THIRTEEN
DESPERATE TIMES
Josh stands in front of the door to our apartment, barring my way. I don’t think I’ve ever seen him so adamant before.
“Lissa, I know this thing with Quinn has you all messed up, but this isn’t the answer.”
“Move, Josh. I’m doing it.”
“Think about this for a second. Think about who you are. Your core values. This isn’t you.”
“Yeah, well, being me has gotten me exactly diddly, so maybe it’s time for a change. And God knows, I could use the distraction.”
He shakes his head. “If you do this, I won’t be held accountable for your actions. Don’t come crying to me when it all goes to hell.”
“Noted. Now step aside.”
He sighs and opens the door for me. Before I can get past him, he grabs my hand. “Lissa, wait. Just promise me one thing.” I look up at him. “Stretch before you start. Your fitness levels are appalling. You could legit pull something. Jogging isn’t a game. It’s serious business.”
I give him a somber nod. “I understand. And I promise I’ll be careful, Dad.”
I head down the stairs as he calls after me, “And for God’s sake, stay hydrated. And don’t talk to strangers.”
I smile as I push through the door to the street and then do a few basic stretches. I feel exposed in my new spandex jogging outfit, but I figure I might as well look the part, even if I don’t know what I’m doing.
I take off at a slow pace and make my way toward Central Park.
For the past few days, I’ve tried to stay busy so I could put Liam out of my mind and get over him, but arriving at rehearsal early and staying late has still left me plenty of time to dwell. Hence, resorting to the ancient torture of jogging as further distraction. It doesn’t help matters that things seem to be strained between him and Angel. On more than one occasion, I’ve seen them have tense words. Josh thinks they’re just playing up some relationship drama for the television show, but I’m not so sure. Maybe they’re not as happy as they always seem. Could that be the reason Liam’s turning to me?
I shake my head and chastise myself. See? My instinct is to dwell, and I really need to stop.
In theory, I should be able to cope with seeing Liam every day by suppressing my feelings. In reality, it’s like an alcoholic trying to stay clean by working in a liquor store.
So, now, here I am, concentrating on putting one foot in front of the other and cursing the idiot who thought this sports bra was even close to being supportive enough.
Would anyone care if I just held my boobs as I ran? Because, seriously. Ow.
The first few blocks are okay. The next few are harder. When I get to the park and merge with all the other early-morning joggers, I see just how out of my depth I am. I’m pretty sure one dude passes me five times. Goddamn overachiever.
After thirty minutes, my lungs are burning. After forty-five, I want to die.
When I can’t take any more, I collapse onto the grass and try to finish off with some ab crunches. Clearly, my technique is lacking, because a teenager comes over and asks me if I need help getting up. Even calls me “ma’am.” Little shit.
I lie back on the grass and huff. Okay, so, this experiment has been mildly successful. Perhaps with more practice, it could actually be a solution.
When I can breathe without it burning, I sit up and look around the park. It’s a beautiful day in New York, and people are taking advantage of the mild weather. I watch as the usual cavalcade passes: tourists clicking photos, joggers and cyclists, dog walkers, stroller-pushing parents. Oh, and the lovers. Let’s not forget them. They’re everywhere, and when you’re single, they seem to triple in number, just to piss you off and make you feel extra alone. They stroll by, smugly hand in hand, or with their arms around each other as they chat and laugh, all the while taunting you with their loving glances and easy touches.
I stare at one particular couple who sits on a nearby bench. As the girl tells a story, the boy strokes her face, her neck, her back. He looks at her like she’s the sun in his universe, and it’s obvious he’s just waiting for her to stop so he can kiss her. The girl looks at him the same way. Her eyes roam over his face as she speaks, and sure enough, when the story’s done, she winds her hands into his hair and pulls him to her. They kiss slowly. Deeply. Oblivious to everything but each other, as if they had all day to kiss like that.
Assholes.
I want that. That open, easy love. I want a man who isn’t already engaged to look at me the way Liam does.
A sharp pang intensifies inside me and I look away.
Sexual frustration is one thing. Relationship frustration is another. Both together make people like me do stupid, desperate things. Things they end up regretting.
To demonstrate my point, I climb to my feet and start to jog again. One foot in front of the other. Over and over again. Until I’m incapable of thinking about anything but my own harsh breathing.
Oh, unholy demons of pain, why? Why do you hate me so?
I hiss as I attempt to grab the stack of company notices that has just slipped out of my hands and fallen to the floor. They scatter everywhere, and I sigh in frustration. There’s no way I can pick them up. Thanks to my overexertions yesterday, I’m unable to bend my legs without squealing. Even sitting on the subway this morning wasn’t an option.
I wonder if Marco would object to me standing for today’s rehearsal. Maybe not, but he would object to me not handing out this important information about costume fittings and tech rehearsals.
Dammit.
Resigning myself to the inevitable, I walk over to the mess of paper and nudge them together with my foot. When I think I have most of them close enough to pick up in one go, I move my legs apart like a giraffe at a watering hole and bend down to try to reach them.
“Come on, arms. Be longer. Just for a few seconds. I swear, I’ll never make you do push-ups again if you make this happen.”
I grit my teeth as I stretch my fingers out and bend a little farther. Oh, God. The agony.
“Liss?” I hear footsteps stop behind me, and I lower my head. Of course Liam would walk in while I was in this position. “Is this some new form of workplace yoga? Or are you dropping the hint that you’d like me to do something very unprofessional with your ass? Because, honestly, the signals you’re sending right now are kind of confusing.”
I can hear the smile in his voice, and it makes me bristle. After awkwardly pulling myself upright, I turn to him. “Can you please stop smirking and pick these up for me?”
“I’d rather not. Watching you attempt it again seems like much more fun.”
I scowl. “I have no idea what I used to see in you. Funny how you go off people.”
He chuckles as he walks over, and in one fell swoop grabs all the papers, shuffles them together, and hands them to me. “Care to tell me why you’re moving like Frankenstein’s monster? It’s not still your hip.”
“No. I made a stupid mistake yesterday and now I’m paying for it.”
“What was the mistake?”
“Jogging.”
He genuinely looks shocked. “But your aversion to exercise—”
“Is well-founded. Clearly, I’m allergic to it.” I move stiffly to the desk and shove the papers into a folder.
“You didn’t stretch afterward, did you?”
“Josh told me to stretch before, not after. Some best friend he is.”
“You have to do it before and after. You could have come to me if you wanted advice. I’m kind of an expert on exercise, you know.”
“Really? I had no idea. You’re such an unfit schlub.” I take in his ridiculous physique. “I don’t know how you cope with that grossness. Thank God I don’t have all those weird bulges.”
He gives me a long, slow assessment, up and down my body. “No. You don’t need bulges when you have those killer curves.” As soon as he says it, he drops his head. Like he knows this sort of flirty banter is exactly what we should be avoiding. “I’d offer to train you, but I guess that’s not something we could do, right?”
“Nope. Besides, my jogging style can be defined as ‘a lumbering seizure.’ Don’t really need you laughing your ass off at me.”
He frowns. “Elissa, you’d be in workout gear. Believe me, I wouldn’t be able to laugh if I tried.”
A shiver runs through me, and I curse it. I’m trying to suppress these types of reactions, but it’s tough when he insists on being so damn sexy. I move away from him and open my laptop. “Uh, anyway, why are you here so early?”
He looks over his shoulder. Angel appears at the far end of the hallway, talking to a good-looking man with dark hair. “Angel and I have an interview this morning. Just for something different.”
“In the rehearsal room?”
“Yeah. It was kind of last-minute, but Mary said she’d organize it with you.”
In my back pocket, my phone buzzes. When I take it out and look at the screen, I see a text from Mary.
<Forgot to tell you about an interview this morning in the studio. Journalist plus photographer from Moda arriving at 8. Please provide three chairs. I’ll be there soon to supervise.>
I smile and hold out the phone. “Well, now she has. Better go get set up, I guess.” I grab my folder and move past him.
As I come out of the office, Angel sees me and waves. “Elissa! Over here. I have someone I want you to meet.”
I try to look normal as I make my way to her, but I can tell how amused Liam is by my stiff-legged walk as he follows behind me.
“Nice work,” he whispers. “Toy soldiers everywhere would be proud.”
I give him the finger behind my back as I reach Angel and the man she’s with. The man looks to be in his mid-thirties, and his handsome face lights with a smile as he turns to me.
“Elissa, this is our agent, Anthony Kent. He’s in town for a few days to make sure we’re behaving ourselves, which of course we are. Anthony, this is one of the most fabulous women you’ll ever meet. Elissa Holt.”
I hold out my hand to Anthony and he clasps it. “A pleasure to meet you, Mr. Kent. I’m sure keeping these two in line is like herding cats. I know of some excellent treatments for stomach ulcers, if you need them.”
Angel rolls her eyes as he laughs. “Please call me Anthony. And, yes, as long as those ulcer treatments don’t interfere with my blood pressure medication, I’m in. A pleasure to meet you, Elissa.” His hand is warm, and he gives my fingers a gentle squeeze before he lets go. “Let me guess. You’re playing Bianca.”
I shake my head. “Thankfully, no.”
Anthony frowns. “Really? Why not? Who’s your agent? And why the hell aren’t they getting you better roles? You’d be perfect for Bianca.”
“Anthony,” Angel says. “Elissa doesn’t have an agent.”
He looks at me, then back at Angel. “Bullshit. She’s working on Broadway without one?” In a flash, he pulls a card from his pocket and hands it to me. “Well then, this is my lucky day. Sign with me and I’ll have you on movie screens in record time. That beautiful face needs to be shared with the world, and I’m just the man to make it happen.”
Before I can say anything, Liam steps forward, and I don’t miss the tension in his shoulders. “She’s not an actress, Anthony, so you can stop hitting on her. She’s our stage manager.”
Anthony turns back to me. “Seriously? You’re hiding yourself backstage?” When I nod, he shakes his head in disbelief. “Look, I don’t want to alarm you, but I’m pretty sure depriving hardworking Americans of your kind of beauty is illegal in forty-eight of the fifty states. You may need to get out of town for a while. It just so happens I have a house in the Hamptons if you’re looking to hide out in luxury. I’d be happy to harbor you as a fugitive.”
I laugh. This guy’s pretty charming, even if he is joking. It feels good to have someone I’ve just met say such flattering things. “I’ll keep that in mind.”
I notice that Angel is beaming at our exchange. I have the strongest feeling she’ll be informing Anthony I’m single as soon as I’m out of ear shot. I’m not sure how I feel about that. Yes, I want to get over Liam and start dating again, but dating his agent probably wouldn’t be the best idea.
When I glance over at Liam, his hands are shoved into his pockets, and the glare he’s directing at the wall above Anthony’s head could blister paint at thirty paces.
Yep. That’s what I figured.
I put Anthony’s card in my pocket. I’m sure there’ll be other handsome, charming strangers with whom I can contemplate moving on. Ones who don’t have these kinds of complications.
“Well, if you’ll excuse me, everyone, I have to go set up for the interview. Nice to meet you, Mr. Kent. If you need anything while you’re here, please let me know.”
He reaches for my hand, then places a soft kiss on the back of it. I’m surprised when it makes me tingle.
“I certainly will, Miss Holt. And the pleasure was all mine.”
Even though I don’t look at Liam as I walk away, I can feel his disapproval.
The following day, I’m in my office working through lunch as usual, when there’s a knock at the door.
“Come in.”
Liam enters carrying a small bag. He flops down into the chair beside my desk. “Hey.” He pulls something from his pocket and places it on the desk in front of me. “I thought you might like this.”
I pick up the thumb drive and examine it. “Oh. Wow, Liam. I mean, I know we said we’d keep things professional, but really? You couldn’t come up with a better gift? They were out of staplers? Or paper clips?”
He crosses his arms. “Actually, smart-ass, this is a gift you requested.”
“It is?”
“It is.” He raises his chin. “You asked me to get it because you didn’t want everyone to know you’d like to . . . now let’s see if I can remember your exact words . . . ‘climb me like a tree and bang me like a screen door in a hurricane’? Do I have that right?”
I close my hand around the thumb drive and sigh. “This is the footage from drunken dress shopping?”
“Uh-huh.”
“You didn’t have to watch it, you know.”
“Of course I did. How else was I supposed to memorize all the things you want to do to me? By the way, I’ll be your ‘sex stallion’ any day, sweetheart.” I slap his arm, and he chuckles. “Jokes aside, you’ll be pleased to know it won’t be appearing in the first episode of our stupid reality show this weekend.”
“Thank God. And thank you for helping me out.”
“No problem. Can’t have you getting fired for your perfectly understandable desire to ‘fuck me ten ways from Sunday.’ ”
I point to the door. “Get out.”
He stands and looks down at me. “Is that any way to speak to ‘the hottest man you’ve ever laid eyes on’?”
“Liam!”
He laughs and heads to the door. “Fine. This ‘perfect specimen of manhood’ is out of here. And don’t you dare ogle my ass as I go. Professionalism, please.”
I shake my head and try to hide my smile.
Just as he’s about to exit, Denise appears in the doorway carrying the most enormous bouquet of flowers I’ve ever seen. They’re arranged in a huge crystal vase.
Liam stares at the flowers and blinks. “Denise, wow. You shouldn’t have. I have nowhere to put them.”
She gives him a smile. “If I could afford a bouquet like this, do you think I’d still be working for a living?” She puts them down on my desk. “Elissa, a courier just dropped these off for you. Please tell me it’s not your birthday.”
I glance at the flowers and shake my head. “Believe me, when it’s my birthday, you’ll know. Gift lists will be distributed and shenanigans will be planned. Thanks, Denise.”
She leaves and closes the door behind her.
As I grab the card, Liam frowns at the flowers. “Secret admirer?”
“If they’re sending me something this big, they really don’t want to remain anonymous.” I pull the card from the envelope. “To the most beautiful stage manager I’ve ever met. I look forward to getting to know you better. Warmest regards, Anthony Kent.”
Liam doesn’t comment, but the tension in the room ratchets up to uncomfortable levels in seconds.
“Well,” I say, searching for something to say. “They’re certainly . . . extravagant.”
Liam swears under his breath.
I raise my eyebrow at him. “What?”
“Nothing. I should go.”
He goes to leave, but I grab his hand. “Liam—”
He looks down, and gently removes his fingers from mine. “Liss, I have no right to tell you what to do, and I definitely have no right to tell you who to date. The part of me that’s desperately trying to be your friend wants you to find someone and be happy.”
“And the other part?”
He stares down at me, and his expression reminds me of a bank of thunderheads right before a storm. “The other part feels like destroying things when I think about you and another man, which is insane, considering our circumstances.”
“Yes. It is.” I don’t mean for it to come out as harsh as it does, but I can’t deny that Liam’s jealousy regarding my nonexistent love life irritates me.
It must irritate him, too, because he rubs his eyes and lets out a frustrated sigh. “So many times over the years I’ve typed your name into Google, only to chicken out before I hit ‘enter,’ because I knew I couldn’t handle finding out you were engaged or married. And then I’d hate myself, because if I truly cared about you, which I do, I should want you to find someone who’ll appreciate what an amazing person you are. If I wasn’t such a selfish asshole, I’d wish for men to fall all over themselves to be with you. I’d want them to flatter you and buy you presents, and dedicate themselves to making you happy. But every time I have those thoughts . . . every single time, the deepest parts of me know without a doubt that the only man on this planet who could ever make you truly, deeply happy . . . is me. Crazy, right?”
I stare at him, and clench my jaw to stop myself from admitting how infuriatingly right he is. “Yeah. Crazy.”
He swallows, and glances at the giant flower arrangement. “So, yeah. I’d like to tell you to stay away from Kent, because I don’t think he’s anywhere near good enough for you, but who the hell am I to talk? He just spent a thousand dollars on flowers for you, and I bought . . . well, this.” He passes me the small bag he’s been holding since he walked in.
“What is it?” I ask as I look inside. “A T-shirt?”
He shifts his weight from one foot to the other, and I swear, I can see color flare on the tops of his ears. “It’s nothing, really. But it reminded me of you, so I had to get it.”
I pull out the T-shirt and hold it up. It’s bright yellow and reads, SWEET DREAMS ARE MADE OF CHEESE. WHO AM I TO DISS A BRIE?
A rush of warmth hits me. “You bought me a T-shirt about . . . cheese?” For some reason, it makes me want to cry.
I sit there for a few seconds, trying to gather myself together, and when I look up, Liam is frowning. “You hate it.”
I hold it to my chest. “Not even a little. It’s the most perfect T-shirt in the history of the world. I love it.” I swallow hard, because damn him for making a ten-dollar joke shirt seem like the sweetest gift I’ve ever received.
“You’re welcome,” he says, before giving me one of those soft, intimate smiles that I know he doesn’t give to anyone else. “Okay. I’d better get out of your hair. You should call Anthony. To thank him, or . . . whatever.” It’s clear that contemplating me doing “whatever” with Anthony makes him want to barf.
As he grabs the door handle, I stand. “Liam.” He turns back to me. “For the record, there’s no comparison between you and Anthony, no matter how much money he spends. Your present is perfect. For me, anyway. The only thing Anthony has over you is that he’s single.”
He nods and looks at his feet. “Yeah. Kind of an important trait in a potential relationship, I guess. So, you’re going to date him?”
“No.”
He studies me for a second. “Why not?”
I shrug and try not to look like the lovesick idiot I am. “He’s not my type.”
He gives me a bittersweet smile that tells me he sees right through me, then opens the door and disappears down the hallway.