Ashley
AS JULIAN GUIDES me through the lobby of the Beverly Hilton Hotel, I try to suppress any hint that I’m star struck. It might surprise him to know that the sister of a Hollywood actor can be awed by celebrity sightings, but it’s true. This is Carter’s world, not mine, and purposefully so.
What a world, indeed. Marble in a variety of neutral hues dominates the cavernous lobby, and I count several massive chandeliers before we pass through the doors of the International Ballroom.
“This is where the Emmy Awards are held,” I say. There’s no mistaking the wonder in my voice, and I wince, knowing experiences like this one are commonplace to Julian.
“Yeah. Surreal, right?”
I’m gratified to hear a touch of wonder in his voice, too, and I resolve to get out of my head for the evening and enjoy myself.
He pulls out his phone and shows his screen to one of the four members of the hotel staff stationed at the double doors. She scans his phone, hands us programs, and wishes us a wonderful evening.
We weave our way through the rows and rows of tables to find our own. Along the way, Julian slows, turns around, and asks, “How do you want to be introduced? Do you want anyone to know your Carter’s sister?”
I shake my head vigorously. “No, I’d prefer just to be your date.” My cheeks warm when the words register in my own brain. “I mean, I know it’s not a date, date. Just. Well, I’m here with you and that’s it, okay?”
He regards me with furrowed brows and a small grin, an expression that reads as both amusement and confusion, as if he’s entertained by my fumbling but isn’t sure he should be. “Right. I understand.”
He pivots and stuffs his hands in the pockets of his suit pants before he resumes the trek to our table. His jacket lifts a bit in the back, and there’s no way I’m not sneaking a peek at his butt. Oh. I spy with my little eye a very nice ass in front of me. And I’m so absorbed by the view that I fail to lift my gaze when Julian reaches the table and spins around.
My head crashes into his chest. “Sorry.” I don’t dare look in his eyes as I lie. “Thought I saw something shiny on the floor. An earring maybe.”
He ignores my explanation, suggesting he’s aware I made it up. “I was just wondering if you wanted me to grab you a drink from the bar.”
“Sure, a glass of white wine, please. I’m going to use the restroom while you’re gone. Meet here?”
He nods. “Be back soon.”
I ask a passing server to point me to the restroom and trail behind two women headed in the same direction. To my right, I see three child actors, stars of my favorite sci-fi series on Netflix. I stifle the urge to hound them for clues about the upcoming season. I don’t want to be that person.
When I return to the table, a wineglass sits at my place setting, and a few feet away Julian chats with a woman. I seize the rare opportunity to observe him in his element. He carries himself with ease, a commanding figure who draws the attention of those around him. After a minute or so, the woman by his side laughs, mirroring his relaxed demeanor. They shake hands, and then she slips around him and disappears into the throng of people shuffling to their tables.
I jolt when a man drops into the seat beside mine.
He wears a carefree smile, but his assessing gaze skips across the faces in the ballroom, suggesting he’s working even now. He offers me a hand. “Mark Berry, senior features writer for Inside Hollywood.”
I take it. “Ashley Williamson.”
He peruses my face and body as though their very purpose is to entertain him. “Let me guess. An aspiring actress?”
He poses the question to my breasts, and for a horrifying moment he appears poised to bury his face in my cleavage.
In my head, I ask, And what about you? An accomplished asshole? But I rein in my annoyance and simply say, “Nope. Just fangirling.”
Julian appears next to me and lowers himself onto his chair, his arm crossing in front of my chest before he and Mark greet each other with a complicated manshake, as though they’re choreographing pirouettes with their fingers.
He gives me a sideways glance. “You okay?”
I take a sip of the wine before I answer. “I’m great.”
I mean it, too. My dress floats over my skin and flatters my body at every angle. I’m in the company of a handsome man who treats me well. And I’m free to stargaze without the usual need to answer questions about my famous brother.
Mark smiles at me. Now that he realizes I’m with Julian, I matter. What a prick.
He leans over, his attention directed to Julian. “Been meaning to speak with you about an angle I’d like to explore for a feature. Maybe even a series.”
“Oh, yeah?” Julian says as he absently scans the room.
“Been thinking about shaking things up a little. A three- or four-part series on diversity in Hollywood.”
“Or the lack thereof,” Julian notes.
“Exactly. And since you’re one of the few agents of color out here, I thought it would be great to get your take on some of these issues. I heard you on that panel at the Agents in Industry Conference. You were vocal in a way I hadn’t anticipated given that your fortunes are tied to the gatekeepers.”
Julian hesitates to respond, as though he’s weighing his words carefully, and given the reporter’s lead-in, I imagine that he is. After a lick of his lips, he lifts his chin, his gaze determined—defiant even. “It’s not an easy topic to tackle during a thirty-minute panel. I mean, lack of representation is only the tip of the iceberg. There are plenty of inequities—in salaries and the quality of roles, for starters. And we could talk about the misogyny women of color deal with for days.” He pauses and takes in a deep breath before he continues. “Look, I recognize it’s regarded as either a divisive subject or something I’m not supposed to talk about altogether, but I care about these issues. Others? Not so much.”
He speaks with such passion about the subject that I’m enthralled. The two guests next to Julian nod, likely recognizing the truth of his statements.
Mark leans back in his chair. “And that’s why I’d like to interview you. Game?”
Julian blows out his breath as he considers the request. “Let me think about it. I’ll let you know.”
Mark rises from the chair. “I’m around all next week if you want to chat.”
Julian nods. “Sure. Good seeing you.”
Mark acknowledges me with a two-fingered salute. “Ashley.”
I tilt my head in his direction and give him a weak smile. He strikes me as the kind of man who thinks he’s made more of an impact on someone than he truly has.
After Mark leaves, Julian asks, “Did I miss something between you two?”
I give him a weary sigh. “Typical male bullshit. I was nobody until he discovered we were together.”
Julian purses his lips and nods slowly. “Then he won’t be getting that interview he wants so badly.”
“Julian, no. This is an important issue. He didn’t say anything overtly asstastic. He’s just a creep.”
“I’ll bear that in mind as I consider his request. There are tons of reporters who could tell that story.”
I’m touched that he’s offended on my behalf. Makes me proud that past me always thought he was crushworthy. Present me wholeheartedly agrees, even though I know nothing will come of this infatuation.
After the ballroom lights dim, the event passes in a blur of monologues, applause, and acceptance speeches. I recognize many of the actors called to the podium, but they’re over one hundred feet away, so I can’t do much more than marvel that we’re in the same room. By my side, Julian leans in every few moments, saying something in my ear, reaching for the bread basket, or exchanging a look when we react to a joke on stage. Being this close to him is both easy and unbearably stimulating.
When the ceremony is over, we shuffle out with the rest of the attendees, a clump of bodies plodding along until the funnel disperses. Julian hands the valet his ticket, and we wait under the concrete awning that covers a third of the circular driveway. The chill in the air makes me shiver. Noticing, Julian removes his jacket and drapes it over my shoulders.
“May in LA is cooler than I thought it would be.”
He smiles. “LA tip: Always bring a sweater.”
“So noted,” I say, my teeth chattering as though I’m trapped in a blizzard.
Julian purses his lips. “Shit, you’re so cold.” He opens his arms. “Bring it in, Ash.”
I don’t hesitate to burrow into his chest, and with his jacket covering my shoulders and back, I’m now cocooned in Julian-made warmth. His body stands like a pillar that won’t budge, until I dare to place my arms at his waist and he contracts against my touch.
I don’t retreat. Instead, I deepen the contact, curling my fingers around him and squeezing.
Julian’s car pulls up, and he practically leaps out of my embrace. Saved by the valet.
With his jacket still draped over my shoulders, I slip into the car, and Julian closes the door when I’m settled inside. Watching him through the windshield as he strides to the driver’s side, I chew on my bottom lip, frustrated with myself for pushing him where he doesn’t want to go. It’s not fair to him. I mentally slap my hand and channel Carter’s typical admonition: Stop being a brat, Ashley.
For a few seconds, Julian stares at the steering wheel, gripping it with both hands.
“Ready to go?” I ask.
He jerks his head before turning it in my direction. “Yes. Sorry. Was just thinking about something.”
“What’s that like?”
He laughs. “You know full well what that’s like. I’d be surprised if your brain ever shuts off.”
“True.”
In fact, it’s currently working at full capacity, alternating between imagining lusty, sweaty, no-holds-barred sex with Julian and suppressing my dirty thoughts as I know I should. So fine, we’ve decided not to act on our attraction to each other, but why should I be the only one tortured as a consequence? Isn’t there some fun to be had here? Then I remember Sooyin’s theory that Julian is pretending to be interested in her to keep his attraction to me at bay. Testing her hypothesis would be amusing, wouldn’t it? “So tell me about Sooyin. What’s your plan there?”
He glances at me sideways and swallows before he answers. “Plan?”
“Well, yeah, if you’re interested, what do you intend to do about it?”
He clears his throat as he turns the steering wheel, his gaze trained on the road ahead. “I like her. But I’m not going to push. I . . . uh . . . I’m just going to let things happen naturally.”
Such bullshit, Mr. Hart. “If you need any tips on how to approach her, I’m here for you.”
In a rare safety violation, Julian removes one of his hands from the wheel and slaps it on his thigh. “You’re precious,” he says, his deep, rich voice laced with laughter. “I think I can handle it on my own, thanks.”
I shrug. “Okay, but you’re missing out on the opportunity to learn some closely held secrets about what women really want.”
He perks up. “Now I’m intrigued.”
“Ha. I knew you would be.”
He motions for me to get on with it. “I’m waiting.”
“Okay, where to start. Oh, I know. Many guys send flowers to let a woman know they’re thinking about her. It’s sweet. And yes, we appreciate them. But do you know what works even better than that?”
“What?”
“Pick. Up. The. Fucking. Phone. Call her. At random times. Not every day or, Jesus, definitely not every hour, but when you can. Just to say ‘Hey, hello, I’m thinking of you.’ That’s the best kind of foreplay, and guys don’t do it enough.”
“It goes both ways, you know.”
“Of course it does.”
We reach his condo, and he drives into the underground parking lot. After easing the car into a parking space, he asks, “What else?”
I climb out of the car and wait for him to lock it. “Okay, here’s one I encounter more than I care to. Not every woman wants a serious relationship.”
He stops short and throws his hands over his chest, pretending to be shocked. “What the hell? Are you serious?”
I clip him on the shoulder. “Yes, I’m serious. Sometimes women want someone to hang out with. They’re not always looking for a life partner. And I find guys act in ways designed to avoid a long-term commitment when half the time the woman doesn’t want one either.”
“Is that the story of your love life?”
“Yes, yes, a thousand times, yes.”
I hand him his jacket, my gaze automatically zeroing in on the way his shirt stretches across his chest as he slips his arms inside.
We pass Benny on our way through the lobby and wave at him.
Stepping into the elevator, Julian waits at the threshold until I enter. “Okay, this has been an eye-opening discussion. Give me one more.”
My last tip comes out with much thought. “It’s a marathon, not a sprint.”
He swallows before he speaks. “I’m not clueless, so I can guess where this is headed. It’s not a race to the big finish, right?”
“Exactly. Sure, sometimes a quick bang does the job. Other times, you can’t help yourself, and it’s got to be all-consuming and clumsy and so rough the guy’s dangling belt buckle digs into your thigh and you notice scratch marks the next morning. But mostly, we want to be savored. We want to know that you’d happily spend the entire day making us shudder and gasp and cry out in pleasure and that your face between our legs is a fucking joy, not a chore.”
The elevator dings, and I step off. But when I turn back, Julian’s still inside, his keys in one hand and his face pointing to the ceiling.
I laugh. “I’ve blown your mind, huh?”
He drops his chin to meet my eyes, and I’m unprepared for the force of his stare. It’s stormy, needy, hungry. His gaze drops to my mouth before he pushes off the wall and stalks my way. He’s not being coy. Far from it. He’s telling me in no uncertain terms that he wants me. Goose bumps dot my skin, and my heart bangs against my chest like a stampede of horses is trampling over it.
I don’t wait for Julian to reach me. Instead, I rush toward him, and when our bodies meet in the middle, I throw my arms around his neck and press into him. He braces my face, and I rise on my toes, desperate to get my lips on his mouth.
Before his mouth comes down on mine, he asks, “Ash, what are we doing?” He doesn’t wait for an answer, nor do I give him one.
Not in words, at least.