Chapter Three #2
Truthfully, looking at rings in pawn shops could be a downer.
Engagement rings and wedding bands dominated the tray.
River was a musician; he firmly felt you had to believe in love in order to make good music.
You didn’t have to feel it for yourself, you just had to be able to see it in others, in the universe around you.
River didn’t think the world had a soul mate in store for him, but he didn’t like seeing evidence that it hadn’t worked out for other people either.
Pretty, sparkly dreams discarded in a sad pile of other pretty, sparkly dreams.
He tried not to look at the engagement rings.
Gary even kept them on a separate tray. But River was part magpie after all, so sometimes he caught himself mooning.
Today a little diamond solitaire number caught his eye, a pretty marquise cut in a white gold band.
It wasn’t River’s taste at all—too understated.
Delicate. In a city full of moguls and movie stars, someone had chosen this ring.
They’d put thought into it, probably spent more on it than they could afford.
River imagined the woman who might’ve worn it—someone like Amanda, maybe, straightforward, uncomplicated, and warm.
Unpretentious. Someone who loved the ring because of who it came from.
He had a fleeting impulse to buy it, as though that would fix anything in his own love life. Which was obviously stupid, because if the ring was here, its previous owners probably had not lived happily ever after.
But then he dragged his eyes to the other tray where they belonged, and he reached out and touched his precious.
“Oh my God,” he said in delight.
“Oh my God,” Amanda said in despair.
River ran his index finger over the dial on the front of the ring. It went whizz. “What is this?” he crowed.
“Fidget spinner ring. Fourteen karat white and yellow gold, and little sapphires in the interior circle.”
River put the ring on his third finger. It fit perfectly, its cool weight quickly warming with his skin. He spun the little wheel again. The mechanism reverberated against his flesh.
“Gary,” he said seriously, “I may cry. I love you so much. I will take them both.”
Amanda sighed, put-upon. “Well. At least we’ll get to the photo shoot on time.”
The high of the successful shopping trip put River in a good mood to be bossed around on a photo set, only in part because the wardrobe assistant cooed over his jewelry.
All of this must have been part of Amanda’s master plan, because she waited until they were in the car for the drive back to Silver Lake to say, “I’m worried about you.”
Just like that, River’s mood soured as the events of last night—well, mostly this morning—intruded. “You’re always worried about me. It’s your job.”
He knew it was the wrong thing to say when her smile softened. He could handle Amanda when she was being sharp with him. If she thought he needed kid gloves….
“That’s right. It’s my job. And I’m very good at my job, right? You’re happy?”
This was just mean. “Best manager I ever had,” he promised.
God, what did she want? A raise? A pony?
He’d give it to her. Amanda was the first manager he’d ever had who got him.
She gave him space to do his thing, worked around his fits of bad temper, and altogether made being a professional famous person less tedious.
“Well, this is me—your hardworking, devoted manager, telling you….” She put her hand on his wrist. “I don’t like walking in on scenes like this morning. It’s happening too often. Something has to change.”
It didn’t take much for River to translate that to you have to change.
Before he could protest, Amanda said, “I want you to think about hiring a bodyguard.”
“What the fuck!”
She pursed her lips. “Not a traditional one. Not some muscle-bound shaved-head man in a suit with a ridiculous earpiece. I mean someone who would be there in the house if, say, your companion for the evening decided to slip out with the family silver.” She waited a beat, then smirked. “Or the family jewels.”
“Not sure a bodyguard’s going to help much at that point,” River pointed out.
“The point is the idea of being caught will act as a deterrent. You won’t be such an easy target.”
Ouch. River bristled, his pride wounded. “I’m not an easy target.”
“You’ve been robbed by sex partners three times in the past year. Marco left you for that B-list actor the second the shine of the Flat Tires’s Grammy nomination wore off—”
Not that having Marco at the awards with him would’ve made the loss any less disappointing, but it was especially bitter to sit there alone and know Marco was across the room on someone else’s arm.
“—and don’t even get me started on Julian.”
Ah, Julian, who’d thrown a cocaine orgy in River’s house while River was in Vegas with the Flat Tires shooting a music video.
“A bodyguard’s not going to help with the Marcos or the Julians.”
Amanda heaved out a breath and changed tack. “Then let me set you up with someone. There are plenty of male-attracted men in LA who wouldn’t mind raising their profile—”
“No.” He was shaking his head before she could finish the sentence. “I’ve played that game before too. That’s a guaranteed L. No. Think of something else.”
Amanda pursed her lips again, considering him as she tapped her nails on the armrest. “Okay. I have one more idea. But I want you to let me give you the whole spiel before you say no.”
How was she expecting him to manage that? Interrupting was his love language. “But—”
Amanda held up a finger, then reached into the mini cooler built into the center seat and withdrew a bubble tea.
So she hadn’t actually been serious about those other suggestions. This was her Plan A. “You’re showing your hand,” he said mildly, but he accepted the bribe.
“Drink,” Amanda instructed.
River did, because it was his favorite and he didn’t want it to get warm and go to waste, and emphatically not because Amanda told him to.
“Let me hire you a boyfriend.”
River tried to shoot a tapioca ball out his nose. “What!”
Holding up one finger like a scolding teacher, Amanda pushed the straw back into his mouth. Then she withdrew a napkin from her purse and handed it over. “A paid companion. A sugar baby. Someone who’s in it for the money and not the fame.”
River didn’t see how that was better than her other ideas, but when he tried to open his mouth, she narrowed her eyes, so he focused on the bubble tea and glowered halfheartedly.
“There’ll be a contract in place, obviously.
NDAs, the whole nine. I’m not talking about paying him for sex either—in fact, I want a clause that specifically says he’s not getting paid extra if the two of you mutually decide you want to indulge.
But his actual job is built-in accountability—he’ll stand by your side at the parties where you meet terrible people, because I know you, River.
You’re not going to get a reputation as a cheater.
If people think you’ve got a boyfriend, you’re not hooking up with Jorge Gonorrhea in the bathroom.
He’s being paid for his time, so it’s in his interest not to screw it up.
And we choose a guy who’s so far outside your type that it’s easy to keep it professional, and hot enough that no one thinks twice about it. ”
God damn, she really was good at her job.
That actually sounded workable. Mercenary maybe, but this was LA.
River imagined one of the pretentious industry events or parties he was always attending, only this time with the insulation of a confidant.
A man he could rely on to run interference between him and the blowhards, or pretend he needed River to fuck him in the bathroom so they could avoid getting pulled into a conversation with a music video director River hated.
He raised his eyebrows, a silent question. Can I talk now?
Amanda gestured her permission.
“Where the fuck are we going to find a guy like that?”
She glanced at her watch. “We’ve got an appointment with him at Seventh Circle Management in half an hour.”
River snorted. He should have known.