The #5Star Affair (Love Hashtagged Book 1) (11 page)

The moment the apartment door was open, Jaycie brushed past Ethan. She didn’t even know where to start with the disaster that had been dinner. Every fucking chance he got, Ethan had changed the subject back to #5StarFUQ and legal ramifications. It was as if the phrase “just drop it” meant something entirely different in his universe.

“Jace, wait.” His hard tone halted her stride.

How dare he order her to do anything? Or maybe she was the unreasonable one? No. She’d asked him to stop, and he hadn’t. Her only consolation was that Damon had picked up the check at dinner before Ethan could stop him, and Ethan had looked both furious and frustrated at being shown up. Served him right.

Or she was being immature. She wouldn’t back down from this, though. Her request to just drop the subject, reasonable or not, was still her request. She spun back to face Ethan. “What?”

“Talk to me.”

Her irritation surged back on a fresh wave of powerlessness. “Why? So you can ignore everything I say some more?” Putting words to the fear dug deeper inside than the rest of the evening combined. She’d thought he was interested in what she had to say. In what she wanted. Was he more like Nick than she wanted to admit? A sick pit formed in her gut. She hadn’t fallen into a new relationship just to avoid being alone, had she?

Guilt joined the accusatory thought. Ethan was nothing like Nick. Somehow, that didn’t make the situation better, though.

“This thing you refuse to talk about, this #5StarFUQ thing—dealing with it is important.” Ethan’s eyes held a hard edge, and his gaze never wavered from her face.

“So is respecting my wishes. You’re welcome to voice your opinion on anything. I’ll listen. But I already asked you to drop this, and you tricked me into the conversation this evening, anyway. Blindsided me with something I already told you no about.”

“But you’re wrong,” he said. “Ignoring this isn’t the right thing to do.”

The blunt words raised welts on her thoughts, stinging and lingering. Even worse, a tiny voice in the back of her mind squeaked that he had a good point, and she plowed it aside. “That’s on me. You gave me your opinion—many, many times, though once would have been enough—and it’s up to me to listen. What happens next? You decide you want to have sex, and I’m wrong if I disagree?”

He clenched his jaw and drew his mouth into a fine line. Silence stretched between them in the seconds it took for him to respond. “That’s different.”

“How?” In a way, it was; she knew Ethan wouldn’t do that. But in a way it was exactly the same.

“How? How do you even ask that?” Hurt and fury mingled in his retort. “I would
never…
” His words melded into a growl.

This wasn’t getting them anywhere. Neither of them was talking about the original problem, and she’d made it personal. She knew better than that. This was why she didn’t engage in arguments, and tonight she was as guilty as anyone of adding an emotional element.

So why couldn’t she take it back? What was she going to do? Apologize for saying something she meant? Beg his forgiveness because he was being a stubborn ass? She stowed the rambling thoughts. “Glad to hear it, because I’m sleeping alone in my own bed tonight. And probably every night after.”

A rumble rose from his chest, and he narrowed his eyes. “Okay. You want me to listen. I’m listening. What I’m hearing is we’re through, because we’ve had one disagreement. Just like that.
BAM!
Over.”

Even though he was regurgitating her thoughts, the finality in his statement gnawed at her.  She stood her ground. “You sound surprised. How is that any different than deciding we’re a couple after one night together?”

“Really? That’s how you define
us
? ‘Fucking once’? None of the build up around it matters? Then maybe you’re right. You should stay in your own bed.”

How had this gone so wrong? Then again, how had she expected it not to? “So glad I have your permission.” She spun on her toe before she could logic herself into a corner, stalked into her room, and slammed her door.

The minutes ticked away on her clock, mocking her. The harder she tried to block out anything outside her room, the more obvious the sounds were. The creak of floorboards as Ethan prowled the apartment. The snick of his latch when he disappeared into his own room. The heavy nothing that settled in once both of them stopped moving.

Red numbers counted higher, then reset to 1, and started their climb again, mocking her from her desk. Sleep still eluded her. Had she been wrong to lash out? Or just to take things as far as she had?

And worse, was she being stupid, wanting nothing more than to make things right with Ethan? Was there something there between them, or was she really that terrified of being alone? The questions taunted her until exhaustion pulled her eyes shut around three in the morning.

****

She was jerked awake by the sound of running water in the background. Six thirty. Her dry eyes protested at being open again so soon, and her body ached when she pulled herself from bed. She felt like she hadn’t slept in weeks.

She stumbled into the living room, and dropped onto the couch, brain still grinding over her doubts from the night before.

A few minutes later—or was it longer?—Ethan strode past, toward the door. His glance in her direction was the only acknowledgement he gave her.

“Wait.” The word almost stuck in her dry throat. “I’m sorry.” Not about all of it, but there were some things she shouldn’t have said. “For minimalizing
us
. Your”—what was the word she wanted? She needed something that wouldn’t come off as too possessive but still sounded fair. Damn it, she was overanalyzing everything—“friendship means more to me than that.”

His shoulders sank. “Whatever you say.” He never met her gaze.

The door closed behind him, and silence sank into her head once again. She needed to get away from the circular thoughts and the hollow ache pinging in her chest. Maybe Gwen could help.

Jaycie’s spoon clinked against the inside of her mug every few seconds, chiming against her thoughts, and giving her something external to focus on.

Gwen covered her hand, stopping its never-ending journey of circles. “Amazing sex doesn’t make an amazing relationship. At least not past the next morning.” Gwen took the spoon and set it aside.

Jaycie sat at the counter in the diner, attention focused on her coffee and the way it slowly swirled to a stop. She usually tried to keep normal working hours, and stayed in her home office during the day. She’d love to be doing the same now, except two more magazines had opted out of giving her any more assignments, and she was running low on work. “There’s more to us than that.”

Despite the truth of the statement, it sounded weak when she said it aloud. Dropping in to visit Gwen was supposed to help her make sense of her thoughts. They hadn’t had much time to talk since Jaycie moved in with Ethan, and this should have been a good excuse to catch up.

“Us?” Gwen worked while she talked. It was between breakfast and lunch rush, so there were only a few other people in the diner. Gwen’s staff took care of them, leaving her to keep an eye on the coffee and ring up the occasional ticket at the register. “Hon, what are you doing?” Gwen asked.

Jaycie had been trying to sort out what she thought of Ethan, and hoped talking about it would help. Their brief encounter that morning sat as poorly with her as the night before. “I’m not doing anything. We clicked. It was nice. I thought he got me. I wasn’t going to ignore all that because it might not work out.”

“He also never stopped hitting on you”—Gwen took someone’s money, handed back their change, then returned to her spot in front of Jaycie—“, even when you both agreed this wasn’t a romantic relationship.”

“Technically, I never stopped either.” It was a weak comeback, but Jaycie didn’t have a better one. Gwen was right; she’d been stupid to dive in so fast. The thought stung, though. Trying to wrap her brain around losing Ethan, as though they’d ever had something to begin with, hurt more than the idea of leaving Nick ever had. As much as she wanted to ignore it, the tiny voice in the back of her head, saying she just needed more time to get to know Ethan better, wouldn’t shut up.

She needed to squelch those thoughts. It was true Gwen’s opinion of relationships tended to be jaded, but it also kept her from getting hurt. “I guess.”

Gwen squeezed her hand. “I can tell it’s not sitting right with you.” Her tone was sympathetic. “But don’t lose yourself in denial over this one. Is he really worth it?”

Yes.
The resounding answer echoed in Jaycie’s thoughts, and she violently shoved it aside. That was the denial speaking. “I need work to distract me.”

“Definitely.” Gwen’s soothing, placating voice vanished, replaced with determination. “Have you tried new magazines?”

“A couple. As soon as they see my resume and portfolio, the conversations stop. You’ll let me wipe down tables or something, if I don’t find something soon. Won’t you?”

“Of course. You’re always welcome here.”

The zero-hesitation reassurance made the bitterness rise in Jaycie’s throat. It had to be nice to have a trust fund to fall back on. To not have to worry about money, and be able to do whatever she wanted. That wasn’t fair, though. Jaycie knew Gwen worked hard, and the diner operated in the black, even though it could have been failing and she’d still be able to keep it alive. There was no reason to take a bad work streak out on her best friend. “Thanks. I appreciate it.”

A surge of customers lined up at the register, and Gwen stepped away for a few minutes, leaving Jaycie to swim through her own thoughts.  Jaycie needed something. Yesterday would be good. It was probably time to stop being stubborn, and look at doing some write ups for other types of magazines, at least until this whole #5StarFUQ thing passed.

“Why don’t you pick a new penname?” Gwen was apparently done. “Something readers don’t know. If the magazines don’t want to deal with the drama, that should solve the problem. Right?”

Hope bloomed in Jaycie’s chest. It was so simple, but it made sense. She didn’t like hiding herself behind a new name any more than she had when she became J-Dub, but she’d be able to write, and she’d be making money again. “It’s brilliant.” She let the idea fill her with a warm, fuzzy glow. “Absolutely. I’ll talk to
Console Power
today, see if we can work something out.”

They spent another hour or two joking and catching up, and trying to figure out when they could finish the menu designs for the diner, until the lunch rush pulled Gwen away. Jaycie headed home, feeling much better about the day. As long as she kept thoughts of Ethan at bay, everything felt right. But every time his name surged into her mind, a deep pang ached in her chest, asking why she was so determined dialing back their relationship was the right thing to do.

It just was. She needed to admit that.

She fired off an email to
Console Power
as soon as she was back at her computer. A two-paragraph proposal, asking if they’d pick up her review of
God of Stars
under a different name.

She hadn’t expected an immediate response, but that didn’t stop her from hoping. Len was probably just at lunch. Even though he was on the east coast, and it was after two there. Maybe he was in a meeting. Something.

While she waited, she tried to busy herself looking for other freelance jobs. Quick things she could turn around, to make up for the lost work. By the time her email pinged, she’d done as poor a job finding new assignments as keeping herself calm. She pushed aside any trepidation, promised herself this was the solution she needed, and opened Len’s response.

Love the idea. I really do. We wouldn’t be able to pay your asking rate. J-Dub drew in advertisers before. But your stuff is good; we can rebuild you back to that point. Give me another buzz when this whole thing dies down, and we’ll negotiate.

She flipped off her laptop, and slammed the lid shut, frustration and powerlessness clawing at her throat and pricking her eyelids.

*

For the last couple of days, Ethan had fought the urge to stop in front of Jaycie’s room just to make small talk. His anger at her brush-off had faded, but he hadn’t been in the mood to hash anything out. Especially since, when they did run into each other, she barely looked him in the eye, and even though she was polite, she cut every conversation off after a few seconds.

She’d like his news today, though. It was worth breaking the silence over. He knocked on the door frame, and she looked up from her desk.

“Did you see the buzz online today?” He leaned against the wall.

“Was it about diplomatic relations with Abu Dhabi?”

“People are biting back on this #5StarFUQ thing. Blog posts calling out the perpetrators, lashing out at
Console Power
for dropping you and being sexist bastards by supporting #5StarFUQ, mainstream media coverage.”

Her scowl deepened. “Yeah. That’s fantastic.” Sarcasm dripped from the words.

It was supposed to pull her out of her funk, not make it worse. “Why isn’t it?”

“Seriously?” She crossed her arms. “That means it’s still not going away. It’s drawing more momentum, and who the hell is going to hire me, if I sic the dogs on them?”

“You’re not seeing the big picture. This entire thing is about people being able to speak up without fear of retribution. Isn’t that
your
thing?” He couldn’t keep the irritation from his voice. “Saying what you think without being judged, without being told to back down, because you’re not the right gender? These rebuttals are a good thing. They call out the big boys. They have just as much right to speak their mind as you do.”

“So do the assholes spreading the rumors. Except they get to do it without fear of retribution. Someone calling them bullies online? That’s no worse than what they do. They expect that. I’m sure some of them get off on it. Like Damon said the other night, you can’t silence the internet.”

She pointed at her screen. “The problem is, when something like this takes on a life of its own—when people start responding—the assholes think they have an audience. Sure, people yell at them. Tell them all the reasons they’re wrong. But the delusional crawl out of the woodwork to support them. The legions of guys who think they own this industry spawn more and more voices. People who spend their lives hiding behind their computers, spewing venom under the cover of anonymity, are suddenly finding their peers. They support each other. Reinforce each other’s behavior. They start to think the things they’re threatening to do are okay.”

He stepped close enough to see what she pointed at. She had an email message open, with pictures of her in it—leaving the apartment with a laundry basket; walking down to the pool in a bikini top and shorts; heading out to dinner in the black dress she’d worn on Monday night. The only text in the message was the subject line.

I see you.

“No one cared about things like where I lived before they knew my name.” Pleading had replaced her anger. “I need them to not care again. And I’m not the only one. How many other people are going through this right now?”

White-hot rage spilled through Ethan. “We’re calling the police. This isn’t safe.”

She snapped her mouth shut, and sank back in her chair, not meeting his gaze.

“Do you disagree?” he asked.

“Does it matter?” Resignation and irritation lined her voice.