Darryl scoffed, pushing his oversized glasses higher on the bridge of his nose. “In exchange for what?”
“In exchange for me not having some old friends of mine who owe me some really big favors pay you a visit.”
“I’m not doing anything,” he said, his voice firm. I knew he was calling my bluff. I knew he was probably thinking that a clean-cut guy like me was ruthless in the courtroom, but the courtroom and real life were two completely separate things. I appreciated that seed of doubt. I kept calm until he started screaming.
“Nicole is nothing. Nobody cares about her. Fuck you. You’re just mad because she’s still hung up on her ex. And guess what? She will be forever because you’re not a multi-million-dollar earning actor,” he said, his face turning red. “And if you want juicy pictures, I can show you the ones of her and her new boyfriend. Those make your balcony pictures look like a walk in the fucking park.”
I breathed one more time, but the burn of fire inside me was stronger than the breaths I took. Finally, I pitched the ball, the way I did when I played baseball with the guys the seldom times we were all free. I pitched it so that it hit the mirror beside him and shattered it, the pieces flinging off it and going in every direction. One nipped me in the side of my face. I felt the sting, but not enough to care.
“You’re a fucking lunatic,” he screamed, holding on to his head. “Security!”
I stood, arms crossed, waiting for the security I knew wouldn’t come, as he kicked the glass on the floor, his eyes wild, glasses falling, head turning in every which direction as if he didn’t know what to do with himself. Finally, his eyes landed on the ball. He gaped at it as he lifted it out of the sink.
“Where the hell—?” He looked up at me. “Is this from my house? You were in my house?” he yelled.
“I would never step foot in your personal property,” I answered calmly, feeling much better after my outburst. I hadn’t. I hadn’t been to his house or made the call for the guys to go there. I’d been very calculated with my orders and made sure nothing could be traced back to me.
“Who the hell do you think you are?” he demanded. I smirked. I’d been waiting for that question.
“You’re about to find out,” I replied, and turned around to walk out.
I unlocked the door and looked over my shoulder to where he was still standing with the Babe Ruth baseball in his hand. “My professional opinion? Don’t fuck with me anymore.”
I walked out of there, thanked Sergio and Lazaro who was now also standing there.
“Sorry about the mess, guys. The man in there went crazy over the empty soap container,” I said. Both of them looked at each other before looking at me and shrugging. I handed Sergio two wads of bills. “Please give this to Ignazio. That should cover it. The rest is for you guys.”
“It’s the wine, dawg. That makes these old men go crazy,” Sergio said with a tsk. I smiled as I walked away. I went back to where Jessica was sitting and she gasped.
“Holy cow. What happened to your face?”
I brought my hand up and felt liquid covering my left cheek. I looked at my hand, now wet with blood.
“I think we’re going to have to cut this date short.”
She nodded, eyes wide. “Of course. Let’s go. You probably need stitches.”
As soon as we stepped outside, there were photographers everywhere. What wasn’t supposed to be a money shot, became one. Me dating a different girl wasn’t news anymore. It was me dating a different girl and the blood all over my face. I doubted they’d put them up anywhere. I wasn’t a celebrity.
“I hope they don’t think I did that,” Jessica said with a nervous laugh as we climbed into the car. “Wait. Let me drive.”
I gave her a side-eyed glare. “Are you out of your . . .? You think I would let you drive my car? I’m dropping you off at home.”
She protested the entire way there, saying I was an idiot—an asshole—that she didn’t understand why I couldn’t just be like a normal human being and let her take me to the hospital. By the time I parked outside her house, I had a migraine.
“Jess, I’ve had a really rough night, so I hope you don’t take this the wrong way, but, get the fuck out of my car.”
“What about your office party? Aren’t we supposed to be taking pictures that make you look like you’ve found a girlfriend?”
I groaned. She was right. “Meet me there please. Just . . . meet me there. I’ll pay you. I’ll send a celebrity to your salon. I don’t care. Just meet me there in two hours.”
I drove to the hospital, got three stitches on my face, and was parked outside the office building a little past nine o’clock. My heart lurched at the familiar white car parked outside the office building. Would she be here?
BY THE TIME Victor walked in, looking like every sin I was ready to commit, in a black suit and navy tie, I was on my third glass of champagne. He came solo. I smiled at that, but my smile quickly faded when I saw the bandage on the side of his face. I gravitated toward him as if on autopilot, only stopping when I remembered I was supposed to keep my distance. I was furious with myself, with my dad, with the media, with Victor. I’d gone from sad and understanding to angry and bewildered, like a rabid dog on a leash wanting to attack the postmaster. I hated it. Hated him for making me yearn for him this badly. Hated me for putting myself in this situation. Hated the stupid laws in place that prevented us from being together.
“I got you an hors d’oeuvre,” Brent said, walking back to me. He also looked great in a suit and tie, opposed to the running shorts I usually saw him in, but he wasn’t Victor. I’d invited him as my date because sadly I had nobody else to bring, unless I brought Marcus and everybody knew he was my security detail. He wouldn’t really pass as my sudden boyfriend. Well, with my track record, he might, but that would have been awkward for both of us. Brent stuck out the tomato and mozzarella skewer in his hand and brought it up to my mouth for me to take a bite. I complied and thanked him.
When I looked back up, Victor was looking right at me and I felt the air swoosh out of my lungs. I tried to look away, but I was a prisoner to his gaze, and couldn’t until I felt Brent’s finger on the side of my mouth and was jolted out of the moment. My eyes snapped back to Brent.
“You got some olive oil here,” he said, wiping it off.
I couldn’t formulate words as I watched Victor move toward us, his jaw clenched, eyes narrowed. My heart dipped into my stomach, and when he stood right in front of me, I could only swallow it all down and tilt my head to look at him.
“Hi. Congratulations,” I said.
“Thank you.” He paused, looking at Brent. “I don’t think we’ve met. I’m Victor Reuben. Nicole’s attorney.” The way he said it, almost as if he loathed the introduction, made my heart gallop.
“Brent Thomas. Nice to meet you.”
They shook hands, and all I could do was look at Victor’s face and wonder what happened.
“I need to speak to you before you leave,” Victor said to me, lowering his voice. “Alone. In my office.”
I was sure everybody in the room could see through us, hear the promise in his statement, feel the tension we created. His eyes raked up and down my body slowly, without a care in the world, as if there weren’t at least forty eyes on us. As we stood there, a tall blonde woman came up to us. At first I smiled at her, thinking she was one of the guy’s wives, but then she put her red nails on Victor’s face and touched his cheek, and my smile disappeared.
Victor’s lips twitched at whatever expression I must have been making, and it became clear that we were playing a game. A stupid, annoying, childish game I had no interest partaking in. My life was already a damn game with the media attention and Gabriel. I didn’t need that to bleed into this part of my life. Why the hell would he do this to me? He knows how much I hate the games I’ve had to play with Gabe.
“Does it hurt?” the blonde asked. Her voice felt like nails on a chalkboard, and I knew it was just me that f
elt that way.
“It’s fine,” he said. I wanted to punch him for not moving away from her touch.
“I can’t believe you didn’t let me drive you,” she said.
“I don’t let anybody drive my car,” he said. I hid my smirk behind my glass of champagne as I took a sip.
“I feel you,” Brent said beside me. “It takes a real special girl for me to take things to that level.”
“I feel the same. Only Marcus drives my car,” I said, feeling the need to chime in.
Marcus, who I needed to call so he could take an Uber here at some point and drive me home. Unless I just took one myself. Brent laughed and draped his arm around me. The way Victor was glaring at him, I was surprised lasers weren’t shooting from his eyes. Maybe this game would be fun after all.
“Maybe tonight will be my lucky night,” Brent said, clinking his glass of water with my nearly empty champagne flute. I raised an eyebrow, looking at our glasses.
“Maybe you’re right.”
“It was nice to meet you,” Brent said to Victor. “Congratulations. Nicky, aren’t you going to introduce me to your father?”
“Right,” I said, looking at Victor’s date, who he still hadn’t introduced. She was smiling at me though, so I felt obliged to return her smile as I walked away. My gaze got caught on Victor’s again. “See you around.”
While I introduced Brent to my dad, I checked my phone and veered off to the side to look at the text messages Chrissy had sent me.
CC: Did you see this?!?!
I opened up the message and clicked the link she’d attached, my stomach instantly dropping and curling in disgust as the pictures of Victor and the blonde girl appeared on my phone. They were holding hands, laughing, kissing, acting very together. Today. I felt the heat hit my ears first, and then spread quickly through my body. I’d hung out with Brent a few times outside my house, but that was all it was. Hanging out. It had never gotten to the point of kissing. He’d tried, but I’d shot him down and told him my mind was on someone else, because it was. I’d been too busy thinking about Victor, and that asshole now seemed too busy, actually playing the part a little too well.
Unless he wasn’t playing the part at all.
I narrowed my eyes in his direction, and sure enough, there he was, holding hands with the blonde.
Holding. Hands. With. The. Blonde.
I glared so hard, trying to make his head explode first, then hers. One of the waitresses passed by with more champagne. I set down my empty flute and took another.
“What is that? Number four?” Brent asked, joining me. I was too mad to smile, but I nodded as I took a sip. “I would say tonight might really be my lucky night, but I’m not into taking advantage.”
I looked over at Victor again, his broad back facing me, his hand on the blonde’s shoulder, and something inside me snapped. I took a deep breath, walked into the dimly lit hallway, and pulled Brent by his tie. The last thing I saw before my lips crashed on his was the confused look on his face. Luckily his confusion didn’t translate into his kiss. I tugged his tie a little harder, wishing he’d drop the good-guy act and kiss me. I wanted to be kissed like I was needed, but he was cautious, nice, his lips soft, his tongue coaxing. I ended the kiss and he leaned away with a huge smile on his face, his brown eyes glinting.
“That was . . . unexpected.”
I smiled, trying to work up some excitement, and took another sip of champagne.
“Nicole.”
I gasped at the sound of Victor’s voice saying my name. Brent’s smile dropped as he turned around, wiping lipstick off his mouth. Victor’s eyes jumped from me to Brent and back to me.
“Am I interrupting anything?” he asked, his voice a quiet storm that made me uncomfortable.
“No, we were just . . . talking,” Brent said slowly. He turned toward me again and smiled over his shoulder. I forced myself to meet his gaze and smile back, because fuck Victor. The only thing I could picture was his lips on that girl. It was driving me crazy. Why? Why was such a stupid thing driving me crazy?
“I need you to sign some papers. I won’t take up too much of your time,” Victor said, beckoning my attention. I cleared my throat and walked forward, brushing past Brent.
“You’re going to make me snap,” Victor said, his voice dangerously low as I walked beside him. I plastered on a fake smile for whoever was looking at us.
“Already beat you there,” I said, continuing to walk toward his office. “Where’s your girlfriend?”
“Is that what this is about?” he asked, closing the door behind us. I inhaled the smell of him. His office was coated in it. I exhaled, walking to the front of the desk as he stepped behind it.
“No, I just act like a fucking child for absolutely no reason.”
“I thought you weren’t jealous,” he said, his voice hard.
Did he not want me to be? I looked down at the desk between us, unwilling to look at him. “I thought you weren’t jealous either.”
He scoffed, and at the sound, I lifted my head. Our eyes locked. My gaze held a challenge. Daring him to let me go home with Brent. His eyes seemed to hold the same challenge. Or something. I didn’t even know anymore. Maybe I’d had too much champagne, but I knew that no amount of alcohol was going to dull the fire inside me. I was burning for his touch, for his kiss, for him. After a moment, he punched the top of his desk, making me jolt.
“Apparently I fucking am,” he muttered, and cleared his throat as he slid two papers across the table.
My mouth dropped. I couldn’t even respond. I just reached for the papers and looked at them, though I couldn’t even make out the words.
“One is just finalizing the terms, the other is the agreement that you’ll go to that red carpet event with Gabriel.”
I put my left hand on the paper, my right hand reaching for the pen he offered. He held it until I acknowledged his gaze on mine. Our faces were close. So close. Too close. My heart jumped.
“Don’t go, Nic,” he said, his voice so soft I had to swallow the lump forming in my throat.
“I saw the pictures of you and the blonde,” I said, licking my lips. His eyes dropped to my mouth momentarily before he looked back at me.
“Nicole,” he said, sighing as he ran a hand through his hair. “You know why I’m with her.”
“For the media? So that people will think we’re not together? To make those pictures go away?” I posed, my voice rising with each word I said. “Do you forget I was married to a celebrity?”
His jaw clenched. My eyes shot to the Band-Aid on his face. “I can’t forget you were married to a celebrity. I’m reminded of that every time I fucking turn around. You’re not the only one being harassed by the paparazzi.”
“Oh. I’m sorry I’ve made your life so difficult,” I said, yanking the pen from his hand and signing both papers. I dropped the pen and glared up at him. “Is this it?”
We both stood up and looked at each other. I could tell he wanted to say a million things, but I knew he wouldn’t, and I was sick of that. Despite the stupid paper I’d just signed, I was sick of men acting like I had to cater to their needs. I was okay with bending over backward for somebody who would return the favor, but I wasn’t going to do it for somebody who wasn’t willing to reciprocate.
He walked around his desk and stood in front of me. I took a step back, but didn’t stop his hand from circling around my waist, or his lips from crashing down on mine. I got lost in that moment, with our lips locked and our hearts pressed against one another. It was a slow kiss, not urgent, but it held the sparks that Brent’s hadn’t. Victor’s lips were meant to mold against mine. They were meant to push me over the edge. But they shouldn’t. They couldn’t. We couldn’t. And that was the realization that made me break the kiss.
“Don’t go to the premiere,” he said, a hard breath against my lips.
“Are you telling me this as my attorney?”
He took a step back, raking his fingers throug
h his hair as he looked away. I felt my heart sink as I followed his line of vision from the floor to the large window in his office. We couldn’t see the ocean in the dark, but the sound of the waves was soothing enough.
“No,” he said finally, his voice low.
Our eyes met again. “Are you staying with the blonde?”
“I’m not with the blonde.”
I rolled my eyes and took out my phone, holding up the pictures Chrissy had sent me. Surely he would understand how much it had hurt me to see these. “Your tongue down her throat tells a different story.”
“Jesus Christ, Nicole. It was a fucking picture. Pictures hold more lies than they do truths. You of all people should know that.”
“I can’t erase what I saw.”
He let out a laugh and muttered, “Tell me about it.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?” I said, knowing he was thinking about the pictures of me and Gabe. “Those were taken before . . . before us!”
“And these were taken because of us,” he shouted, pointing toward the door.
I knew he was right, but it didn’t change anything. Unless it did.
“Will me not going to the premiere change anything? Between us?” I asked. He closed his eyes, and didn’t open them as he shook his head slowly. I closed mine as well, trying to rein in the pain. I didn’t do pain publicly. I swallowed and crushed it.
“Okay. I’ll see you around, Vic,” I whispered, walking out and heading to the bathroom. On my way there I let Brent know I was ready to go as soon as I got out. In there, I was hoping to calm myself, but then ran into Grace, who seemed startled to see me.
“I thought you’d left,” she said. “Did you see my dad out there by any chance?”
I frowned, trying to think about when I’d spoken to my uncle. I was pretty sure it was when I was having my first glass of champagne. I’d been pretty good about going around the room and talking to everybody, introducing them to Brent, but once Victor got there it all became a blur. He seemed to have that effect on me.
“I think he left.”
Elastic Hearts (Hearts #3) Page 23
