Never Been Worse (Evergreen Park #3)

Chapter 4 – Harper

FOUR

HARPER

“Get up,” a familiar voice says as the curtains in the small cottage I’m staying in are pulled back, letting in a flood of light that has me shielding my eyes.

“Wha—” I start, sleep still controlling my body. I wonder if this is a nightmare, another fucked-up creation of my mind.

“Get up ,” the voice says, and when I crack an eye open, Ava is standing in front of me, her hand on her hips as she glares at me like a disappointed mother. “My god, Harper, this place looks like you’ve been living in isolation for months, not barely a week.”

“Thanks, I appreciate your concern,” I say as I shift to sit up in the bed, trying to shake myself awake as I take in the inside of the small cottage behind Nate and Jules’s home with skepticism. Okay, so maybe the place is a bit of a disaster. There are cartons of food in the garbage piled high, and every cup is dirty and piled along the small sink. At some point, I started ordering delivery when I ran out of mugs, and the white paper cups are lined up along the counter.

In one corner is a pile of laundry, and if I’m being honest, I’m not totally sure when the last time I showered was. The only pristine corner of the small studio is where I’ve been working on the gown that’s due to my client in a few days. The nearly finished product is hanging, the beads and sequins glinting in the…midday sun?

A glance at the clock tells me it’s nearly two, and considering I went to bed well after midnight, that makes sense.

“I genuinely am concerned, Harper,” Ava says with a sigh, looking at me with soft eyes.

”Ava—“ I start, but she shakes her head.

“And so is Jules.”

That stops me because Jules hasn’t said anything about being worried about me, instead giving me the space I asked for. But clearly, my friends have been talking about me, and Ava decided today she’s done with my moping.

“I know the media is hard right now, but eventually, you have to step out into the world and say fuck it.”

Since our arrest, Jeremy, with his ties as the head of marketing for Astor, and his new heiress girlfriend, have decided to step into society together and use my brush with the law to paint me in the absolute worst light. It seems they want to make sure I’ll have no credibility if I start to run my mouth. “I appreciate it. Really, I do—” I start, but she cuts me off again.

“The media sucks,” she says. “Trust me, Harper, I’ve seen it all.”

“But you got past it and made everyone love you,” I say with a grumble because even though Ava had her own run-ins with the press, they were never truly cruel and out to destroy her in the way I’m experiencing.

“And you will too, but not if you smell like Fritos and BO.” I cringe at the description, and she gives me a small, apologetic look. “Sorry, sometimes being too honest is the way to go.”

I hate to admit it, but she’s probably right. The best way to get through to me is with absolute honesty, and looking around, I know this is not how I want to live my life.

Jeremy might have won this round and is in the process of destroying my reputation, but if I live like this, he won the whole fucking game, and I don’t know if I’m okay with that.

It’s been two weeks since what I’ve been calling the glitter incident, and my reputation has never been worse.

While we were at the diner laughing and eating after Jaime bailed us out, Clarissa, Jeremy’s new little girlfriend, began her smear campaign. She told any news outlet that would listen to her that I was the crazy ex ruining their lives.

The pitchforks from the public are out, demanding my downfall, and as social media tends to do, no one cares about the truth or the other side of it all, not when there’s an attractive man with a sob story and a woman they can villainize. While I may have left the police station without a formal charge, I am being tried in the court of public opinion, and I am losing.

Bad.

So far, according to them, I’m an unstable and talentless hack who had Jeremy and Clarissa helping me with my designs all along. Let’s not forget about being a jealous ex who is out to ruin true love . The two have been claiming they’d been together for months (probably true), and Jeremy and I have been broken up for even longer (news to me), and I simply haven’t gotten over it.

The last is decidedly untrue. The uncomfortable truth is I’m realizing I don’t know if I ever was in love with Jeremy or if I’d just grown comfortable in the illusion of our relationship.

I’ve had to turn off comments on my social media channels when all of the heiress’s friends and fans started coming after me, calling me crazy and telling me to leave Jeremy alone, even though I would never even think of the man again if I didn’t have to.

The only saving grace seems to be that it’s not impacting my current clients or pageant work. I’m hoping, like all drama, this will fade behind me when the next new scandal comes along, and I’ll be able to just coast on.

Hopefully.

I think.

“Come on,” Ava says, leaning into the small bathroom and turning on the shower. “Get in there.”

“Ava, this isn’t?—”

“It is, because we have…” She looks at the time on her phone before looking back at me with fierce eyes like she knows I’m going to argue. “Four hours to get you ready.” Moving toward the kitchenette, she reaches into one of the lower cabinets and finds one garbage bag left in the pack.

“Four hours?” I ask.

Ava opens the bag and starts throwing the empty cups into them one by one. “Yup. We’ve got a charity auction to go to.”

Instantly, I shake my head. “No. Thank you so much, but no, Ava.”

“That’s so crazy, I don’t remember telling you you had a choice,” she says, not missing a beat as she continues to gather up my trash. I should be embarrassed, but I can’t seem to garner it, and after ten years of friendship, this is just what we do for one another.

“I can’t go, Ava. It’s…. It’s too much.”

“You’re going because it benefits my charity and because you have something up for auction,” she says, reminding me of the one custom gown I put up for auction. “You agreed to go over a month ago, and I’m not letting this asshat get in the way of that. There are going to be a lot of people there to network with.”

“A lot of people to whisper about what a psycho I am too,” I counter, waving my arms. “To whisper about how I’m spiraling and?—”

“Or to whisper about how good you look despite it all. How you walked in there with your chin held high and didn’t let those dumb people intimidate you. Shoulders back, tits out, Harper.”

I sigh and roll my eyes. “That’s all fun and cute, but I’m in a media firestorm, Ava.”

“And you’re letting them win by not going out there and telling the world you’re totally fine. By not going out and explaining that, yeah, you were a woman scorned because your douche of an ex sold you lies of forever only to be fucking some other girl on the side. You can tell your side, Harper. You’re just choosing not to.”

She’s right, of course. I could tell my side, or, at least, part of it. I had a lawyer look over the contract I signed at the station to make sure I didn’t sign my life away. While there’s a you can’t tell anyone about this clause, there is no you can’t talk shit about me clause. But I’m still scared.

“Ava—”

“I’m not taking no for an answer, so good luck with that,” she says before emptying the garbage can into the large bag and tying it off. “I’m going into Jules’s house to grab more bags, and when I get back, you’d better be in the shower. “

“Ava, I can’t. I…” I start looking around. “I don’t even have anything to wear!” I say suddenly, the answer so obvious. “I can’t?—”

“Yes, you do. You’re wearing this,” she says, moving to her bag and tugging out a beaded gown I made her for her tour that she never wore.

“That’s for you,” I say.

“And I never wore it. We’re the same size; you’re just a bit taller.”

“So it will be too short,” I say, clinging to any argument I can, even though I know the dress that was a bit too long on her for her likes will hit perfectly just above my knee.

“No, it’ll be perfect,” she says, hanging it next to the gown I’m working on. “Now go, Harper. I’m serious. Don’t let me down.”

It’s a low blow to tell me that, but I know she did it on purpose. And it does its job, making me sigh because she’s right: I told her I’d come to this as her date because Jaime would be busy, and I can’t back down, even if I’m in crisis mode. My hands move to the clip in my hair, the grime and knots holding it nearly in place without the clip. I cringe as I reach for a brush.

Ava smiles, knowing she won.

“Perfect. Maybe double-wash your hair. And don’t forget to shave! You never know who you’ll meet,” she says with a wink, and before I can even argue and tell her there is no universe where I’m dating, much less fucking someone in the next decade , she’s out the door, on a mission as always, and I’m left to hop into the shower and try to put my life back together.