She clears her throat and sits herself. “It was one-hundred and twelve the whole week.”

I nod, not caring. “And Courtney? She seems to be everywhere lately. I keep hearing her latest song on the radio.” I heard it once, but whatever.

“Thanks to me. I told her this album was going to be the one.”

She grabs the spoon and scoops up some fruit, then picks up her fork to eat it. I guess my picking at it with my fingers is beneath her.

“Well, this is what you are the best at,” I say.

“It really is. She’s the voice, but without me, she’d be nothing,” she snips, cutting a piece of watermelon.

What am I doing? Am I really sitting here, trying to keep a conversation going with a person I can’t stand, talking about things I don’t care about?

Seriously, what the fuck am I doing?

I can’t stand her.

My job, which I have always loved, has suddenly gone stale. And I hate myself for hurting the one person who actually made me feel something.

“Jett, did you hear me?” Rachel leans forward, reaching to touch my hand. I frown at her. “What?” She leans back.

“This, us, it’s over. You know that, right?” I stand.

“Excuse me?” She looks like I’ve slapped her, but it’s all a façade. Her eyes are dead. How am I just seeing this? Or maybe I always knew but didn’t care.

But today… today I care.

“I need to take care of something.” I go to move around her, but she grabs my arm as I pass.

“What has happened? Is this because your cock doesn’t work? We can work thr—”

“My cock works just fine, Rachel, but not with you.” I look down at her.

Standing, she turns to me. “What are you saying?”

“It’s pretty clear. It’s over, Rachel. Keep the ring.”

“I don’t accept this.” She straightens. “We have the Beverly Hills Hotel booked for four months from now. Three-hundred of the most influential people will watch me become your wife.”

“No, they won’t. We’re not getting married. It’s over, Rachel.” I begin walking up the stairs.

“You need to stop and think.” Her voice is low, almost menacing. “Because I have it all on my phone. That night I watched you make love to my daughter.” I stop and look down at her.

Turning, I narrow my eyes. “You did what?”

“I filmed you and her, just in case.” She starts to walk up the stairs, a smug smile on her face. “I really don’t get you. You made her leave, Jett. You picked me.”

Pain, almost a burn in my chest, which I try to ignore, spirals through me.