Stained Glass Shards

22.

ELYCE

After a warm shower, I felt clean and fresh, which always made me feel better. I slathered on moisturizer and dressed. All the while, images and dialogue swirled through my mind. I repeated them to myself, so I could write them down. All the raw feelings of anger and frustration would make for a great scene.

With under a couple of hours to spare before my phone call with Ritter, I sat at the desk to read emails. I refused to search Claire Lark. The damage had been done by that earlier tabloid article. It would spiral out of control before I had a chance to fix anything.

I opened my electronic journal, having foregone writing my experiences for many weeks. As usual, whenever I connected with a man, I'd lost myself. I had made myself too available to Griffin. And when Ritter and I had become sexual, I'd given it to him all too willingly. Given them all the power.

My thoughts, feelings, and lies written on the page purged me of the guilt and anger I harbored. Once I finished, I wrote a scene in my new book, a rough patch between the two main characters. Normally I loved writing conflict, but hated the experience in real life. The scene was heartrending, making me feel gloomier than I had before. But conflict remained a part of living, and I couldn't escape it.

When my stomach growled, I patted my belly, refusing to order anything or leave the room. I wanted the privacy these walls provided when I talked to Ritter. At last, curiosity got the best of me and I searched for more articles on Griffin and me.

What had begun as one article on a small blog had spread to each online entertainment magazines, gossip blogs, and news pages. Our picture had been shared thousands of times and had been viewed and downloaded by millions. Whoever had sold our photo must have made a heap of money.

The internet had been hoping for a picture of Griffin with a new love interest, and we gave them a doozy with my being the author of his next film. One article interviewed a body language specialist who speculated on the amount of time we'd been together because our body language indicated we were very comfortable with each other, perhaps even sleeping together.

We should be—we'd been fucking for years.

I rolled my eyes, scanning the next article. Nothing new, which temporarily alleviated my anxiety. The time for the phone conversation with Ritter seemed so far, yet so close.

I closed the computer and turned on the TV, lowering the volume to ensure I wouldn't miss his call.

Another knock on the door stopped me from surfing channels, and I sighed. Ready to yell at security for disturbing my peace again, I opened the door to find Griffin standing there with a brown bag in front of his face. His amazing blue eyes peered between the gap in the handles.

I shook my head. "You're incorrigible."

"And you must be hungry."

"How do you know? I could've ordered room service."

"You didn't," he said, pushing through the door. "Your stomach just growled."

The smell of food drifted through the air as he walked past me. At the scent of sustenance, my stomach growled again.

"I heard that!" he said.

I closed the door and followed him back into the room.

Clear containers of pesto ravioli, breadsticks, dipping sauces, and mini chocolate cannolis adorned the table. To pair with the meal, he removed a bottle of white wine from the bag. He went to the console and grabbed two glasses from the tray. Just when I thought he was ill-prepared, he pulled out a corkscrew to open the bottle.