Chapter 9

Dumbass!

He’s a fucking bastard, and I’ll drop dead right now if I let him use me like that.

I hurry downstairs, my chest tight and my throat parched. Breathing in the crisp October air, I know I’m on the verge of a panic attack.

I want to run; damn, I want to fly! I want to lose myself in the lights and bustle of Hollywood Boulevard. I want to dash down the street, not toward anything, but away from everything. Away from Marcus. Away from the past.

And away from this horrible feeling of being torn inside.

I want to, but I can’t. Because if I try, I’m sure to trip on these damn stilettos and end up breaking my nose in front of the theater on Clark Gable’s handprint.

Damn, damn, damn!