by Mia Sosa
While I try to absorb the force of the Mack truck that just hit me, Tori turns to Ashley, her hands fluttering with excitement. “If you two are a couple, you won’t have to deal with your nosy relatives.” Turning to me, her eyes bright and hopeful, she says, “And you won’t have to deal with Lydia, either.”
Carter stares at her, an incredulous expression on his face. “I’m not sure that’s going to solve anything. It might lead to more questions.” His throat snags. “And what are you envisioning? That they’d be kissing each other in front of everyone?” He shudders. “Or that they lie to our parents? Seems like a lot of acting just to get out of a few annoying conversations.”
Tori glances at the ceiling and shakes her head. “You’re overthinking this, Carter. People who date don’t have to engage in public displays of affection. They’re just spending time together. Haven’t you ever asked someone to join you at an event so you could turn to them if things got awkward or uncomfortable?”
Carter nods. “Well, sure, but—”
“See? That’s all I’m talking about here.” She peers at Ashley. “What do you think? Would you stay the entire weekend if Julian was there as your plus one? And before you answer, chew on this. From what I hear, your parents love Julian, so there’d be no reason to lie to them.”
Ashley—the traitor—makes a show of rubbing her chin and considering it. “It’s not a terrible idea.” She flicks her gaze my way. “I think I’d be able to endure the weekend if Julian were there to shield me from the pettiness.”
Those damn irresistible eyes of hers sparkle with amusement. The urge to kiss away her smirk is strong. So fucking strong. “I’m flattered.”
She pouts as though she’s mimicking me. “Oh, c’mon, Julian. I adore you as a person, not just as my boyfriend-for-hire. It’s a perfect solution. And think about this. You could even say with a straight face that we’re living together. Besides, would pretending to be my boyfriend for four days and three nights be that much of an imposition?”
Yes. Yes, it would. How am I supposed to battle my attraction to her if we’re pretending to date? I’ve already screwed myself by inviting her into my home. This would multiply the risk factor by thousands.
Tori takes up the argument. “It’s my wedding, Julian. And I want her there for the duration. Do it to keep this bride happy. Please.”
Dammit. That’s guilt-tripping at its finest. With Tori’s flair for theatrics, I might have to sign her as a client, too. My gaze shoots to Carter for help.
He shrugs and shakes his head. “I have three words. Tori. Bride. Wedding. What would you do if you were in my shoes?”
Tori makes sickeningly sweet kissy faces at him. “No me jodas, mi amor.”
Carter thrusts out his hand in her direction, as if to say, There’s exhibit A. “See there? She tells me not to fuck with her while making goo-goo eyes at me. I know where my bread is sliced, toasted, and buttered. So it’s good to meet you, future brother-in-law.”
“Pretend future brother-in-law,” I say, although I feel silly for clarifying that obvious point.
Tori claps her hands. “So you’ll do it?”
I study Ashley, her hopeful expression slowly making me warm to the idea. “This is what you want? It’ll make it easier for you to be there?”
She nods. “It’ll make it easier for me not to drop kick Lydia into the next town, at least.” I don’t respond, so she continues, her hands opening and closing into fists at her sides. “All right, seriously, I just don’t want to be the center of anyone’s attention. This is Carter and Tori’s time to shine. With you there, I think my family will curb their condescending ways, and I’ll be less anxious about the whole ordeal.”
“Okay, I’ll do it. Just for the weekend.”
But Ashley’s eyes go wide. “Oh, wait a minute. Would Sooyin be upset? Would she expect you to take her, I mean?”
I haven’t thought about Sooyin since she came over to explain the finer points of negotiating film deals and Ashley conveniently assumed I was interested in her. “We’re not at that point. She wouldn’t care.” In fact, she wouldn’t give a rat’s ass if I pretended to be Ashley’s boyfriend.
Ashley shimmies. “It’ll be fun, Julian.”
No, no it won’t be. But I’ll deal. Because that’s what I do.
Carter opens the pantry door and peers inside. “Got any bagels or pastries or something?”
“He does not,” Ashley says behind him. She shifts him to the side and pulls out a paper bag. “But I have coffee cake muffins.”
She announces this like a villain who’s finally watching her evil plan come to fruition.
I set out glasses and dishes while Ashley separates the muffins from their liners. Then she and I stand at the sink together, working seamlessly to rinse a bunch of fruits to add some nutrition to this makeshift breakfast.
“Think quick!” she says.
But I’m too slow to catch the red grape that bounces off my nose. “Let’s try that again.”
She pitches another grape, and I easily catch it with my mouth.
“You’re a man of many talents, Mr. Hart.”
I wink at her. “You don’t know the half, Ms. Williamson.”
Carter clears his throat. “Are you going to share the breakfast with us now?”
Ash and I smile at each other and push the serving plates closer to our guests. Our guests. Yeah, I like the sound of that. Dammit. I need an intervention, obviously.
We stand behind the granite counter while Tori and Carter sit on stools opposite us. As we eat, they fill us in on the details of their faux family reunion. The best news? Tori’s mother and sister, who co-own a Puerto Rican restaurant, will be treating us to a welcome dinner. I’d gnaw off my right hand for properly prepared fried plantains. The mushy versions at the deli salad bar near my office are an abomination.
“My mother doesn’t get the point of reunions, so she’s confused,” Tori explains. “In our family, everyone attends an event, no matter how small. A few of my second cousins even attended my kindergarten graduation. She doesn’t understand why Carter’s relatives need to be tricked into coming.”
“Well, it’s not just about being tricked into coming,” Carter says as he brushes crumbs off his shirt.
My instinct is to grab the dust pan and clean up after him, but years of home training have taught me that you never clean up while guests are eating. It’s fucking hard, though. Carter attacks his muffin like he learned how to eat only recently—like yesterday, in fact.
Ashley puts a hand on mine, mouthing, “We’ll take care of it later.”
Tori watches us with interest, so I pretend to be disinterested. But shit, that felt familiar, and not just in a we’re roommates way.
“We also need to make sure they shut their big traps,” Carter continues. “My family doesn’t know how to be discreet about anything.”
Tori slaps his hand away when he tries to swipe a grape off her plate. “I’m excited to see everyone.” She leans over and drops her head on Carter’s shoulder. “And to marry this man.”
He turns his head and plants a soft kiss on her forehead. I’m happy for him. He’s found “the one” a lot sooner than I imagined he would.
We talk for several more minutes, and then Tori rises from her stool.
To Carter, she says, “Let’s go, hot stuff. My class starts at eleven.” Then she pulls out a pair of huge sunglasses and a baseball cap, mainstays of her life now that she’s in the public eye. Carter, the goofball, does nothing more than try to pat down his cowlick.
He polishes off the muffin as he stands.
“Carter said you’re understaffed. Hire anyone yet?” I ask Tori.
“Banking on getting my girl Eva to relocate. I’ll work on her during”—she makes air quotes—“ ‘the reunion.’ I can’t wait—”
“Hey, Tor. You said we had to go.”
Still facing me, Tori throws up a hand at him. “I can’t wait to see her.”
&nb
sp; Then, with a wink to each other, Tori and Ashley hug before Carter pulls Tori out of the unit.
After closing the door, I lean against it and zone in on Ashley, who’s filling the dishwasher—and whistling.
When she’s done, she turns to me with a half smile. “So, you ready to practice?”
I shake my head at her, a sense of ensuing danger prickling my skin. “Practice what?”
“Pretending to be my boyfriend.”
Damn. I’m noping out of this conversation. Right now. “We can wing it, Ash. I’m going to—”
“But wouldn’t it be fun to cram for the final exam?” she asks, wagging her eyebrows.
“Ash,” I say, drawing her name out in a warning. “Stop messing around already.”
Her lips quirk up at the corners. “Okay, okay.”
My phone buzzes on the dining table. I walk over and peek at it with one eye, muttering that it better not be related to work.
Quinn’s name and image pop up, as if I’ve conjured him from my nightmares. I answer the call with fake enthusiasm. “David, what’s up?”
Ashley picks up a magazine on the coffee table and drops onto the sofa. I watch her flip through the pages as I listen to my boss.
“Julian, I know it’s the weekend, but I’d like your help.”
“What do you need?”
“A little birdie tells me Brielle Loughlin isn’t happy with KMB.” Quinn says this in a stage whisper.
He means Kantis, Moor, and Belle, one of the leading agencies out here. And Brielle’s a television award circuit darling. No film roles on her résumé yet, but it’s only a matter of time. I know where this is going before he says anything else. Tonight, the Television Critics’ Association hosts its annual awards ceremony at the Beverly Hilton. Brielle will undoubtedly be there. Which means Quinn undoubtedly wants me there, too.
“You’d like me to attend the TCA Awards and lay the groundwork?”
He chuckles. “Yes, exactly. Don’t even pitch her a soft sell. Just get on her radar. I’d do it myself, but I’ve got a lot going on, so . . .”
Bullshit. He’d never do this himself. Poaching clients is frowned upon in the industry, and David doesn’t want to sully his own reputation by engaging in any activities that might have even a whiff of impropriety. So he asks me to do it. A soft sell I’d say no to. But speaking with an actor in the industry, just so there’s a face she can associate with our agency, I have no problem doing. “Tickets?”
“All electronic this year. I’ve got two. I’ll forward the email.”
“Sure, I’ll take care of it.”
“I knew you would.” He doesn’t say this as if he appreciates my willingness to do his bidding. Rather, he says it matter-of-factly, as if saying no never was an option.
“Later, David.”
Ashley sets the magazine on her lap. “Work beckons?”
“Unfortunately, yes.”
I swipe at my phone to refresh my email. As promised, Quinn’s forwarded the electronic tickets to the awards event.
Two tickets.
I should ask her to join me. An event outside the house doesn’t have nearly as many risks as hanging out together at home. Besides, I enjoy her company. Her running commentary on the evening’s events would be more entertaining than the awards ceremony. “What are you doing tonight?”
She grins, her eyes wide in anticipation because she overheard my end of the conversation with Quinn. “No plans. Why?”
“Want to rub shoulders with a few celebrities?”
She gives me a filled-to-capacity smile that makes my chest ache. “Hell yes.”
That settles it, then. We’re getting out of our painfully close quarters and hanging out in public, and I’m well aware that’s the safest place for us these days.
Chapter Thirteen
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 t
he 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.”
