THE HOT lawyer's

Part 17

Jennie

"I'd better not lose you once you start filming," Jiminie said from the other side of my love seat, a fluffy white blanket covering us, our matching painted toes resting on the coffee table.

"Please. That's impossible. I think I've proven my love to you already." I wrapped my arm through his. "And that love is wicked fierce."

He twirled a chunk of my hair around his finger. "I just needed the reassurance." He leaned forward to refill our wineglasses, draining the last of our first bottle and moving on to our second. "What I didn't tell you while we were getting pedis is that I lost a gig yesterday." He rolled his eyes. "The other artist is super talented, and she's nice and cuddly and all the things, but I'm feeling a little bruised about it."

I turned toward him, gripping my glass. "What? But you're a freaking genius and—"

"Staaap. I know I'm fabulous. I'm just a little sour—that's all." His brows scrunched together. "Speaking of sour ... why haven't you brought up the Instagram post that hideous flower shared today?"

I didn't know if it was the wine, but it took me a moment to realize who he was talking about.

"Irene? No. I've been avoiding her page. Why?"

He pointed at my phone. "Go look."

I set down my wine and lifted my cell off the table, clicking on the app. Her post immediately came up in my feed. It wasn't a photo or video. She'd shared a screenshot of a quote she'd written.

I thought you were my person.

But the knife you stabbed me with just cut off the big red bow that sat on top of my new Benz.

You can't hurt the girl who's on top of her game.

—Team loyalty

XO

There was no question; that post was about me.

Especially since the one I'd shared this morning on my newly verified account was of the headshot the studio had taken of me and an announcement that filming was starting in the morning and I couldn't be more excited to be representing the show.

"Not very girl next doorsy, is she?"

"No." I pointed at my glass without looking at it. "Fill it to the brim, please."

Once I heard the sloshing stop, I picked it up and downed several gulps, going to Irene's profile at the same time. It had been several days since I'd looked at it, and I scrolled through her recent posts, seeing photos I hadn't manipulated and videos I hadn't shot.

She had clearly found someone to replace me. I was happy for her; she needed an assistant, and I obviously couldn't be that person. But what my trained eyes saw were videos that were extremely choppy, the cuts not matching, the quality poor. The pictures hadn't been taken in good lighting, and the digital mastering hadn't been smoothed out; it appeared like she was trying to hide her imperfections and had done a shitty job.

I returned to the post from a few hours ago.

The one that was so unnecessary, so callous and self-serving.

"Someone's going for the sympathy vote, huh?"

I sighed. "Yep."

"Should I tell that honey babe that jealousy isn't a good look on anyone?"

My hands began to shake, my stomach churning.

"Do you think everyone knows she's talking about me—but not really talking about me because we both know I didn't stab her anywhere, especially not in the back? I mean, my God."