Chapter Forty
Juliette flipped back and forth through the manuscript another half dozen times, but the results were the same every time.
Self-aggrandizing, pompous and disconnected, rambling and nonsensical.
And most egregious of all—boring. Warren had sworn his memoir would be different, and as the master of secrets at an ultraexclusive country club, Juliette had assumed he had more than enough fodder to blow those cannons.
But now Warren was dead, and his memoir was complete and utter garbage.
There was an entire chunk of the middle that was just grainy black-and-white pictures from throughout Warren’s life with useless captions like “Mo and me” with no explanation who Mo was.
Juliette had spun a lot of dross into gold over the years with her fantastic marketing pitches, but this was unsalvageable.
And without Warren around to draw any more stories out of, this was all she had to work with.
Simon Says was doomed, her career was over, everything she’d fought for was a waste of time, and worst of all—Juniper was winning their rivalry.
Unless Juniper had accidentally engineered some international incident that resulted in the death of a beloved children’s TV actor, she couldn’t fuck up worse than Juliette had.
“I need some air,” Juliette said, stumbling back.
“Wait, what about calling the police?” Brigitte called after her.
“Wait, what?” Chipper said. “Call the police for what?”
“To arrest you, obviously,” Brigitte said.
“Hey, you can’t arrest me!” Chipper protested. “I didn’t do anything, and you don’t have any proof. Look, I told you everything I know. You can’t hold me like this!”
“Of course we can,” Brigitte said. “Dennis, hold him.”
“Hey!” Chipper protested.
Juliette couldn’t even appreciate the golf pro’s physical discomfort, lost as she was in her own misery.
She had well and truly shit the bed on this one.
She’d put everything—everything—on the line for this book.
What the hell was she going to do now? How could she take this garbage to Spencer, much less to Simon himself, and pitch this as the salvation she’d promised?
Her parents had been right about her all along, all that potential gone to waste on a stubborn and defiant personality.
She’d been so sure of her success, she’d never made a plan for her failure.
Everything was screwed, and it was all her fault.
She stumbled down the hall, looking for the nearest exit, when the sight of a familiar figure drew her up short. “Charlie?”
Charlie straightened in surprise from where he’d been leaning against the counter, that boxy, shapeless white coat like an insult to his perfect physique.
“Juliette,” Charlie said in surprise. Dammit, even now she loved the way he said her name. Like she could lick it off his tongue. “What are you doing here?”
“What are you doing here?” she asked.
His shoulders tensed, his gaze skittering away. “Actually—”
“Charlie,” came that demanding, strident tone Juliette had grown to hate. Sporty Ex appeared at the desk, hands on her hips, glaring. “Let’s go.”
“Oh,” Juliette said, swiveling her gaze from Katarina to Charlie. “Wow. Okay. That was fast, wasn’t it?”
“It’s not what you think,” Charlie said, looking pained.
“Does she know we hooked up?” Juliette asked plainly, staring the other woman down. “Or is that why she’s hanging around now? Because somebody else was finally paying attention to you?”
“Charlie is an adult,” Katarina said in the exact tone of a scolding mother. “He’s here of his own free will.”
“For business,” Charlie said, looking like he was drowning. “Last night Katarina said the club had some older members who’d been complaining of chest pains after their tennis lessons and she thought it might be a good idea to examine them for underlying conditions.”
“Members who don’t like being kept waiting,” Katarina said, snapping her fingers as if she were calling a loose pet.
“Oh my god,” Juliette said, shaking her head. “You know, I kept thinking it was the patriarchy pitting us against each other, but now I realize I actually hate you as a person.”
“Excuse me?” Katarina said, blinking in shock.
“It’s a relief, really,” Juliette said. “I was so disappointed in myself for falling prey to the manipulations of internalized misogyny. But it turns out, you’re just genuinely a terrible person.”
“Charlie, are you going to let her talk to me like that?” Katarina demanded.
Juliette put her hands up before Charlie could answer. “Don’t bother choosing favorites, I already know how that plays out. I really don’t have time for whatever this is anyway. I have my own problems.”
“Juliette, please, wait,” Charlie said, reaching out as if to take her hands.
“Charlie!” Katarina snapped. “Let her go.”
“No,” Charlie said, in that authoritative tone that made every bone in Juliette’s body melt. He didn’t bother to look at Katarina, his gaze fixed on her. “Juliette, what’s wrong?”
Juliette gave a humorless laugh that felt dangerously close to a sob. “What’s wrong? Everything. Nothing. What do you care?”
“I care,” he said, his voice low and intense.
She could tell him everything, unload all her failures and shortcomings, all her terrible fears realized.
And she knew exactly what he’d do—he’d comfort her.
Tell her it was okay, it wasn’t her fault, she’d tried her best. She had tried her best, and it wasn’t good enough.
She wasn’t good enough. She never would be, she could see that so clearly now.
It just took hitting rock bottom to finally accept it.
Juliette shook her head. “That’s your problem, Charlie. You care. All the time. For everybody else. Everybody else’s feelings. Even when they don’t deserve it. I don’t deserve it. I don’t want it. I think I wish I’d never met you, Charlie Hawkins.”
Charlie drew back sharply. “I … I’m sorry?”
God, she couldn’t stop ruining things, could she? “Look, I don’t care what you do with your time. You want to waste it on your manipulative ex? That’s your business. We were a casual thing, now it’s over. I’m not interested anymore, Doctor Dud.”
“Juliette, you don’t mean that,” Charlie said, though the light was fading in his eyes. It was like watching a time lapse of someone’s heart breaking. Juliette couldn’t have hated herself more.
“It’s done,” Juliette said, shutting off every part of her heart. She’d certainly had more than enough practice at it over the course of her life, but something about this last time felt permanent. Like maybe she could never open it up again.
“Now can we go?” Katarina demanded, looking at Charlie.
But Charlie wouldn’t stop looking at Juliette. “Is that really what you want?”
“Of course,” Juliette said, glaring. Daring him to question her again. “Bye, Charlie.”
Juliette aimed for the breezy, dismissive tone Brigitte had used with the gossip gals.
She was worried she sounded a lot more like the petulant teenager her parents had so often criticized.
Maybe they’d been right about her stunted emotional development and overemphasis on physical connections as a substitution for emotional intimacy.
Then again, she’d been fifteen and horny, and they’d been terrible parents.
No, Juliette was right, and the sight of Charlie leaving with Sporty Ex proved it.
Letting people in only gave them the opportunity to hurt you. She was better off alone.
Of course, that didn’t stop it from feeling any less terrible. Sometimes being right felt an awful lot like being permanently wrong.