America's Geekheart (Bro Code #2)(96)

He jerks his head to the office across the hall. “Sarah’s got problems, and what the fuck is wrong with you? I liked her. Tripp liked her. My sister liked her.”

My heart leaps into my throat.

Fuck the fashion world.

Sarah.

Sarah’s what I’m passionate about. “What? Where is she? How big? What’s wrong? Can you fix it?”

He squints at me for half a second before the squint turns to a smirk. “To answer your questions, one, you’re a dumbass if you let her go. Two, I’m IT, not psychic, so I don’t know where she is. Three, it depends on what you call big and if she had the poor taste to actually like you back, which is actually two separate problems at the moment”—he smirks at me again—“and finally, Ryder. Come on. Can I fix it? Whoa. Is Charlie yelling at someone?”

“She’s firing Bruce.”

He shoves the laptop at me. “Here. You get started. I gotta listen to this.”

“Hank.”

“Ah, fuck. Fine. But you owe me big. I’ve been wanting to listen to her blow for months.”

He picks the office across the hall from where Charlie’s still listing Bruce’s flaws—she’s gotten to the you’re a sexist asshole part, which either means she’s just getting started or wrapping up soon—and he opens his laptop. “Get your phone out and figure out what to do about Twitter, but do not type anything yourself, okay? I gotta get her website back up. You really break up with her?”

My veins frost over. “Fuck, no. Why—” I can’t finish the sentence, because I can’t make those words come out of my mouth together.

He looks at me.

Then points to my phone. “Twitter, dude. Your job. Computer? My job.”

I open Twitter.

And fuck.

Just fuck.

Tweet after tweet saying she didn’t deserve me anyway. That she’s ugly. That after all I did for her and her giraffe lover, she should be grateful, not a bitch who dumps me on a Monday morning.

Charlie stomps in, looks over my shoulder, and gasps. “What the fuck? They loved her yesterday. Did Bruce do this? He’s dead. He’s deader than dead.”

I switch over to my profile, and there it is.

The canned statement announcing we’re done.

“Can you get rid of this?” I ask Hank, pointing to the tweet. Because I can’t just take it down. You can never just take it down. People get screenshots and share that shit for eternity. He’ll be playing whack-a-mole.

Fuck.

“One thing at a time,” Hank says. “Her website crashed again from all the hits.”

“Don’t make me call Davis.”

“Already calling him,” Charlie says.

“I can fucking handle this on my own,” Hank growls at her.

“Shove your ego in a dirty gym bag. It’s for Sarah.” She pauses, then mutters, “And Davis is faster.”

“I’m gonna pretend you didn’t say that.”

“I can say it louder.”

I leave them to their bickering and head for the elevator, already dialing Sarah’s number.

When she doesn’t answer, I call Judson.

“Where’s Sarah?” I ask.

Fuck.

Fuck.

This is so fucking stupid. It’s none of anyone’s damn business who I date or how I feel. And now they’re dragging her through the mud without knowing a damn real thing about either one of us.

And they’re hurting her.

They’re fucking hurting her.

I put Judson on speaker and text Hank and Davis both with orders to hack Twitter and take the whole fucking site down.

“She’s with her mother in the garden. What the fuck did you do now?” Judson growls.

“Is she okay?” I hit the button for the garage level, knowing full well I might lose signal, but there’s no way I’m wasting another second getting to her. “She hasn’t seen anything, right? She’s okay? She doesn’t believe it, does she? I fired the dumbass. I mean, I let Charlie do it, but I’m cleaning house with my team and if they don’t like Sarah, they’re gone. Is she okay? Tell me she’s okay.”

“Depends on your definition of okay,” he growls, and that’s the last thing I hear before the signal drops.

“Be okay, be okay, be okay,” I whisper to myself.

She’s not darting off on a jet to Morocco and changing her name. She’s in her backyard with her mom.

She’s not digging a bunker. Judson would’ve said she was digging a bunker if she was digging a bunker.

She’s not packing up her bees to move to some small town in Kansas without internet. Plus, all of Kansas has internet. I think. I’ve been in a small town or two in Kansas, and they always had internet, even though everyone in LA and New York thinks they don’t.

“Be okay, be okay, be okay,” I mutter.

I point the bodyguard in the basement to my car. “Drive. Sarah’s house.”

My hands are shaking.

I can’t drive myself.

If she’s not okay, I’m going to be so pissed at myself for dragging her into this.

I’m already pissed at myself for dragging her into this.

But when I finally get to her house, when I push past Judson and the pig and the cat and out into the backyard, I discover it’s not bad.