“So what?” Gabe says. “You think I don’t get asked about my Bond outburst or my drinking problem or half a dozen other personal things that people feel entitled to know about? You know how it is! It’s part of the job.”

“It’s not the same,” I say. “You can recover. No matter what—no matter the scandal, no matter the narrative—at the end of the day you still get to be Gabe Parker. Look at what’s happening now—you’ve already been forgiven. Your career is on the rise again. You still get to be judged on your work. On your talent.”

“Chani—”

I shake my head.

“I’ll always be known for writing that article. And this will just prove everything that’s been said. That I’m a fraud. I’ll always be the girl who fucked Gabe Parker and lied about it. Who thought she was good enough. And no one will ever forgive me for that.”

“That’s bullshit,” he says. “You wrote that article. You decided what to include. Take some responsibility. Stop acting like a victim.”

Anger rears up inside of me. It builds like a tsunami, overwhelming every other emotion.

“Fuck you, Gabe,” I say.

I pull my sweater on with such force that I get rug burn on my chin.

“I wish I’d never written the fucking thing,” I say.

“You know what,” Gabe says, “me too.”

Chapter 30

Chapter
30

I DON’T BOTHER TYING MY BOOTS.

Teddy scrambles out of her dog bed as I pass, her tail wagging. I grab my coat, laces flapping. I hear Gabe coming out of the bedroom.

“Chani.” His voice is muffled beneath the shirt he’s putting on. “Chani, wait.”

I leave my scarf behind.

I leave my purse behind. All my things.

All I have is my jacket, unlaced boots, and my phone.

I know Gabe is probably going to come looking for me, so I duck into an alley and hide. It’s ridiculous and pathetic, but I don’t know what else to do.

I stay there, crouched alongside a dumpster until my ears go numb from the cold.

Then, I lace my boots up. Slowly. Carefully. I think about calling Katie, but that’s not the person I end up dialing.

“Hello, darling,” Ollie says.

He’s far more awake and far less surprised than I would have expected for this kind of call at this point in the day. It’s barely seven.

“Tired of Gabe already?” he asks.

“Something like that,” I say.

“Hmm,” he says. “Shall I come get you?”

“Please,” I say.