Better Than Revenge [Chapters 1-15 Rewritten]

Chapter 2: That's Not My Name

Chapter 2: That's Not My Name

My jaw dropped at the sound of his voice, an action that led a barely-visible gnat to mistakenly believe my mouth would make an adequate rest stop. I spluttered and coughed in an attempt to spit it out, dropping my cell phone in the process.

I immediately scrambled to pick it up off of the hardwood floor, relieved but surprised to see it had survived the fall. It was an iPhone. If I breathed on it too hard, the screen cracked. What the hell?

What I should have done after inspecting my phone for damage was hang up. Instead, I brought the phone back up to my ear and nervously chewed on my lip as I waited for him to say something else.

Honestly, it was illogical. Why would I stay on the line if I didn't want to talk to him?

And I didn't want to talk to him. Truly. I wasn't just pretending to hate the guy to look cool or go against the tide. I didn't care if I was "mainstream" or not." I genuinely didn't want to talk to him, yet there I was with my phone in my hand, waiting for him to say something because my mind couldn't process any other choice.

"Hello?" Christian asked.

What the hell was I supposed to do? Stand there? Reply? Cry? For once, nothing was coming to mind, and I was the kind of person who always had something to say, no matter what.

"Are you there, Mystery Girl?"

I fought the temptation to speak. I really did. I even managed to stop the initial impulse, but in the end, I couldn't help myself. I had to say something. "I have a name, genius."

"Ryder," one of the hosts sang out, except the lady couldn't hold a note to save her life. I was surprised the little glass contraption on her desk hadn't shattered. "I think we found her."

The echo of our conversation on my television made me turn around and let out a loud, angry breath. I couldn't believe this was happening. No, I couldn't believe it was happening and I wasn't even happy about it. While most girls would have killed for an opportunity like this, I couldn't even force myself to act excited. I dreamed of being on television – or a movie screen – sure, but not like this. I didn't want to be remembered this way.

Christian chuckled. "Well, what's your name then, sweetheart?"

Sweetheart? He did not just call me sweetheart. Things were getting worse and worse by the second. I couldn't decide what was more horrific: being called his Mystery Girl by those bimbos or being called sweetheart by Christian himself.

I carefully crafted my response before speaking. I had a feeling cussing him out on live television wasn't socially acceptable, especially if they ever figured out who I actually was. "I don't see how that's any of your business."

Regardless of the way my words might have come across, I actually was making an effort to be nice to this guy. But when your scathing feelings for someone were as strong as mine were for Christian Ryder, it was hard to stop the spiteful words from escaping your lips.

"Fair enough," he said. "But I'm sure everyone here is curious. I know I am. Come on. Don't leave us hanging like that, sweetheart."

"Would you stop calling me that?" If I didn't like it when someone I was dating used pet names, why the hell would I like it when he did it?

He let out a self-satisfied chuckle. I didn't even have to look up to know he probably had a smirk on his face that needed to be smacked off. "I will as soon as you tell me your name, sweetheart."

Murder. All of a sudden, I wanted to commit murder. Too bad prison jumpsuit orange wasn't my color. "Not happening."

"Tell you what. How about I try and guess your name? You have to tell me if I'm right, though, or it won't be fair. Because I'm thinking your real name isn't Amanda Huggenkiss."