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Taylor looks genuinely horrified. “Jules, I’m so sorry. I can’t believe I missed all this. I could’ve been there for you.”
“Trust me,” I say with a bitter laugh, “if I could’ve beenoff jet-setting with you, I would’ve. In a New York second.” I try to joke, but there’s an edge of truth there that I can’t quite mask.
Taylor’s expression hardens, her voice sharp. “You don’t have to face him alone, you know. I’m here, and I will absolutely carveassholeinto the side of his car for you.”
“Promise?” I ask, swiping at a tear that slips free.
“Hell, yeah,” she says, with the kind of conviction that only a true friend can muster. “And if you don’t want to work tonight, I’ll find someone else to cover. You don’t need to deal with this right now.”
Her words are like a balm on every last one of my frayed nerves, and for the first time in a long while, I feel like I might actually be able to breathe again.
I shake my head. “It’s fine. I need to do something tonight other than drown in the next pint in the queue—Half Baked, I believe.”
“You sure?”
I nod, more to convince myself than her. “It’s been ten years. It’s definitely time I moved on with my life.”
“Hell fucking yeah, it is.” Taylor pumps a fist in the air, her fierce energy radiating through the screen. Her confidence is infectious, the kind that makes you believe you can take on the world. And right now, I almost believe it.
For the next hour, we lose ourselves in an episode ofBridgerton, escaping reality just long enough for me to hear Taylor’s soft snores. I whisper a quiet goodnight and disconnect, turning my attention to the laptop waiting patiently for my next move.
It’s time to face this demon head-on. I fire it up and reread the screen.
We need to talk.
Funny thing is, I don’t feel anxious or intimidated reading his name with those words. At this very moment, I feel rage. My fingers fly across the keys.
You want to talk, then let’s talk.
Anytime. Anywhere, Asshole.
Which feels so good, but I instantly delete it.
Then I start typing:
I need to speak to you like I need bed bugs and a scorching case of herpes.
But considering this is my first real writing gig and my editor’s already throwing around words likelawsuit, unless I’m ready to torch my career on the spot—and frankly, that douchebag has already cost me more than enough in this lifetime—that’s not happening.
Delete, delete, delete.
But here’s the thing—I’m not that scared little girl anymore. I’m Sydney Goddamn Sun, and it’s time to erase Brian Bishop from my life for good.
He wants to talk? I want a peach pop crammed up his a-hole so it wags when he’s excited. But I simply type four little words.
When hell freezes over.
CHAPTER 12
Brian
Confused, I read the email again and again while I lean against the car and wait.
When hell freezes over.
Wow. Clearly, Sydney Sun has some serious issues. Or maybe I’m the one with the issues because I’ve never been so confused yet turned on by a woman in my life. And I don’t even know her.
The front door to Harrison’s house swings open, and out marches Connor, looking suspiciously green around the gills. Literally. I squint at him. “What’s on your face?”
