323 8374949: Anything I should know about? –V
I typed back, Victor?
323 8374949: . . . I asked you a question.
Me: And I can’t answer that if I don’t know who I’m answering.
3238374949: There’s a reason I don’t have conversations via text.
I smiled, shaking my head. Definitely Victor. I saved his number under V since that was what he kept sending me messages under.
Me: I’ve been busy.
V: Clearly.
Me: We can talk tomorrow.
V: Because you’re planning to stay busy tonight?
I held my phone in my hands as I thought of a response for that. Did he mean busy with Gabe? I was sure that’s what he meant. I pictured him sitting at home looking all upset over that possibility and nearly laughed.
Me: Depends on who’s keeping me busy.
V: . . . . .
Me: What the hell does “. . . . .” mean?
V: It means I don’t know how to answer that.
Me: Which means you’re thinking you should be the one keeping me busy?
When he didn’t respond for a couple beats and I didn’t see the little cloud with dots that said he was responding, I put the phone on my lap and went back to looking around at the stars, so many of which I’d dressed. I said hi and caught up with some of them as they walked by and introduced them to Deborah, who was the ultimate fan, which I loved. The magic was still shiny in her eyes. Not that it wasn’t in mine. It was hard not to be affected by the atmosphere at an event like this, no matter how many times you’d been.
My phone buzzed again, and I jolted a little, turning it over.
V: Stop tempting me.
I smiled.
Me: I didn’t realize you were tempted. You seem to be practicing control rather well.
V: Control? You’re succeeding in breaking me down.
Me: Good ;-)
V: Are you wearing anything under that dress?
The words made me shiver. I closed my eyes momentarily, picturing his deep-hazel eyes looking into mine as he said those words.
Me: Are you trying to sext with me? I’m sober. I don’t sober sext.
V: I don’t sext at all. I’d much rather spend my energy fucking.
I swallowed and took a sip of water, suddenly feeling very thirsty, and very hot.
“Hey, did you see Macie?” Gabe asked. I jumped at the sound of his voice and the mention of his current film director, and hid my phone again. He gave me a questioning look, but didn’t comment. Macie was his current producer. “She said she’s gotten good comments about us being together at the premiere the other day.”
“Good. That’s what I’m here for,” I said, setting my glass of water back down.
“Thanks for doing this,” he said, reaching for my hand over the table.
Trying to play the part, I smiled, though it was small, sad, and fleeting. My phone vibrated on my lap again, but I ignored it. I would have to ignore it for the rest of the night if I was going to stay sane, then I would read all the texts and kick Victor’s ass for thinking it was a smart idea to send them in the first place. If this was how he wanted to get a response from me, I was already starting to miss un-communicative Victor.
Gabe’s hand squeezed mine tightly and snapped me out of my thoughts. I glanced up at him and realized we were about to be the butt of the joke the host was telling.
“I mean, if a divorce is how I’m going to get my wife to screw me again, I’m going to go file tomorrow,” the host said. The crowd made all sorts of sounds and shook their heads. I was sure the camera was zooming in on Gabe’s and my faces, so I fake-smiled and fake-laughed, when all I really wanted to do was hide my face inside Gabe’s jacket. The evening continued on, champagne was poured, beer and wine were served. I touched nothing. Gabe touched my hand, my thigh. I wanted to punch his perfect veneers.
“Please stop touching me,” I said through my teeth.
“I’m not drinking tonight, so my nerves are shot. I need something to touch so I don’t lose it,” he said with a laugh as he leaned into me.
“I swear to God, Gabriel, if you don’t stop, I will lose it. I will go to the bathroom and pull a Britney in the middle of your acceptance speech.”
He reared back a little, but left his hand on top of the fist I’d made with mine. “You really think I’ll win?”
I sighed, shaking my head, my lips curling into a small, albeit real smile. “I know you will.”
The first category was announced and we had to clap for the nominees and the winner. Again and again it continued until it was Best Performance by an Actor in a Supporting Role. I held my breath as Hannah, the presenting actress, read each nominee’s name. Gabe was sitting beside me, looking like he wasn’t fazed by any of it, but I knew he was freaking out. I was freaking the hell out.
“Oh my word,” his mom said beside me when Gabe’s name was read. I smiled, glancing at her with an I know smile on my face.
“The Golden Globe goes to . . .” talk about dramatic pause as she opened the envelope. I leaned forward in my seat. Gabe leaned forward in his seat. Everybody in our table was seemingly holding their breath. “Gabriel Lane in The Man Who Could Not Speak.”
There was no way to contain my happiness for him. There was no way to mask the pride I felt. Everybody in our table stood as we clapped for him, and as he stood he turned to me, grabbed my face with both hands, and kissed me. He kissed me the way he kissed me on our wedding day. My heart did a little jump, but as he let go of my face and turned to kiss his mother on the cheek, and hug his costars, I remembered where we stood, and I wouldn’t waver. Still, it was his moment. It felt like our moment. Like that gold statue should have shared custody. I’d been there for him when he filmed that movie. I’d been the one holding his head out of the toilet and cleaning up his mess. I’d been the one putting up with his rage the nights he came home when takes hadn’t gone the way he’d wanted. I’d been the one who’d agreed to help fund the film when they’d thought they wouldn’t be able to finish it.
Of course nobody would know any of that. It was our secret and ours alone, and I was okay with that. I’d never been in our relationship for the limelight.
He walked to the stage and smiled as everybody cheered, and he started thanking people. He thanked me for being there for him, and believing in the film, his mother for everything, yadda yadda yadda. The longer I watched him, the less I wanted to be there. It was as if the reel became focused on the screen in my head and suddenly I saw the full, clear picture. I realized that he was an actor, and I was just another observer in his life. When it hit me, I reached into my purse and took out my phone. The last text message Victor had sent said to meet him in his office at seven o’clock sharp. I frowned, but put my phone away and willed for the rest of the show to be over. When it was, Gabriel was as busy as I knew he would be.
“Are you sure you want to skip the after-party?” he asked before being escorted away for the third time.
“Positive. Thanks for the invite, though.”
He walked toward me and leaned his face in. I thought he was going to kiss me again, but instead his lips pressed against my cheek.
“Thank you for coming. I’m really glad I was able to share that with you.”
I nodded and swallowed, holding back the tears that welled in my eyes. This felt like goodbye. A real one. Like it was the last time we would share something like this. I thought of the good memories we’d shared, and a part of me felt like I didn’t want to let go. It was hard, being with him like this, acting like he cared and believing once he actually had. I’d mourned our separation. I didn’t want to mourn the loss again. I wanted to move on. I wanted to get it over with. But having him in front of me—this man I genuinely cared for—seeing him win so big . . . I remembered the conversations we’d had about it because I’d always believed he would be big. It felt like too much for me. And that’s why when he wrapped his arms around me, I let myself feel
the power in his hug. I let myself feel that he, too, was sad about us not working.
“I wish things would have been different,” he whispered into my hair.
“Me too,” I said, and stepped back to let go. I gave him one last smile before walking to where Marcus waited for me, leaving the glitz and glamour behind. And I would mourn this too. Not the lights and cameras, but the role of supporter, a role I felt I had done a fucking incredible job at.
“Home, right?” Marcus said once we got into the Escalade. I nodded, but suddenly hearing the word home and associating it with the life I once I had with Gabriel pained me, and I knew I needed to get out of there.
IT WAS STILL dark out when I got to the office, and Victor had to buzz me in. There weren’t any paparazzi around this time, which was a plus, but Marcus stayed waited by the car in case they’d been tipped off and showed up. I assumed nobody would be in the office at that ungodly hour, unless my dad was there. On court days he also met people pretty early. During the elevator ride up, I fixed my messy hair and used the mirrored wall to check my reflection. When the elevator doors opened, my hands froze mid-finger comb as my gaze caught Victor waiting for me with his arms crossed. He wasn’t wearing a suit like I expected. Instead he wore a pair of grey sweatpants, running shoes, and a white T-shirt that showed me just enough of his defined body to make my breath stop short. His hair was brushed back, but wet, and the expression on his face gave me a hint of just how much anger he was containing.
“Hi,” I whispered as his eyes raked down my body slowly, sensually just once before returning to my face, and he gestured for me to step out of the elevator.
I blinked as I did so and tried not to visibly show how affected I was. I walked forward and followed him as he started down the hall. The light was off, but the light from the lobby illuminated it just enough. We stepped into the same conference room we’d met in before and he closed the door behind us. The blinds were drawn and the lights were off, so we were in the dark. A flutter of nervousness made its way through me.
“Are you going to turn the lights on?” I asked.
“Did you have a good time last night?” he asked, his voice low and close behind me.
I was afraid to turn around. I was afraid to move. Instead, I put my hands forward and held on to the top of the chair in front of me.
“I can explain that,” I said, my voice as firm as my grip on the chair.
I blinked, letting my eyes adjust to the light of the projector in front of us as it switched on, giving the room a dim, orange glow. I turned around to face Victor, who was leaning against the wall across from me with his arms crossed. My eyes dropped to his defined arms and I felt my heart stumble on its own beats. I’d seen him in swimming trunks the other day, but he’d been wearing a wetsuit shirt, and while it showcased the toned ridges and definition I was already sure he had, I hadn’t seen him completely naked. Now all I could do was stand there and wonder.
My imagination conjured images of myself clawing off that cotton shirt and tossing it aside as I went down on him. I shook my head and blinked rapidly to rid myself of my thoughts. What was it about being near this guy that made me so needy for him? I’d just been at a stupid award show with my hot ex, yet it was this man I lusted after. Always. It had always been that way. From the moment I met him, I’d known I’d wanted him. And now, standing in front of me with that darkened gaze trained on me—as if he could see the dirty film in my head that he was about to star in—I wanted him again, and again, but unlike the previous time we’d been together, I felt fragile. Like I could sense that I would get hurt. Maybe it was the sensitive state I was in. Maybe it was because when I spent time with him at my dad’s beach house he was so different, so attentive, and I realized that underneath all that pissed-off exterior I knew there was a caring man, one who would comfort me even when I didn’t want to be comforted. One that knew when to hold my hand and just shut up. I sighed.
“Nicole,” he said, closing his eyes briefly and breathing out as if he was doing some kind of yoga meditation. “I am this close,” he said, opening his eyes and demonstrating an inch of space with his long fingers. Long and skilled fingers. I blinked again. He exhaled again, this time pushing himself off the wall and walking toward me until he was inches away from me and I had to tilt my head to look at his face.
“I’m this close to losing my job, my license, and everything I’ve worked so fucking hard for,” he said, his voice rough and low, and way too close to my mouth.
“Because you want me,” I said, rather than asked.
“Because you keep looking at me like you want me,” he said.
I pushed his chest with both hands, and he took a step back.
“You have to be the most self-assured person on planet Earth. You’re the one calling meetings at crazy hours.”
“And you’re the one who’s coming, no questions asked.”
“That’s how I usually like to come. No questions asked,” I said with a smirk. He took in a deep breath, let it out slowly, heavily, loudly.
“Fine. Yes, I want you,” he said.
His admission shocked me into silence. We both looked at each other, stared at each other, and I was sure my heart was bound to leap out of my throat and into his if he didn’t break the silence. He didn’t, so I finally swallowed and spoke.
“Why did you need to see me?” I whispered.
With the way he still looked at me, I was starting to feel really hot, like lava pent-up in a volcano dormant for too long, and I was afraid that at any minute this thing between us would make me completely explode. God knew it had been a while. For me, at least.
“What were you doing at the award show?” he asked. I could tell he was practicing restraint in keeping his voice reserved, and the thought of the way he held his ground and practiced control made me tremble.
“He asked me to go and I agreed,” I said.
“That wasn’t part of the agreement,” he growled.
“I know,” I said, my voice low as I tore my eyes from his and looked at the ground between us. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you. I thought you would try to talk me out of it.”
“I would have.”
“I know.” My eyes snapped to his. “Why does it bother you so much?”
His eyes narrowed. “Because it does. And I want you out of that fucking house.”
“Really? Out of my house?” My eyebrows rose at his tone. I’d already decided to get out of there, but having him demand it pissed me off. “And where would you suggest I go, Mr. Know-It-All?”
“Anywhere. Anywhere is better than living under the same roof as him. If I wasn’t your attorney, which I swear to Christ I’m close to being just that, I’d haul your ass out of there and make you move into my house temporarily.”
“Oh, temporarily,” I said, narrowing my eyes as I took a slight step forward. “Until you got sick of me and moved on to someone new? Isn’t that your MO?”
“My MO?” he asked. His voice suddenly dropped to a quiet seethe that made my heart drop into my stomach. “I’m not the one who fucks people and then goes off and gets engaged a few weeks later.”
Oh my God. I wanted to strangle him. For a second I thought I could try, but then I would have to hop on a chair so we could be at eye level and that would tip him off. I took a breath and counted to five, then took another deep breath for good measure.
“In case you forgot our conversation the other day, you were the only one I did that with.”
“That doesn’t make me feel any better, Nicole.”
“What does it make you feel?” I asked, tilting my face in challenge. “We had sex. Great sex. You broke it off, and I went and married another guy, one who wanted something more with me. Something more than just fucking me. Fucking sue me.”
“I just might.”
I laughed. “Oh. This is good. On what grounds?”
“Obliterating my fucking ego. Temporary insanity. Sucker punching my . . . my . . .”
&n
bsp; “Your heart?” I asked in a whisper, and waited on bated breath for his response.
Damn him for thawing the shell I’d managed to start rebuilding around my heart with three simple, stupid incomplete sentences. His eyes widened slightly, as though he’d never even considered his heart in this, and I almost smiled. I’d never seen him look puzzled. Or unsure. It was endearing.
“Maybe,” he said, frowning.
Sort of endearing.
“I don’t think you realize how much I stand to lose here, Nicole. You keep making these jokes and—” I inched closer, pressing my chest against his. He sucked in a breath. “And doing this.”
He stepped back again and searched my face. I hated it when he looked at me that way, like he was rummaging around in my thoughts, kicking shit around until he found something he could use against me. He licked his bottom lip, and I did the same, forcing his gaze to drop to my own lips.
“You can keep tempting me, but it won’t work. Not after I saw you acting like everything was fine in paradise. Not after I saw you making out with your supposed soon to be ex-husband,” he said.
“What do you want, Victor? You’re like that goddamn Katy Perry song. I never know what I’m going to get with you. We talk, we argue, we fuck, and then you dismiss me because you have a client to tend to.”
He shot me a glare. “Don’t bring that up anymore. How the fuck was I supposed to know you wanted more? You were the one trashing marriage, bashing relationships left and right, saying you didn’t want anything long-term.”
“I said those things because I thought that’s what you wanted to hear.”
“What I wanted to hear? What happened to telling the goddamn truth? If it was a relationship you wanted, you should’ve said so.”
“And you would have given that to me? You would have taken things to another level? Last I remembered you were married to this job.”
He stepped forward so quickly, I almost lost my balance, but he held my hip to keep me from stumbling.
Elastic Hearts (Hearts #3) Page 10
