Page 32 of Jerk
How am I supposed to keep my crown if I can’t even rule my own home?
By one-thirty in the morning,this room is a cell despite the giant bed, comfy sofa and soft lighting. The lake house was always such a comfy escape, but nothing can soothe the chaos he created.
The sounds from the party echo through the house. Laughter, yells, and moans seep through my locked door. I’d use headphones, but they’re in my car, and there’s nowhere in hell I’m going back out there.
I reach for the bottle of champagne on the bedside table before pouring it down my throat. Don't judge me. I'm coping.
Dealing with Ryung is like dealing with a disease. A terminal one. He’s taken over my life, and I let it fucking happen. At least in here, I can catch my breath. I can recoup. I'm relieved my parents believe every room should come with an ensuite. After I down the rest of this bottle, I'll take a bath and try to forget the invasion of my home.
Tomorrow, I'll know what to do.
A call comes through my phone. A video call from a number I don’t recognize.
I focus on the area code, trying to figure it out.
My eyes widen.
No.
No, no, no.
Wiping my mouth, I drop the champagne bottle on the bedside table.
How the hell did I forget?
Rushing to the mirror across the room, my reflection isn’t pretty. Along with my glossy eyes and messy hair, it looks like I haven't slept in weeks. I try my best to wipe off the smudged mascara and accept the disaster I am before I answer.
“Madame Sinclair,” I say, forcing a huge smile on my face. One that's almost scary. Balancing my phone on the desk, I ignore the little square showing how horrible I look. “Such a pleasure to speak with you.”
My cheeks burn, Madame Sinclair's eyes dropping to my cropped tee. Meanwhile, she wears a fitted blazer to perfection. It’s hard to swallow being so caught up with Rye’s bullshit that I forgot to save my career.
How fucking pathetic is that?
“Miss Alfonso.” It’s hard to hear her French accent over the phone, the bass still bumping in the background. “So sorry todisturb you at this hour, but I’m so happy you—” Her words muffle when the music gets louder. Leaning in closer doesn’t help, and there’s no way to raise the volume further. Nodding along, I try reading her lips, but now she looks like she's waiting for an answer.
“I’m so sorry. Can you repeat that?” I ask, wincing. “The connection is a little choppy.”
“Ah, I said, why did you decide to apply for our internship?”
Easy. “Paris isthefashion capital of the world and if I really want to hone my skills, IOU is the way to do it.” The music rises again, forcing me to yell over it. “From Chanel’s little black dress to Hepburn making Givenchy iconic, fashion has been a solid part of?—”
Bang! Bang! Bang!
A knock comes to the door, but I try to ignore it. “Fashion has been a solid part of?—”
Bang! Bang! Bang!
“Open the fucking door!”
My muscles tighten as someone cuts me off again. It’s not a voice I recognize, but once this is over, I will end them.
“Is everything alright, Hannah?” Madame Sinclair asks. “It sounds like you’re at a?—”
“No!” I cut her off. She needs to know I’m serious about this position. Taking a business call at a party is not the way to do that. “No! I’m?—”
Bang! Bang! Bang!
I push that wide smile back on my face. “I’m so sorry, can you give me a moment?”
