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I freeze and do what I’m trained to do. Wait for validation. I ignore Zara’s indignant whisper of “What the actual…” I ignore her pull of my wrist, inspecting my hand for damage that doesn’t exist.
I ignore everything except Xenia. Her reaction will determine my future. Zara realizes what I’m doing. She drops my hand and joins the staring contest. Xenia’s gaze bores a hole through me. When I catch the tremble and the flicker in the corner of her lips, I exhale.
She presses her hands in prayer position, pulling them to her chest, and bows toward me. “End Scene.”
I feel the smile spread on my face. I’ve done it. I’ve stayed in character and have won the roll—the one that means the world to me. I’ve won.
“What the…” Zara’s repeat puts me on edge. “This was some elaborate act of some sort. I was…” Her eyes shoot down to my uninjured hand. “I thought you were…”
If Marvin were here, he’d be awed to see Xenia standing in front of me, clapping. But it arrives at the absolute worst time. “Bravo. You’ve nailed it. I loved your commitment. Most actors would have broken character when that coffee hit me.”
I turn and watch the bewildered look of confusion in Zara’s eyes turn to fire. “Actor?” I reach for her, but she hops back, a mix of confusion and disgust on her face. “This was all an act?” She spits the indictment at me, and I fumble to find words to justify my actions. She lifts a finger, warning me not to speak.
“A good one, too. I should know. I hired him. He’s been fooling everyone here all week.”
“All week?” Zara’s whisper words aren’t meant for my ears, but I hear them. The hurt in every syllable. “I’m a fool.” I helplessly watch her connect the dots. Everything she’s witnessed this week. My worst nightmare forms in front of my face. “How couldyou?” Confusion transforms to anger in the blink of an eye. “I believed in you.”
“There’s no reason to stop.” I’m an idiot. These are the worst possible words to say at this moment, and I’m not surprised when she strikes back.
“Yes, there is. I don’t know who you are.” She walks backwards, her head shaking in disbelief. “I can’t believe I trusted you.” Her feet halt, and she pulls back her shoulders. “Future me will be happy you got the role you obviously are so well-trained to play. A bumbling liar who hurts everyone in their radius.” She wipes a tear rolling down her cheek. “At least when Michael left me high and dry, he was trying to win someone’s heart—not break one.”
She rushes to her station by the window, slams her laptop shut, gathers her design pen and tablet, stuffing each into her shoulder bag so hard I’m surprised they don’t rip through the bottom.
“You did teach me one thing. I need to stop counting on other people to chase my dream. I’ll do what I should have done years ago when my firm turned down my first design proposal.” She taps a finger to her chest. “I’ll do it alone.”
She waves a scolding finger at me, and I have no choice but to listen. I’ve broken us. “Don’t call me. And don’t come anywhere near my pitch tomorrow.”
I don’t say a word. She needs time to process everything. All week, I’ve weaved lies and skated around simple questions, all in the name of keeping a secret. Now that she’s seen me for who I am, it’s no wonder she wants nothing to do with me.
My gaze continues to linger on her. She marches to the door, gripping the handle tight for two heartbeats. Her shoulders clinching. Her neck twists in my direction, a deadly glare delivering ice-cold shivers through me. “I won’t be watching your movie on the big screen nor on Netflix.” Fire shoots fromher eyes. “I hope I never see you again. You can roll the damn credits now. This is the end.”
Chapter Sixteen
Zara
My life is like a bad scene in a movie.
I fling the balled-up tank top of the Magic volleyball player’s uniform at the wall of my apartment. It unfurrows midflight, losing its momentum, and descends to the floor like the last autumn leaf on a backyard tree. A signal of what’s to come, my least favorite season, winter. Dark mornings, bone-chilling days, and dangerous roads that keep everyone home. I hate winter.
I have a new moniker for Devon; he’s no longer Mister Chaos. From now on, I’ll call him Mister Winter.
Only a person with a soul as cold as ice could do what he’s done. Stare me in my face a thousand times a day and lie through his perfect teeth.
An actor? A freaking act. This entire week, nothing more than a game to him. Which makes me a mere prop. A useless piece of cardboard placed on his stage for him to react to, elicit a laugh from an unseen audience, and proceed on with his charade.
I resist the urge to take a third shower, knowing the only thing that will remove the ick I feel are time and distance. Lots and lots of both.
I tumble off the couch and crawl over to the volleyball top, lacking the strength to stand. I fist the top in my hand and do something I should have done a week ago when Michael bailed on me. I slip it over my head and rise, standing on my knees.
This is all I have left in my collection. The one I’ve poured every bit of energy and hope into over the last few months. Devon has the rest of the collection. He collected it this morning prior to starting his shift. It was my suggestion to have him meet me at the Magic offices in costume. This way, I could concentrate on my presentation. Why did I trust him with something so valuable?
All I have left are discarded versions of prior designs and this one extra player’s tank top. My pride won’t let me pick up the phone to ask him to bring me back what’s rightfully mine. I sink back onto my backside when the realization hits me. I have no idea where Devon lives.
He’s an actor. For all I know, he lives in Hollywood two hours away. For all I know, Devon could be his stage name, and his real name is Seymour or worse, Simon.
The realization crashes over me like a tidal wave, leaving me gasping for air—I know nothing about the man. I ignored every red flag, every doubt. I made excuses for him when I asked questions and all he gave me was silence.
How could I be so naïve? So blind?
