17. Blakely
SEVENTEEN
Blakely
My arms reach above my head, and I relish in the delicious pull of my muscles being stretched. I feel surprisingly well rested, and as I rub the sleep from my eyes the room comes into focus and I realize exactly where I am.
It’s not where I’m supposed to be.
Springing up from Jackson’s couch, I grab my phone, my stomach sinking when I see it’s eight p.m.
Shit.
Scrolling past the twenty missed calls and dozens of text messages from Sierra, my mind races, guilt over falling asleep and missing the shoot again raging through me.
Nausea curdles my stomach when I think about how often I’ve dropped the ball in the past week. But behind the rolling of my gut, there’s an urge to just turn off my phone and stay where I am, because I know I’ll be expected to give up this newfound freedom. I won’t be able to sink into the calm that Jackson provides.
It’s been nice, being able to relax and just…pretend to be normal. Even for a little bit.
Looking around, I search for Jackson, but the room is quiet. Guess the vacation’s over.
With a deep breath, I call Sierra. She picks up on the second ring.
“Where the hell have you been?”
My stomach cramps at her tone and I know this conversation is about to be a shot of reality, burning me on the way down.
Sighing, I run my hand through my hair. “Look, Cee, I’m sorry. I didn’t realize what time it was and I?—”
“You what ?”
Folding in on myself, I rest my forehead on my knees and close my eyes. “I fell asleep.”
The line is silent for long, stretched moments, my chest pulling tighter with each one.
Sierra heaves a deep breath over the line. “Look, I’m not your mother, okay? I didn’t sign up to be a babysitter when I took this job, yet that’s what I’m here doing.”
Irritation snaps at my spine and I stiffen. “No one asked you to babysit, Sierra. I know I’ve been off my game the past few days, but God.” I throw my body back into the couch. “I haven’t had a day off in years. My entire life has been focused on work, and now with my dad’s sudden need for me to be involved in his company, it’s like…I don’t have any time to breathe.”
“B, if you want a day off, you need to tell me so we can arrange it. The fact is you have responsibilities that you signed up for. No one’s forcing you into this.”
Jackson’s words from earlier whisper in the back of my head, feeding my growing ire at being lectured. “Exactly,” I reply. “You know what, Sierra? You work for me . Sometimes, I think you forget that.”
She scoffs. “Look. If you don’t want to do this anymore…if your goals have somehow shifted in the past few weeks and you’re tired of being ‘Blakely Donahue,’ then let me know. You say the word and we’ll stop. I’ll go work for someone else and you can slink into the shadows of your father, letting people forget that you ever wanted to make a name for yourself.”
My stomach jumps into my throat, my heart seizing. Every word she says cuts me open like barbed wire, the sharp edges pressing until I bleed. “No, I want this. Of course I still want it.”
“Then act like it, Blakely.”
“It was just a few days, Cee. You sound like the world is ending,” I mutter, my attention being drawn away by movement from the kitchen.
“And a few days is all it takes to change it from being your world to a world you’re in . You should know that better than anyone.”
My veins heat with the shame that’s flooding through me. She’s right. I’ve been throwing away years of hard work, and for what? A few normal moments?
Weak, Blakely. God, so fucking pathetic.
“Yeah…I know,” I finally say.
“Do you?” she continues. “Let’s recap, just so you understand the gravity of the situation. You have wasted thousands of dollars over the past week. You’ve had people come in, ready to work, and you weren’t here for the follow-through, wasting everyone’s time. You’ve had branded posts which were scheduled to be up that haven’t even been shot. Your tantrums and your straight-up irresponsibility have made you unreliable and that’s not something that goes unnoticed. People talk and there’s only so much PR we can do to save you once the rumors start.”
Her words press heavy on my chest, sinking into my muscles and irritating the nerves.
How could I have been so stupid?
What the hell have I been thinking?
I’ve let myself get lost in fantasies of a girl I don’t even want to be. A girl who may have existed once upon a time but is now nothing more than a memory. A girl I’ve worked tirelessly for years to bury.
My free hand curls into a fist, my lungs being crushed by the weight of my self-loathing.
Idiot.
Pitiful.
Worthless.
I shake my head, trying to rid myself of the thoughts, but it’s no use. They’re loud and never-ending, no matter how much I wish they weren’t.
One. Two. Three. Deep breath in.
“Listen, B. Tomorrow we’re focusing on this new platform that wants you to help create buzz. They have a contract for you to look over, see if it’s something you’re interested in.”
I reach to the side of the couch, grabbing my shoes so I can get ready to leave, trying to pay attention to Sierra’s voice to keep me centered.
“It is imperative that you’re on time for this, okay? I’ll be at your place by eight. Please, please be ready to go,” she pleads. “Work on whatever shit you need to tonight and get your head back in the game.”
I nod even though she can’t see, afraid to try and speak around the knot in my throat.
Sharp pains prick my chest with every shaky inhale.
One. Two. Three.
“ Hello? Are you listening?”
“Ye—yeah.” I clear my throat. “I’ll be there, Cee.”
My voice is small, our conversation settling on my shoulders, reminding me of everything I’ve somehow lost sight of. It’s heavy and I don’t want to bear the weight…but I will .
The harsh truth is that I’ve been letting myself down, slackening the grip I had on my life, thinking that letting go was relief, when really it was me constructing my own downfall. My stomach heaves when I think of all the ways I’ve let things slip from my control.
How absolutely pathetic I’ve been.
So what if I’ve had a few moments. A few precious instances where I was able to break the routine—able to be spontaneous and not feel like the world was crashing down on top of me. So what if I found someone who looks at me without the plastered-on smile, without the illusion of perfection, and still wants me to stick around.
All of that is temporary. None of it will fix my problems. Eventually, they’ll float back to the surface and I’ll be left wallowing in the constant reminder of everything I’ve lost, all of the time I wasted just to end up living in my flaws.
Somehow, in the past few days, Jackson went from being a tool—a step on the ladder to my success—into a man who dug his way under my skin, settling in the center of my universe and making me feel things that he’ll never feel back.
Things we couldn’t act on even if he did.
Jackson Rhoades is bad news for me and I’ve just been reminded of all the reasons why.