They all loved him, and none of them could’ve cared less about me.
“Abby! Abby, come back!”
I sprinted down the hallway as I made it to the elevator. Tears were pouring down my cheeks as I slid in and pressed a random button. I didn’t care where this elevator took me and I didn’t care where it dumped me. All I wanted was to be away from the cameras and the people and the relentless flashing. I wanted to get away from the hordes of fans Colin had. People who claimed to care about him but only cared about what he could give the world. The elevator doors slid shut and I allowed my tears to fall, soaking my skin as the metal entrapment took me up.
I slid down until my ass hit the floor, then I curled my knees up to my chest.
They all loved him. But they didn’t love me. And every single time they gathered, it reminded me of how unwanted I was. How easy it was to cast me off to the side. It reminded me of how easy it was for Derek to reject me and how easy it had been for Popular Faces to fire me. It reminded me of how unimportant I was to this world, and how I was only as good as the people I associated with.
I buried my face in my knees as the tears continued to flow. All I wanted to do now was go home.
Chapter 17
Colin
It took me an hour to get everyone settled so I could get out from underneath their prying grasps. This was the juggling act I had done ever since Murphy, Inc. took off. It was a treacherous balancing act between living my own life and pleasing those who supported my endeavors. It wasn’t just about impressing investors and taking on new clientele. I had created an entire social media platform geared towards entrepreneurs of all ages, races, and success levels. And part of being in the social media world is being, well, sociable.
But Abby hadn’t turned back up and I was beginning to worry about her.
I got why she was angry. I understood that completely. But I could only do so much. I could only fend off the paparazzi to a certain degree, and the rest was a part of our life she simply had to accept. I rushed for the elevator and went up to our floor, hoping to hell she was in our room.
That was where I found her. Curled up on the bed with red eyes and puffy cheeks.
“Hey there,” I said.
Her sniffle broke my heart as I settled down next to her.
“Talk to me,” I said. “What’s wrong?”
“I’m just—disappointed,” she said.
“About what?” I asked.
“I thought that we could escape them for once.”
“Who’s ‘them’?” I asked.
“Them, Colin. Your fans. The people who want to meet you. The paparazzi. Them! I hate it. I hate every second of it. The cameras flashing in my face so much I can’t even see where I’m going. Their constant need to follow me and break down what I’m wearing. We live in Los Angeles for Christ sake, one of the freest cities on this planet. And yet I feel like a prisoner. I feel like I’m being held by my throat. We’re sailing on the open fucking sea, Colin. Yet they’ve still got us by our throats!”
“I’m sorry,” I said. “I didn’t realize you felt that way. Why didn’t you tell me?”
“All of this is so overwhelming, Colin. How could you not know?”
“Because you won’t talk to me,” I said. “I’m not a mind reader. I can’t always tell how you’re feeling simply by looking at you. You have to open up and talk to me.”
“Well, I’m talking now. It’s stifling and overwhelming. Can’t you do something about it? Don’t you feel that way, too?”
“It can be a bit much sometimes, but I have ways of coping. It comes with the territory I’m afraid. I am in the business of bringing people together to learn and to socialize. If I’m not a sociable person myself, no one will support my endeavors.”
“I get that. I do. Trust me. But—how in the hell are you not pissed off by it all?” she asked.
“It’s something you just—have to get used to. In the beginning it was a bit frustrating, but I also didn’t try to run from it. It’s also a symbol of my success in a way, so maybe I’m more patient with it. One strategy that has worked for me was that I created my own bubbles of privacy. Like my apartment and all of its lavish areas. Renting out the back sections of restaurants so I can go enjoy a good meal. Private cabanas in Bora Bora that aren’t surrounded by other bungalows. I create my own privacy. It’s one of the things my money can do for me.”
Tears were leaking from Abby’s eyes and it broke my heart.
“Come here,” I said.
I reached out for her but she scooted away from me. She sat up on the bed and I watched her face slowly morph. The sadness gave way to contriteness, and that contrite expression twisted itself up into anger. She was angry with this situation, and I understood. But being angry about it wasn’t going to change it.
She would have to find a way to cope just like I had to—otherwise our relationship wasn’t going to work.
And that thought terrified me.
“Why are you so overwhelmed right now?” I asked. “We’re in
