Page 221 of Santa Daddies
“I found the notebook. I found the stuff you wrote. If you wanted to keep it a secret from me, then you should have hidden the notebook. Not very smart.”
“What notebook? What are you talking about?” she asked.
“The notebook where you wrote about me,” he told her. “I don’t want your excuses. I don’t want to know why. I just want you to get out.”
“I didn’t . . . I didn’t write about you. What are you talking about?”
“Your notebook that I found in your room. You wrote things about me in it.”
“I . . . I . . .”
Fuck. She was good, he’d give her that. She looked upset and confused. But he knew that she was a liar.
“What is rule two?” he asked.
“Um, I don’t know. Was it about saying sorry?” She rubbed at her forehead.
“You know damn well it’s about not invading my privacy. Writing about me is invading my privacy! The roads are clear, you are free to go. So. Go.”
He thought she was going to say something, to argue, but she simply put down her coffee mug then fled into the bedroom.
She came out about ten minutes later with her suitcase. She didn’t attempt to get any of the food she’d brought with her.
“Thanks for letting me stay with you,” she said, her gaze on her feet.
He nearly felt bad, he came close to asking her to stay, to explain. But he quickly hardened his resolve. He wouldn’t be swayed by her sad face.
Who knew what she planned to do with the information she’d found out about him?
And why had she fucked him? Was that going to feature in her article?
Fuck.
Was her whole nervous and sweet demeanor an act?
Such a good actress.
“Go. Now!”
The door shut behind her and he turned back to the alcohol cabinet.
One drink wasn’t going to be enough to make him forget.
Chapter Nine
“You’re a fucking idiot,” Joey snarled as Anson sat in the armchair next to the fire.
“I’m an idiot? She was taking notes on me! Clearly, she’s planning on selling a story to the tabloids. This whole thing has likely been all one elaborate lie.”
Maybe she’d never planned to go to Caldwell’s place. Anson might have been her endgame all along. And now all of his secrets were going to end up public knowledge. All of his pain and his failures.
Fuck.
He couldn’t stand that everyone would know.
They’d know how far he had fallen.
Is that really the problem? Is it the world seeing the truth of your existence that’s the issue?
