by RC Boldt
“What would you like to know?” Simone’s response is calm, tone casual, but I notice her spine stiffen just the slightest bit. As though she’s feeling defensive.
“Are you guys like true BFFs? Not like, you know…” He tosses a nervous glance at his parents before lowering his voice and finishing with, “Friends with benefits?”
I’m grateful for my position off to the far side of the room, beside the door. No one pays me any mind as my muscles tense, entire body going on high alert at Logan’s question, as if physically bracing for the impact of her answer.
Well done, little man. I’ve been wondering the same damn thing.
Simone snickers before schooling her features. She cocks her head to the side, brows raised, looking a bit stern. “I won’t ask where you heard that phrase, but no. We’re legit BFFs. He’s my very best friend.”
The stiffness in her posture is now gone, and warmth is evident in her expression at the mention of her friend. Her body language, combined with her response, has my spine relaxing, every muscle in my body loosening like a snake uncoiling itself.
The boy looks faintly disappointed. “Bummer. I really like him. He seems like a good guy for you.”
“You’re not the first person to say that, but he’s like a brother to me, so…” She puffs out her cheeks as if she’s about to vomit. “Don’t go there.”
His laughter fills the room, and hers joins it. I glance over at his parents, the father wrapping his arm tighter around his wife as they watch from a few feet away.
Just then, another quick knock sounds, and I already anticipate who I’ll find on the other side. When I open it a fraction, Rachel excuses herself, slipping past me and inside the room. “Simone? We’re five minutes behind.”
Simone stands, smoothing her outfit with a polite smile directed to Logan and his parents. “If you’ll excuse me for a quick moment.”
The boy’s parents jump to their feet. “We should get out of your hair. We’re holding you up and—”
Simone holds up a hand to stop them. “Please, have a seat. I just need a quick word with my manager.”
I remain standing beside the door. Simone grasps the handle and tips her head, gesturing for Rachel to step outside with her. The two women step just beyond the door, so they’re out of sight and earshot from her three guests inside.
When I move closer to Simone, I remind myself that it’s my job to stay close and ensure that I keep her safe. That I don’t have another motivation; that she hasn’t incited a sudden rush of protectiveness in me.
I may not know Simone well, but what I do know is she’s agitated as hell right now.
Simone’s hushed voice is more of a whispered hiss, but the irritation threaded in it is palpable. “I will do two encores if that’s what it takes for the fans to be cool with the wait. But I will not rush this time with him. This is his wish, Rachel. You’re the one who told me his prognosis isn’t good. If this were your kid or sibling, would you want me to rush through this with them?” Her intense expression is fierce, and it’s clear she means every word.
Respect for her rapidly floods to the surface as I witness this moment.
Rachel gives a reluctant nod. “I’m just trying to do my job.”
“I know,” Simone remarks calmly. “But there are exceptions, and it should be clear that he’s one of them.”
Rachel’s nod is curt. “I won’t come back…” She hesitates. “Until twenty past.”
Simone holds her gaze for a long beat before she finally offers a curt, “Thank you.”
Her manager spins around and walks away while Simone draws in a deep breath. She turns, her eyes snagging with mine, and for a moment, it’s as if she expects my judgment, like a sneer or something. When I merely offer a quick nod, her shoulders visibly relax, and she slips back inside to rejoin Logan.
Within ten minutes, it’s clear that the boy has finally run out of questions. He’s had Simone autograph a few things, and they’ve taken selfies on his cell phone. Then he asks her if she ever emails.
“I honestly don’t,” she admits. “What makes you ask?”
“Well, I wondered if we might be able to be email pals or something?”
His parents interject, clearly embarrassed. “Logan, she’s so busy—”
Simone offers them a reassuring smile. “No, it’s fine. Honestly.” Addressing Logan, she tips her head to the side in thought. “How about this? If you can keep that secret I told you for a week, then I’ll know I can trust you. So, give me your number, and I’ll text you once I know you’re the best secret keeper.” She winks. “Because I’m a much better texter.”
“Really?” His eyes are as wide as saucers.
“Totally.”
“Sweet!” He gives her the biggest smile. “Who do I give it to?”
Logan’s mother quickly jots it down on paper, and Simone asks me to hold on to it for her. With a severe warning in her eyes, she adds, “Don’t lose that.”
“I won’t, ma’am.”
She holds my gaze for a beat before requesting for escorts to show the family to their seats so they can watch the concert. I reach for my cell phone and shoot off a text to Rachel, who immediately responds that she has someone on the way.
Simone turns and gives Logan one final hug. “Hope you enjoy those VIP passes. Rachel’s cell is on the back of those lanyards, so feel free to let her know if you need anything.”
Logan wraps his arms around her waist once again and mumbles against her, “This was the best day of my life.”
“Aww, buddy.” She hugs him against her. “This is definitely one of mine too.”
Once he releases his hold, she steps forward to shake hands with his parents, but the mother rushes forward and hugs her. A myriad of emotions flickers across Simone’s face before the woman backs away with a teary-eyed thank you. The father shakes her hand, thanking her profusely.
I open the door to a waiting Rachel, who guides Logan and his family away to watch the show. Since Simone makes no move to exit the room, I close the door again and remain inside. “Do you need anythin’ else, ma’am?”
She eyes me before warning coolly, “Don’t lose that number.” All the warmth, all the happiness from mere moments ago have vanished.
“I won’t,” I promise. And I mean it.
She turns and exhales a long, slow breath. Shaking her limbs and tipping her head side to side, she looks in the mirror and then smooths her hands down her outfit. With a barely perceptible nod at her reflection, she turns around to face me.
“Let’s do this.”
Moments later, Simone is locked into a harness, headset microphone on, and raised up to the top of the arena’s ceiling where she’ll gradually descend for her entrance.
Now, as I watch her spin upside down with stunning gracefulness, descending in gradual increments while performing flawlessly, I look on with fresh eyes.
The image of the snobby, stuck-up pop star I’ve had in my mind has been chipped away by the woman I watch now. A woman with a heart of gold. One who actually gives a shit about something—or someone—other than herself.
She’s a woman who’ll run late—something I’ve quickly learned over these past few weeks that she never does—if it means a kid with cancer wants to hang out with her as his epic wish.
I’m not sure whether I’m happy about this discovery or pissed as hell because now it’s thrown me off-kilter. It’s way fucking easier to keep myself locked away and shut off from every woman out there.
Except now, I’m pretty sure Simone King has begun to sneak past my defenses.
12
Simone
Vancouver, British Columbia
Early June
“Get ready, people!” Matty shouts inside the hotel suite.
Nervous anticipation floods me, and I worry my bottom lip with my teeth. “I don’t think I can watch it.”
With an exasperated huff, my best friend grabs me by the wrist and drags me over to the large
couch. Pointing sternly at me, he commands, “Sit and stay put.”
Slowly, I lower myself to the leather cushion. But I can’t bring myself to look at the large flat-screen television in front of us. Instead, I focus on the view outside our windows.
People might hate the trailer, I worry silently. Though it’s not my first acting gig, since I’ve done a few cameos here and there, it is my first leading role in a movie. I guess the public’s overall reaction to the trailer’s official release will determine if I should can the prospect of acting for good.
So ensnared in my worries, I don’t immediately register the additional footsteps approaching where I sit with my hands clenched tightly in my lap. When I look over, my breath catches at seeing both Kane and Rachel nearing the couch. Rachel glances over at him, and there’s no mistaking the interest in her eyes. He doesn’t appear to notice, though.
Ever since we finished the Vegas shows, Kane’s been…I don’t know. He’s completely professional at all times and shows no interest in me in any way except from the I’m your personal head of security stance. But still, something’s slightly different in the way he reacts to me. At least, I think so. Then again, I don’t exactly have the most flawless track record when it comes to men.
It’s not that I think Kane’s lusting over me or anything—not even. I truly felt like the man hated me on sight when we first met. He was incredibly cold and closed off, and his eyes took on that vacant look unless they were narrowed on me. When he wore that expression, the steely stare of his, it led me to believe he was hard at work, filling his head with a cynical narrative about me being all the things the press alleges I am.
If I’m being honest, I hate it—hate the idea that Kane Windham might believe I possess any of those awful traits plastered in the headlines. I know I shouldn’t let it bother me, but it’s a fact. It eats away at me if those around me don’t like me based on something they read or if they don’t bother to pay attention to the person I actually am.
And at the moment, if anyone paid close attention, they’d notice a pathetic woman with shit luck at relationships and love who’s worrying herself to death over a man who’s a temporary fixture in her life.
Even if I were interested in him, I know how risky it would be. The odds are stacked against me. If I were to judge by my past alone, it’s pointless to even allow the slightest smidge of interest to edge its way into my mind. I guess it’s just the first time I’ve ever felt drawn to a man before who has zero apparent interest in me or in what my fame could do for him.
“All right, people.” Matty gestures for the two of them to take a seat on the couch, and of course, Rachel sits and peers up at Kane with a hopeful smile. When his face remains devoid of any expression and he instead chooses to stand near me by the arm of the couch, sliding his hands into the pockets of his slacks, my manager’s smile dims slightly.
A tiny sliver of relief skitters through me at his refusal to sit next to her, sending a sense of calmness flooding me simply because of his nearness, at him choosing to stick close to me.
I try to avert my eyes, but it’s a challenge to look away and not notice the way he’s rolled up the sleeves of his button-down shirt and cuffed them at the elbow. With his strong, muscled forearms bared, my eyes trace a path along the tendons and veins on display, and my stomach gives an odd little flip.
“It’s showtime!” Matty plops down beside me and presses the remote button to increase the volume. “Our little actress here wouldn’t let me see the trailer and wouldn’t set her eyes on it even when the director sent it over to her a while ago. So here we are.” My best friend announces this dramatically, including a long, dejected sigh. “Like true peasants. Watching it on a hotel TV, sitting on the couch while sipping bottled water.”
“You’re the one who should go into acting,” I mutter with a laugh.
“Shh!” Matty hisses. “Here it is!” He focuses on the screen as the movie trailer for The Last Love Letter begins.
Leaning forward, I brace my forearms on my legs and sit hunched over, scared shitless. Jon Hammel comes on the screen first; the scene where he first catches sight of me at the carnival and he tells his friends that I’m the girl he’s going to marry someday. My breath holds, trapped in my lungs, creating a burning sensation while I wait for my own face to come into view. As soon as it does, silence settles over the suite while the trailer shows the remainder of the select scenes from the wartime romance before finally flashing the dates it’ll be in theaters worldwide.
Once it’s finished, Matty whoops so suddenly, I jump, startled by the loud noise. “I have to watch it again!” He bounces on the couch as if he’s got ants in his pants. Whipping out his phone, he leans forward, fingers flying across the screen before I hear the telltale sound of the trailer starting up again.
I jet up from the couch with a hasty, “I can’t watch it again,” and my feet quickly carry me away to the large balcony doors overlooking the city on the opposite side of the suite’s common area.
“Look at our girl kill it!” Matty hoots. “Hell, yes!”
Bracing my palms against the smooth, cool glass, I let out a soundless sigh and stare down at the cars and people walking below. A fraction of me wishes I were one of those faceless individuals. Where part of my career didn’t ride on whether people thought I was too much of a slut, a homewrecker, or just a bitch in general, and gave my acting attempt at least a fighting chance. And, in turn, gave others involved in this movie a chance as well.
“You okay, Miss King?”
I stiffen at the question offered in a low, husky voice because I hadn’t heard him approach.
Without turning to face him, I keep my eyes locked on the sights below. “Fine, thanks.”
Kane grunts out a sound that could be partly dismissive, partly a laugh. If I knew him better, I might be able to decipher it. But I don’t.
Nor will I, I remind myself. He’s only here temporarily.
My gaze catches his reflection in the glass, and I allow myself to study him. He moves to stand beside me, mimicking my stance to peer out the window.
“The trailer looks good.”
A hint of a derisive smile tugs at the edges of my lips, and I tear my eyes away from studying his reflection. “You don’t have to say that, Mr. Windham.”
“God, this trailer is fucking golden! Rach, grab my phone and Instagram video me watching it. Wait! Let me grab some cheese puffs first. I’m gonna look captivated as I shove puffs into my mouth while my eyes are glued to Sim on the screen…”
Matty’s voice carries over to us, and I snicker, shaking my head at his antics.
“The guy’s definitely a champion of yours,” Kane muses.
Hints of both affection and sadness intertwine within my heart. “And I’m grateful for it.”
Because my best friend is the only person who champions my successes.
For a millisecond, I allow myself to be pathetic and mourn this fact. But only for a millisecond because anything beyond that entertains a host of maudlin thoughts that will drag me under, gnashing their sharp claws deep into my flesh and keeping a firm hold on me.
I refuse to allow it. Matty’s all I have, and for that, I’m eternally thankful.
The faint sound of vibration comes from Kane, and he reaches into his pocket to withdraw his cell phone. It’s only now that I turn, knowing his attention won’t be centered on me. However, the expression on his face, the discreet hint of softness I noticed in the reflection, vanishes entirely when he reads whatever is on the screen of his phone.
If I ever wondered what this man’s expression might have been like when he served in the military, this would be it. Tight. Closed off. Fierce. Hardened. Emotionless.
The latter bothers me for some odd reason. The yearning to rewind time and get that man back—the one who stood beside me with a gentler expression, who spoke to me as if he actually wanted to talk to me or might even care the slightest bit about my feelings and that’s why he came over
here—is so utterly overwhelming, it batters away at me until I give in.
I part my lips in a brave—or insanely stupid—attempt at offering an olive branch to ask him if he’s okay.
Sharp blue eyes find mine, and the intensity in the depths has my mouth snapping shut so quickly my teeth practically rattle.
“If you don’t need me for anythin’, I’ll be in my room.”
All I can do is nod and watch him stride to the end of the suite and slip inside his room, leaving those curt, concise words in his wake.
I can’t help but wonder who that text was from to make him shut down like that. Whoever it is, they’re on my shit list because they ripped away a moment that was nearly within my reach. An opportunity to catch more of a glimpse of the man behind the mask and be privy to the softer, private version of Kane.
Because now that I caught that rare glimpse, I’m like an addict jonesing for my next fix. I crave more.
I desperately need to see more of Kane Windham.
THE NEXT DAY
“It’s my day off, yet here I am, making you breakfast,” I complain, shooting a playful glare in Matty’s direction.
He lifts his shoulder in an overly casual shrug. “Think of it as a celebration of your trailer being, oh, I don’t know…only the most amazing trailer that’s broken the Internet with so many views and shares.” He makes a sour face. “My best friend is such a show-off.”
Leveling him with a squinty-eyed stare, I wave my spatula at him. “Watch it, buddy.”
He breaks out into a shit-eating grin and holds up both hands in surrender. “You know I’m just playin’.”
Quickly flipping a few slices already browning, I coat a few more slices of sourdough bread with the mixture and settle them on the large griddle. I wipe my hands clean just as my cell beeps, notifying me of another incoming text. I click on it and immediately smile before typing a response.
“Put the phone down, dammit!” Matty whines dramatically. “Pay attention to your favorite man.” He slumps into one of the barstools at the kitchen’s island.
