Page 109 of The Way I Hate Him
I’m not his type.
That much is clear.
Stunning Odette, with her beauty and maturity, is.
I take deep breaths, willing back the tears and telling myself to look at anything else other than the two of them.
After what feels like hours, Kevin finally calls the shoot a wrap, and in a catatonic state, I robotically walk over Odette’s robe to her while Hayes offers Kevin a handshake. “I’m going to take a quick shower,” he says to me and then takes off, leaving me with Kevin.
Odette walks off as well, and I don’t know what to do until Kevin asks me to help collect the linens on the bed and stuff them in carts to be laundered.
Sighing, I assist the other production assistant, and we clean up while the smoke slowly dissipates from the set. The entire time, I feel broken, cut, and so raw...I just want to go home. So once I know there is nothing left for me to do, I walk back to Hayes’s dressing room. I’m about to knock on the door when it opens, and Odette stands in the doorway.
“Oh,” I say. “Sorry, I thought this was Hayes’s room.”
“It is.” She smiles. And when I glance over her shoulder, I catch Hayes slipping his shirt over his head.
Right . . .
Fuck . . . I feel the tears wanting to form again, but I take a few deep breaths. Not here, not now. Hold it together, Hattie.
I try to smile, but I know it doesn’t come off that way. Luckily, Odette is oblivious as she says, “Thank you again for your help and encouragement today. It meant a lot. And congrats on the job again. You couldn’t have found a better guy to work with.” She looks behind her and says, “Catch you later, Hayes.”
Hayes nods at her but doesn’t say anything as he sits on the couch to put his shoes on.
When Odette takes off, I stand there in the doorway, feeling like . . . like a child, waiting for the adult to be done with his . . . adult things.
He stands from the couch and says, “You ready?”
“Yes,” I answer as I step aside, letting him out of his room, but instead of walking in front of me, he once again places his hand on my lower back and guides me toward the exit. He says goodbye to a few more people, and then we make our way to his SUV. I expect him to go to his side, but instead, he follows me to my side and opens the door for me.
I move past him to get in, but he doesn’t put much distance between us. Rather, he steps up to the door and places both hands on the top edge as he leans in.
When I don’t look at him, he grabs my chin and forces me to look him in the eyes.
That’s all it takes, one look from him, and the tears fill my eyes.
Dammit.
I don’t want to cry in front of him.
I don’t want him to know how today affected me.
But it’s next to impossible to hold back the feelings raging through me.
I’m embarrassed. Humiliated. And my heart . . . it feels broken.
“It was a job,” he says softly as a tear rolls down my cheek. He wipes it away from my cheek and repeats, “That’s all it was, Hattie. It was a job.”
“I know,” I say.
“Then why are you crying?”
I shake my head, hating myself at this moment for letting him see my weakness. “It’s stupid. Nothing you need to worry about.”
“I’m worried,” he says. “So tell me.” When my eyes connect with his, he whispers, “Please, Hattie.”
Damn him. A tear falls down my cheek, and I wipe it away as I say, “You don’t care about me, Hayes. So please don’t pretend that you do.”
