Текст книги "Red Carpet Kiss"

Автор книги: Melissa Brown

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Текущая страница: 8 (всего у книги 19 страниц)

When Elle awoke, the ceiling was spinning out of control. Her forehead and temples pounded in agony and the back of her mouth was as dry as bone. Ever so slowly, she eased herself to a seated position and recognized the clothes on her body as the ones she wore to the bar with Whitney. Her memory was fuzzy, but the note on her nightstand cleared up any uncertainty in her brain.

E–

I slept on the couch to make sure you’re okay.

Come down when you’re ready for coffee.

–T

Troy brought her home the night before. She vaguely remembered their interaction at his restaurant, and was hazy on the specifics of their conversation. She could only hope she didn’t embarrass herself terribly. There was only one way to find out.

After stopping in her bathroom to down two ibuprofen and a large glass of water, Elle washed her face, brushed her teeth, changed into fresh clothes, and walked downstairs. When she reached the bottom of the staircase, she could smell coffee brewing and could hear the familiar tunes of the Beatles.

This, despite her hangover, was how Elle had always imagined waking up with Troy. Coffee and the Beatles. She couldn’t think of a better way to start the day. She took a deep breath before walking into her kitchen.

Troy was seated at the table, coffee cup in hand. He eyed Elle with caution as she approached the gurgling coffeepot. She reached into the cabinet, retrieved a mug, and poured herself a steaming cup.

“I hope it’s okay I’m still here.”

“Of course.” Elle joined Troy at the table. She raised the mug to her mouth, the aroma of the beverage tickling her nose and stirring the hunger of her empty belly. “Thanks for bringing me home. And putting me to bed.”

“Sure. I was worried you’d pass out in a cab. Plus, I just wanted to make sure, you know . . .”

“Yeah, I know. Thank you.”

“Nice place.”

“You like it?”

“I love it. Your island is the size of my entire kitchen. You’ve done well for yourself, Rigby.” Troy took another swig from his mug, giving Elle a genuine smile.

“I know it’s a little much, but it’s growing on me.”

“Don’t do that. Don’t downplay your success. You should be proud of this, of everything you’ve accomplished. I know I am.”

“That means a lot to me.”

“It’s the truth.”

An awkward silence hung over the knotted walnut table. Elle played with the corner of the lime green place mat below her mug. She wasn’t sure of what to say to Troy. She hadn’t expected him to be in her home quite so soon, but the situation had become unavoidable due to her behavior the night before.

“About last night,” he began and anxiety spread throughout her body, unsure of what he might say. She didn’t want to embarrass herself any more than she already had the night before.

“I know.” Elle closed her eyes tight, clutching her mug. “It was wrong of me to show up like that.”

Troy leaned back in his chair, scratching lightly at his forehead with the tips of his fingers. “How much do you even remember?”

“Honestly? Not much.”

“That’s to be expected, I guess.”

“Did I humiliate myself? You can be honest.”

“Not at all. I promise,” Troy deadpanned. He was sparing her feelings; she could feel it in her gut. He always was a terrible liar, especially when it came to her and her ability to humiliate herself. Her eyes were sore; she had a strong feeling she’d cried.

Dammit, she thought, cursing the inventor of the martini and all bartenders who served them.

“I have to ask you something.” She felt courage brewing inside her. She had to know. “Why’d you let so much time go by? I mean—would you ever have found me again if I hadn’t stumbled into your restaurant by mistake?”

“Honestly?”

Elle shrugged, closed her eyes briefly, and shook her head, attempting to stay casual and add lightness to her voice. “Why not?”

He looked down at the floor, shaking his head slowly, ever so slowly. “I’m not sure. It never felt like the right time and it was easier to just avoid you. I was angry for so long.”

“I know.”

“There was a time when I never thought I’d stop being angry at you.”

“And now?”

Troy shrugged. “Jury’s still out, I guess. But it’s no longer a unanimous vote.”

“Hmm.” That was the only thing Elle could manage to say.

“And you?”

“My jury?” Elle asked with a slight smile.

“Yeah.”

“They’ve never been unanimous.”

Troy said nothing, but nodded slowly, breaking eye contact.

What Elle didn’t tell Troy was the jurors were forming a coup against the one cynical, judgmental juror who wanted Troy to walk out of her house and never return. The jurors in her mind were throwing chairs, punching walls, doing anything they could to make that one simple voice go silent. But that juror wouldn’t budge and she reminded Elle that no matter how smooth this conversation was going, no matter how much she loved being in the same room as Troy, there was still so much to discuss before they could ever consider themselves healed. And Elle knew that bitch of a juror was right.

“Listen, I should go.”

“Are you sure? I—”

“Yeah, I need to close out the registers from last night and get the kitchen prepped.”

Elle hung her head, realizing Troy had skipped those things the night before to take care of her drunken self. “Of course. Thank you again . . . for everything.”

Elle walked Troy to her front door. Feeling brave, she asked. “Will I see you again?”

“I certainly hope so. Just lay off the booze next time, okay?”

Elle laughed behind her hand. “I promise.”

Troy opened his arms to her and she entered his embrace, savoring the familiar feel of his arms around her. When Troy pulled back, he looked into Elle’s eyes and placed the tiniest of kisses on her lips, his lips gently grazing hers. Before she had the chance to choose whether or not to return the affection, he pulled away, his eyes still closed for a short moment as if he was savoring their gentle contact. Elle swallowed hard, wishing he’d press his lips to hers once again. But he didn’t. He simply smiled and walked slowly to his car, pausing to wave before climbing into the vehicle.

Elle closed the door, pressing her back against it. Once again, her brain was inundated with thoughts of Troy—their past, their awkward encounters in the present. With his reemergence into her life, Elle wondered if she’d ever be able to stop thinking about him. If the jurors inside her head were any indication, it was going to be a struggle.

After a long hot shower, several cups of coffee, and a decent breakfast, Elle was feeling less stricken by the previous night’s activities. To her relief, it was a Saturday. She took the opportunity to lose herself in a good story. She hadn’t read a full-length novel in ages. It was time for her to rectify that.

Elle grabbed her iPad, tapped on her Kindle app, and scrolled through the latest titles she’d grabbed online. While scrolling, she reminisced as she eyed her own titles on the device.

She’d written four books, each one about her relationship with Troy. She’d transformed their complex love story into an ongoing saga between Desmond and Molly. She’d poured her heart into those novels, but each had a very clear message.

She was fine.

No matter what happened with Desmond, Molly was resilient, strong, stoic. She could take anything, handle anything, deal with anything. She was a clear projection of how Elle longed to be while carrying out her day-to-day life and while dealing with her and Troy’s heartbreaking past.

She tapped on the first book in the series, reading the title page aloud to herself: I’ll Follow the Sun by Eleanor Riley. The network had shortened it for the television series, in order to make it more succinct, more modern. She turned to the first page.

Chapter 1

Whoever said love was blind never met Desmond Fiore.

He owned any room he entered, his charisma bouncing from the walls of the casinos of Las Vegas, captivating the women around him.

And despite the fact that he was her greatest competition, Molly Lynch was drawn to him in a way she resented and despised.

Elle laughed at the first words of her book, immediately remembering the emotions she felt when constructing those first sentences. She turned the pages several at a time, skimming through Desmond and Molly’s ups and downs, their fights and makeup sessions, their failed attempts at romance, and the moments that made her knees buckle with passion.

Their story was worthy of telling.

Unlike in years past, she wondered if perhaps Molly didn’t have it all figured out. Maybe Molly had a lot to learn about Desmond. He wanted to protect her, keep her safe, take care of her. But more than that, despite everything, he was proud of her and everything she’d accomplished. Tears threatened to build in Elle’s eyes as she was struck with that realization.

In the books she’d crafted, Desmond was never proud of Molly. Did he protect her? Yes. Did he care for her? In his own way. But this character she created from memory, from the longings of her heart, was jaded, flawed, and not quite accurate.

And for the first time in ten years, as she read through the passages in that first novel, she wondered if perhaps their story wasn’t quite over.

Her reading was interrupted by the ping of her cell phone. She grabbed it, hoping to hear from Whitney. Her friend was smart. She took measures to maintain her safety when going home with men; however, Elle couldn’t help feeling protective of her when Saturday mornings rolled around. Over the years, she’d requested a simple text to let her know all was well.

To her surprise, when she glanced at the screen, it wasn’t a text from Whitney, but rather one from Luke.

I miss you. Any plans today?

Elle smiled as she stared at the simple words. Despite her unfinished business with Troy, she was still drawn to the handsome actor. Despite Luke’s naivety about the world of Hollywood, or his possible flirtation with his leading actress, Elle was in no hurry to end their relationship.

Luke relaxed her like no other man had in the past. He fascinated her with his laid-back nature, and being near him satisfied her in a new and inexplicable way.

No plans. What’d you have in mind?

Elle placed the phone back down and moved her attention back to her book. Before she could even find her place in the story, her phone pinged once again.

You. Me. Whatever you want.

Excitement stirred in her belly as she thought about a day spent with Luke. She made a firm decision not to mention anything about Gina or the pictures of them at the bar. She was going to enjoy him, trust him, lose herself in him. She wanted to enjoy how he made her feel and nothing more.

Come over.

With a spring in her step, Elle jogged up her winding staircase and promptly changed into a hot-pink sundress with a plunging neckline. She placed a pair of strappy sandals on her feet and proceeded to fix her hair and makeup. By the time she’d finished applying, her doorbell rang. She smiled at her reflection before jogging downstairs to answer the door. She was so focused, she almost missed the text message from Whitney:

Home safe and sound. “Big Mac” was just that.

Elle rolled her eyes, but laughed as she tucked her cell back into her pocket and opened the door. “That was quick.”

Luke removed his sunglasses and placed a kiss on her cheek before crossing the threshold to enter her home. Without knowing it, he’d worn an outfit that complemented hers perfectly. A faded navy blue t-shirt that pulled at his pec muscles and dark washed jeans that hugged his muscular thighs.

“I couldn’t wait.”

“Good.” Elle drank him in with her eyes, willing herself to be strong enough not to simply drag him up to her bedroom immediately. She wanted to spend more time with him, learn what made Luke Kingston tick, discover if they had much in common. Their sexual chemistry was undeniable, but their intellectual chemistry was still undecided.

Closing the space between them, Luke wrapped an arm around her waist, nuzzling into her neck.

“You smell good. Are you hungry?”

“Famished.”

“Great. I made a reservation at The Ivy.”

The swirls of excitement in Elle’s belly dropped to the floor. The Ivy was known for celebrity sightings. Not only that, it was littered with paparazzi. The Ivy was a place she’d avoided successfully since moving to California and she had no intention of ever eating there. Elle was a private person. Luke knew that, and despite the promise she’d made herself earlier not to mention Luke and the photos of him with Gina, she was not willing to compromise her desire for a private life.

“The Ivy? Why would you want to go there?” Elle didn’t want to sound accusatory in her question, but she was feeling unsettled. Why would Luke want to take her there knowing how private she was? Especially after he’d already been photographed just a few days prior.

“What do you mean? They have this killer patio. I thought we could enjoy the sunshine.”

“Luke, I thought you knew how I felt about places like that. If you don’t, then I need to be more clear. I have no interest in participating in the Hollywood game. I don’t want to spend my weekends looking for photo ops or avoiding paparazzi. It’s not how I’m built. It’s not how I want to live my life.”

“Oh.” Luke took a step back, running his fingers through his waves. “I hadn’t really thought about that. My agent suggested it when I spoke to her yesterday.”

“Your agent?”

“Yeah. But I mean, it’s not a big deal. If you don’t want to go there that’s fine.” Luke placed his hands loosely on his hips, waiting for Elle’s answer.

She hesitated before speaking. “Let’s go somewhere else.”

“You pick.” His behavior was nonchalant. Somehow with Luke, things never seemed to erupt into a full-blown altercation, which was not what Elle was used to. With Troy, things always seemed to become something worthy of discussion. Luke’s lack of concern was confusing. Did he just not care enough to fight with her? Or could she stand to learn a thing or two from his relaxed demeanor?

Elle chose a quiet bistro in Santa Monica overlooking the sand and surf. They feasted on oysters, scallops, and shrimp scampi. The soothing sounds of the waves crashing against the sand calmed Elle’s nerves and helped her relax. Luke held her hand as they ate. They talked about the show, which was holding its own in the Nielsen ratings. The network was pleased with Luke’s role on the show and the new love story developing between his character and Gina’s.

“You won’t believe what’s happening on Twitter.”

Elle finished chewing before responding. “What do you mean?”

“I’ve gained thousands of new followers in just a few weeks. Two hundred new ones just this morning. It’s crazy. I mean, crazy awesome, but crazy.”

“I’m sure that’ll continue. The viewers love you,” Elle deadpanned.

“Geez, you say that like it’s a bad thing.”

“No.” Elle shook her head, wiping her mouth with her napkin. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean it like that. I’m thrilled they’re loving you on the show. I’m just—I don’t know . . .”

“Talk to me. First the Ivy and now this. What’s going on in that gorgeous head of yours?”

“It’s nothing, I just . . . It’s really easy for all of this to go to someone’s head. In some ways, it’s almost unavoidable. I’d just hate for that to happen . . .”

“It’s not going to change my feelings for you, if that’s what you’re worried about.”

“That’s not it.” She shook her head vehemently. “I just think it’s important to avoid all of the craziness, stay on the perimeter. The Ivy, Twitter, Facebook fans, dodging the paparazzi—it’s all very Hollywood.”

“And you think I’m too Hollywood?”

“I’m not sure yet,” she answered honestly.

“I’ve been a struggling actor for eight years. And now, I’m on the biggest show on television. Do you understand what a thrill that is for me? How it’s changed my life?”

Elle nodded, attempting to put herself in Luke’s shoes. He’d worked for years to achieve this—of course he was allowed to celebrate his newly earned success. She just didn’t want it to consume him. She’d seen it happen so many times before. When Gina first auditioned for the role of Molly, she was one of the sweetest actresses Elle had met during the casting process. But now . . .

“Of course,” she conceded, “I’m sorry. I really am happy for you.”

“Try to relax. Everything has a way of working itself out.”

She could only hope Luke was right. But her thoughts weighed heavily in her gut. As much as she loved spending time with him, having him in her life and exploring their sexual relationship, she worried they were on two very different paths. The path Luke was on led to fame, fortune, and women fawning at his feet while photographers sold pictures of him and said women to the highest bidder. The path she was on was pointed in the exact opposite direction. Only time would tell if those paths would merge or eventually split in two.

Elle, there’s a call for you on line one.”

Elle snapped her swollen eyes from her computer, wiping them with a tissue. She was in the process of writing Nolan’s last lines on the show. It was an emotional scene. After all, she was, for all intents and purposes, saying good-bye to the character of Desmond to make way for David. She’d accepted this inevitable event on her show, but knowing what Desmond represented made her especially vulnerable to carrying it out.

“Elle Riley.”

“Elle, Sebastian Crane.”

Elle inhaled deeply at the squeaky voice of Gina’s loathsome agent. Sebastian Crane was a hotshot agent who represented several big television stars. Infamous for his Napoleon complex, Sebastian had no problem hoisting his ego around town on behalf of his clients. Sebastian Crane represented everything Elle despised about the industry. He was ostentatious, pushy, and greedy as hell.

“Sebastian, what a pleasure.” Elle did her best to hide her displeasure at receiving his call. “What can I do for you?” Elle hated the facade she was forced to hide behind when dealing with Hollywood players like Sebastian. But she’d learned it was a necessary evil for the sake of her career and the show she loved so much.

“We need to discuss Gina and her future on your show.”

Elle’s gut dropped, anxiety flooding her abdomen. First Nolan, now Gina?

“I don’t understand.”

“She’s feeling a little frustrated, Elle. A little neglected. Catch my drift?”

“Umm, not at all. What seems to be the problem?” She shifted uncomfortably in her seat. In what way could Gina possibly be neglected?

“Her screen time. It’s down twenty percent since last season. My assistant ran the numbers.”

“We’ve only shot the first twelve episodes. I assure you she’ll have plenty of screen time.”

Irritation spread through every cell of her body. If Gina was feeling frustrated, why didn’t she talk to Elle directly rather than sending her guard dog?

“I certainly hope so. If not, we may have a problem.”

“Slow down, Sebastian. The thing is, we’ve introduced a new character.”

“I understand that—”

“I don’t think you do. There are three main characters right now. But by the end of the season, Nolan will be gone. It’ll all work out fine. Tell your client to relax.”

“We won’t relax until after contract negotiations.”

No he did not! He did not just threaten me.

Elle took a deep breath, popped open her candy stash drawer, and pulled out a bag of Twizzlers. She took a bite, closed her eyes, and prepared to let Sebastian’s idle threat remain just that—idle.

“Gina is the star of the show. It will all work out fine, I assure you.”

“Great. So we have an understanding.”

“Yes, we do.” Elle snarled silently at the receiver, wanting to claw Sebastian’s little eyes out. Instead, she took a bite of the sweet strawberry candy. “You take care now.”

She heard the click on the other end and placed the receiver in the cradle. Sebastian never said good-bye; it was his way of maintaining control. Elle nibbled on the candy, pondering their conversation and what to do next. Confronting Gina was probably not the best avenue to take, but she was tired of the actress and her attitude.

They had never been besties, but Gina had been especially distant with Elle since that first awkward table read with Nolan. She was embarrassed Elle knew about Nolan and her personal relationship, but in Elle’s opinion, she had taken it too far. Their professional relationship was suffering because of it and she wasn’t quite sure how to fix it if Gina was determined to remain prickly.

Ignoring her better judgment, Elle texted Gina, asking her to join her in her office for a chat.

When Gina didn’t reply, Elle resumed writing Nolan’s final scene. Just as her eyes were filling with fresh tears, Nicole buzzed in.

“Gina is here to see you.”

Dammit.

The last thing she wanted was for Gina to think her tears had anything to do with Sebastian’s call. She grabbed new tissues, dabbing her eyes gently so as not to cause splotchy skin. She waved her hands rapidly for fresh air to hit her cheeks, but it was no use. She couldn’t stall any longer.

“Send her in.”

Gina opened the door, daggers in her eyes, and sat opposite Elle, saying nothing. Her arms crossed defiantly across her chest set the tone perfectly for how the conversation would go.

“Nice to see you, Gina. Twizzler?”

“No, thanks. I’m off sugar.”

One thing Elle did admire about Gina was her willpower. She was one of those actresses who could lose twenty pounds for a role with no difficulty, no matter the time constraints. Elle could never give up carbs. Ever. Her candy stash helped her get through any crisis, personal or professional, and she had accepted the extra five pounds because of it.

“Listen, I just spoke to Sebastian.”

Gina looked at the floor, her chin dipping to her chest. Even though Gina liked to act tough, Elle knew she valued her role on the show and didn’t want to jeopardize it by allowing Sebastian to go too far off the cuff.

When the actress said nothing, Elle continued. “I hope you know that balancing Luke and Nolan is the reason for the dip in your screen time, and that I’ll do whatever I can to fix it when the story permits.”

Gina pressed her hands to the arms of her chair, pushing up to her feet. “Is that all?”

“Whoa, hold on,” Elle said, standing to confront the actress’ abrupt behavior. “What’s going on with you?”

Once again, Gina crossed her arms, her eyes boring into Elle’s. “I know you’re pissed. About the photos. You’re punishing me because I went out with Luke.”

“Went out with? We’re not in middle school. You two went out for drinks, a photographer found you. It’s not the end of the world and I’m not punishing you. You know me better than that. I’d never jeopardize my show over petty jealousy.”

Gina shifted her weight back and forth, her jaw clenched. “Fine, whatever. Are we done?”

“Listen, I know things have been weird between us since the table read.”

“You mean when I found out your best friend slept with Nolan?”

Elle cringed, took a deep breath, and continued. “Yes. But that has nothing to do with me, Gina. You and I—”

“Did you know?”

Elle had quite the poker face. She could keep it together in almost any given situation without tipping her hand. But she felt Gina deserved the truth.

“Yes. But not when it happened. I found out shortly before you did. And at the time, I had no idea you and Nolan were even involved.”

“Seriously?” The daggers remained in Gina’s eyes, but skepticism climbed onto her face as well. “I find that hard to believe.”

“I’m dead serious, Gina. In fact, I feel pretty silly I couldn’t tell. I just thought you had amazing chemistry. I still think you do.”

“Well, we’re over. So . . .” Her eyes moistened and Elle contemplated handing her the tissue box, but she decided against it, afraid Gina might storm off. Gina took a deep breath, raised an eyebrow, and flipped her hair behind her shoulder. “I’m on to bigger and better things.”

Elle couldn’t help but wonder if she was referring to Luke. She suppressed the suspicion brewing inside her, making an informed decision to trust Luke. But the pictures of them laughing and chatting at the bar crept back into her brain.

“Good for you.” Elle returned to her seat, ready to finish the exchange and return to her script. “I’ll see you tomorrow. Table read, nine o’clock.”

Gina narrowed her eyes, and Elle suspected she was studying her for vulnerability. She’d let hell freeze over before allowing Gina Romano to see her emotions and conflict over Luke. Only those she trusted the most in the world were allowed to see her at her most exposed. And Gina would never be on that tiny list of people. Elle watched her as she left the office, leaving the door wide open so Elle would have to close it.

Such a pain in the ass.

Elle grabbed another Twizzler before closing the door. She placed the tissue box next to her monitor, took a deep breath, and returned to Desmond’s final words.

“Whitney Bartolina.”

Elle was so choked up as she clutched the phone to her ear, she almost couldn’t get the words out. But she needed her best friend. She needed her support, her understanding, her love. She cleared her throat and attempted to speak without sobbing.

“Can you go to lunch?”

“Ellie.” Whitney only used that name when Elle was upset or in a panic. It was her version of handling Elle with kid gloves. It was endearing and comforted Elle in an inexplicable way. “What’s going on?”

“I need you.”

“Gimme five.”

“Okay.”

Elle placed the phone back in the cradle and closed the finished document for Desmond’s final script. She knew saying good-bye to his character would be emotional, but she didn’t expect this. She didn’t expect the devastation that consumed her. She wasn’t ready—the script was beautiful and she had every confidence it would play out well on-screen, but she wasn’t ready to let go.

Whitney arrived, rushing into the office and placing her hands on Elle’s shoulders, peering into her eyes.

“I’m here. What’s happening?”

“Desmond, I—I wrote his last words. It’s over.”

“Oh,” Whitney said with a deliberate nod. Elle knew she understood, at least to some degree, the gravity of the situation. She knew how haunted Elle had been the past ten years, and that Desmond was Elle’s connection to Troy. Despite the fact the real Troy had resurfaced, the character of Desmond was a lifeline for Elle. A connection to their past and the love they had shared.

“Want to get out of here? Go somewhere quiet?”

“I don’t care.” Elle dabbed at her face with more tissue. The box was almost empty.

“Tell you what. Let’s order in.”

“No pizza!” Elle said quickly, before covering her mouth with her hand. “Sorry, just . . . no pizza.”

“I get it. I’ll take care of it. Give me two minutes.”

Whitney walked outside and spoke briefly to Nicole. Elle opened the candy drawer, pouring every bit of sugary comfort onto her desk. When Whitney returned, she tilted her head, eyed the desk and the brightly colored packages covering it, and took a seat, opening a fresh package of Swedish Fish.

“Nicole’s placing an order with the deli down the block. And she’s clearing your schedule for the rest of the day. Now, talk to me, honey.”

Elle nodded, feeling a knot form in the back of her throat. “I didn’t think—” She paused. “I didn’t think I’d be like this, ya know? I mean, I knew it’d be hard. I knew that, but . . . still, I just . . .”

“Ellie, you’re spinning. Take a second, okay? I’m not going anywhere.”

“This character . . . he’s more than a character . . . to me.”

“I know he is.”

Elle stopped, took a deep breath. “I’m ready to tell you about Vegas. About what happened there. None of this will make sense if I don’t.”

“I’m all ears.”