27. Brooklyn #2
There’s a break in the music. We’re just leaving the floor when an elegant older woman in a flouncy gold ballgown catches Luka with a wave. In her manicured hand, she clutches an envelope the same color and glittery shine as her dress. My pulse kicks into overdrive.
“I’ve been protecting this with my life,” she says, “but now it’s time to turn it over to you. Ten minutes and you’re up, Mr. Zoric.”
He thanks her as he takes the envelope and tucks it into his breast pocket.
I pretend like a supernova of anxiety and anticipation didn’t just erupt inside me.
Everyone around us turns to look and make little comments about what’s inside, whose name is inside.
The band plays one more song, but I barely hear it.
Meanwhile, the woman preps Luka about his appearance on stage, and before I know it, a hush falls over the room and we’re all taking our seats.
My husband takes the stairs to the stage and approaches the mic in the middle. A round of clapping and cheers goes up from the room. I feel eyes on me but I don’t look at anyone. I can’t.
I clasp my hands in my lap, knowing I have to keep my composure.
In a matter of moments, my life is going to change forever.
I’m going to be a household name. My face spread across billboards coast to coast, popping up on TV in other countries, featured in ads inside every magazine that counts.
Working with Maxilene is going to launch my career like nothing else.
“Welcome, everyone, and thank you for coming out to celebrate with us on this exciting evening. Maxilene’s campaign search has drawn a lot of attention, and I’m very honored to be the one holding this little treasure.” He holds up the envelope. It shimmers in the stage lights.
“I could go into a big speech about nothing just to prolong your suspense, or, I could just get on with it.”
The crowd laughs along with several shouts of, “Open it!”
He winks. “I think I’d better just open it.”
My smile is making my cheeks hurt. I’m sitting so still, so tight, that the muscles in my shoulders begin to burn.
I can barely draw a breath. Luka slides a finger under the flap and lifts out a card.
He blinks fast, once, twice, his expression neutral.
I can’t read him. He’s giving me nothing.
I expect his eyes to find mine, for his grin to break across his face all big and excited.
He licks his lower lip as he finally meets my gaze. “The Maxilene campaign goes to…Monica Shore.”
My stomach drops, my ears suddenly ringing. A round of applause and deafening cheers explodes from the crowd, the noise so insistent and loud that I’m almost second-guessing that I heard him correctly. Did he say Monica fucking Shore?
And then I see her moving through the crowd, practically bouncing on her stilettos, red lips blazing as she throws her head back in a laugh. Her normally platinum blonde hair is newly dyed a rich brown, curled into lush waves…a hairstyle that I immediately realize looks like an exact copy of mine.
How? How did this happen?
Everyone is on their feet. Everyone but me.
I can’t bring myself to care if anyone notices that I’m sitting there with my face still frozen in a false grin, trying to figure out how this all went so wrong.
Luka didn’t fight for me that hard, did he?
He was helming this plot to woo Maxilene, and somehow she’d come out on top.
That meant he’d rallied for her, too, and hard.
He told me they were looking for a new face—not an overexposed one with a new hair color. Did he campaign for her harder, knowing she was more experienced and had a better chance at this than I did?
His words about my Happyland gig come back to haunt me: “DRM isn’t exactly in a financial position where we can be turning down contracts.” Did that mean he’d thrown me under the bus in favor of Monica Shore to ensure the agency secured this seven-figure deal?
Fury tightens my insides. Surging out of my seat, I press a hand to my chest. My lungs feel like they’re caving in.
I think back to when they met for breakfast and I’d seen them while walking the dog. He said they’d been discussing business. That he’d signed her. Is this why? Because he didn’t think I could cut it, and he knew a heavy hitter like her could win over Maxilene on DRM’s behalf?
Did he always intend to elevate Monica’s career over mine?
Luka finishes his speech, but I’m not listening anymore.
Monica has her arm looped through his and I have to turn away so I don’t scream out something that will get me blackballed forever.
My hands ball into fists as I move to the side of the stage and behind the curtain.
Luka will have to come this way when he exits, and I know exactly what I’m going to say.
He betrayed me. Again.
And the worst part isn’t just that he led me on about this campaign. It’s that he obviously doesn’t feel the same way about me as I do about him. Luka Zoric doesn’t love me.
I can’t live like this. Not anymore.
The curtain moves slightly as he trots down the last stair and appears from behind the fabric, almost running smack into me.
“Brooklyn—” His eyes go wide, but I don’t give him a chance to finish.
Keeping my voice low, I hold up my hand to stop him in his tracks.
“I want a divorce. And I’m taking the dog.”