But never from him. Not until now. He used to look at me like I was made of magic, down to my bones.
I mourn the sudden shift. The only person in my life who unfailingly saw the best in me, time after time, no matter how bad I messed up… is officially gone.
“Wyatt…” I try one final time, voice trembling. “Please, just—”
He glances back at his phone and types a rapid text message. “Listen, my ride is almost here. I have to go. If you have a problem concerning the movie that needs to be addressed, you can contact my assistant— you’ve got her direct number, right?”
I feel my mouth part on a whimper. No words escape; I’ve been stunned into silence.
He pushes off the wall and starts walking down the sidewalk. I trail after him helplessly, wondering if this can possibly be the same endlessly positive man I knew a month ago, who lifted me up whenever I was beaten down. Always there with a steady hand to correct my stumbles, a kind word to keep me going.
Every day, you have a choice about how you’re going to live your life.
Choose sunshine, baby. Always choose sunshine.
You look so much prettier with light in your eyes.
That man is nothing but a memory. This man, walking away from me now, is a stranger.
And I’m the one responsible.
I did this.
I crashed into his life and poisoned him. A plague, spreading through his system, until every illuminated corner of his soul had been tarnished by the folly of my actions. And he won’t even let me try to mend the damage I caused.
Anger spirals through me in a maelstrom as I watch him walk away.
“Wyatt Hastings!” I yell at his back, voice vibrating with authority. “Stop right there!”
He goes completely still. His shoulders are tense. His head turns halfway, so I see his face in profile, and his voice is emotionless when he clips out a reply.
“You bellowed?”
I stomp to his side, close enough to see the crystalline depths of his irises up close. If I were braver, I’d reach out and grab his hand.
I plant my hands on my hips to curtail the impulse.
“Well?” he prompts, jaw ticking again.
“I don’t want things to be like this,” I whisper recklessly.
“Like what, exactly?”
“You! You’re…” I shift from foot to foot, bare toes pressing against the chilled asphalt. “You’re so cold.”
“Have I not been perfectly civil?”
“Civil?Civil?” I scoff. “Sure, I guess you’ve been civil. But I’d bet my ass a tour of Antarctica would be warmer than the shoulder you’re giving me.”
“I’m trying to be professional. You may not recognize it, because you careen through life like there aren’t any rules, but this is what a professional working relationship looks like.”
I pale at his words and feel my own evaporate.
His jaw clenches. Crossing his arms over his chest, he stares blankly down at me. “Katharine, I am not your friend. I’m certainly not your boyfriend. I’m your producer. I’m yourboss.”
“You’ve always been my boss.” My protest is shaky. “You’ve never treated me like this.”
“I’m treating you the way I’d treat any other actress on any other project.”