Chapter 11
Avery
I really will need an extra session next week.
I enjoyed Ida Burton’s fawning over me—because she’s Ida Burton and she can do whatever she wants—but this shit is getting out of hand.
Everywhere I turn, someone has something glowing to say and, this being Hollywood, it can never just be ‘you were great in that movie’.
It has to be stuffed to the brim with superlatives like phenomenal and incredible and out of this world.
What does ‘out of this world’ even fucking mean?
And it was just a movie. I so wish I could lap it all up, bask in it, but there’s something about all this exaggerated praise that doesn’t sit right with me.
I wish Sienna and Stella were here so they could form a shield around me as they did when we were promoting QGS. Although, undoubtedly, they would be on my case about it. Or send me to my shrink who, ironically, is standing about four feet away, but who I can’t talk to.
Obviously, that makes complete sense. Nic is not my friend—she’s my therapist. But look at her. Even with Ida Burton, Faye Fleming, and Sadie Ireland in the room, I think she’s the most beautiful person here.
I try to focus on the conversation I’m having with a producer.
I try to nod when I think it’s required and huff out a ‘yeah’ when I think it’s needed, but I can’t, for the fucking life of me, tear my gaze away from Nic.
Even more so because earlier, in the garden, when it was just the two of us, and I ever so gently turned my flirt up, she didn’t immediately shut me down.
And I have eyes in my head. I’ve seen her look at me.
Something tells me she doesn’t look at her other clients like that.
I think Dr. Nic likes me. And I very much like her.
The problem is that I can’t do anything about it. I’ve totally forgotten about not wanting to be ‘that’ cliché. I have the hots for my therapist. But, in my case, it’s not just because she’s my therapist. At least I like to make myself believe that.
The room is silenced for Ida’s speech. Leslie’s been her agent forever.
In between the obligatory flattery, Ida is engaging—she always is—and funny.
Leslie, with an unexpected crack in her voice, addresses us all to express her immense gratitude.
It’s a bit disconcerting to see someone who’s usually all business get emotional like that, but it’s also beautiful to see this different side to her.
Leslie is someone with the power to make or break a career. She made mine. She’s the reason I’m here. She saw something in me long before anyone else did. And, well, she pulled strings with her sister to take me on as her client.
After the speeches, the crowd disperses.
Some guests make an exit and I consider doing the same, but then, coincidentally, I end up in a group next to Nic and her gay friends I was introduced to earlier.
The younger of the two keeps eyeing me, while Nic and Ida’s former beard Derek, who seems to be very chummy with Nic, have their backs to me—whether willingly or not, I will never know.
The next time my glance skitters over—I can’t seem to get enough of Nic’s glossy legs—Ben beckons me over. Fuck it. I’m not the one making a move here. With all the swagger I have in me, I head toward Nic and her friends.
“I literally can’t take my eyes off you, girl,” Ben says. “You are so effing gorgeous.”
“Oh, come on. Are you for real with that shit?” I say, even though I don’t really mind when someone like Ben says it—it’s different when a gay man pays you a compliment about your looks.
Ben giggles. “Deadly serious.” He eyes my glass of water—of all the fancy non-alcoholic options, good old water’s still my favorite.
“Is that water?” He points at Nic and Derek.
“Those two could use some of that. They’re knocking back the champagne as though Leslie has confiscated the last bottles on the planet especially for this party, and we’ll be all out forever come tomorrow. ”
“I don’t drink alcohol.” I take a good look at Nic. You can’t really tell she’s tipsy except, perhaps, for how she looks back at me.
“Ah, a sober millennial,” Ben says. “Totally on trend and it’s probably why you look so impossibly radiant.”
Nic stares at me as though she fully agrees with what Ben just said.
From the corner of my eye, I see Ingrid making her way straight toward us through the throngs of people. I hope she hasn’t come for more flirting. I couldn’t possibly do that in front of Nic.
She just gives us a tired smile and addresses Ben and Derek. “Leslie has requested the pleasure of your exquisite company.” Ingrid’s voice is suddenly full of glee.
“She’s queen for the day,” Ben says. “And we must obey our queen.”
Derek touches his hand to Nic’s elbow. “Are you okay, darling?”
Nic nods. “Of course.”
“Don’t go anywhere, you.” Ben points at me before turning away and following Ingrid.
“Are you really all right, Nic?” I have to ask.
“I am…” She shrugs. “Ben’s right. I’ve had too much to drink. My sister—” She doesn’t finish her sentence, but just shakes her head, as though her state of inebriation is all Leslie’s fault.
“Here.” I hand her my half-full glass of water. “Start with this.” Her finger lingers on mine as she briefly rests her gaze on me. “Let’s find you a place to sit,” I say, my voice suddenly wobbly.
“Avery, um…” It’s as though her finger is glued to mine. I never want her to take it away.
“Should I drive you home? Make sure you’re okay?”
Nic’s eyes grow wide. “You can’t drive me home.”
“Of course, I can. I have a car. I’m an excellent driver, and I’ve only drunk water.”
“You know what I mean.” Abruptly, she lifts the glass to her lips and my hand free-falls through the air.
“I do, Nic, but it’s okay. It’s just a lift home. That’s really all it is. I’m not befriending you. I’m just being courteous.”
Nic shakes her head. “I can’t possibly accept your ride. I might be tipsy, but I’m not that far gone.” She drains the last of my water.
“Sure.” I take the empty glass from her, hoping for another impromptu touch of our fingers, but all I feel is cold, hard glass. “Let me at least make sure you’re sitting comfortably.”
“As you wish.” Nic chuckles.
“Can I?” I ask before I touch her elbow.
She gives me the smallest of nods. As we walk toward a couple of empty chairs on the edge of the patio, I let my hand slide down until my fingers curl around her wrist. A bolt of pure electricity courses through me.
As we reach the chairs, Nic seems slightly out of breath, as though we ran here instead of cautiously strolling over. I see how she slowly swallows something out of her throat.
“Maybe you should take me home,” Nic says.
“Okay.” It would be my utmost fucking pleasure, I think, my mind whirring and my heart doing somersaults in my chest, as I guide us toward the valet station.