Page 8 of The Villain Edit

Across the room, Ashley’s shoulders sag and she drops her head into her hand. Guess we’ve reached an agreement. It’s a lot, but I’ve sacrificed plenty to get this far. I’ll sacrifice even more to hold on to this role.

We come out of our corners and Celia gives us a smug smile.

Ashley’s as happy about this as I am—which is not at all—but there’s something about her that makes me think she’s barely holding it together.

“I’ll pick you up at seven,” I meet her eyes for long enough to let her know I mean exactly seven o’clock, not a minute later, and stride out of the room.

Chapter three

Ashley

SurprisingonlyGabrielSinclair,I oversleep.

After the shit with the paparazzi last night, Aunt Celia put me up in a hotel with security, so I know who the pounding on my door is. I’m living a nightmare.

I sit up and rub my temples. My head isn’t the only thing hurting this morning. My heart aches. Nic and Jessie, stumbling out of that room last night…

It should have beenme.

It’s always been Nic for me.

I spent a lot of time at my Aunt Celia’s as a child, but I didn’t look forward to those visits until Nic moved into the house across the street. He was five years older than me, the same age as Timothy and Jessie, but unlike my cousins, he saw me. Included me. Protected me from Timothy’s wild ideas and Jessie’s cutting words. And when Timothy was in trouble and Jessie was off painting, he’d spend time with me.

He didn’t look at me the way I looked at him, but that didn’t matter. We had so much in common, both being quiet and unwanted by our parents, with no siblings to play with, at the mercy of Timothy and Jessie. He won me over with a dozen small acts of kindness given with no expectation of a return. He didn’t want anything from me, and I loved him for it.

Last night, I told Timothy I was done, but that was a lie and we both knew it. I don’t stop until I get what I want, and I always get what I want, whatever the cost.

Timothy’s angry voice still echoes in my head from when he cornered me later.You tried to ruin a marriage. That’s low, even for you.

No. It’s so like me he should’ve seen it coming. Especially since he’s the one who has effectively kept Nic away from me for years. Ever since he caught me trying to slip into Nic’s bedroom at a house party I hadn’t been invited to when I was seventeen.

There’s another insistent knock on the door, and I swing my feet over the bed.

My agent Neve was clear on the phone last night—the jobs aren’t exactly flooding in. Not even a trickle. I need to become someone people want to work with before my savings account runs dry.

I’ll fake date Gabriel Sinclair. I’ll rehabilitate my reputation so I can get somewhere in the entertainment industry. I’ll find a way to get Nic back to LA and away from my interfering family. Jessie invited me to the wedding—I’ll send her a text after the honeymoon. If she responds, I’ll know Timothy didn’t tell her about my seduction attempt. I’ll gain her trust and wait for the right time.

Gabriel’s leaning on the frame when I open the door, glaring down at me. My face, only, because he’s a saint.

Shit. I didn’t wash my makeup off last night. My face has to be a wreck from crying and drinking. He doesn’t have the courtesy to look down at the silk camisole barely covering my tits instead.

“I told you to be ready at seven,” he says gruffly while I shamelessly take in his white button-up and dark jeans. Christ, we’re going to be in a car all day—why is he dressed like casual Friday at the office?

I leave the door open and walk back to my bed. “You could have brought me a coffee,” I complain. He says nothing, but closes the door and leans against it, his eyes now shut. Probably so he can’t see my ass in my tiny silky shorts.

I’m irritated. It’s not fair that I need to pretend to date boring Gabriel Sinclair to make people like me. A man finding me worthy doesn’t define my worth and it shouldn’t.

Why does he even need me? How hard would it be for him to let loose and live a little? Get drunk in a club? Make out with a porn star? Do a line off some guy’s abs? I did all those things during my first week in LA.

“You could have gotten up early and had time to get yourself a coffee,” he points out.

“I overslept,” I mutter, tossing my suitcase onto the foot of the bed.

Last night was the worst night of my life. I barely held it together until I hit my room and my minibar. I’m hungover and Gabriel Sinclair can turn his nose up at my current state all he wants—fuck him.

“I expect you to be ready at the agreed time,” he says, walking over to the desk—about as far from me and the bed as he can get without loitering in the doorway. He doesn’t look at me. My DDs are a work of art, but he stares at the generic pastel painting on the wall instead.

I half-heartedly throw some clothes at my suitcase. Most end up on the bed. “I doubt it will be a problem.” My soul is leaving my body, that’s how much I want to escape from this. “We’ll be sharing a room until we get to LA.”

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