“It’s not that bad in this area,” I lie, turning around and finding the bathroom is as lovely as the rest of the house. And like the other rooms, everything is black and white.
There’s definitely a pattern. The guy is clearly afraid of color, or maybe he thinks real men only have two shades.
“His house is nice.”
“Nice as in the double-wide that isn’t too old, or nice as in it’s not a complete shithole but made out of bricks?”
I wrinkle my nose. “What in the hell are you talking about?”
“I did an internet search of the town you’re in. You know what I found?”
I lean over the counter, staring at myself in the mirror, blinking at the horrific reflection staring back at me. My mascara had streaked down my cheeks from the crying, and whatever was left on my lashes found a home under my eyes too. “What?”
“Not a goddamn fucking thing.”
“What?” I repeat, confused.
“It’s so ridiculous and small, there’s barely anything about the place online. It’s as if it doesn’t even exist, and if it does, there’s nothing notable there to even mention.”
“They have a killer taco stand,” I tell her, moving my face closer to the mirror and wiping at my eyes.
“A restaurant?”
“No. It was an old gas station or ice cream place with some wooden picnic tables, but they had really great nachos.”
“Did Jamison fuck with your head that bad? Do you even hear yourself?”
I bend down, opening the cabinet under the sink, looking for a washcloth or something to wash my face. “What are you talking about? The place I ate last night that’s just down the road a bit should have its own website.”
“Oh God. She even talks like them now.”
“Who’s them?” I snap as I stand, washcloth in hand.
Jesus. I am a mess. Crying always does weird shit to my face, and it will be a few more hours before I look like myself again. I need a shower, makeup, and a change of clothes, but all of that requires heading back to the hotel and confronting Jamison.
Not happening.
“Down the road a bit? Who says that?”
“I don’t know. I’d give you the exact GPS coordinates if I knew them, but I’m not awake. And you’re too busy giving me a hard time instead of being happy that I’m alive and well.”
Kimberly coughs. “I am happy you’re alive. I was worried, especially when you didn’t reply.”
“I took a pill and passed out. Plus, I’m still on LA time, and the jet lag is killing me.”
“How can I help?” she asks, finally doing the job I pay her for instead of mothering and chastising me.
“Nothing.” I turn my face to the right, staring at my profile, waiting for the water to warm. “I’ll head back to the hotel after I have breakfast.”
“Breakfast?”
“He’s making me eggs and toast.”
“Men do not cook for strangers without a reason.”
“Seriously, Kimberly, stop being a total weirdo. He was making himself something to eat and is being nice to me. He’s taking pity on me and nothing else.”
“Mm-hm. Trust me. He wants something. All men do.”
“Wow, girl. Who did you so wrong? I’m the one who should be hating men right now, not you.” I place my phone on the counter, putting her on speakerphone with the volume as low as possible so I can only barely hear her above the sound of the running water.
“No one. Someone in your position can never be too careful. He clearly knows who you are. Everyone in the country knows who you are unless they’re living under a rock. Don’t be stupid and fall for his bullshit.” She pauses for a second as I rub some soap between my palms. “And there’s no one who does anything for you without wanting something in return. And just so you know…”
I stop moving because nothing good ever follows that statement. Not when it comes to Kimberly. It’s her way of letting me know there’s something I need to know that I won’t like.
“Yeah?” I ask, lifting my hands to my face, ready to scrub away the remnants of last night.
“The news already broke about Jamison cheating. Somehow, probably the bitch-ass maid opened her fat yap and got paid doing it, the press got ahold of the story and has been running it on television all morning.”
“Fucking great,” I mutter with my hands covered in soap and pressed against my cheeks. “I’m sure they’re loving every juicy detail.”
“Don’t worry,” she says, drawing the second word out for more than a few seconds. “He’s the one coming off badly. He did you wrong, and all of America knows it.”
I scrub the soap into my cheeks, trying not to get too close to my mouth. “You know how much I hate tabloid news, no matter how it makes me look. It’s always wrong. Always blown way out of proportion.”
“They said you caught him with his face buried between another woman’s legs.”
I don’t even flinch at her words. “Sounds about right,” I clip, splashing water on my face.
“Babe, eggs are done, and toast is about to pop,” Nick says at the door, not knocking or caring about my privacy.
“I’ll be right there,” I call out, my face dripping with water as I reach for the washcloth I’d set down next to me.
“Babe?” Kimberly asks, sounding more than shocked. “What the fuck aren’t you telling me?”
“Nothing.” I dry my face, looking no better than I did a minute ago.
“He called you babe. No man calls a stranger babe. No one.”
“He knows I hate it. So, he keeps calling me babe to piss me off.”
“You watch that one. No doubt he knows who you are and would probably be more than happy to sell a story about you to the tabloids too. Watch yourself. Get out of there as soon as possible, and call me later so I don’t worry all day.”
“I will.”
“Bye, babe,” Kimberly snickers.
“Fuck off,” I tell her, ending the phone call.
All of America knows Jamison cheated. I don’t know what’s worse. Him doing it, or everyone knowing I wasn’t good enough for him and he went elsewhere—to our hotel maid—to satisfy himself.
A glutton for punishment, I open my web browser, heading to the most popular Hollywood gossip website.
Josephine Done Dirty by Her Man.
Shit.
The headline sounds so much more salacious than it really is. Done dirty could be anything. I hate tabloids and their ability to make even the victim look horrible in any situation. Kimberly told me I looked good in this one, but based on the headline alone and the general public’s inability to read beyond the first six words, I do not, in fact, look good at all.
Before leaving the bathroom, I take a deep breath, hold it inside, and find my center.
I’m not going to let anyone see me crack, not even a complete stranger.
I can do this.
I did nothing wrong.
I hold my head high as I walk out of the bathroom in my day-old clothes, no makeup, hair not even remotely tame, and head toward the kitchen.
Nick has two plates on the island, side by side, with only a few inches separating us. My eggs are exactly as I’d asked, while his are all egg whites, along with wheat toast and enough bacon to feed an entire family.