack. “Sign that, Lockhart. Please.”
He crossed his arms. “Why?”
“So I can tell you the truth.” I waited. “So I can give you the answer you’ve been wanting to hear.”
Because something told me that when we had been lying in bed and the review of Musik went live, he had known then. Maybe he had even known before.
He finally glanced down, and I watched him scan the words. “A fucking NDA? Are you kidding me, Sadie? This is what it’s come to?”
“It’s the only way we can have this conversation.” My voice was soft and calm. “I’m sorry. It’s not my rule. It’sSeen’s rule.” I paused. “You, out of all people, should understand how this works.”
“It’s bullshit. That’s what it is.” He lifted the pen off the counter, flipped to the last page, and signed his name at the bottom.
When he dropped the pen and looked at me, I said, “Yes, I’m Dear Foodie. And my mom, my dad, my sister, Bryn, and my boss atSeenare the only people in this world who know that.” I was using my fingers to count, gripping each one as I said a name. “You make person number six.” I let out a loud breath, holding my chest. “God, that felt good to say out loud to you.” I grabbed his drink and shot back the remainder of whatwas inside, placing the empty on the counter. “You have no idea how long I wanted to tell you that, and I couldn’t.”
“Yeah … you just lied to me instead.”
The accusation hurt.
But it was the truth.
“It kills me to admit that, but I did.” I held the counter with both hands. “In my defense—and I’m going to defend myself when it’s warranted because I’m here to tell you my side—I contractually wasn’t allowed to tell you. Yes, it was still lying, but all I was trying to do was spin things, like why I was really at Musik or how I told you I had to work nearby when I really didn’t.” Breathing was becoming harder and harder. “Those lies weren’t spoken to hurt you. I never wanted to be dishonest. But I was required to twist the truth because my NDA prevented me from telling you who I was, and the lies were the result of a trickle-down effect”—I shook my head—“one that was horrific on my heart, on my gut, and?—”
