Carter
I’M HOLDING MY phone away from my ear as Julian barks at me.
“Are you listening to me, Carter?”
My publicist, Dana, gave Julian an earful when she heard about the Tori story, so now he’s passing on the love to me.
“I’m listening, Julian. This was taken out of context. There was nothing to tell Dana. There’s no relationship to acknowledge. Not yet at least. It’ll blow over on its own.”
Julian grumbles on the other end. “She didn’t know what to say, Carter. That’s all. Usually you give her a heads-up about these things. Just keep us in the loop, okay?
“Sure, I get it.”
“And refresh my memory, is this the woman you planned to apologize to?”
“Yeah, she’s the one.”
He lets out a harsh laugh. “You and I have different definitions of closure.”
I ignore his observation. “Let’s not pretend I can ever control what the press decides to report.”
I also can’t control how Tori reacts to being the subject of press attention. But I need to make sure she’s okay. Which I’ll do as soon as Julian is finished berating me.
He sighs. “Fine. Is there anything you need to give me a heads-up about?”
“Nope.”
“Good. Now, in other, better-guarded news, you have a date for your read-through with Gwen Styles.”
“When?”
“Next Tuesday or Thursday. You get to choose.”
“But they said I’d have six weeks.”
“Well, now you have four.”
Shit. More games from Samantha Bell. She probably never intended to give me six weeks. Just trying to throw me off my game. I would have preferred more time. But as is the case with most aspects of this business, I don’t decide the when, I only control whether I show up on time. “I’ll be there, of course.”
“I’ve already asked Jewel to make your travel arrangements. Just let her know which date.”
“Thanks, J.”
“You got it, man. I’ll check in next week.”
I end the call and pace the length of the living room. Tori and I are due to meet again this evening, but I’m not even sure she’ll want to.
I send her a quick text.
Me: You okay?
A minute later, my phone buzzes.
Tori: I’m fine.
Me: We should talk. Can I see you?
She doesn’t answer immediately. I tap my phone on my thigh as I wait.
Tori: Sure. When?
Me: Now? I’ll come to you.
Tori: No, I’ll come to you. I need fresh air. Address?
Me: 230 W. Rittenhouse Square. I’ll tell the doorman to send you up.
Tori: Okay. Also, fancy.
Her side note gives me hope that she hasn’t written me off.
My stomach gurgles. I haven’t eaten in three hours, a passage of time that’s been unheard of the last three weeks. I’ll scarf something down while I wait for her to arrive. Which is good. I need to focus on something. Otherwise, I’ll tie myself in knots trying to predict how she’ll react to my decision.
Twenty minutes later, my intercom buzzes. I hit the push-to-talk button. “Yeah, Bill?”
“Ms. Alvarez is on her way up, sir.”
“Thanks.”
I straighten the pillows on the couch and set a few stray glasses in the sink. I scan the room, picturing it from Tori’s perspective. It’s nothing like my condo in West Hollywood. Most of the furniture in here looks like it belongs in my parents’ house. But from the bedroom I can see Rittenhouse Park, and the massive stone half wall separating the bed from the rest of the bedroom is a nice touch.
I sprint to the door when the bell rings. Fuck pretending to be unaffected by this woman. She’s occupied my thoughts since the day I met her. To pretend otherwise would be a waste of time. I swing the door open. “Hi.”
With her head bowed, she lifts her hand in a weak wave. “Hey.”
I want to lift her chin and kiss her worries away, but her demeanor tells me she won’t appreciate a show of affection. Go slow, Carter. She’s probably wrecked by the gossip. “Come on in.”
She inches across the threshold and tightens her hold on her purse. She’s wearing a peach T-shirt dress and navy-blue Chuck Taylors. She points to my bare feet. “Should I take off my sneaks?”
“Only if you want to.”
She scans the living area. “Then I’ll keep them on.”
I stand behind the kitchen counter as she takes a seat at one end of the sofa.
“Want something to drink?” I ask.
“No, thanks.”
I grab a bottled water from the fridge and join her. After taking a quick swig, I set it down on the coffee table and place my elbows on my knees, making a steeple of my fingers. “I’m sorry about the press coverage. I did a piss-poor job of protecting you from their attention, didn’t I?”
“You sure did.”
I snap my head up at that.
She floors me with a quirk of her lips, and the tightness in my chest loosens.
“Welcome to my life,” I say.
Her gaze on me softens. “A small price to pay to do something you love, I’m sure. But I didn’t choose this. In fact, if given a choice I’d never have to deal with this again.”
I have so many questions about her reluctance for media coverage, but my brain snags on the consequences to her job. “Your bosses. Have you talked to them?”
“Yes, they were good about it, but it was a painful conversation.” She wedges her hands between her thighs. “Essentially, they told me they didn’t need to know what was going on between me and you if I could assure them we were proceeding as consenting adults.”
“What did you tell them?” I ask in a low voice.
She leans forward and stares at the floor. “I assured them we were two consenting adults. And I came here intending to do something about it.” Sighing, she lowers her chin to her chest. “But we shouldn’t. It’s inappropriate.”
“Is it?”
She raises her head, her mouth open. “Yes, it is.”
“Because you’re my trainer?”
She rolls her eyes. “No, because I’m your urologist, Carter. Jesus, what am I missing here? Of course because I’m your trainer.”
“I think you’re using that as an excuse.”
“I’m not,” she says weakly.
She is. Dammit, I know she is. And in a minute, she’s going to know it, too. “What if I told you my audition’s been bumped up a couple of weeks, so I’m happy to consider your work with me done. What would you say then?”
Her eyes widen, and she gulps.
Yeah, that’s what I thought. Gotcha, Tori.