by G. , Whitney
“Another cheater with a backstabber’s influence,” he says. “There’s a slight difference with this one.”
My blood begins to boil. “What would you do if you were me?”
“I’d tell Hayden that he’s the smartest man I’ve ever met in the world. Then I’d vow to be a lot nicer to him and learn to say, Thank you.”
I give him a blank stare, and he laughs.
“I would leave this house, call the cops on my way out, and tell them that you saw a minor drinking at this party.”
“You want me to ruin the night for everyone else?”
“You asked me what I would do if I was seventeen.” He shrugs. “I’d use up the last of my immaturity while I could, especially if my feelings were involved.”
“What about Kayla?” I ask. “Does she get off scot-free in this?
“Depends.” He returns my red cup. “I’ll be across the street. You have three minutes, and then I’m driving you to the rink so you can make up for lost time.”
“Because you actually care?”
“Because I made a promise to your brother.” He walks away, and I let out a breath.
I look myself over in the mirror one last time and leave the room, pushing my way through the bodies on the living room’s makeshift dance floor.
Completely shameless, Brody is pressing Kayla against the wall—laughing in between kisses.
I stroll right over and tap his shoulder.
“Yes?” He turns around. “Changed your mind so soon?”
“No, fuck you,” I say. “I just want to make sure you know how big of a douchebag you are.”
He smiles, looking completely unfazed. “Thanks for the reminder that I don’t need to date any more high school girls. You’re not mature enough to handle the complex things in life.”
Welp. I’m definitely calling the cops.
“Poor little ice princess,” Kayla says, confirming our friendship meant nothing. “I guess you can’t win everything in life. How does it feel to finally lose?”
I toss my drink in her face. “Pretty damn good.”
I turn away without another word and make my way through the guests. I call the police and report the house as I’m walking toward Hayden’s car.
When I slip inside, he cranks the engine.
We ride in silence for several minutes, and I stare at the words “Future Billionaire” that he’s etched onto his dashboard.
“This little incident doesn’t make us friends,” he says, once we reach a red light. “I need you to know that.”
“The two of us will never be friends, Hayden.” I roll my eyes. “But since we’re stating the obvious, I hate the new name of your dating app even more than the first one.”
“Something tells me that you’ll hate it even when I become a billionaire.”
Right.
“I practiced for three extra hours every day this week just in case I went out tonight,” I say, changing the subject. “I’d rather go home and think about things.”
“That’s the last thing you should do,” he says. “Idle thoughts won’t get you anywhere. You should at least work through your short program a few times.”
I hate that’s he’s right, but I don’t fight it.
“You really don’t think that I’m going to become a billionaire, do you?” he asks, looking over at me.
“No, I know that you’re not going to become one.”
“Want to bet?” he says. “Because I’m willing to bet that you’ll never find a single real friend for the rest of your life.”
“Deal. Now I’m really looking forward to watching you fail.”
“I’m looking forward to seeing you cry in perpetual loneliness when I’m right …”
Years Later
She lost that fucking bet by the way …
As did I.
One
Present Day
Hayden
* * *
Billionaire Hayden Hunter is Officially Over! (Still Sexy AF, But Over)
Should We Stop Using Hayden’s Cinder App and Switch to Tinder Once & for All?
How a Billionaire, Playboy’s Empire Crumbled Overnight: Will He Ever Apologize for the Lies?
Beautiful, Sexy, Liar: The Fall of Hayden Hunter (& Cinder)
* * *
I held back a laugh as I read the latest headlines while sitting in a hole-in-the-wall cafe.
These people always acted as if I’d somehow failed to read the “What Happens When You Become a Billionaire Overnight” handbook.
There were no rules for me to follow, no list of ‘Dos and Don’ts’ and I’d spent the past several years writing my own.
Was I reckless as hell sometimes? Yes. (Well, mostly in the past.)
Did I spend my hard-earned money lavishly? Of course.
Was I worthy of an ongoing smear campaign? Never.
Yet, after becoming one of the youngest billionaires and launching Cinder—the number one hookup app in the country, Karma had randomly decided to come for me.
With no warning whatsoever, she cleared the register of my life and printed the receipts of all my past mistakes, for the entire world to see.
And for some strange reason, she decided to expose them on the same damn day.
Yesterday.
Leaked emails, private texts, flights logs, everything …
All those times when I smiled on live television and said I was “humbled” to have the number one app in the country, while secretly seething with rage that Tinder was getting closer with every passing day?
There were thousands of leaked emails with subject lines like, “How can I destroy their company by the end of the year?” “Stop letting these journalists ask me about Tinder,” and “I’m not humble at all…I worked for this shit,” that exposed the truth.
The numerous times I lied about being in a business meeting, but I was really in Vegas partying?
There was literally a two-foot-long hotel receipt and plenty of raunchy, resurfaced photos to prove the damages. (In all fairness, I’d always avoided business meetings like the plague; I just never let the public in on that fact.)
And all the times, years ago, when I was as reckless as I’d ever been, but pretending to be a “homebody obsessed with work”? There were far too many hotel camera records for those.
The “receipts” had started dripping onto Twitter yesterday morning—eventually breaking into a full-scale flood, and I’d been pulled into a public relations crisis like never before.
“Stop reading that garbage over there and try to look like a competent CEO.” Lawrence, my advisor, and the man who was the closest thing to a real father I’d ever had, snapped his fingers. “And try to tone down that stupid James Dean thing that you do before the Vogue interviewer gets here.”
“What James Dean thing?”
“You know, the whole sexy smirk and smoldering blue eyes—‘let’s go have sex after you ask me all these questions’ thing.” He groaned. “Be a goddamn professional for once in your life.”
“For the record, I haven’t had sex with anyone in six months.”
“Oh, okay,” he said, not looking convinced. “Well, for the record, you’re the best client I’ve ever worked for.”
“I’m telling you the truth, Lawrence.”
“Me too, Hayden.” He rolled his eyes. “Me too.”
I laughed, bringing a cup of coffee to my lips.
The door to the cafe opened seconds later, and a redhead in a revealing black dress—one that was definitely not interview appropriate, stepped inside.
I stood to my feet and pulled out a chair for her. “Good morning, Miss Gregory.”
“Good morning, Mr. Hunter.” She extended her hand. “I’m so honored to meet with you today.”
“Likewise.”
Lawrence moved to another table as we settled into our seats.
“Before we get started, I want to give you this on behalf of my team members.” She handed me a small white box. “You ca
n open that when we’re done.”
“Will do.” I waited for her to pull out notes and a recorder, but she just stared at me.
For a full minute.
“Is there a problem, Miss Gregory?” I asked.
“No.” Her cheeks reddened and she cleared her throat. “Well, yes. I’m not sure a light and fluffy interview is going to bring the public back to your side after your latest drama. I think you’ll need way more since everyone think you’re a liar now.”
“That’s for me and his PR team to decide.” Lawrence scoffed. “You’re not on Cinder’s payroll, so please get on with the interview.”
“Fine.” She pulled out a small spiral notebook. Then she crossed and re-crossed her legs.
“What does it feel like to be a billionaire?” she asked.
“I’m not sure how to answer that question,” I said. “But not having to worry about financial problems for the past few years of my life has been quite nice.”
“Is your father proud of you?”
“I wouldn’t know.” I sipped my coffee. “I haven’t spoken to him since he walked out on me when I was sixteen.”
“Family questions aren’t on the approved list, Miss Gregory.” Lawrence intruded once more. “Next question. Now.”
“Oh, that’s right. Um—” She looked down at her sheet. “You’re often photographed with a pretty brunette around town. You meet her at Central Park, at coffee shops, and most recently you were spotted walking together on the Manhattan Bridge.”
“That brunette is my best friend, Penelope,” I said. “Everyone in the media knows that.”
“So, there’s nothing romantic between you two?”
“No, we’re just friends.”
“Has there ever been anything romantic between you two?” She tapped her chin.
Lawrence shot me a “Where the hell is she going with this?” look, and I shrugged.
Every now and then, an inexperienced journalist would ask me some form of that question, but once they tied our connection to “Travis Carter: The Punisher,” they let it go. A guy hanging out with his best friend’s younger sister was a non-story for them.
“Penelope and I are strictly platonic,” I said. “We always have been, and we always will be.”
“I’m sure all of my readers will be happy to hear that.” She batted her eyes at me, and Lawrence glared at her from across the room. “Speaking of romance—”
“You are here to write up a short piece called, Hayden Hunter’s Top Lessons in Life.” Lawrence interrupted, crossing his arms. “That’s literally the entire reason why we shut down this coffee shop, since your editor demanded that we have the photoshoot someplace ‘down to earth and real.’ The photogs have taken their pictures and left, so you need to hurry up and get to the point.”
“Yes, of course.” Her cheeks reddened. “What’s your favorite color, Mr. Hunter?”
“Oh, wow.” Lawrence rolled his eyes. “What a thought provoking question.”
“Ignore him.” I smiled at her. “He doesn’t get laid much. I like sky blue.”
“Okay.” She scribbled a few notes on her pad. “I’ve heard that you’re also a huge fan of candy, so do you like pineapple?”
“I do.”
“There’s a myth that if a woman eats pineapple, her ‘down there’ will taste better when a guy uses his mouth on her. Seeing as though you’ve mentioned loving pineapples several times, do you think that’s true? Do you have any experience in that area?”
I smiled as Lawrence looked like he was seconds away from losing his shit. “Next question.”
“Okay, then.” She shrugged. “When you first built your company here in New York—I’m twenty-four years old, no kids, tons of ambition, and I can suck your cock like you wouldn’t believe.” The words rushed out of her mouth as she jumped the shark. “I can make you forget all about your latest scandal, if you give me three hours.”
What the fuck?
“You can take me up to your penthouse suite.” She leaned forward. “I’ll make it worth your while.”
“Security!” Lawrence held his cell phone up to his ear. “Security, come in from the outside, now. We have a certified psychopath on our hands.”
“I wanted this interview to see if I felt a vibe with you.” She clasped my hand atop the table. “I felt it the moment I came in and you pulled out my chair. From the way you looked at me, I can tell that you care about me. You complete me.”
I raised my eyebrow, wondering if a prankster TV host was seconds away from making an appearance.
“I run the Hayden Hunter Wears Sexy Suits blog and I’ve followed you for years. I think we belong together.”
I had no idea how to respond to that.
My security guards, Henry and Taylor, moved in front of her.
“Come on, Miss.” They helped her up, but she pushed back.
“I’m not done talking to him!” She tried to move around them, but Henry looped his arms under hers—pulling her away.
“I wrote my number in lipstick at the bottom of that gift box!” She shouted as they carried her to the door. “I’ll be waiting for your call!”
I shook my head once the door shut. “Well, that won’t be helping me anytime soon.”
“I’ll have Sarah do a better job screening the next interviewer,” he said. “I’m not sure how she managed to slip through the cracks.”
“It’s fine.” I stood to my feet. “I’ll be ready for Vanity Fair and The New Yorker on Friday.”
“Where the hell do you think you’re going?”
“Out. I have plans with Penelope.”
“No, you don’t.” He crossed his arms. “Unless she’s dying. Is she dying?”
“She wants to introduce me to her new boyfriend,” I said. “He’s making us dinner at her place. Italian, I believe.”
“And?” He looked at me as if I’d lost my mind. “Does he have some type of clout with the press that we can use to better your fuckups?”
“The ‘meet the family’ thing is a very important part in being her best friend, Lawrence.” I smiled. “She doesn’t have her parents, as you know. And she hardly ever gets to the six-month mark in any of her relationships.”
“Gee, I wonder why that is …”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“It means that your reputation—what’s left of it anyway, is in tatters and we can’t rely on your upcoming charity ball to help with your image this time. We need a hardcore plan with weeks of strategic moves, and you need to be there at every step of the way.”
“I will be.” I slid a pair of shades over my eyes. “After I get done meeting with Penelope and her boyfriend.”
“How long are you expecting that to take?”
“An hour or two.”
“Then you’ll come right back here?”
“Of course.”
He leaned back in his chair and sighed. “So, that means I’ll see you tomorrow?”
“Glad we’re on the same page.”
Two
Present Day
Penelope
No one ever bothers to tell you what happens after you’ve given your all and it’s still not enough.
I’d read enough self-help books to fill a swimming pool—highlighted every positive platitude, and I had yet to find the solution for my situation.
In fact, every morning, I woke up hoping that the past few years of my life were a cruel and twisted joke.
I desperately wanted to believe that I never fell face-first onto the ice in competition, and that I never lost months’ worth of my life while being confined to a hospital bed—forever missing out on the chance to beat my mother’s iconic medal record.
Shake it off, Pen. Shake it off.
I focused my attention on the twelve lopsided “We Made it Six Months” cupcakes that were currently cooling on my kitchen counter.
They looked like something out of a horror novel—all cracked open with a burnt spot at their cente
rs, but they’d have to do for now.
This was my fourth and final attempt.
Bing! Bing! Bing!
The timer suddenly sounded, and I pulled a tray of sauce from the oven. After setting it on the counter, I picked up my phone and called my boyfriend Mack.
“Hey there, Gorgeous,” he answered on the first ring.
“Hey. The timer went off on your sauce. Do you want me to pour it over the noodles?”
“No, let it sit out for a minute. I’m looking for one last garnish, so I’ll be back in ten minutes or so.” He paused. “I’m sorry I wasn’t better prepared to meet your family today.”
“No worries. There’s no rush.” I ended the call and checked the time.”
As usual, Hayden was ‘the world revolves around my ego’ late, so Mack could probably take another hour before he arrived.
Out of all the boyfriends I’d ever had, Mack was by far the most sympathetic and caring.
He never said things like, “Things happen for a reason,” “Maybe that career-ending fall was meant to be.” He let me vent and cry whenever it crossed my mind—never told me that it was time to move on.
Hayden did the same, of course, but he didn’t count. He was a constant character in my life’s novel; Mack was an entirely new chapter.
I waited a few minutes before scrolling down to Hayden’s name and hitting call.
“Yes, Penelope?” he answered.
“Where the hell are you?”
“Around the corner from your brownstone.”
“Why are you always late?”
“Because I’m only on time when it counts.” There was a smile in his voice. “I stopped to buy a few gifts.”
“For Mack or me?”
“Mack.” He laughed. “You’re too stubborn to accept anything from me. I’m outside your door now.”
I walked over and looked through the peephole first.
As if he could see me looking at him, he smiled a perfect set of pearly whites.
Sometimes, I still found myself forgetting just how attractive he was. Even when he was dressed down in a white T-shirt and jeans, he managed to look as if he was seconds away from stepping onto the cover of a romance novel.
