I heard a groan of frustration. “You’re a very difficult woman, Cassy.”
“So I’ve been told.”
“Now I see why no one wants to work with you.” He laughed.
“People do want to work with us, but it’s not that easy. If you haven’t noticed, Isabella isn’t your typical nineteen-year old. We need to make sure the facility meets ADA requirements. Not all do. Many places that were willing to donate their premises are located inside older buildings. Some are simply too small. I’m trying to find something similar to Melrose Cinema in size and layout, but most theaters aren’t willing to shut down for a nonprofit event on a Saturday night during the new James Bond movie release week.”
“What can I do to help?”
His question was unexpected, an eerie whisper inside my head. “I’m not asking you for help, Dante.”
“I’m not implying you are, but if there’s anything I can do, you can tell me.”
“I think maybe you should concentrate on getting better instead of making promises you might not be able to keep.”
He was quiet. The stillness that stretched between us on the line was like rubber. The words that followed next almost hurt.
“Listen to me, Cassy,” Dante spoke, tone soft and serious. “I know you’re mad at him for all the shit he did, but you should call him. I’m not saying forgive him…just call him.”
“Why?”
“Because life is fucking short, Cassy. Because you’re here one minute and gone the next.”
He ended the call before I had a chance to respond. There was one part of me that wanted to dial his number and demand an explanation. But instead, I dialed Frank’s. My heart palpitated inside my chest. My ears rang. Anxiety swirled through my stomach. The room suddenly felt like a box. A trap. A prison. And the only way out was the voice on the other side. The voice that never answered.
And then, three days later, I received an email from an anonymous sender with photos of Frank and another woman. Grainy, zoomed-in, cell phone quality images that didn’t tell me where and how he was, that didn’t tell me anything except the obvious. He had someone to console him. He didn’t need me.
Fine. I didn’t need him either.
There were other hot, willing, and less complicated men.
Like Jax.
“Let me take a look again.” My mother held out her hand, tone demanding.
“There’s nothing to see there, Mom,” I countered in a low whisper. “He’s somewhere in Hawaii or Aspen, trying to seduce an elderly woman.”
As always, I was exaggerating. The woman in the photos didn’t look that old, but she wasn’t my age either. She was just an odd choice for someone like Frank. Baggy pants, boyish haircut. There wasn’t enough for me to work with. The photos weren’t great. I’d been waiting for them to surface online or flood the tabloids ever since they’d hit my inbox two days ago, but nothing happened. Frankie Blade was still off the grid. Even the flowers stopped coming.
My mother’s palm jerked in front of my face impatiently. With a groan, I gave up my phone.
We waited for Ashton on the oversized couches next to the magazine stand in the lobby. He was in one of the glass cubicles with a bank representative, opening his checking account.
“I really don’t understand why you dragged me out here.” I sighed loudly and surveyed the lines snaking along the teller windows, wondering if anyone here read the tabloids. Being the trending topic on TMZ for a couple of days had its drawbacks. This was the city where everyone needed to stay up-to-date with the celebrity gossip. Naturally, right after Frank’s meltdown, random people approached me in public. Not so much now, weeks later, but the anxiety of being watched and judged was constantly there. Like a tumor. I could feel it squeezing my guts every time I stepped outside my apartment.
The AC was working full blast and the cool air pleasantly danced against my skin.
“I haven’t seen you in forever,” my mother croaked, bringing my phone to her face to zoom in on the photos.
“I was just there the other night, Mom.”
“You had one cookie and left twenty minutes later.”
“That’s because I’m busy. You know the screening is in five weeks. There’s too much to do. I promise we’ll have a real dinner after Levi and I finish this project.”
We fell into a short moment of silence.
“Honey, I don’t think this woman is someone he’d date,” my mother concluded after careful inspection of the images that were clearly a very poor attempt at paparazzi.
“But he’s somewhere and he’s with someone.” I didn’t know why it bugged me so much. I was the one who’d walked out. I was the one who’d ignored his calls and texts for weeks before he’d finally given up. Now that he clearly had a companion, my jealousy was getting the best of me. The day after I received the photos, I decided to follow Isabella’s advice. I’d texted Jax and asked him if he wanted to grab something to eat.
There was no way in hell I was going to cry myself to sleep for years to come while Frank was moving on with his life. Never.
“Did you try to call him again?” My mother didn’t let up.
“No.”
“I think you should, honey.”
“Why are you taking his side?”
“I’m not taking his side, but the man has clearly gotten under your skin. Both of you need closure.”
“Mom.” I turned to face her and tried to use my nicest voice. “Did you like getting eighty phone calls a day?”
Shoulders slumped, she returned my phone. “I don’t like you right now, Cassy.”
“It’s because I had my heart ripped out of my chest and tossed into the trash,” I hissed through my teeth. “Can we not talk about this anymore?”
Telling my mother about my break-up with Frank and about the photos was a mistake. I’d never expected her to try and understand him, especially since she’d lived with an alcoholic for over fifteen years and because she’d seen the footage from the release party, but she kept bringing it up, and it drove me nuts.
It made me nervous.
It made me doubt my decision to agree to a date with Jax.
It almost felt like I was cheating.
He was picking me up at six and I spent a good hour styling my hair and changing outfits while a cloud of guilt hung over me. My overactive mind kept going back to my very last conversation with Frank, looking for something to hold on to, looking for the words I’d missed then, looking for a way out of this date. But then I remembered what he’d said to me at the party, how my goodness was suffocating him. And my anger returned tenfold.
At five fifty-five, my phone buzzed. Jax was downstairs. After I tossed my ID and credit cards in my Michael Kors purse, I slid into the matching dress booties and hurried to leave the apartment before Ashton showered me with more questions.
The sun sat low on the horizon and opulent shades of orange and red streaked across the darkening sky, propped up by the tall palm trees lining my street. The sidewalk was littered with dog-walkers and runners, and I felt naked in front of all these people. The wild thrum of my pulse in my temples made my head hurt.
Jax’s convertible was parked across the street. He stepped out of the vehicle and skirted around to open the passenger door. Skittish, my heart jolted into a sprint. It wasn’t the same beat that pumped through my veins when I was with Frank. This was a broken rhythm. A poor imitation. A rough demo.