Chapter 9
CHAPTER NINE
AND HIS LUCK WITH DATES IS EVEN WORSE SINCE HE’S FLYING SOLO THESE DAYS…
TRIPP
Maybe I can have her run lines with me.
Or I can say I need help at the furniture store.
Fuck knows that wouldn’t be a lie.
Maybe I can just order her to stay longer and return tomorrow, too, and she would do it without argument.
I almost laughed at the thought.
After a couple of hours—including a break for lunch—I knew Greer was almost done. Which meant I’d begun racking my brain for a reason she needed to stay.
And coming up with jack-fucking-shit.
I was so locked in, I must’ve missed her saying something because her voice was sharp when she said, “Tripp.”
I looked down from the TV I’d been staring at with unseeing eyes as Greer lifted onto her knees. If that wasn’t already a surge to the dick, the nervousness in her expression was enough to make me worried I was about to make a damn fool of myself by shooting my load in my jeans.
I really am a sick fuck.
My voice came out gruffer than intended. “What?”
She nudged my phone closer. “There’s a wall calendar that I think would be good. It’s a little pricey, but it syncs with an app. And having the visual might help prevent any missed bookings.” A smile tilted her lips as she joked, “If you can find an empty wall to hang it on.”
You can have my left nut if it makes you happy.
“Get it and anything else you need,” I said instead.
She gave a quick nod before taking my phone back. With the intense concentration she was giving the task, I would’ve thought she was clicking one of everything and a shiny new car to the cart. And I would’ve put in my credit card info and hit order on it all.
But when she handed it back to me, it was simply the wall calendar and a new package of lined sticky notes.
“That’s it?” I asked.
“I have most of what I need at home.”
I shook my head and thrust my phone back at her. “I don’t want you using your own shit for work. Order what you need.”
Pink coated her cheeks as she untucked and retucked her hair. “It’s not a problem. Trust me, I have a lot of extras.”
“Nerd,” I teased before I could stop myself. “Does that include a pocket protector?”
Thankfully, she didn’t take offense. “We’ll see who’s laughing when a pen leaks in your unprotected pocket.”
Speaking of…
I glanced at her array of colored pens. “Do you need more of those?”
She gave a slow shake of her head. “Not for another hundred years or so.”
“I’ll still get you your own company credit card for future purchases.”
Her brow raised. “You have a company credit card?”
“Yes.”
It wasn’t an outright lie. I did have a card I used—or tried to remember to use—for business expenses to make my CPA’s job easier, but I was the only one who had it.
I was stupid as shit when it came to assistants, but I’d never been moronic enough to trust anyone with free access to my money.
All orders were either placed and paid for online, or I’d given them cash to use.
They’d never brought back change, but that’d at least been controlled thievery.
She gave a small nod before dipping her head toward my phone. “Does that look okay?”
I glanced down at the items in the cart again.
It was a calendar. A higher tech one than a hanging bundle of paper that displayed bikini babes or fluffy kittens each month, but still. A calendar.
“Looks good,” I lied since a calendar had never looked good in the history of ever. But she wanted it, so I placed the order.
“Once it gets here, I’ll get it set and synced with our phones. It’ll make it easier since I’m still not entirely sure I’ve found all your appointments.” She pulled her bottom lip in before releasing it. “I’ll call Intrepid now, and if something else comes up, I’ll rearrange.”
Tony must’ve passed along the phone number to her because she was already connecting the call as she spoke. When someone answered, she said, “Hi, this is Greer Moore, Tripp Carter’s assistant. I’m looking for Angelo.” She paused for a second before adding, “Thanks so much.”
I like the way that sounds.
Tripp Carter’s assistant.
Sure, it’s not as good as Tripp Carter’s woman.
Or Tripp Carter’s pretty little subbie.
But I’ll take it.
The hold she was placed on was brief. There was a small smile on her face and in her tone as she semi-repeated her initial greeting. “Hi Angelo, this is Greer Moore. I’m Tripp Carter’s assistant. Right.” Her eyes went to the side as he spoke.
When her silence stretched, acidic regret hit me in the gut that I’d left her to take the fall for someone else’s fuckup.
I was so used to everyone blowing smoke up my ass, it hadn’t occurred to me that Angelo might be giving her shit.
But Intrepid Studios was more rigid than a lot of the other studios I’d worked with.
They didn’t share Tony’s belief that all press was good press.
They’d even wanted me to sit out the Old Flame premiere thanks to a bullshit misunderstanding—and had only allowed me to attend once Easton agreed to babysit me.
I held out my hand for her phone so I could tell the uptight studio where they could shove every reel of film they’d ever produced, but she waved me away.
“Yes, Tony mentioned that,” she said, her voice calm.
“Mr. Carter sends his sincere apologies for missing the appointment this morning. There have been some staff changes, and the details got lost in the shuffle. What was this for?” She jotted down notes, but I didn’t look down to read them.
My focus was on the way her eyes widened before they darted up to meet mine.
The bits of green in the hazel seemed brighter.
If that wasn’t already a damn punch to the gut, the wide smile that spread across her face was enough to make me thank the hard-on heavens that I’d switched into jeans.
Sweatpants wouldn’t have stood a chance.
“We’d love to reschedule, definitely. His days this week are a little booked… Tomorrow?” By the time she lifted her questioning gaze to me, I was already nodding. Despite my immediate agreement, she asked, “Does the afternoon work? Great. Mmhmm.”
She wrapped up the call by giving him her contact info for the future, and I thanked fuck that Intrepid had just presented me with the perfect excuse to see her the next day.
I didn’t care if they wanted me to rerecord all my lines for a new marionette version of Old Flame.
I’d do it. Hell, I’d man the strings myself.
As soon as Greer hung up, I asked, “Was Angelo being a dick?”
Her brows lowered. “Not at all. He was as gleeful as Tony to delete Alex’s contact info. Anyway, they want you to record some intros and ads before the movie goes to streaming.”
It was my turn to lower my brows. “I already did that.”
“Yes, but only a few solo options. They want more.” The brightness was back. “That’s a good thing, right? Like a big and good thing?”
That kind of revision wasn’t as simple as recording a quick video or two in front of a wall.
There was a shit-ton of research and planning that went into how to promo a film, and if they were pivoting to me, it was with good reason.
As someone whose ego and pride were wrapped up in my work, it meant a lot.
It also meant that Chase Majors—that entitled prick—was going to throw a hissy fit when he saw it wasn’t just his face plastered all over screens. That was reason enough to do it.
“Yeah,” I confirmed. “It’s a big and good thing.”
Greer’s smile faltered, and she studied me as she added, “He said there are a few trends they want you to record, too, so you can do those there, or they can send them to you to do on your own. Is that okay?”
The trend videos were usually stupid viral shit, but they came with the gig, so I was used to it.
At my nod, she plucked my phone from my loose hold and added it to my calendar.
When I saw the time was set for two in the afternoon, I let her know, “In the future, I can do mornings.”
“Says the man who eats breakfast at three PM.”
“That’s only when I’m off.”
“You’ve got a week of early mornings. I thought you’d like one last day to sleep in before the chaos starts.”
It was thoughtful—and not in the empty way people pretended to care about me.
I didn’t have the chance to say so before she stood. “Do you need anything else before I take off?”
Yes.
You.
Naked.
“You’ll be there tomorrow,” I said instead.
It wasn’t a question, but she hesitated to answer. I gathered from the tagged photos that her, Maddie, and their other friend got together most Sundays, but I was pretty sure it was for breakfast. That left plenty of time.
“I have…” She hesitated, and I got the distinct impression she was about to tell me she had other plans. A twist of jealousy tightened my gut, but she eventually gave a reluctant nod. “I’ll be there.”
If I was a better man, I would’ve let her out of the commitment. Or at least double checked that she was sure.
But I wasn’t, so I didn’t.
Her phone ringing cut through the tense silence, and she looked down at it. Her eyes widened before she scrambled to silence the noise. At the redness that coated her cheeks and traveled down her chest, it wasn’t a twist of jealousy that hit me.
It was a fucking cyclone of it.
She kept her head down as she crouched to finish gathering her things. “Text me if something changes. And I’ll let you know if they reach out to me with anything.” Once she had it all in her bag, she stood and forced a smile. “Otherwise, I’ll see you tomorrow.”
I followed after her to the front door, wanting to ask who the fuck had called. Why it’d made her blush so pretty. And if she was rushing out because she was late meeting them.
Even if I was stupid enough to ask questions I had no right to ask—and risk her quitting after only a week—she didn’t give me the chance. She barely muttered a goodbye as she hauled ass down the porch to her waiting SUV.
Fuck, it looks like shit out here.
And where the hell are my seat cushions?