Prologue
Layla
Don’t text him. Don’t text him. Don’t text him.
Layla, you silly girl, don’t do it.
I stare at my phone sitting idly on my acrylic desk, begging to be touched. Spinning around in my chair, I think of all the reasons why I shouldn’t text Reed.
1. I’m engaged.
2. He’s older than me.
3. All of the above doesn’t mean shit.
It’s taunting me, that stupid little box is taunting me. I’ve never once thought about cheating on Brian, but lately, he’s been an asshole.
I know, I know, why now? Well, he wasn’t always like this. I’ve been with him since I was seventeen; he was my first everything. As the years went on, and my social media fame grew, he changed.
He went from bringing me my favorite flowers, sunflowers, every day, along with a cute little note, to nothing at all. Now, he ignores me, cheats on me (which he thinks I don’t know, but as women, we know), and sex? Only when he wants.
So the question I ask myself is, why do I stay? Well, Layla, if you must ask, we have over five million followers for our couple content, and I’m scared that if I leave him, no one will watch my content anymore.
You’re so stupid, Layla. People are dying.
I let out a long, exasperated sigh, still staring at my phone. Whatever, I should plot out content to film. With that, I scoot my chair toward my desk, pushing my phone far away from me before I grab my yellow spiral notebook.
Scribbling out ideas, getting in the zone, the door to my office slams open, hitting the wall, causing me to bounce up in shock.
My heart falls straight into the pit of my stomach, sending a wave of dread through me.
Brian walks in with a look of disdain written all over his face. He doesn’t even look at me when he drops the bouquet on my desk.
He’s not ugly. Not at all. Six foot four, broad shoulders, and muscles that used to make me melt just by looking at him. His black hair is always perfectly styled, every strand in place, like he’s auditioning for a magazine cover.
And those piercing blue eyes, yeah, once they made me weak. But now? Now they’re cold. Empty. All that polished, perfect packaging doesn’t matter when the personality inside ruins everything.
A bouquet lands on my desk with a dull smack. My eyes move from my pen to the sad little bouquet, of course, they’re not sunflowers. It’s never sunflowers anymore, just some sad-ass tulips with drooping stems and browning tips.
“There,” he says, his blue eyes piercing into mine. “Since you’re always bitching about me not getting you flowers.”
My pen freezes over the page of my notebook, where half-finished content ideas are scribbled in loops of purple ink. He notices what I’m doing, and he scoffs with a sly smile stretching across his lips.
“Get your little ideas ready so we can film and actually make some money,” he adds, dusting his jacket off.
Then he’s gone, turning on his heel and slamming the door hard enough to make the vase wobble on my desk.
I stare at the tulips. Pathetic, wilted, wrong. They resemble the apology he’ll never give me—half-dead, careless, already discarded.
Fuck him and his shitty tulips.
I snatch my phone in fury, scrolling through my contacts, until I find his.
Type. Delete. Type. Delete.
Ughhhhhh, why is this so hard?
Grow a sack, Layla, do it.
My thumbs move swiftly across the glass screen, clicks sounding throughout my office.
Layla
When’s a good time for me to film at Boots & Bourbon?
I slam my phone face down on my desk, the echo reverberating across the acrylic. Oh God, I did it.
I’m not cheating on my fiancé, I’m just helping a business owner get more views and customers for his bar.
No harm, no foul.
My hands sift through my hair as I tug at the strands, leaning against my desk on my elbows. My legs bounce up and down in a nervous rhythm, my stomach fluttering with nerves.
Buzz. Buzz. Buzz.
I crane my neck quickly, my eyes landing on my phone, snatching it up and reading the message that came through.
Reed
Whenever you want. Doors are always open for you.
I press the phone to my chest, shutting my eyes for a second. Relief washes through me, chasing away the heavy silence Brian left behind.
Tulips might wilt on my desk, but at least there’s one place where I don’t.
Ruby Ridge.
Fuck, have you ever felt like you’re being tugged and pulled by an invisible string?
Have you ever met someone and immediately felt that spark just by looking at them?
I shouldn’t have felt that way.
Not when I’m engaged, even though he’s an asshole.
Not when every corner of my life was painted in curated perfection for people on the internet.
But the moment I locked eyes with him behind the bar, broad shoulders bent over a bottle of whiskey, green eyes catching mine across the noise, everything I thought I wanted suddenly felt… wrong.
Now, sitting here with a vase of drooping, pathetic tulips on my desk, I can’t stop thinking about the way Reed looked at me, like he truly saw me.
And all I can think about is every time Brian opens his mouth, I fall a little harder for someone who isn’t him.