The Golden Boy

by J Darcy

  She couldn’t get in her head, especially over something as stupid as an outfit choice. She needed to focus all her energy and attention on the matter at hand. Or rather, the infuriating man that had just joined her, looking just as stupidly handsome as ever.

  Cade was a living, breathing, oxymoron. A paradox. An enigma. There was no other explanation for how he managed to always look so effortlessly carefree, while also somehow looking so put together. His hair always looked perfectly tussled, his clothes were always expertly casual, yet that laid-back vibe never translated to carelessness. His t-shirt never had a single wrinkle, and his sporty sneakers never had a lick of dirt across the toes.

  He was frustratingly perfect without trying to look perfect. And despite only being in the industry for a few years, Kellie had encountered her fair share of actors or other creative types that couldn’t leave the house without pounds of hair gel or the label of the newest ‘it’ designer on the back of their necks.

  Cade wasn’t like that.

  Maybe if he was like that, it would be easier for her to hate him.

  “Kel,” He began softly, the nickname dancing across her skin like chaste kisses from a lover, “You look nice.”

  She hated him. She hated him for calling her Kel, a nickname that usually only her family and closest friends got the privilege to use. She hated him for complementing her. But most of all, she hated him for looking so fucking hot in a simple outfit of a white t-shirt, a brown jacket, and a distressed pair of jeans.

  “Cade.” She shifted in her seat and met his familiar chocolate eyes. Even with all the anger she harbored for him and the hurt he caused, she still couldn’t look away from those dreamy eyes. “You really didn’t need to fly to New York just to talk to me.”

  Ever the nonchalant one, Cade shrugged. Only he could act as if flying six hours across the country on a moment’s notice was normal—and for something as ridiculously casual as dinner between…

  Colleagues. Co-workers. Acquaintances. Ex-friends and not-quite-lovers. Whatever they were.

  “I know I didn’t have to. But you’re stuck here for a bit, and I really thought we needed to talk in person, especially with this news.”

  His use of the word news made her want to flip the table over. Her accepting a job was now synonymous with the world of good or bad news and she could easily guess which category her choice fell into for him. This was probably equivalent to the little boy on Christmas who expected the new game console under the tree and was instead greeted by boxes filled with socks and pajamas.

  “Okay.” It was all she could come up with while digesting his words and staring at his stupidly handsome face, “Let’s talk about this then.”

  Cade cleared his throat and nodded. “Okay. Let’s talk.”

  Instead, they sat in silence, staring at each other. It was like a game of chicken, seeing who would finally speak first. Given that Cade was the one to cause the break in their friendship—you know, by ditching her after a night of sex—and was also the one to set up the dinner, she was pretty set in her mind that it was Cade who should be opening his big mouth.

  Thankfully—at least for him—the waiter selected that moment to appear and take their orders. Kellie watched with mild disdain as the college-aged kid struggled to keep his excitement contained at serving Cade. She got recognized in public occasionally, but it was nothing like going out with Cade. Most of the time he tried to hide his face in something, but tonight, he showed up with just his signature grin.

  Generally speaking, New Yorkers were less inclined to engage with anyone—including celebrities—than people from other parts of the world. But there were always exceptions.

  As she watched the kid excitedly write down their orders, she wondered if she too would receive this level of attention when their next film came out.

  It was a scary thought.

  “I want us to be friends.”

  His voice surprised her. She glanced away from the twinkling fairy lights and array of plants she had been studying and stared across the table. Apparently, the waiter had disappeared while her thoughts wandered. Now, it seemed, Cade was willing to talk.

  “Come again?” She heard what he asked. She just couldn’t believe it.

  “I said I want us to be friends.” The calm tone of his voice made her want to rip her hair out. To lean across the table and slap his beautiful face. To stand up on the wooden chair and scream to the entire borough.

  She stared at him for a few moments, struggling to come up with a response. She had many zingers floating through her head—are you joking? Are you acting? Am I on Punk’d? But part of her figured if they were going to be mature adults and move on from their past, she needed to cooperate.

  Even if by telling him he was a fucking inconsiderate asshole.

  “You want to be friends?” She mimicked, still watching him.

  He nodded, as if it was the easiest thing in the world. “I do.”

  “And you think that’s reasonable?”

  At least her question seemed to crack his façade a little bit. He shifted in his chair and leaned forward, his voice soft despite the relative privacy they had at their table. “Look, Kel, I know it might be difficult, but I really think we need to go into this as friends. We’re going to have to be together through so much. Three films. Probably more than that. Not to mention the press tours. That’s months of collaboration. Years, when it’s all said and done.”

  Forcing herself to look away from those deep, brown eyes, she focused her eyes on the wood of the table, especially the contrast to her baby pink nails. After a few deep breaths, she looked back to him, her back ramrod straight. “Let me explain this from my prospective,” She began slowly, finding her footing with every word she spoke, “Because I don’t think you understand how insane of a request that is.”

  Cade cleared his throat. “Go on. I want us to be able to talk.”

  Kellie laughed and shook her head. “Right, right, talk. Here’s what you’re asking from my prospective. You want us to be friends,” except the word was spat out more like murder, or another heinous crime, “Except a year and a half ago, we were just that. We were good friends. I certainly liked you as more than that.” She forced herself to ignore the way his eyes widened marginally by her admission, “Then we slept together. I didn’t know what to think or to feel. I didn’t know what you thought or felt. And I never really got to find out.”

  She paused and took another deep breath. “Our friendship may have survived if a year and a half ago you hadn’t left me in the middle of the night, reducing me to some by-the-hour call girl. We could have talked it through and together come to a decision on what to do next, whether that was forgetting it ever happened or fucking until neither of us could walk.”

  When he opened his mouth, as if to speak, she continued her ramblings. “Instead, you made it clear that you didn’t give two shits about my feelings. Because if you did—if you really had been my friend—you might have stayed. Or even left a note. Fuck, you would have called. Instead, there was radio silence from you for two months until we both had to show up for that week of reshoots.”

  Kellie shook her head. “So, for you to ask for us to be friends now fucking hurts. It stings, Cade. Because we were friends. Or rather, we were supposed to be.”

  She met his eyes, admittedly a bit taken aback by the look of sadness painting them. Good—if she upset him, it was mission accomplished. At least he could feel even a fraction of what she had felt a year and a half ago. No—what she was still feeling whenever she saw him. And seeing him wasn’t just in person. It was on magazine covers and movie posters and Which Actor is Your Soul Mate? quizzes.

  Cade Campbell was everywhere.

  It made getting over someone exponentially harder.

  “I didn’t mean to hurt you.”

  His voice, the same voice that had once—and frustratingly still—gave her butterflies, shook her out of her misery.

  I didn’t mean to hurt you.<
br />
  Cade Campbell was a celebrity—a product of the Hollywood machine—the golden boy of Tinseltown.

  But he was very much still a man.

  A blissfully ignorant, stupidly selfish, man.

  “And you thought ditching me in the middle of the night after sleeping together would… What? Make me happy?”

  Cade ran a hand through his hair, one of his quirks that meant he was stressed. “No, no, of course not. I just…” He cursed and hung his head, his shame evident. “I didn’t know what to do. I was scared and nervous and freaking out about what came next.”

  “So was I.”

  They sat in silence as plates of food were set in front of them. Kellie wasn’t hungry. She couldn’t remember what she ordered, let alone think about sticking a forkful of overpriced food in her mouth.

  “I’m not…” Cade cursed and shook his head, “I’m not good with people, okay? Which I know sounds ridiculous, because I’m an actor and work with people every day, but I’ve never had tons of friends or a string of girlfriends. It’s difficult for me to vocalize to other people how I’m feeling. I can pretend to feel something. Apparently, I’m good at it too, since I keep finding work. But when it comes to me, I just can’t do it.”

  His stare was a bit unnerving, so she forced herself to glance at the pile of rice on her plate as he continued talking. “And I realize saying I’m shit with words it’s an adequate excuse for what I did, especially since I hurt you so much. But when I say I had no intention of hurting you, I mean it.”

  “You manslaughter-ed my feelings, Cade. But it’s still homicide.”

  He coughed. “Come again?”

  “You claim you didn’t mean to hurt me, but you still did. It’s like manslaughter versus murder. You didn’t mean to kill someone—you didn’t intend to—so it’s manslaughter. But manslaughter is still homicide. Someone ends up dead. Or in this case, hurt. I’m still hurt, even if you didn’t intend to do that.”

  After a few moments of quiet reflection, Cade finally spoke the words that most men still found impossible to utter.

  “I’m sorry.”

  Kellie grabbed her fork and began to play the rice on her plate, desperate for a way to avoid his face. “Are you sorry that you hurt me or sorry you did it?”

  “Both.”

  “You left. When I woke up, I stupidly convinced myself you went to grab us breakfast. Or coffee. Something. Until the minutes just tacked on and I realized that no, you weren’t coming back. And then I convinced myself that you had to leave. That maybe I had forgotten when your flight back to LA was.”

  She shook her head. “But then I realized how much effort silence requires, Cade. You left without a single word to me. And you continued that silence until you physically couldn’t because we had to work together. How could you possibly think that wouldn’t hurt me?”

  “I didn’t want to talk about it.” He finally admitted, his voice strained. “I didn’t want us to figure shit out because both outcomes scared the shit out of me, Kellie. On one hand, us being more than friends was exactly what I wanted, but all I could think about was us ending badly or me fucking shit up because I’m an asshole. On the other, the thought of you rejecting me paralyzed me with fear.”

  “So, you just did nothing, not once thinking or caring about how I felt?”

  “I was a coward, Kellie,” He shot back, his voice rising in volume, “And I admit that. I was a fucking coward, okay? And I was selfish. All I cared about were sparring my own pathetic feelings and by doing that, I hurt you.”

  She just nodded, his words ringing in her head. “At least we know it was a mistake.”

  His chocolate eyes locked with hers, filled with something she couldn’t read or begin to understand. It momentarily stole her breath, until he spoke and knocked her out of her self-destructive reverie.

  “Right. A mistake.” He looked away and frowned. “I’m sorry, Kellie. For everything. I never meant to hurt you.”

  She sat for a few moments, just letting his words sink in. She finally had the apology she was owed, but she just felt hollow. Hearing the reasons for his actions didn’t make her feel much better. Instead, hearing that part of him did want to be with her made her hurt even more, especially when they could never be together. She deserved more than what he did to her.

  “Thank you for the apology. But I don’t think we can be friends. Not, yet anyways. Maybe in time.”

  He nodded slowly, his shoulders slumping in default. “I understand.”

  “But we can try to be friendly. Be acquaintances and respectful co-stars who don’t fight and who can eat lunch at the same catering table without getting into an argument.”

  “You really think we can do that?” He asked, watching her closely, “Especially after last time?”

  She knew exactly what he was referring too. Their time filming A Fiery Heart was filled with plenty of stupid arguments and petty exchanges of words. But Kellie was willing to try, especially since this wasn’t a one-off film. They wouldn’t be able to wave goodbye and disappear when they finished filming.

  They were contractually obligated to film two more, no matter how much or how little they liked each other.

  “We can put the effort in and that’s what matters,” She explained, suddenly fascinated with the way condensation dripped from her glass of water, “If we’re trying, we’re already miles ahead of where we were for our last film.”

  Cade nodded slowly, seeming to process her words. “That sounds good to me. But for the record, I really do want to be friends. Even if it takes months, or years, I want us to be where we were before.”

  “Okay.”

  What she didn’t say, however, was that friendship was strictly off limits for her. Eighteen months ago, she swore off Cade Campbell. She wouldn’t let herself fall into his charming trap ever again. If he hurt her just after one night together, he could do a hell of a lot worse. She learned the first time that friendship was the steppingstone to her falling in love with him, and she wouldn’t be careless with her heart the second time around.

  She deserved more.

  Pleasantries, politeness, professionalism—all of that she could do.

  Which was why she put on a brave face and forced herself to smile all throughout the remainder of their dinner. Every question he asked about her life, or her upcoming show, or her excitement about the new role in Golden Phoenix had her cracking just a fraction more.

  There was a reason Cade Campbell was so famous—so popular in every corner of the internet.

  Sure, he was a talented actor, and incredibly handsome, but he had an aura about him that was unlike anyone she had ever met before. He was charming. Enchanting.

  Hypnotizing.

  Even as he discussed something as unremarkable as the diet plan he was starting in preparation for training, she couldn’t look away.

  It was a reminder of how easily she fell the first time around.

  If she wasn’t careful, she would easily fall again.

  Chapter 5

  Nearly two months after his spontaneous trip to New York, Cade still couldn’t get that conversation with Kellie out of his mind. He wasn’t sure what he expected going into the dinner—he knew his actions were responsible for creating the trouble in their friendship, but maybe he blindly believed that an apology would be enough to smooth things over.

  That Kellie would instantly understand his emotional struggles and inner turmoil when it came to expressing himself and dating. That maybe over plates of rice and noodles they’d realize that they could be friends, and maybe throw in a little something on the side.

  Of course, when he left the city, not twenty-four hours after arriving, he knew those thoughts were ridiculous. Naïve and ignorant, and frankly, selfishly stupid. He just found it difficult to accept that had he acted differently—had he at least just called her—they would be in a better position.

  Maybe she wouldn’t hate him as much as she did. Maybe they could one day have a fut
ure when Cade didn’t loathe himself for every mistake he had made. That someday they could be a couple that hugged and kissed and professed their love—that he could stare into those emerald green eyes and not kick himself for being inappropriate.

  It was all wishful thinking. He was lucky that Kellie even gave him the time of day—even gave him the opening to potentially renew their friendship. It was precisely why she was so perfect. Yet another reason why he had run away like a little boy, his tail between his legs and his head in the clouds.

  But in the two months since, life had to move on. Kellie had her short run on Broadway, which based on a few articles he read, had glowing reviews, and Cade had a few weeks of break before he began a grueling training regime. TJ Crocker was a well-known trainer in Hollywood and was frequently called in to train whichever actor had been suckered into playing an MMA fighter or a superhero or an Olympian.

  Unfortunately, this time around, Cade was that sucker. Cade was in good shape too—he worked out, he had muscles, and he liked how he looked—but it wasn’t enough. Not when for the next three films, half his scenes would feature him in skintight fabric that hugged and kissed every inch of his body. He was expected to eat and train like an athlete. It was literally what he was being paid for.

  Those four weeks of training for hours a day were some of the hardest in his life. He felt like TJ was his only companion, except his dutiful sneakers and the navy-blue floor mats of the private gym he showed up at every morning, at 8am sharp. For weeks, he wondered how athletes did it. He wondered how someone could exercise for a living, watching and counting every morsel of food that entered their mouths.

  For the first time in weeks, he found himself dreaming of something besides auburn hair.

  Now, pizza took center stage. Or potato chips. Or beer. God, he could kill for an ice-cold beer. Cade didn’t even have a bad diet—sure, he splurged every once in a while—but like most people that lived in LA, he found himself eating clean. But even this was a lot for him.