Chapter 22
MELODY
Iwoke up Monday morning to approximately seventy-three notifications on my phone. For a moment, panic seized me. Was it another scandal? Had someone leaked something about the arrangement with Austin?
I wasn’t even sure I cared. Last night had been miserable. I didn’t want to look at anything. I needed coffee first.
I made my way to the kitchen on autopilot, my phone still buzzing incessantly on the counter where I’d abandoned it. Whatever fresh hell awaited me in those notifications could wait until I had caffeine in my system.
I pulled out my favorite mug. It was oversized and had “But First, Coffee” printed on it.
Cleo had given it to me last Christmas. While it brewed, I grabbed the chocolate syrup from the fridge, the good kind that cost too much but made everything better.
I could be thrifty, but some things required name brand and good quality.
My speaker sat on the windowsill. I connected my phone just long enough to pull up my playlist before tossing it face down on the counter again. The opening notes of the new Red Clay Strays album filled the kitchen, and I relaxed a little.
This was my ritual. My sanctuary. Coffee, music, and a few precious moments before I had to face the world.
I made it a point to unplug for at least fifteen minutes every morning.
All the online stuff could be very taxing.
I had to brace myself for the usual trolls and I could only do that when I was in the right headspace.
The coffeemaker beeped. I poured the dark liquid into my mug, watching it swirl as I added a generous amount of chocolate syrup. I stirred slowly, focusing on the repetitive motion, the clink of the spoon against ceramic, the rich smell of chocolate and coffee mixing together.
I was not thinking about Austin. I was definitely not thinking about how his hands had felt on my body. Or how his lips had tasted. Or the way he’d looked at me when I’d pushed him away, like I’d hurt him somehow.
The music shifted to a slower song, something about longing and mistakes and roads not taken. I took a sip of my coffee, letting the sweetness coat my tongue.
I had done the right thing. Walking away had been the smart choice. The professional choice. We had rules for a reason. Boundaries existed to protect both of us from exactly the kind of complication that came from kissing your fake boyfriend until you couldn’t remember your own name.
Another sip. The coffee was perfect, just the right amount of chocolate.
So why did doing the right thing feel so terrible?
I leaned against the counter, cradling my mug in both hands, and stared out the window. Monday morning in New York. People heading to work, living their lives, completely unaware that I’d spent half the night tossing and turning, replaying every moment of that kiss.
“Stop it,” I said out loud to my empty kitchen.
The Red Clay Strays sang about heartbreak and walking away. I took another long drink of my coffee.
I was not going to analyze this. I was not going to wonder what would’ve happened if I stayed. I was not going to imagine what it would feel like to wake up in Austin Bancroft’s bed, wrapped in his arms, with no rules between us.
Nope.
Not thinking about any of that.
After feeling properly fortified, I reached for my phone and checked the texts first. Maybe I was hoping for something from Austin.
There wasn’t anything, but there were several from Cleo. She included a link which I quickly tapped.
It led me to Femme Curve’s Instagram. Pinned to the top was a statement.
My mouth hung open as I read the apology letter and promise to do better. They completely exonerated me of any wrongdoing. Yes, they had some lame excuse about it being standard practice but they understood how important it was to be authentic.
“Holy shit,” I murmured.
I read it three times. Then four. Then I scrolled to the comments.
Finally. A real apology.
Okay, this is what accountability looks like.
I’m glad they owned up to this. Melody deserves this.
Still not shopping with them, but at least they admitted what they did.
Poor Melody. She really didn’t know. I feel terrible for jumping on her.
This is why we need to wait for the full story before canceling people.
Not all the comments were positive. Some people still thought I knew and somehow bullied them into putting out the statement. They weren’t entirely wrong, but it was the right thing to do.
The tide was shifting. The narrative was changing.
My phone buzzed with another text from Cleo.
Cleo: This is huge, Mel. Austin really came through.
Austin.
No. I couldn’t think about that.
I had kissed plenty of men in my life. But none of them had ever kissed me like Austin did. That had been a masterclass in kissing. It wasn’t all slobbering and tongue. It was a seduction. Slow and deliberate. He wasn’t racing for the finish line.
“Get it together,” I muttered.
I carried my second cup of coffee up to my room and walked into my closet. I had a full schedule planned. Cleo had mapped it out days ago. Monday was supposed to be dedicated to planning and organizing. Tuesday through Thursday were shooting days. Friday was for editing and engagement.
Simple. Routine. Exactly what I needed to get my mind off Austin Bancroft and his stupid perfect hands and his stupid perfect kiss.
I stared at some of the new pieces that had been sent last week. The tags still on and waiting to be worn and photographed.
But I couldn’t focus.
Every time I tried to think about outfit combinations or caption ideas, my brain supplied images of Austin instead. Austin leaning against his car. Austin negotiating with lawyers like he owned the world. Austin kissing me.
My phone buzzed. A text. For a moment, my heart leaped, thinking it might be Austin.
It was Cleo letting me know she was on the way.
I took a quick shower and got dressed for the day. I did my best to ignore the memories that demanded dominance in my head.
I had just come downstairs when I heard the three quick knocks followed by my door opening.
Cleo. She had a spare key.
“Hey,” I called out.
She stormed in like a hurricane, her face thunderous, her purple hair practically crackling with rage.
“That asshole,” she said by way of greeting.
“Good morning to you too?”
“Don’t.” She held up her phone, shoving it in my face. “Just don’t. I hate that son of a bitch!”
“Which son of a bitch would that be?” I asked with confusion.
Her phone bounced in front of my face, threatening to make me cross-eyed.
I looked at the screen and felt my stomach drop to my feet.
It was a photo from some gossip Instagram account. The caption read: Already over? Austin Bancroft spotted getting cozy with mystery blonde at Club Lux last night. What happened to Melody?
The photo showed Austin on a dance floor, a gorgeous blonde pressed against him, her hands on his chest. He wasn’t kissing her—thank God—but they were close. Intimate. Like they were about to get naked right there on the dance floor.
And it had been taken last night. After I had left. After our kiss. After I told him to call someone if he needed a hookup. And apparently, he had.
The air left my lungs in a rush.
“I’m going to kill him,” Cleo said, her voice deadly calm. “I’m going to actually murder him. They’ll find his body in the Hudson, and I won’t even feel bad about it.”
“Cleo, no.”
“Don’t defend him. Don’t you dare defend him.” She was pacing now. The many bracelets she wore jangled and clanked as she gestured wildly. “You said you had a nice dinner with his family right now, right?”
I nodded. I didn’t have words. I had texted her after I got home, but I didn’t tell her anything. I couldn’t bring myself to admit to the kiss. Or to describe how coldly angry his father had been.
“He goes out and does this?” Cleo snorted. “What a prick. World-class dickhead.”
I wanted to say something. Wanted to explain that I had pushed him away, that this was technically what I’d suggested. But I couldn’t get words past the lump in my throat.
Seeing that photo hurt. Really hurt. Even though I had no right to be hurt.
Cleo continued to rail against him. She got pretty creative with the names. I could have defended him.
“Why did I ever think this was a good idea?” I said, my voice small.
Cleo stopped pacing. “It’s not your fault.”
“No, seriously. Why did I think this could work? That I could fake date a notorious playboy and not get hurt?” I laughed, but it sounded hollow. “God, I’m an idiot.”
“You’re not an idiot. He’s an asshole.”
“I told him to go call someone.” The admission came out quiet. “Last night. We went back to his place. We, uh, kissed. A little. But I stopped it. I told him if he needed a hookup, he should call someone else.”
Cleo’s expression shifted from rage to concern. “Oh, babe.”
“So technically, he did exactly what I suggested. Why am I mad about it?” I sank onto my couch, staring at the stupid photo. “Why does it feel like he cheated when we’re not even really together?”
“Because you have feelings for him.” Cleo sat beside me, her voice gentler now. “Real feelings. And he just proved he doesn’t deserve them.”
She was right. Of course she was right.
I had been stupid to catch feelings for Austin Bancroft. It was ridiculous to believe what we had might become something real. As if I could be different from all the other women who had passed through his life.
I was just another woman in a long line of women. Another face, another body, another temporary distraction.
“You got what you needed from him,” Cleo said. “You got your apology. Your reputation is being restored. The narrative is shifting in your favor.” She squeezed my hand. “You don’t need Austin Bancroft anymore. Cut him loose.”
Cleo was right. I had gotten what I needed. I didn’t need him anymore. And clearly, he didn’t need me either. Not when there were beautiful blondes in nightclubs ready to press themselves against him and make him forget all about the one woman who turned him down.
I picked up my phone and opened my text thread with Austin. I attached the photo Cleo had shown me. My fingers hovered over the keyboard.
This should be easy. We’d always known this was temporary. Always had an expiration date. I was just moving it up a little.
Me: This isn’t going to work anymore. I wish you all the best, Austin. Thanks for everything.
I read it. Reread it. Made sure it sounded professional and final and not like my heart was cracking in my chest. Then I hit send.
The message showed as delivered immediately. I put the phone down, not wanting to be tempted to watch and see if he read the message. I couldn’t help but wonder if he was still in bed with that woman curled up next to him.
“Good,” Cleo said softly, though her expression was sympathetic. “He doesn’t deserve you anyway. Now we can focus on your actual career. Your real life. Not this fake relationship bullshit.”
“Right. Real life.”
“I’ll make us breakfast,” Cleo announced, heading to my kitchen. “And then we’re going to plan the best content week you’ve ever had. We’re going to show everyone that you don’t need anyone to be successful.”
“Okay.”
She paused at the kitchen entrance. “Mel? You did the right thing.”
“I know.”
But as I sat there on my couch, listening to Cleo bang around in my kitchen, my phone silent with Austin’s non-response, I wasn’t sure I believed it.
The right thing wasn’t supposed to hurt this much.