Break Up with Him, for Me (You Belong With Me 1)

There were no rules for me to follow, no list of ‘Dos and Don’ts’ and I’d spent the past several years writing my own.

Was I reckless as hell sometimes? Yes. (Well, mostly in the past.)

Did I spend my hard-earned money lavishly? Of course.

Was I worthy of an ongoing smear campaign? Never.

Yet, after becoming one of the youngest billionaires and launching Cinder—the number one hookup app in the country, Karma had randomly decided to come for me.

With no warning whatsoever, she cleared the register of my life and printed the receipts of all my past mistakes, for the entire world to see.

And for some strange reason, she decided to expose them on the same damn day.

Yesterday.

Leaked emails, private texts, flights logs, everything …

All those times when I smiled on live television and said I was “humbled” to have the number one app in the country, while secretly seething with rage that Tinder was getting closer with every passing day?

There were thousands of leaked emails with subject lines like, “How can I destroy their company by the end of the year?” “Stop letting these journalists ask me about Tinder,” and “I’m not humble at all … I worked for this shit,” that exposed the truth.

The numerous times I lied about being in a business meeting, but I was really in Vegas partying?

There was literally a two-foot-long hotel receipt and plenty of raunchy, resurfaced photos to prove the damages. (In all fairness, I’d always avoided business meetings like the plague; I just never let the public in on that fact.)

And all the times, years ago, when I was as reckless as I’d ever been, but pretending to be a “homebody obsessed with work”?

There were far too many hotel camera records for those.

The “receipts” had started dripping onto Twitter yesterday morning—eventually breaking into a full-scale flood, and I’d been pulled into a public relations crisis like never before.

“Stop reading that garbage over there and try to look like a competent CEO.” Lawrence, my advisor, and the man who was the closest thing to a real father I’d ever had, snapped his fingers. “And try to tone down that stupid James Dean thing that you do before the Vogue interviewer gets here.”

“What James Dean thing?”

“You know, the whole sexy smirk and smoldering blue eyes—‘let’s go have sex after you ask me all these questions’ thing.” He groaned. “Be a goddamn professional for once in your life.”

“For the record, I haven’t had sex with anyone in six months.”

“Oh, okay,” he said, not looking convinced. “Well, for the record, you’re the best client I’ve ever worked for.”

“I’m telling you the truth, Lawrence.”

“Me too, Hayden.” He rolled his eyes. “Me too.”

I laughed, bringing a cup of coffee to my lips.

The door to the cafe opened seconds later, and a redhead in a revealing black dress—one that was definitely not interview appropriate, stepped inside.

I stood to my feet and pulled out a chair for her. “Good morning, Miss Gregory.”

“Good morning, Mr. Hunter.” She extended her hand. “I’m so honored to meet with you today.”

“Likewise.”

Lawrence moved to another table as we settled into our seats.

“Before we get started, I want to give you this on behalf of my team members.” She handed me a small white box. “You can open that when we’re done.”

“Will do.” I waited for her to pull out notes and a recorder, but she just stared at me.

For a full minute.

“Is there a problem, Miss Gregory?” I asked.

“No.” Her cheeks reddened and she cleared her throat. “Well, yes. I’m not sure a light and fluffy interview is going to bring the public back to your side after your latest drama. I think you’ll need way more since everyone thinks you’re a liar now.”

“That’s for me and his PR team to decide.” Lawrence scoffed. “You’re not on Cinder’s payroll, so please get on with the interview.”

“Fine.” She pulled out a small spiral notebook. Then she crossed and re-crossed her legs.

“What does it feel like to be a billionaire?” she asked.

“I’m not sure how to answer that question,” I said. “But not having to worry about financial problems for the past few years of my life has been quite nice.”

“Is your father proud of you?”

“I wouldn’t know.” I sipped my coffee. “I haven’t spoken to him since he walked out on me when I was a teenager.”

“Family questions aren’t on the approved list, Miss Gregory.” Lawrence intruded once more. “Next question. Now.”

“Oh, that’s right. Um—” She looked down at her sheet. “You’re often photographed with a pretty brunette around town. You meet her at Central Park, at coffee shops, and most recently you were spotted walking together on the Manhattan Bridge.”

“That brunette is my best friend, Penelope,” I said. “Everyone in the media knows that.”

“So, there’s nothing romantic between you two?”

“No, we’re just friends.”

“Has there ever been anything romantic between you two?” She tapped her chin.