Hollywood Heir (Westerly Billionaire #4)(53)

He stood in front of her, a ball of male confusion. She was kicking him out. Only one other woman ever had, but this was a very different experience. She wasn’t Jasmine, telling him she was disgusted by his touch. She’d just said she’d been falling for him before he’d accused her of wanting to be with him for his money.

He didn’t want to leave. He didn’t put up a fight, though, when she shoved him out the door and slammed it in his face. He needed time to think before he opened his mouth again. He stood in the hallway for a long time wondering what the hell to do next, yet certain of one thing—they weren’t done.





Chapter Thirteen

Sage walked away from the door on unsteady legs. Never in her entire life had she struck another person. She’d also never slept with someone she was angry with. Who am I becoming?

She went to the window of her apartment and watched the white limo from behind the curtains. Her heart rate accelerated when the man she’d just thrown out of her life and her apartment finally appeared beside it. Despite the excited commotion around him, he wasn’t smiling. He looked up in her direction, and their eyes met.

She could still hear him telling her he thought she was with him for his money. If that’s what he thought of her, there was nothing to argue about. She’d wasted half her life trying to get her parents to really see her and—she swallowed hard—love her as she was. Only a masochist would look for that in a lover as well.

“I want to make this work. If that means putting marriage on the table, I’ll do it.”

Fuck you, Wayne or Eric or whoever the fuck you are.

I don’t need you.

She stripped, went to the shower, and tried to wash the memory of him away. It was too vivid, part of it too good. She had always trusted her feelings, believing that they always ultimately guided her to where she was meant to be.

I shouldn’t have slept with him. How did I possibly think it would make things better between us?

Defiantly, she dressed in her nicest outfit and applied much more makeup than she normally wore. She brushed her hair until it shone, then styled it in long curls that framed her face. Then she grabbed a gallon of ice cream, sat on her couch, and cried her heart out. She cried so long and so hard, she curled up and slept.

She woke several hours later to the sound of her phone ringing. Bella. She let the call ring through.

The phone rang again, so she tossed it on the chair across the room. There wasn’t a person she wanted to talk to. Tomorrow, yes. Tomorrow she would pick herself up, dust herself off, and go back out into the world. But not today.

The sun went down without Sage moving from her couch. She didn’t bother to turn on a light. How could she feel so heartbroken when nothing they’d shared had been real? Wayne was a fabrication, the creation of a coldhearted actor who was probably doing it for sick amusement.

“Come home with me.”

Double fuck you, Eric Westerly. I wish that shoe had hit you right in the middle of your big, fat face.

A light knock on her door was followed by a more persistent, louder one.

“I’m not home,” Sage finally called out. “Go away.”

The knocking paused, then began again until the pounding crept into her head as well. Sage dragged herself off the couch and made her way to the door. If it was Eric again, he wouldn’t like what she had to say to him.

She threw the door open and looked first at where Eric’s face would have been. She saw no one. Then went to shut it when she looked down and saw her visitor.

Mrs. Westerly stuck her purse in against the jamb, deftly preventing Sage’s action. “Miss Revere, I’d like a moment of your time.”

Sage opened the door only to have leverage to push the woman’s purse out. “I’m not interested.”

Mrs. Westerly stepped forward, placing her body in the doorway enough to block Sage’s ability to close the door. “There’s something I need to say.”

Upset as Sage was, she hadn’t yet sunk to the level of shoving an elderly woman. She sighed and rubbed her swollen eyes. “I don’t want to hear it.”

“Might I come in for a moment?” Mrs. Westerly asked, as if she didn’t know how unwelcome she was.

“Sure, why not,” Sage said in resignation, letting the door swing wide-open. “It’s not as if my day could get worse.” Without waiting to see what her guest would do, Sage returned to the couch and looked sadly at the now-empty carton of ice cream.

Mrs. Westerly turned on the light, closed the door behind her, and after inspecting that it was clean, sat on a chair across from Sage. She looked Sage over slowly once, then again. “Are you unwell?”

Sage shook her head.

Mrs. Westerly motioned to her face and grimaced.

Sage ran a finger beneath one of her eyes. It came back smudged with the makeup she had applied earlier. The embarrassment she normally would have felt at raccoon eyes didn’t come. She was still in shock from her morning. “Long day” was all she said.

Mrs. Westerly nodded and looked around the room before speaking. “I heard that Eric came to see you this morning.”

Great. This is exactly who I want to discuss him with. Just great. “You’ll be happy to know it went badly. Whatever we had is over.”

“Because of me,” the older woman said. “I’m sorry.”