Page 86 of Bad For A Weekend

His mom was diagnosed with terminal cancer around this time, and he flew back to Ohio to be with her. He wanted his mom to be a grandmother before she died, so he doubled his efforts and was rewarded with a baby girl three months before his mom took her last breath.

He didn’t work for a year after he adopted Baylor, both because he wanted to be with his newborn daughter and to grieve the loss of his mother. But after that, his life was as normal as a famous actor’s could be. He built his career, took care of his daughter, and dated when he had time.

He’s been serious with three women. A director named Ashley, who is now married with three kids. An actress named Gwen, who has been out of the country for four years now with no plans to return and, therefore, no reason to go after Corey. And finally, Veronica, the up-and-coming young actress intent on ruining his reputation through a string of interviews that paint Corey as a heartless bastard.

She’s the only person who makes sense.

Unless... my feet hit the ground harder, my pace building as I fly around the block and head back to my parents’ house. I’m tempted to call Hudson and tell him my theory, but it’s an outlandish one. Given my obsessive behavior lately, he’ll most likely fire me and shut me off from the company completely if I even bring it up. I can’t have that. Not right now.

So, I pound the pavement back home and fly through the front door. When Mom calls out, asking where the fire is, I mumble something incoherent and shut my bedroom door. I need quiet so I can focus and figure this shit out before it’s too late.

Baylor

Iwas banking on Hudson not approving of this whole mystery maze double-date thing, but apparently, since it’s a closed event with a guest list that includes other famous people, he feels like it’s safe enough.

Flipping through the hangers in my closet, I try to pick out an outfit that says, “you’re a nice guy, but I don’t want to kiss you.” That rules out anything low cut or with a short hemline, which is most of what I own. I pull out a pair of black, oversized jeans that are ripped up at the knees and pair them with a plain white tee that’s only slightly cropped. It’s simple but stylish.

I curl my hair into tight ringlets, then shake them out to give me volume and keep my makeup simple, drawing a thin black wing, slapping on some mascara, and dusting my pale skin with some bronzer so I don’t look like a vampire. At the last minute, I slather on some pink gloss, the ultimate kiss deterrent.

There. Just enough effort that if I’m photographed, I won’t be embarrassed, but not enough to make Trent think I want to impress him. I sigh, doubting any man alive would read that much into my appearance.

After giving Dad a kiss on the cheek, I head outside to find Hudson waiting for me.

“Ready?” he asks.

“As I’ll ever be.”

Hudson rarely talks when he drives me, so I pull out my phone for entertainment on the way to pick up Ziggy. After that, we’ll pick up Ian and Trent at Trent’s house.

“I’m glad you’re getting out,” Hudson says, surprising me.

“What?”

“I just mean, after everything with Owen, it’s good you’re hanging out with kids your own age.”

My brows furrow. “This isn’t a date. I’m not moving on.”

“I didn’t mean it like that. I know you and Owen were close.”

“Close? I’m in love with him. That doesn’t change just because you fired him.” I shouldn’t push it. He was nice enough not to tell Dad what happened, but he might if he thinks he needs to keep us apart. And I’m not ready to deal with that.

Plus, I don’t even know if Owen still loves me. I think his actions have spoken louder than words with him not giving me a way to reach him. But I’m holding out hope he still might and that there’ll be a completely logical explanation behind it.

“All I was trying to say is that you’re too young to sit at home all the time. It’s good you’re going out withfriends.”

“Right,” I grumble.

How dare he involve himself in what I should or shouldn’t be doing. He doesn’t know me, and he definitely doesn’t know how Owen and I are together. He took arbitrary information and formed an opinion. A shitty opinion.

Then, an idea pops into my head. If he’s up there feeling embarrassed about his overstep, maybe this is the perfect time to fish for information.

“How is he, anyway?” I ask.

“You’re not in contact with him?”

“You know I’m not.” It’s no secret that he and his team of cronies have been monitoring my cell since I received that threatening text. I assume this is why Owen hasn’t reached out, but all I want is to know he’s okay, which shouldn’t be out of line.

“He’s fine.”

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