Really should have gotten that key from him. I’m regretting telling Sammy that I was done for the day and that he could leave. Is it so bad I just wanted some time to myself in my own shop without eyes on me?

Yes. Apparently, it is.

Jase is going to be furious with me for it.

“Oh. Look. She’s actually bothered to show up today,” he sneers as he leans his ass against the counter and takes up residence opposite me.

Funny how you can love someone with your whole heart, talk about making a life together, a future, and in a matter of weeks all you feel is disgust when you see that person again. And I most definitely do feel that when I look at him in a place we built together.

“I’ve been here every day last I checked.”

He holds a finger up. “Every day except for when you ran off to get married, huh?”

“Was that before or after you were fucking Applebee’s in our bed? Because I was under the impression that right there negated you getting to have a say about anything in my life.”

“You’re—or maybe the lack of you—is the reason there was Applebee’s in the first place.”

“Save it.” Don’t let him get in your head, Hendrix. Don’t give him an inch. “It’s probably best that you leave, Paul.”

His expression twists with something dark. Anger? Jealousy? Entitlement? “Nah. I think I’ll stay. Especially since you’ve been avoiding me.”

I cross my arms. “Avoiding you? Um, no shit. You typically avoid your ex when he’s a cheating piece of shit.” Besides, the only text I received today from someone other than media trying to get an “in” with me was Jase sending me his usual rundown of where he’s going to be. Paul will have to try harder than that if he thinks I’m going to bend to him again.

Paul scoffs. “Hilarious. You want to talk about cheating? You’re parading around like some little trophy wife, acting all innocent. How’d you even meet him, huh? When did you find the time to screw Jase Gizmodo? I’d ask how much he’s paying you for the sex, but then again we both know you’re not that good—”

“Get out.” Words bubble up in my throat—besides the fear of being found out—but I don’t allow either to come out.

“Come on, Hendrix. This is total bullshit. There’s some sick game being played here, and I just can’t figure out what it is. Are you paying him? Like is this your scheme to make this shitty bakery a success? Is it more than that? Because, it sure as shit isn’t because he wants you.”