I’m clenching my teeth so hard it hurts. My hands are by my side and balled into fists. I curse Emma silently. She really is a class A bitch. I need to fix things before they get out of hand.
Fuck the deal—I’m going over to set things straight.
Emma doesn’t let go of me. Instead, she leans into me and whispers.
“You’re not going to renege on our little deal, are you? Remember, all it takes is a few calls and offhand comments to reporters for Sophie’s little film to become a shit show.”
There’s that over powering perfume again nearly making me sick.
I shake my head.
“Good,” she murmurs and her lips brush over my cheeks.
Repulse builds in me.
Somewhere across the crowded room, I see Jordan. I try to get his attention, so he could come over. I want to ask him to pass a message to Sophie, but the bastard is deliberately ignoring me. Has Emma let him in on the deal?
Emma works her magic around the room. She’s a pro at making her way from group to group, staying only a few minutes if the people bore her, and longer if she thinks they may be of use to her.
As we socialize, she makes sure she is making body contact with me at all times. Obviously, she’s flaunting being with me. Try as I might to keep a professional distance between us, Emma does the opposite.
She’s either resting her hand on my shoulder, or she puts her whole arm around my waist. A couple of times, she kisses me on the cheek. Each time, I wipe off the offending lipstick.
“Let’s sit down, darling,” Emma purrs and points to a black leather lounge in front of a small round table. On the other side are several mushroom type stools, all of them occupied.
Grudgingly, I sit down. Promptly, Emma seats herself on top of me.
“Tone it down, will you?” I growl into her ear. At the same time, I grab her by the hips to push her off me.
“Darling, please not in front of all these people,” she shrieks and slides onto the couch next to me.
I’m about to say something, but she’s already talking to the people across from us.
“Todd can barely keep his hands off me.” More giggling. “He didn’t really want to come. Said we should get a room instead.”
She shoots me a playful glance.
“Champagne, please,” she calls to a waiter who is walking past with a tray of drinks.
“Listen,” I whisper into her ear but again, but she stops me.
“You listen to me,” she says. “I’m only just getting started. And need I remind you of our deal? More than ruining the film, I can withdraw my rights. Yeah, that’s right,” she adds, watching the stunned expression on my face. “I’ve managed to secure some of the rights. I can kill have this film killed easily.”
She smiles brightly, takes a sip of her drink and continues.
“And surely, little Toddy does not want that, does he now?”
With a sigh of defeat, I shake my head. The bitch does really have me by my short and curlies.
The evening drags on. I pay very little attention to any of the conversation around me. Sophie is surrounded by people. I wish I was one of them.
She seems to be drinking too much. I didn’t know her to be a big drinker, and I can’t help but be surprised by the number of shots she’s downing.
Alice is with her and both of them are laughing. Mason is also there.
Mason. Good ol’ Mason.
Of course, he would be there to comfort her. Since day one, I knew Mason had the hots for Sophie. She is, of course, oblivious to the effect she has on men.
Sophie downs another shot and takes a step. She wobbles, stumbles and then falls. Alice giggles. I want to go and help her up. I make to stand but Emma’s hand moves onto my thigh with lightning speed.
I stay where I am. Emma giggles and says something. I don’t pay any attention. A photographer comes over to us.
“Smile for the camera,” he says and snaps a photo. Emma wraps herself around me.
“Can you take another one please?”
Snap. He does.
Sophie is back on her feet. She’s wiping the front of her dress. Alice seems to be saying something to her.
I wish I knew what they were talking about. Fuck, I wish I was there with them. If I were, Sophie wouldn’t be getting drunk the way she is.
I wonder how she’s getting home. Just then Alice hands Mason car keys.
Mason puts them into his pocket. Then he puts one arm around Sophie’s waist, whilst the other supports her around her shoulders. Her head rests on his chest.
My heart is beating so wildly, I think it might burst out of my chest any second.
I should be there. That should be me.
Now Alice hands Mason Sophie’s bag and all I can do is watch as he gently maneuvers her toward the back of the restaurant. Clever man.
He’s going to take her out the back exit, make sure she does not come to the attention of the press. It wouldn’t do much for Sophie’s image to have a photo taken from the venue, plastered and then have it spread all over the papers tomorrow morning.
I envy Mason. I envy him so much it’s starting to fucking hurt. Why is he the one looking after Sophie when it should be me?
Fool, fool, fool, my inner voice reminds me.
27
Sophie
I furrow my brow. A movement sends shock waves through my head. Who’s working with a jack hammer at this time of day?
It takes me several minutes, maybe even longer, to realize the jackhammer is working away inside my own head.
My left hand gropes for something to cover my head.
Nothing.
I groan and moan. Slowly, memories of last night push their way through the hazy fog. Pain shoots through me at the thought of Todd with that bitch Emma.
Why am I still alive? Why haven’t I died? Surely a broken heart will lead to death?
A shadow of some sort blocks out the streak of sunlight creeping along the carpet, forcing its way through the curtains.
My heart beats a little faster. He’s here. It was all a terrible nightmare after all. I smile. Life’s good. Life’s perfect, except for the massive pain in my head.
Gingerly, I sit up and open my eyes. It takes a few minutes until my vision clears. I wonder how much I actually drank last night. Getting drunk really isn’t my thing.
The face slowly comes into focus. I can’t believe it. Elation turns to devastation.
“Good morning, sleeping beauty.”
Does he have to shout?
“What are you doing here, Mason?”
How stupid I am to delude myself into thinking Todd came here after all? He was probably in Emma’s arms.
Tears threaten to spill. I wipe my eyes with the back of my hand.
“You had a little bit too much to drink last night,” Mason starts his explanation. “And Alice asked me to take you home. By the time I got you here, it was pretty late and so I just crashed on the couch.”
Images of gulping down several glasses of champagne surface in my mind. Nausea overcomes me. I debate my next move.
Shall I run to the bathroom and throw up or shall I try and ride it out?
Mind over matter, I tell myself over and over like a mantra, until I no longer feel the need to throw up.
“Coffee,” I mutter, more to myself than to Mason. “I need a strong cup of coffee.”
Mason hands me a steaming mug of black liquid.
“Strong and hot. Just what the doctor ordered.”
I smile at him.
“Thanks, Mason. You’re a gem.”
Quietly, I sip on my caffeine. What will I do now? I can’t go getting drunk every night—that’s not going to solve my heartache, is it?
Curling up into a tiny ball while waiting for the pain to subside…well, that’s a plan. Not a good one, but a plan nonetheless.
With a sigh, I make a mental note to visit mum and dad in the next few days. Parental comfort and support is what every
broken-hearted girl needs.
“Do you want to come out with me for brunch?”
Mason’s question rouses me out of my navel gazing. I glance at the clock. Ouch, I seem to have slept most of the morning away.
I run through my options. Get some food ready at home, or go back to bed and wallow in self-pity.
“Sure,” I reply. “Let me just make myself a little more presentable.”
I ignore the fact that I’m no longer in my evening dress but my pajamas. Sometimes it’s best not to ask too many questions.
Ten minutes later, we’re seated in the courtyard of the Breakfast Bar café. To my relief, they advertise all day breakfast.
My mother is a great believer in a big fatty breakfast being the best cure for a hangover. I don’t feel particularly hungry, but I order the big breakfast with a double shot espresso.
I see Mason study me after we order. It makes me feel a little awkward. I search for something to say to start a conversation.
“You know Sophie,” Mason starts before I get the chance to say something. “I have always admired you, ever since film school.”
My heart beats a little faster. Oh, please, don’t let him declare his undying love to me. I can’t bear to hurt his feelings.
“Mason—” I start but he stops me.
“No. Let me finish. Ever since film school, I’ve had a crush on you. I think you are the sexiest, most talented and beautiful woman I know.”
My face goes red. I look down. Poor Mason.
My thoughts go to Todd. Why did I have to fall so miserably in love with someone who not only couldn’t be faithful, but also do not reciprocate my feelings? Why do women always choose the wrong guy?
“I mean, what’s not to love about you Sophie? You are just awesome.”
The waiter brings our food and Mason keeps staring at me.
If I’m so awesome, why didn’t Todd want to be with me? It doesn’t make sense. But life’s like that, isn’t it? Sometimes, the person we love, just doesn’t love us back. And it’s not just me. I mean, look at Mason—he’s exactly in the same boat as I am.
“If someone can’t see how lucky they are to have your love, they must be blind.”
This is Mason’s way of telling me it’s Todd who’s missing out. Really, what he should tell me is that I’m blind for buying Todd’s act. Stupid, stupid, Sophie.
The smell of bacon makes me realize I’m hungry. I take a few mouthfuls of food. By the time I’m halfway through my meal, I feel better. The pain in my head has subsided a bit, and the nausea is gone as well. The world no longer looks so dark and bleak.
“I had to tell you how I feel Sophie,” Mason continues.
“Thanks. I…” I start, but Mason stops me.
“I know it’s not going to go anywhere.” He offers me a sad smile. “I just want you to know how I feel, and that I’m here for you, as a friend, whenever you need one.”
I smile and reach over to stroke his cheek.
“Thanks, Mason. That means a lot to me.”
And it does. You can’t have too many friends, especially friends who actually care for you and look after you.
When we leave, we go our separate ways.
I stand in the middle of the street, the sunlight caressing my skin, and I take a deep breath.
Time to stop navel-gazing.
28
Todd
The flowers in my hand are growing heavier by the minute. A dozen red roses—each signifying the emotions coursing through my head and heart.
I run through a number of apologies in mind. I could say something like "I messed up; forgive me," or I could just come out and say, "I'm sorry."
I even think about getting creative like rolling a message in a bottle, or spelling the words out in food, or flower petals. Or even placing a message in a candy bar…like Wonka's golden ticket, except in this case, instead of winning a trip to a candy factory, I'm trying to win a trip back into Sophie's heart.
No. That's stupid.
I look at my watch. She should be here any minute. The longer I watch the minutes advance, the faster I feel my heart hammer in my chest. The anxiety and anticipation is intense…like a hand squeezing the back of my neck.
Then I see it. Sophie's car.
I watch as she pulls up to the curb. She's wearing dark sunglasses but the way her gaze falls on me…I know she sees me.
She gets out of the car and pushes her glasses atop her head. She locks her car and walks up the pavement toward her door, her heels clicking a steady rhythm on the concrete.
She gives me one quick, cold stare and it breaks my heart. It's like an icy dagger piercing my chest, and I can barely stand it.
I approach her.
"Sophie, I'm so sorry," I say, extending the flowers to her.
She grabs the bouquet, hesitating for a moment before speaking.
"Stop Todd," she says, "Don't do this. I don't want you here. Leave. I mean it."
"Just give me a minute…please."
"What do you want?"
"I just want a moment to talk with you," I say. "That's all I'm asking for…a moment of your time. There's something I need to say."
Sophie shakes her head.
"No," she says. "I don't want to talk to you. Leave."
Everything about her feels cold. Her arms are crossed, and her face is as welcoming as an ice cube.
Seeing her like this makes me want to fall apart. Piece by piece. It's as if someone's perforating my heart slowly, pinprick by pinprick.
I drop down on one knee ready to do whatever it takes.
"I'm begging you," I say. "Just hear me out. That's all I'm asking."
She shakes her head some more, and I can involuntarily feel myself raising my voice.
"All I'm asking for is a minute—a single minute!"
And as soon as those words leave my lips…the tone loud and frustrated, I know I've sealed my fate.
The crease in her brow deepens and without taking another look at me, she hands the flower bouquet back to me, unlocks her door, steps inside, and slams it shut.
The sound of the door closing and locking behind her causes my chest to tighten.
I throw the bouquet to the ground, watching the flowers bruise. Some petals fall off, and the wind carries them across the pavement.
I shake my head, pick myself up, and walk back to my car.
I feel weird.
From a distance, I can hear the heels of my feet scraping the concrete. I can hear a nearby car horn honk. I see a pigeon strut idly down the sidewalk. And everything seems to be moving in slow motion. Or maybe it's as if everything is muffled and under water. In either case, it feels as if my reality has shifted.
Fuck. How did everything go so off the rails?
I shake my head again as I unlock my car door. As soon as I slip inside, I slam the door shut behind me and pound my fist into the steering wheel.
"Fuck!" I scream out in frustration. This can't be fucking happening.
I turn the key in the ignition, press my foot on the gas pedal and peel away from the curb, the tires screeching, shrill and angry.
I look up and see the light turn yellow, and I punch the gas harder with my foot.
I'm not in the mood to be waiting for any light.
The light turns red, and I burn through it like a hot bolt of lightning.
A few people turn to look at me but I don't pay them any heed.
I blaze down the street, block after block, and with every yellow light, I refuse to slow down. I speed through, even as they turn red, time after time.
Right now, I give zero fucks.
Nothing matters anymore.
I turn the music up on the radio. The tempo is fast and chaotic and it fuels my mood.
I press on the gas pedal harder. It's pressed nearly to the floor when I suddenly see a person—a teenage boy—stepping into the street. He isn't looking at me, or my car. He's wearing headphones, oblivious to the world, and I realize I'm second
s away from hitting this kid.
This is bad. Really bad.
In a split second, I swerve and tap the breaks, my wheels squealing and turning away from the kid. My heart hammers in my chest with the knowledge that I was seconds away from potentially ending this kid's life.
"Fuck you asshole!" the kid yells, flipping me the middle finger. His eyes look wild with fear and anger.
This knowledge…that I almost fatally hit someone…makes me sick and it snaps my mind back to reality. The fog of all my angry emotions lifts, and I take my foot from the gas pedal, deciding to move cautiously forward.
Finally, I arrive home, and as soon as I pull in, I'm reminded of Sophie everywhere I look. The walkway. The landscaping. The front entrance. Everything.
I walk inside, and every piece of furniture makes me think of Sophie.
I can't escape her.
It's driving me insane.
Without wasting another moment, I grab my jacket, pick up my keys again, and leave.
29
Sophie
I rub my eyes. Staring at the screen for so many hours always gives me dry eyes. What I’d give now for a decent cup of coffee.
“Looks good,” I smile at Eric and stifle a yawn. Sleep hasn’t been coming easy for me.
“Good?” Eric grimaces. “It looks bloody fantastic, Soph.”
I chuckle and nod.
“You’re right, it looks amazing.”
Truth is, every time I see Todd on screen, my insides feel like they’re being ripped out and stomped on by a heard of wild elephants.
“Just like you to be modest. You should be very proud; you’ve done an amazing job pulling this off.”
If that’s true, then why don’t I feel more elated? Oh. Because my heart’s been smashed into a million pieces, because I feel miserable and because the man I love toyed with me—pretty much like a cat toys with a mouse—before he betrayed me.
Prick.
Maybe if I think of him in less than flattering terms, I’ll start to feel better. Trouble is, every time I see the movie or talk about it, I’m reminded of Todd and what we shared during the making of it.
The Proposal Problem: A Billionaire Royal Hangover Romance Page 133