Page 95 of Fake It For Glory

JENSEN

Iwas up in my penthouse with Christian, trying to find solace in the amber depths of expensive whiskey. The world outside was chaotic, and I needed a break from it all. I stared into the glass, replaying the events of the day. I had that feeling I always got after I’d flown across the world. It was a weird buzzing sensation in my legs and head.

“What are you going to do?” Christian asked.

“I was considering buying an island and disappearing,” I said dryly.

He laughed. “You’d only last a week. You’re a tech guy. You would not be able to live off the grid.”

“I think I could learn to appreciate it.”

“You’re not going to run and hide,” he said. “So what, some chick said some mean stuff about you? Fuck her. You’re Jensen Loxley. The world hates you because they aren’t you. When you look at the details of her hit piece, there’s very little she could say bad about you. So what, you yelled at employees who weren’t doing their job?”

Christian was right. I couldn’t just run away from my problems. But the constant scrutiny from the media, the endless rumors and speculation, it was all becoming too much to handle. It was like every move I made was being watched and dissected, and I was getting tired of it.

“I know, I know,” I muttered, taking a sip of the whiskey. “It’s just exhausting, you know?”

Christian nodded, his eyes empathetic. “I get it. But you can’t let these people get to you. You’re stronger than that.”

“It isn’t just the gossip,” I said. “People have been waiting for the moment I was jerked off the pedestal they put me on. They love it. Now that I have this stupid scandal attached to my name, investors and advertisers are jumping ship.”

“You don’t need them,” he said. “Lox is good. When it launches, you’re going to rake in millions, maybe billions. It’s the investors’ loss. They are the ones that are shooting themselves in the foot. If they’re that skittish, you don’t need them.”

I took another sip of the whiskey, letting the warm burn of the alcohol soothe my nerves. Christian always knew how to make me feel better, but this time, it wasn’t enough. The pressure was too much, and I needed an escape.

“I can’t do this anymore,” I said, placing the glass down on the table. “I need to get away from all of this.”

Christian raised an eyebrow. “What are you talking about?”

“I need to take a break,” I said. “A real break. From everything.”

“A break?” he repeated, his expression skeptical. “What does that even mean?”

“I don’t know,” I said, shaking my head. “Just leave. Maybe travel for a bit. Get away from the constant attention, the expectations. I need to clear my head.”

Christian leaned back in his seat, considering my words. “Where would you go?”

“I don’t know,” I said. “Somewhere far away. Maybe Europe. Or Asia. Anywhere that isn’t here.”

Christian nodded slowly. “Okay. I get it. But you can’t just disappear. You have obligations. You’ve got a whole company counting on you to dig your way out of this.”

“I know,” I said. “But I need to do this. I can’t keep going like this. I need to take care of myself before I can take care of anyone else.”

“I understand,” Christian said. “But before you make any decisions, think about it. Make sure this is what you really want. And if it is, that’s cool. Are you trying to run from the negative attention or her?”

I shook my head. “I don’t know. Both maybe.”

The intercom buzzed. Christian looked at me. “Hattie?”

“She would just come up,” I said. “I swear, if it’s a reporter, I’m going to lose my shit. How dare they come to my fucking house?”

The concierge’s voice crackled through the intercom, informing me that there was a dark, curly-haired young woman here to see me.

“No,” I said firmly. “I don’t want her in the building.”

“Understood, sir.” His tone made it clear that under no circumstances was she permitted upstairs. The connection was abruptly severed.

Christian looked at me. “Merida?”