CHAPTER 33

EMERY

Fatigue weighed down on me as I plopped onto my couch. I remembered a time not too long ago when I sat in this very spot, looking forward to meeting the mentally unstable cat hoarder.

I had no idea I was going to meet the love of my life.

As I rubbed my tired eyes, I almost laughed at how ridiculous it was.

Since I’d gotten home, I hadn’t even left my condo. All I’d done was wallow, surviving on pizza and beer.

I missed Estelle.

I missed her bed. Her smell. Her smile. Her soft body against mine.

The fourteen-hour drive from South Carolina to Chicago had worn me out, and I’d slept like shit the past two nights. Tossing and turning. Repeatedly reaching for the other side of the bed, only to find cold, empty sheets. Even during sleep my body knew Estelle wasn’t nearby, and I was experiencing some serious withdrawals.

I needed caffeine. Lots of it. If I was going to be coherent for the new shoot tomorrow, I’d need to snap out of the funk I was in.

I headed to the kitchen to get some coffee.

Peter let out a meow as he jumped onto the kitchen island, the cone around his neck bobbing up and down as he gently headbutted my mug.

“How do you like your new place? Fancy Keurig, flat screen TV, million-dollar view.” I gestured to the living room. “That couch is real leather. Bet your claws could do some serious damage there.”

He let out a yawn and paced the granite countertop, looking around like he was searching for something. Or someone.

“You miss her too, huh?”

Meowing again, he jumped down and took off down the hall.

My phone rang, and excitement shot through me as I pulled it from my pocket, thinking it was Estelle. This whole no-contact rule was bullshit.

When I saw ‘unknown caller’ flash across the screen, disappointment made my heart plummet and I wanted to throw it against the wall.

“Hello?” I ground out.

“You can tame my pussy anytime,” a female voice cooed.

Completely losing my cool, I barked, “Don’t you have something better to do with your time?”

Several seconds of silence.

“Ah—sorry. I—it was just a joke,” the girl stammered. “My friend bet me twenty bucks that I wouldn’t call you, and I really wanted that money…”

“How did you get this number?”

“Someone just posted it on Twitter. You know how it goes.” She let out a nervous laugh. She was right—I shouldn’t have been surprised by it. Still, it pissed me off.

“Well, I hate to break it to you, but there’s only one pussy I’m interested in and it’s not yours.”

“So it’s true then? You’re really off the market?” She sighed. “I figured if your own producer was saying it, then it had to be real.”

My whole body locked up. “What’s my producer saying?”

“Uhh, just that you and the woman you worked with are dating or something. He’s on TV talking about it right now.”

“What channel?” I seethed.

“NTT. It’s an exclusive interview—”

I ended the call and promptly turned my phone off as I marched over to the couch.

Picking up the TV remote, I turned it on. Steve filled the screen, a sleazy smile on his face as he blabbed my personal business to the gossip reporter at his side.

“—impossible to miss the sparks flying on the set. The romance between Mr. Matheson and Ms. Winters added a special element to the show. You’ll definitely want to tune in for the next season.”

The brunette turned toward the camera, grinning like the cat that ate the canary. “Well, there you have it folks. Sounds like perpetual bachelor Emery Matheson isn’t single anymore. The tamer has been tamed.”

I turned it off.

If Steve had been in the room, I would’ve clocked him for sure. He was the leak. He was the one who’d tipped off the press. He’d thrown me under the bus, all for the sake of his fucking ratings.

My concern immediately turned to Estelle. The reporters would definitely be hounding her now, if they weren’t already.

I turned my phone back on and had to hit ignore three times on unknown numbers.

Then I called Estelle, to hell with her rules. I needed to make sure she was okay.

It went straight to voicemail. Not a good sign. She never turned off her phone, so there was a good possibility that her number got leaked too. I hated thinking about her dealing with the harassment all by herself.

As soon as I hung up more calls came through, all numbers I didn’t recognize.

I growled.

This was just a part of the business I was in, and I should’ve been grateful for the popularity. After all, that was what kept the show going. Ultimately, it was the fans who signed my paycheck.

But was this really the life I wanted? Changing my number every few weeks, going where I was told to go, saying what I was told to say?

I couldn’t even cut my damn hair without someone’s permission.

And Steve had made me into a puppet. A front man. An image.

Success meant nothing if I didn’t have integrity, and he’d pulled that right out from under me when he made me leave a job unfinished.

He’d known from the second he spotted me that I was desperate, and he’d been using it to his advantage for far too long.

Then he went and aired details about my private life for his own personal gain.

That was the last straw for me.

Suddenly, the answer became clear. I couldn’t keep working for him, regardless of the consequences.

I sat down on the couch to think, and Peter climbed onto my lap. He purred while I mentally added up the cost per month at Windsor Lakes. With what I had saved, I figured my dad was set for about three years. Not much time, but enough for me to make a new plan.

Certified vet techs made decent money. I could sell my Range Rover and get something economical. I could move in with Nikki until I found an affordable place of my own.

Who was I kidding? I didn’t want to live with my sister. Or alone. I wanted to be with Estelle 24/7.

And I needed to get to her. Fast.

But first, I had to call Steve. Normally I would text, but I wanted to hear his voice when I delivered the news.

Dialing his number, I made my way to my bedroom.

He picked up after two rings. “You back in town?”

“I am,” I confirmed, while quickly stuffing a small duffle bag with clothes. “But not for long.”

“What do you mean?”

“I’m done.”

“Done?”

“I’m leaving the show. You’re an asshole, Steve. I’ve decided I don’t like you much, no matter how funny it is to watch you piss your pants over your horoscope results.”

Silence.

I zipped up the bag and headed to the master bathroom. “And before you start making threats about breeching contract, I’d like for you to think about how the execs will react to your recent unethical decisions.”

“What the fuck are you talking about?”

Putting the phone on speaker, I set it down and searched the top drawer for my electric beard trimmer.

“Giving cats out like candy without having them medically cleared first. I’m sure animal endangerment rumors would be very damaging to the show.” I smiled to myself as the sound of buzzing filled the room. Without hesitation, I ran the clippers over my head, cutting the hair down to about a quarter of an inch. “I’m sure we can negotiate when it comes to terminating my contract early.”

“Animal endangerment?” Something crashed on the other end of the phone. Oh, yeah. He was pissed. “Are you fucking with me right now?”

“Nope. How’s that for grit?”

After ranting about me being an ungrateful twat, and then some uncharacteristic begging, Steve finally accepted the fact that I was done with the show.

He wouldn’t have any trouble finding someone to fill my shoes. There were hundreds of highly qualified dudes out there who’d love to be in my position.

It felt so fucking good to hang up that phone. And to be able to see without hair in my fucking face.

Grinning, I smoothed a hand over the short hair on my scalp.

After quickly cleaning up the bathroom and taking a shower, I made sure Peter was set with his medications, food, and water.

Charles just about had a stroke when I handed him the pet-sitting instructions, but I balanced the tedious task with a fifty-dollar bill and the promise that I wouldn’t be living in the condo much longer.

As I drove to the airport, I waited to feel sadness, fear, or grief over my lost career. But instead, I felt invigorated. Sure, I was uncertain about what the future held, but I knew I wanted Estelle at my side while I figured it out.

Four and a half hours later, I was punching Estelle’s front door code in and sprinting up to her apartment. There’d been a shady-looking SUV parked out front, but with my oversized hoodie and the new haircut, the camera-wielding men didn’t even give me a second glance.

Excitement coursed through me as I made it to Estelle’s door. I knocked and waited.

No answer.

I knocked again.

Pulling my phone from my pocket, I turned it on and cringed at the forty-eight voicemails and ninety-six random texts waiting for me. I quickly dialed Estelle’s number.

“Hello?” Her voice was music to my ears.

I grinned. “I have a pussy emergency.”