trying to force me to do that stupid movie. I put my foot down, Quinn. I said no.”
She let out a whoop of approval. “You said no? That’s my girl!”
“I also flipped Jayson off on my way out the door,” I said, then hiccupped.
“You flipped someone off and I missed it? Damn it, Paige, you can’t do that sort of thing without me. If I didn’t see it, it didn’t happen.”
I managed a choked laugh as I turned onto my street. “I’m pulling into my place. I’ll call you back.”
“Hey!” she shouted. “I’m proud of you.”
I sniffed and sucked in a ragged breath before responding, “Thanks. I’ll talk to you in a bit.” Pressing the red button on my steering wheel to end the call, I pulled into the valet at my apartment.
Stepping into the lobby, I avoided eye contact with everyone I would normally talk to and headed straight toward the elevator doors. My thoughts raced, causing my head to feel like it was spinning off my shoulders. I should be able to decide whether or not I want to make a movie. It should be up to me what I want to do with my life. If I wanted to take a year off and visit the moon, I should be able to do just that. It was my prerogative.
But it’s not. I’m owned.
By my agent, my manager, and my publicist. Directors, producers, and screenwriters who depend on me. The public. And the damned press.
Pressing my back against the elevator wall, I sank to the floor and rested my head on my knees. Squeezing my eyes closed, I let out a few sobs as tears spilled down my legs. When the elevator dinged and came to a jerky stop, I pushed myself up and stumbled down the hallway to my door.
Once inside the confines of my own space, anger replaced all other emotions. I started pacing the hardwood floors, tugging at my hair in frustration. This was ridiculous. All of this was beyond flipping ridiculous.
No one owns me. I’m a person, a soul, a being. I can’t be enslaved to anyone else unless I allow it to happen. If everyone is the boss of me, it’s only because I let them.
That was when I felt it. Something inside me snapped, and if my essence had the ability to make audible sounds, I would have heard the crack. The realization hit me like a runaway train.
I didn’t have to be here.
I could leave.
Get the hell out of Dodge. And Los Angeles.
YES!
This was exactly what I needed!
A madness possessed me as I ran into my bedroom and searched for my oversized travel bag. I started stuffing clothes of all kinds inside it—pants, shorts, sundresses, T-shirts, dress tops—basically anything I could grab. I was laughing like a crazed lunatic as I found more things to toss inside—makeup, face wash, a fistful of bangles, necklaces, and earrings.
Adrenaline coursed through me, making my actions feel justified. I accepted the burst of energy as an indication that I was doing the right thing. It felt good to think of leaving, the very idea so freeing.
My head nodded to no one but my own thoughts as I entered my closet and eyed my shelves of shoes. I settled on five different pairs, all different types for different occasions. I stopped at the small painting between the rows of oak shelving and pulled it away from the wall. A small safe was tucked behind it, and I quickly spun the dial to the right and then to the left. When it clicked open, I reached for the envelope filled with cash that I kept inside, and counted out a few thousand dollars.
I wanted peace in my escape. And that meant no credit cards. My cards could be tracked, and they’d come get me and take me home before I even got away. I would pay in cash and use a fake name. And hopefully no one along the way would rat me out to the highest bidder. Knowing damn well I couldn’t leave town without letting someone know, I dialed Quinn again from my cell.
“So I was just calling to let you know that I’m all right, okay?”
“Okay,” Quinn said warily, her tone slow and questioning.
“I’m going to get out of here for a while. I need to clear my head and think about what I want for once, and I can’t do that while I’m surrounded by everyone who’s trying to think for me.” As