The Decoy Girlfriend(95)
“Alma, my brain just short-circuited. Can you, like, just repeat all of that?”
“Kill to Be You is my new favorite thing. I will make a thousand Goodreads accounts just to give it all the five stars it deserves,” says Alma, every word enunciated with a melodramatic flourish. “Seriously, where have you been keeping this gold? How did you even come up with this?”
“Uh . . . would you believe me if I said I kinda wrote it like a super AU fanfiction of something that happened to me in real life?”
“Ha! Fine, fine. Keep your secrets,” says Alma. “Just have a good story for what inspired you, because your editor will definitely want to know. She’s been champing at the bit for your second book, and while this is a huge departure from your debut, I think it’s the perfect way to launch you again. Good work, Freya. You’re back.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
Freya’s gone.
It’s only been a day, but every trace of her has faded from Taft’s house. Colors and flavors seem muted somehow. He can’t even look at the couch, where she’d spent so many hours curled against an arm with Hen sprawled next to her, the clicks of keys such sweet background noise. The scent of paper and ink that always trailed after her is gone, too, not even a tickle of it in the air.
He’s appalled that she left thinking she was the other woman. Freya Lal is the only woman he wants or will ever want. The upward trajectory of his career has always been dictated by the women he’s with, but he would happily take a nosedive right now if it meant redeeming himself.
All he’s ever wanted is to love and be loved, and yet he’d fallen into the trap of compromising once again. She was right—he had cheated himself. He’d cheated them both.
“You did what?” Mandi’s aghast when he tells her how he and Freya left things. “You just let her go?”
He drums his fingertips against the kitchen table where they’re sitting, waiting for their 8:00 a.m. call with their managers. “How could I ask her to stay after what I said?”
It seems like a reasonable question, but when Mandi rolls her eyes into the next dimension, he comes to the conclusion that she, too, thinks he’s a gigantic fuck-up.
“Taft, when we agreed to take the offer, I didn’t think it meant at all costs. You love her, don’t you? How can you bear to let her go for . . . for what, exactly? Something you don’t even want?”
He does love Freya, but he once promised himself that he wouldn’t be selfish with her, and then he’d gone and done just that. “I never said I didn’t want it. You know what Banshee means to me.”
“Sure, but that doesn’t mean you haven’t outgrown it. You are allowed to move on. You can want other things. You don’t owe some random people your loyalty.”
But loyalty has always been how Taft has measured everything. Loyalty is the people you choose who choose you back.
Understanding shifts behind her brown eyes. “Wait . . . You think you’re doing this to be loyal to me?”
“It’s your career, too,” he says. “If I tell them no, then there’s no sequels for you, either.”
If he had to put a name to the emotion that darts over her face, he would call it love.
“Thank you for thinking of me,” Mandi says in a voice that’s surprisingly thick. “But it’s your life, Taft. What you want is important, too.”
What you want out of a relationship—romantic or platonic—doesn’t matter any less than what the other person wants.
“I’m not Connor,” says Mandi, and Taft almost snorts, because hello, understatement of the century. Mandi’s a better friend than Connor has ever been. “But I hope you think of me as your friend, too.”
Taft startles, undignified and wide-eyed and tongue-tied. He didn’t know how much he needed to hear it until the words are out there and she doesn’t take them back.
Her lips curl. “And not because you’re my costar or because we have to be friends because of all the secrets we’re keeping. You’re my closest friend because you give a shit about me, which is more than I can say about the other people in my life. You’ve always had my back and helped me get what I wanted. This time it’s your turn. You have leverage, Taft. Use it.”
His brow furrows. What leverage does she think he has?
He’s still stuck on it when they join the three-way video chat with Moira and Gareth a minute later. “Hi,” he says upon joining the call, still eyeing Mandi.
“Have you reached the right conclusion?” snaps Gareth. “Or are you going to make yet another mistake?”
“I’m going to stop myself from making one,” says Taft.
“Thank you.” Gareth’s voice is heavy with sarcasm.
“We got all the deal points we wanted,” says Moira, frowning at Gareth.
Gareth gestures to someone off the screen to bring him his latte. “You should have a DocuSign by now in your email to electronically sign. You don’t have to read it, Mandi. It’s quite long, and your time is better spent getting a facial. Your skin is looking a bit dull, and don’t forget, you’re a guest judge on that new Netflix baking show next week.”
On the screen, Moira’s face clenches before she smooths it into her usual professional calm.