I stare.
His brows pinch. “You clearly have a thing against eating cold food, so sitting there staring at me—as flattering as it is—won’t do you much good.”
I can’t help but shake my head, fighting the heat that wants to settle into my cheeks. “I don’t understand you. I just told you I work for the kind of people who have gone after you and your band before. Why aren’t you angry?”
“Do you want me to be?” he returns, popping a piece of chicken into his mouth. A shoulder lifts, and once he swallows he says, “I’ll let you in on a little secret of mine, love. Anger gets you nowhere. It takes up too much room inside a person—blocks their creativity and ability to love something instead. Being angry isn’t worth it.”
Letting that soak in, I play around with the steak until I find myself nodding along in agreement and taking another bite.
“Did you write about Violet Wonders?”
A few second pass, my chewing slow and calculated as I gather some courage. Suddenly, the meat doesn’t taste so good. “No.” I look at him through my lashes, conscience heavy. “I wrote about Zayne though.”
He stops eating, his plate half-empty as he studies me rather than what’s left of his meal like he was doing before. This time, I feel his eyes on me like fire licking the surface of my skin. It doesn’t burn, but it’s there to remind me that anything can happen if I move in even the tiniest way.
The fork in his hand slowly gets placed on the table. “We have met before, haven’t we?”
My nostrils twitch as an indescribable feeling fills my chest. “Once.”
“Those eyes…”
Our one interaction was over in a blink, but I still remember the way he watched me when Zayne brought me into that club they were hanging out at. I’d had my doubts about going through with the story, especially when I saw how Garrick Matthews was watching me with so much interest I almost believed he liked me. But I needed the money more than I needed the boy-bander’s attention, and he wasn’t who I was there with anyway.
“Zayne introduced us a few years ago. I look different now, but—” I cut myself off, taking a deep breath and getting to the point. “I was tight on money and my boss kept pressuring me to get a story. It’s an excuse, one that I’m not proud of, but I was desperate.”
His jaw ticks, but he doesn’t say anything. I’m not sure if I like his silence, but I brought it on myself.
“I took some photos during one of the get togethers you guys were having. He invited me and I saw an opportunity.” Eyes lowering, I feel the atmosphere shift with the realization of what photos I’m referring to. “I’m sorry for what I did but those pictures… The story helped me get by. They got me out of a tough spot for a while.”
The only sound around us is the clattering of plates and utensils, and the low murmurs of other conversations. Our waiter is stationed on standby close enough where I’m sure he’s getting an earful.
It takes a few awkward moments before he finally decides to speak. “You’re the one who leaked pictures of him with the drugs, aren’t you?”
I close my eyes.
Take a deep breath.
Then nod.
There’s a quiet curse that escapes him before I make myself look up. He’s scraping a hand through his thick hair, looking confused and contemplative.
“It was wrong of me,” I repeat. “But you don’t understand. Sometimes we have to do bad things to make ends meet. That’s what I did.”
“You could have found another story.”
I lick my lips. “You’re right. But instead, I chose the one that I knew would make me money. The one that would pay the rent and help me buy food for myself and pay for my medicine. Does that make me horrible? Probably. But when was the last time you struggled to afford things you needed to survive? Or when you had to make a tough decision even if it impacted your moral beliefs because it was that or feeling half-human and in need of some relief because you’re sick? You have the money and the means because you’re Garrick Matthews. Just like Zayne is…Zayne. People like you have the chance to get better because you have the resources. I’m not trying to justify what I did or make it seem right. It wasn’t. But at least try to understand my perspective.”
His gaze moves over my face, paying attention to every detail available to him—my thin, expressionless lips, my button nose, and how my right eye is slightly bigger than my left one. I’m nothing like the women he’s involved himself with, but I’m not self-conscious over it.
He lifts a hand, eyes going to the wait staff until our waiter tips his head once when Garrick says, “Check please.”
My heart drops, but I accept defeat. He may have not started with money, but his life is saturated with it now. Why would he want to put himself in my shoes?
Once he gets the check, the waiter also brings over two boxes for us. I don’t dare touch mine, feeling bad about taking anything from Garrick after he slides some cash into the folder before passing it back to the server.
“Come on,” Garrick tells me, pointing toward the Styrofoam box. “Put your food in that and let’s go.”
I blink. “What?”
It’s obvious that he’s upset, but he doesn’t let it show in his tone or expression as he scrapes his chair back to stand. “The money I’ve earned has been with the memory of what it was like to struggle. I don’t want to go back to that place because I’ll never forget what it was like. For me. For Chase. For my mum.”
There’s a pause.
“I’m rich, Rylee. Not heartless.”
7 Garrick
I see my brother’s shirt before I notice the rest of his get-up as I
