The Game Plan (Game On, #3)(84)

“A bag?”

“A new handbag always makes me feel better. Oh, Prada has the cutest little turquoise clutch. I’m sending you that. My cousin works at Vogue. She can get anything.”

We chat for a while but it exhausts me. I beg off by saying Ethan is home. A lie. But it sounds better than telling her I just don’t have it in me to talk anymore.

A text follows a short time later, one that I can’t ignore. It’s from my old co-worker Alice.

AliceW: Thought this might cheer you up. Elena’s out. Felix gave her the boot this morning.

Me: Get the Papa Smurf out! Why?

AliceW: Apparently her designs for Cecelia Robertson’s apartment ended up being an exact copy of Janice Mark’s new penthouse. Cecelia was humiliated. Which means Felix was too. He’s in the shit now.

I blink at the phone, my mouth hanging open. Holy f*ck. Elena used the designs anyway. I’d told her they were bad. Then again, I hadn’t exactly explained why they were bad. Maybe she took my words to mean bad quality.

I wait for the guilt to hit but it doesn’t come. I can only shake my head. Part of me hopes she’s learned her lesson. The other half of me doesn’t give a good ripe grape what happens to her. Once a thief always a thief, I guess.

I answer Alice.

Me: I am agog.

AliceW: Take care of yourself, kid. We (and by that I mean all of us lowly workers) are giving Bloom the finger on your behalf.

Me: Thx. Give everyone (and by that I mean all of you lowly workers) a big hug.

After that revelation, I drift off for a while. Then I call my mother. I can’t help it. All I want to do is sleep, hide under the soft protection of the covers, and I know it isn’t healthy. I know this, and yet I can’t stop doing it. I’ve pushed Ethan away, ignoring the pain in his eyes. Ignoring everything, even the thoughts in my head.

My eyes are gritty from too much crying, and my skin feels swollen, as if I’ll soon split down the middle. I know I’m being maudlin and dramatic. I can’t keep on like this. So I call my mother.

Even as the line rings, I sweat and wonder why I had to turn to Mom. She answers before I can gather the courage to hang up.

“Fiona, darling girl,” she says by way of greeting.

“Hey, Mom.” My voice wobbles, and my eyes smart.

“I was going to call to tell you I’ve booked a flight to see you.”

I clutch my phone. “No. Don’t do that. Please.” I suck in a breath. “It’s harder when I have to face you guys.”

Silence ticks for a beat. “Sean told me you gave him his walking orders. He was quite put out.”

“I didn’t mean to hurt his feelings, Mom. I just couldn’t deal with…anything.”

“You don’t want to be coddled,” she says. “I understand. More than you know.”

An ugly memory stirs, of Mom taking to her room after dad’s numerous affairs became public. Which was kind of a joke because his cheating surprised absolutely no one, including her. But the public humiliation was too much.

“I don’t know how to get past this,” I tell her, my eyes welling up.

“You just do.” Her voice is soft, soothing. “Time goes on, and things get easier.”

“I tried to go out, but people looked at me…” My stomach clenches, remembering the way the delivery guy seemed to leer at my chest when I’d gone to pay for the carryout Ethan had ordered.

Ethan had stepped in a second later, gently putting me behind him and paying the guy. He didn’t say a word. Didn’t have to. It was obvious to the terrified delivery guy that he was a few seconds away from breathing out of a tube. He took his money and practically sprinted away.

It might feel good to have Ethan to stand over me like a protective bear, but he can’t be there all the time. And he can’t keep people from thinking what they want.

Some jackhole reporter pulled up pictures of me kissing Jaden—that silly stunt that feels like an eternity ago—and now they’re calling me a money chaser, the same type as the woman who made my mom cry and my dad stray. I shouldn’t care what strangers think. It’s a horrifying realization to know that I do.

Mom is talking again, drawing my attention back to the present. “Why don’t you come to London instead?”

“I don’t know…”

“No one here gives a fig about American football. You can relax. We can go Christmas shopping, have hot toddies, perhaps attend a musical.”

It sounds so perfectly lovely that I tear up again and sniffle. I miss my mom. I miss being a kid under her care, when the biggest worry I had was doing my homework on time and whether she’d let me have cookies after school.

Mom’s voice is coaxing, working over me like spun sugar. “Think about it, darling girl.”

I close my eyes and take a breath. “Okay.”





Chapter Forty-One





Dex



I find Fi in the kitchen. She isn’t drinking or eating or preparing anything. Which worries me. It isn’t like her to stand around, staring off at nothing.

Fi is light and love. Happiness and laughter. Even when she’s peaceful she has a radiance. But it’s gone now. She’s pale and quiet. Her hair has lost its shine, hanging limp around her pretty face.