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The final click of the camera signaled the end of the shoot. It was my third in the last two weeks. I had indeed gotten fired from the restaurant for leaving without a word during my shift…but it had been perfect timing since there was no way I could have made my shifts anyway with these jobs. Evidently, the Renage creative director had been spreading the word that the upcoming campaign was the best she’d ever done—and it was all because of me. It was actually allbecauseof my chemistry withAri…that was how I’d achieved the look she loved so much. Regardless though, her recommendations were bringing me tons of jobs and we’d be celebrating and unveiling the Renage campaign tomorrow at a release party.
Ari and I were…perfect. He’d been coming with me to my shoots when he didn’t have practice. And he’d even been dragged into a couple more of them.
I was getting addicted to changing room sex.
Which was unfortunate because today, he had practice.
I also liked reuniting sex though. As well as every other kind of sex I had with Ari.
So I guess it was a win-win situation for me.
My life had taken on a dreamlike quality after that night I’d bared all my secrets. I actually felt like his love was physically healing me, and I loved him so much it hurt. I still had so far to go, obviously; a lifetime of trauma and bad coping mechanisms wasn’t going to disappear overnight.
But I could feel myself changing. It gave me hope that he’d been right, that someday, maybe it wouldn’t hurt so bad.
I thanked the crew and walked toward my dressing room, checking my phone as I stepped inside and closed the door behind me. I glanced up to locate my bag and yelped when I found myself face to face with a very unexpected visitor—Clark.
“What are you doing here?” I spit, my heart battering against my rib cage. His harried and disheveled appearance was a stark contrast to the confident, successful man I'd dated for so many years, and for the first time since I’d known him…I was a little afraid.
"Clark?" I asked, my voice calm but tinged with uncertainty. His bloodshot eyes were watching me and I was getting anxious.
"Blake," he began, his voice hoarse and filled with a weariness that hadn't been there before. "I had to see you."
Instinctively, I took a step back, my hand resting on the edge of the makeup table for support.
"Why now, Clark?" I asked, curiosity and caution lacing my tone. "I haven’t heard from you really…since I moved. I broke up with you.”
“No, you didn’t break up withme.Wenever talked.” Clark looked at me with a pleading expression, his eyes searching mine for some sign of understanding. He reached out to grab my hand and I pulled away. "Blake, you have to listen to me. Nothing that’s happened has been real."
I scoffed. "What are you talking about, Clark? You were talking to me…and then you weren’t. And I—" I gulped and took a deep breath, because it was much harder to say something like this in person rather than over text. “I met someone,” I finally finished.
His eyes closed and he took a deep breath, his fists clenching and unclenching. “I know you met someone, Blake. You met a fuckingpsychosomeone.”
I frowned.Psychoseemed a little strong of a word.
"Ari Lancaster is the reason we aren’t together.”
I nodded, confused. I mean, yes, he was the person I’d met.
“No, sweetheart. Ari Lancaster has been stalking you. He saw you, made a plan, and methodically went through with it to push us apart, Blake. He’s been behind the scenes pulling the fucking strings this entire time. Just so he can control you.”
I snorted and shook my head. “Clark, that’s enough. If you want to talk, we can talk. But you don’t have to make up things.”
“He saw you on a billboard. He found out who you were. And he fucking requested a trade and stalked you to California.”
“Where did you hear that from?” I demanded, shock slithering through me. I felt frozen in place.
“You know as well as I do that money makes people talk. I found out who his P.I. was, and he was totally eager to give me info for the right amount.”
Unease was churning around inside of me, sloshing around like spoiled milk.
“Okay. This is ridiculous. We’re done here,” I finally said stiffly.
“He was the one who planted drugs in my car, who got me on the fucking no fly list. He made a spectacle of your relationship so it would be all over the press! He emailed me pictures of the two of you from a burner account!"
The “no fly list?” Clark was insane. “Do you have any proof of this or are you just throwing things out now and hoping they catch?”
Clark ran his fingers through his disheveled hair, his agitation evident. "I know it sounds insane, Blake, but he's the reason I couldn’t talk to you. I sent you a million messages, called you a million times. Tell me, did you ever get these?” he asked, pulling out his phone. He scrolled through message after message, him begging and pleading with me to answer him and stop ignoring his calls.
