CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR
Hendrix
T he days blur together. Between the continuous orders coming in and the influx of people who suddenly care about my bakery—mostly looky-loos hoping to catch a glimpse of Jase when he’s never set foot in here to begin with—I barely have time to breathe, let alone revel in this newfound, albeit temporary, success.
Jase was right. I need help. I can keep up with the orders, but it’s the orders and the customers and the ridiculous questions being asked—so someone can snap a sneaky pic of me—that I can’t do.
So I placed an ad for help—one for an experienced baker and another for a storefront clerk. Needless to say, none of them seem like they hold any validity. From the ones I’ve sorted through on my computer in front of me, most of them are from women whose qualifications seem to be “Die-hard BENT Fan” and “Future Mrs. Gizmo.”
It’s ridiculous.
It’s exhausting.
It’s unfathomable.
But isn’t that how this whole experience has been? It’s not like I’ve had a ton of time to sit and actually acknowledge that I’m in a marriage of convenience with a rock star.
I mean, I have. I had the whole wedding and a few days at his house to come to grips with it, but now that the world knows, it’s a completely different ball game. There’s a whole lot of mental gymnastics to navigate.
I close my laptop, stand, and then catch my reflection in the bakery’s front glass. My hair is still up in a messy bun, I have a little flour on my cheek, and my apron has streaks of icing on it. I look exactly how I always do after a long day of baking and creating, with one exception.
The massive diamond on my finger.
The ring that Paul notices immediately when he walks through the open back door like he owns the place. I recoil immediately at the sight of him.
Really should have gotten that key from him. I’m regretting telling Sammy that I was done for the day and that he could leave. Is it so bad I just wanted some time to myself in my own shop without eyes on me?
Yes. Apparently, it is.
Jase is going to be furious with me for it.
“Oh. Look. She’s actually bothered to show up today,” he sneers as he leans his ass against the counter and takes up residence opposite me.
Funny how you can love someone with your whole heart, talk about making a life together, a future, and in a matter of weeks all you feel is disgust when you see that person again. And I most definitely do feel that when I look at him in a place we built together.
“I’ve been here every day last I checked.”
He holds a finger up. “Every day except for when you ran off to get married, huh?”
“Was that before or after you were fucking Applebee’s in our bed? Because I was under the impression that right there negated you getting to have a say about anything in my life.”
“You’re—or maybe the lack of you —is the reason there was Applebee’s in the first place.”
“Save it.” Don’t let him get in your head, Hendrix. Don’t give him an inch . “It’s probably best that you leave, Paul.”
His expression twists with something dark. Anger? Jealousy? Entitlement? “Nah. I think I’ll stay. Especially since you’ve been avoiding me.”
I cross my arms. “Avoiding you? Um, no shit . You typically avoid your ex when he’s a cheating piece of shit.” Besides, the only text I received today from someone other than media trying to get an “in” with me was Jase sending me his usual rundown of where he’s going to be. Paul will have to try harder than that if he thinks I’m going to bend to him again.
Paul scoffs. “Hilarious. You want to talk about cheating? You’re parading around like some little trophy wife, acting all innocent. How’d you even meet him, huh? When did you find the time to screw Jase Gizmodo? I’d ask how much he’s paying you for the sex, but then again we both know you’re not that good—”
“Get out.” Words bubble up in my throat—besides the fear of being found out—but I don’t allow either to come out.
“Come on, Hendrix. This is total bullshit. There’s some sick game being played here, and I just can’t figure out what it is. Are you paying him? Like is this your scheme to make this shitty bakery a success? Is it more than that? Because, it sure as shit isn’t because he wants you.”
“I’m going to say it again, Paul, and then I’m going to call the cops. You need to go.” I walk over to open the door and point to the alley.
Big mistake.
Because the diamond catches the light, flashing between us. Paul has my wrist gripped in his hand in seconds. His eyes narrow as he studies it, the vein in his forehead popping out. “Hmm. Seems you are whoring for him.” He flashes a nasty smile. “Guess I could always take back what’s owed to me.” His eyes drag up and down the length of me. “One way or another.”
“Let. Me. Go,” I grit out. Paul is all bark and no bite, but that doesn’t mean fear isn’t snaking down my spine. What is he actually capable of?
Paul’s chuckle is maniacal as he tries to pull me against him with one hand while the fingers of his other are on the ring on my finger.
Before I can react, the bell above the door chimes, and then suddenly, Paul is no longer touching me. Jase comes out of nowhere and has Paul pinned against the wall, his forearm against Paul’s throat and his face inches away.
“That’s my wife,” Jase growls. “Stay the fuck away from her. Do. Not. Ever. Touch. Her. Again.”