Well, shit, I thought to myself as I looked up at Hunter and saw that he was blushing. And what am I to make of that?
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
After meeting his parents, Hunter hooked his arm through mine as for the next hour or so we walked through the buzzing, tittering, restless crowd, the lot of them so blue with money, you could almost see their pedigree stamped on the cool demeanor of their Botoxed faces.
I’d never been around old money before, but now that I was, what I noticed most was how they held themselves—grave expressions, lifted chins, mannered smiles that suggested interest but never excitement.
Drips of conversation surrounded us as we moved this way and that, and what I overheard from a crowd I considered ridiculously privileged wasn’t what I expected. In fact, what struck me is that the good fortune they shared wasn’t met with any kind of gratitude. Instead, it sounded as if all of these people actually felt burdened by their money.
I overheard snippets about how difficult it was to find good help, the challenges of dealing with a proper renovation, or how disappointing their last vacation was because the estate they’d rented in France, Italy, and beyond didn’t quite live up to their expectations.
I actually heard one woman say, “We were promised the best of Provence, but what we got instead was Poorvance. I mean, can you even imagine it—an eighteen-bedroom estate situated on a hundred acres, but with only seven servants to tend to Roger and me? The lack of detail and attention to us practically destroyed our trip. Underscoring it all—our linens were only changed once per day, for goodness’ sake, which meant that naps didn’t matter at all to the staff. Yes, our chef had a Michelin star, which was our sole bright spot on the trip as he was quite good, but our extended stay was marred by too many unbearables, such as the ‘luxury’ soap provided to us in our private bathrooms, which was so harsh, it chafed my skin . . .”
“Everyone sounds so miserable,” I said quietly to Hunter as we moved in front of the orchestra, where people were dancing.
“Welcome to society,” he said. “A world in which few things are ever quite right.”
“I’m glad I have no part in it.”
“Same here,” he said, pulling me closer to him as the crowd tightened. “There’s a lot to be said for working your ass off and achieving something on your own, as opposed to just having everything handed to you. Think of how empty your life would be if you didn’t have something you were passionate about and willing to fight for.”
“That’s exactly where I am in my life,” I said. “I worked hard for six years at CAA before I finally got my promotion. And I know that if I’m going to become an associate agent, I’m going to have to focus and hustle for it. Do you feel the same about the second season of your show?”
“Absolutely,” he said. “Sure, the first season was a hit, but what if the second season is a flop? What happens to my career then? Because we are guaranteed nothing in this industry, Julia. Not a single thing.”
“Amen,” I said.
At that moment, the orchestra started to play “Moon River,” which made my heart skip a beat.
“Oh,” I said.
“What’s that?” Hunter asked.
“They’re playing my grandparents’ favorite song. Maybe my grandmother really is here tonight.”
“First the diamonds, now the song,” he said.
“Right?”
“Well, maybe she is here,” he said softly. And then, after glancing over at the orchestra, he offered his hand to me. “Dance with me, Julia?”
When he asked the question, I knew that I should have deflected, because the very idea of being in his arms rattled me to my core, especially during a party that had tried its best to challenge my opinion of him but ultimately had failed to do so. Despite Harper’s warnings about his past and our earlier clash with Immaculata, after spending time with him tonight—and especially after meeting Epifania and his parents—I sensed that the reputation that haunted him today probably was earned in his past.
And not a reflection of who he was now.
People do evolve and change. What I knew about Hunter is that from the moment we’d met, he’d been nothing short of a gentleman to me. Epifania had asked me to look at him as the person he was now. Hunter had asked me to do the same—to simply judge him solely on the person I saw in front of me today.
And so as taboo and as dangerous as it felt—and with my heart hammering against my chest—I decided to take another chance on him and take his hand. When his fingers closed around mine, he gave me a smile that looked a lot like relief, then he led me out onto the crowded dance floor, where he took me into his arms and our bodies became one as we started to waltz.
It had been four years since I’d danced with another man—not since Michael. So, as Hunter led me around the floor with my hand buried deep in the valley of his chest, I decided to let myself go—to get the hell out of my head—and to enjoy this dance as if my grandmother had sent it to me as a gift.
As tall and as muscular as he was, Hunter proved to be a magnificent dancer. He felt the music, he was smooth and quick on his feet, and because I also loved to dance, I found it easy to follow his lead, even when he swept me out at one point—my red dress fanning out around me as a laugh escaped my lips—then swirled me back into his arms with a wicked grin on his face.
Time and again, whenever I lifted my head to look up at Hunter, I found his gaze so blue and penetrating, the sheer intensity of it made me bow my head until I could muster the courage to look back into those eyes of his again. And each time I did, I could feel that he was as attracted to me as I was to him. It was that palpable, that real, which is why when we left the dance floor, shared another martini, and met a few of his friends—who were just as down-to-earth as he was—I knew by the end of the night what I needed to say to him, and what I had to do for us. What I didn’t know was if he’d see the sense in it and agree with me that it was the best way to go forward if we were going to work together.
* * *
When it was time to leave the party, Hunter called ahead for our car. Twenty minutes later, when the driver texted that he was waiting for us at the curbside, we took the stairs to the entryway, and left Tootie’s party behind.
With his hand pressed firmly against the small of my back, Hunter escorted me out of the building and into the night. When the driver saw us, he immediately stepped out of the limo and opened our door for us. As I swept my dress beneath me and slid inside, I was aware of the long line of limousines lined up behind us to pick up other partygoers, and then I felt a warm rush of evening air drift over my shoulders like a goodbye kiss to what mostly had been a wonderful evening. Particularly the second half of the evening, which had been especially lovely.
“Home?” Hunter asked me when he sat next to me as the driver closed his door. “Or would you—”
“Home would be perfect,” I said, before he could ask me if I wanted to have a drink at his place. Or whatever he had in mind. “Early day tomorrow.”
“I hear you,” he said. “We start shooting in two days, and my crew and I need to be prepared for it. Pepper moves in tomorrow, and God only knows how that will go.” He leaned toward the driver. “We’ll take Ms. Jacobs home, Stephen.”
“Of course, Mr. Steele.”
“About tomorrow,” I said to him. “As Pepper said to you herself, her mother is an alcoholic. Given what I’ve witnessed from her, she’s also an unreliable guardian. If Pepper doesn’t arrive on set on time tomorrow, call me at once and I’ll handle it. In fact, if for any reason you need me on set, don’t hesitate to call me. Because I suspect that more than her mother, I’m going to be the one who’s going to manage her this season. That’s not my job, but she’s my first major client, and I need to be there for her—and also for me—since I need to make sure that everything goes smoothly with this gig.”
“I understand,” he said. “You don’t want Pepper’s and her mother’s behavior to overshadow your new p
osition at CAA.”
“Exactly,” I admitted. “Pepper has it in her to make the Teens an even bigger hit than it is. But because she comes from a troubled family and is acting out because of it, I have a feeling there are going to be times when she’s going to be a handful on set, and someone is going to need to be there to get her in line when she needs to be spoken to. Since I highly doubt that will be her mother, you’re likely going to need to lean on me.”
“I’d love to lean on you,” he said.
“And that’s something else I wanted to talk about before the night is over,” I said.
“What’s that?”
And here we go . . .
“Hunter, would it be OK if you and I remained just friends?”
“Just friends?” he asked.
“You know, to take the pressure off things. I need to feel relaxed when I’m around you, and not so tightly wound up, because I freely admit that I’m attracted to you. But if we put some boundaries into place right now, we can move forward as professionals during a time in our lives when our careers are on fire and need to be tended to.”
“Julia, I’m perfectly capable of having a woman in my life and still doing my job,” he said.
“Then you’re superhuman, because while that might be true for you, I don’t think it’s true for me.”
“Can the idea of us being ‘just friends’ change at some point?”
“I don’t know. Maybe. If things go well, hopefully. But we only met yesterday, and there’s a solid a chance you won’t even be interested in me six months from now—or even a year. So, who knows? What I’m concerned about is the short term. Because it’s in the short term that I need to nail my job without anyone distracting me from making it in this city.”
“You see me as a distraction?”
I placed my hand on his knee and rested my head on his shoulder. “You’d be a serious distraction, Hunter. In the best of ways, but also in ways that I can’t put either of us through right now. Does that make sense? Do you see where I’m coming from? Tell me I’m not being ridiculous right now, because I don’t mean to be. After being with you tonight, it’s just that I know that I could seriously fall for you, which would be great if it didn’t mean that seeing you could sideline me at the very moment I need to be at my professional best.”
“So, what you’re saying is that you can’t focus on your work and our mutual attraction at once?”
I shrugged at him. “I don’t think I can.”
“Here’s what I feel,” he said, and then—before I even knew what was happening—he leaned in close and kissed me full on the lips. And for reasons that still confound me, I didn’t even try to resist him, because a massive part of me craved his lips crashing against mine. I felt his tongue slide into my mouth as my body ached for his hands to touch my breasts, but because he continued to be the gentleman he’d been from the start, he didn’t go there. Instead, he placed his hand around the back of my neck as he made certain that this kiss would be a kiss to remember. Which. That. Man. Accomplished. After several moments, we parted from one another, each of us breathless.
“My God,” I said.
“Right,” he said.
“What in the hell was that?”
“Something I sure as hell haven’t felt before,” he said with feeling, as he brushed the tips of his fingers along the side of my cheek. “Something that cut deep. Something I’m not sure I can explain, but that’s exactly how I’ve been feeling about you ever since we met, Julia. It’s this kind of weird, strange, amazing connection I can’t explain. Am I alone in this? Tell me I’m not. How did that kiss make you feel?”
“I don’t know,” I said. “I mean, there was this guy when I was fourteen who kind of took my breath away when he kissed me, but he was my first kiss, so I’m not sure if that even counts . . .”
“Julia, just so you know, your eyes are starting to cross again,” Hunter said.
“They are?”
“They totally are.”
Why does my body betray me in moments like this? Damn it!
“Sorry,” I said. “Weird habit.”
“So, now it’s a habit and not a pending sneeze?”
Totally called out . . .
“I, uh . . .”
“Whatever it is, it’s endearing,” he interrupted. He took my hand in his, then he cocked his head to the side. “Does being your friend really mean just being your friend?”
“I don’t know what that means . . .” I said, perplexed.
“Real friends have lunch together,” he said. “And dinner. They do things together—you know, like seeing a show or going to a movie. They often talk on the phone, they share their day, they meet up for a drink in one another’s apartment. Sometimes they even go for a walk in the park. Are we going to be friends like that, or are we going to be ‘fake friends,’ which I want no part of, because I don’t do fake.”
“Sometimes friends greet each other with a kiss . . .” I said.
“That they do.”
“I can’t do the kissing stuff right now with you, but the rest I can do.”
“Are you sure about that?”
“My heart says absolutely not, but my head says that if I want you to be part of my life, I have no choice.”
He grinned at me when I said that. “Listen to me for a moment, OK?”
“OK . . .”
“Julia, I understand where you’re coming from. You’ve waited six years for this promotion at CAA. It’s a coveted job. I get it. It’s bigger than big, and I don’t want to distract you from achieving your goals.”
“I appreciate that,” I said. “But, Hunter, what I really don’t want is for either of us to get hurt. Or to feel as if one of us is leading the other on. I want to be myself around you, with no strings attached. That’s what I want the most, because I never deal in deception. Personally or professionally.
“Then let’s be friends,” he said with a mischievous glint in his eyes.
“Friends friends?” I asked.
“Otherwise known as ‘just friends,’” he said.
“Just to clarify, you mean friends who don’t kiss, right?”
“I’m talking friends who try their best not to kiss . . .”
“Are we really up for that after the kiss we just shared?” I asked.
As our limousine continued to bullet toward my apartment, Hunter merely shrugged. “To be determined, I guess. But I will promise you this, Julia. As I’ve mentioned to you before, I don’t have a lot of friends, but those who are close to me know that I’m a damned good friend. And that’s what I plan to be to you.”
And how can I argue with that? I wondered as I studied his serious expression and he squeezed my hand harder. And what the hell have I gotten myself into in the process . . . ?
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
The next morning, my cell phone startled me awake at a little past five o’clock. I rolled over in bed, picked up the phone off my nightstand, and saw that it was Pepper calling. I answered immediately.
“Pepper, hi,” I said. “Are you OK? I know you’re moving into the loft today, but it’s so early, I worry. Is anything wrong?”
“Besides the usual?” she said with an edge to her voice. “You know, like finding my mother once again drunk as shit on the bathroom floor, where I’ve left her for the time being? Everything’s fine, Julia.”
Concerned, I sat up in bed.
“Do you need any help with her?” I asked.
“As in getting her off the floor? No—I do that all the time. I’ve got that shit down to a science.”
“Then why the call . . . ?”
“OK, so I’m totally going to go all confessional on you right now.”
“When I told you that I’m here for you as a friend, I meant what I said. What’s on your mind?”
“This is such bullshit,” she said in frustration.
“Whatever you need to say remains between you and me, Pepper.”
“I need that to
be true, Julia.”
“It’s absolutely true.”
“Fine. Great. I’ll trust you because the way I see it, I’ve got no other choice because I seriously need to confide in someone.” She took a deep breath and let it out all at once. “Ever since I landed a role on Teens, what’s been bothering me is who is going to watch over my mother when I’m not here.”
“Don’t you have a staff?” I asked.
“Before my mother started to drink heavily, we actually had a live-in staff. But because she wants to hide what she’s become, she kicked them all to the curb. All we have now is a staff that comes in three times a week to clean. Otherwise, the only people in this rambling apartment are me and my mother.”
“I didn’t know that,” I said.
“Well, that’s the case, and that’s why I’m starting to freak out. I didn’t want to say anything to anyone because I thought I could sort this shit out on my own, but now I think that I’m in way over my head. I don’t know what to do when it comes to making sure that she’s taken care of, so I’m calling to see if you have any ideas on how I can keep her safe—and frankly, alive—when I’ll be living somewhere else for the next three months.”
“Have you talked with your father?” I asked.
“Yes, I called him yesterday. And he told me that she’s not his problem anymore. He suggested that I find a way to get her into rehab. I reminded him that I’m a fourteen-year-old girl, not a thirty-year-old woman—and that I don’t even know how to go about getting her into rehab, if she’d even be willing to go. What I do know is that my mother is motivated by money. So? I asked my father if he’d wave a few million dollars in front of her face to get her into rehab. Maybe five million up front, then five million once she’d successfully cleaned her ass up. And do you know what he said to me?”
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