Chapter 11 #2
“I’ll help him,” I cut in. Not that I was a pro who was going viral or anything, but it wasn’t like his online presence could get any worse. And adding another bullet point to my meager resume would help me in the future.
Not to mention, the added responsibility went toward earning my overinflated salary.
The guy must’ve decided that was good enough for him because he nodded. “I’ll post this now. Add it to his story and all that.”
“On it.”
My boss hadn’t helped much, but the guy still aimed his gratitude Tripp’s way. “Thank you, sir.” He hustled off as quickly as he’d arrived.
Tripp leaned in, making me all too aware of how close we were standing. But he simply muttered, “Let’s get the hell out of here before they think of something else they need.”
I tried to force my face to remain blank, but I was having trouble holding back my smile. “Good idea, sir.”
He blinked down at me. “Isn’t it usually boss?
“Yeah, but I think we need variety. Not sir, then? How about boss man? Big cheese? El Capitán?”
He held my eye contact for a few seconds too long. Just as I was beginning to think I’d irked him after a long day, he rumbled, “Sir works.”
And then he started for the door, leaving me scrambling to catch up.
After I got my brain working enough to do that.
We managed to avoid anyone else as we made our way outside. Once we were in the clear, I slowed my steps to repost the newly tagged video.
Tripp watched over my shoulder, scowling his disdain. “You don’t need to worry about that social media shit.”
I worked to keep my voice neutral so he didn’t hear my disappointment and give me the work out of pity. “Are you going to hire someone else?”
“No.”
I arched a brow. “Are you going to do it yourself?”
“Also no.”
“Then I’m handling it. It’ll be easy.” I thought about him and his camera. “We can share some of your photography. People will eat that up.”
He smirked. “We’ll start with the pictures of you.”
“You mean the ones you deleted?”
“Sure, let’s go with that.”
“I’m serious, though. Posting is a necessary evil.”
He looked like he wanted to argue before conceding as we reached my car. “Fine. You can show me what the fuck I’m supposed to do so it isn’t all on you. We’ll start at dinner. You feeling Italian? I’m thinking pasta and a shit-ton of breadsticks.”
As badly as I wanted to accept, I couldn’t.
If I put my paper off any longer, I would never get it done in time.
It might only be one grade in one class, but the idea of bombing it filled me with an impending sense of doom.
Like the prospective employer to my dream calling would somehow find out about that single low grade and decide not to hire me, leaving me as purposeless as ever.
It was illogical, but that didn’t lessen the anxiety tightening my chest until I worried my heart would be smothered to a stop.
Grudgingly—because I really could’ve used the distraction, pasta, and good company—I slowly shook my head. “I can’t tonight.”
I expected more of a fight. And, honestly, I would’ve folded at his first charming attempt.
But he just gave a stiff lift of his clenched jaw, his expression showing his exhaustion. “You still good with tomorrow?”
“I’ll be there early afternoon,” I said just as someone approached.
“Mr. Carter!”
Damn, we pushed our luck too long…
Tripp tensed, and I hurriedly whispered, “Want me to deal with her?”
He shook his head, his pleasant mask falling into place.
Well, pleasant might’ve been an overstatement.
He turned as the attractive woman reached us.
Her grin was so big, it had to hurt. “Hi. I’m a big fan. Like, such a big fan. I would’ve regretted it if I didn’t say hi.”
Maybe I should’ve told her to kick bricks. Her long legs could probably launch them across the parking lot.
“And my boyfriend is an even bigger fan,” she continued, making me regret my inner bitchiness. “He always says you’re the only action hero who seems to enjoy the movies.”
“He’s right, I do,” he said. “What’s your name?”
I tried to inch backward toward my door so they could talk, but Tripp hooked a finger in my front belt loop without missing a beat in his conversation.
I…
That’s…
Huuhhnnn.
My brain started working enough to register how intimate that hold probably looked.
I discreetly extricated myself but remained close.
Still holding his phone, I scanned the influx of notifications on his freshly shared video to make sure there wasn’t another tag.
While I looked, another thought hit me, and I brought up an app in the store.
I started to lower the phone so I could talk to him about it first.
And say what?
‘Hey, can I install a tracker on your phone?’
He’ll think I’m deranged.
It wasn’t like I was trying to stalk him. Not really. I used the app with Maddie and Wren for emergencies. But it would be handy to have access to his location if I got lost again, and he was too busy to perform a search and rescue.
Placing it on there was just me doing my job.
In the name of efficiency.
Better to ask forgiveness than permission.
Heart hammering in my chest, I clicked install and punched in his passcode, hoping like hell it downloaded fast.
And then I let out a guilty yelp when he rumbled, “Greer.”
My attention snapped to him as I pressed the screen against my chest. “Hmm?”
“Do you have a pen and paper for an autograph?” he asked, his too sharp gaze studying me.
“Do I have a pen and paper?” I scoffed with too much forced humor. “Who do you think you’re talking to?”
Juggling his phone because I was not about to hand that over yet, I grabbed paper and a pen from my bag.
Tripp ripped the paper in two before graciously signing one piece to her and one to her boyfriend. When she eagerly thrust her phone at me, I took a handful of pictures of them together, plus a quick video of Tripp saying hi to her boyfriend.
The woman looked ready to perish of pure joy, and, shockingly, so did Tripp. He might’ve started out annoyed, but the negativity had quickly disappeared.
Maybe her relationship status isn’t a dealbreaker for him…
After handing back her phone—and visually confirming a thousand times that I hadn’t mixed them up—I turned his on to see the app was on the homescreen. I moved it into a folder with his calendar and socials apps, hoping he wouldn’t bother to look inside.
As the woman floated on air into a nearby building, I scanned Tripp’s handsome face. “You enjoy that.”
“Sometimes,” he said. “Not when it’s just some asshole trying to get a rise out of me. Or ask for money. Or for a role. Or when they want me to sign shit that’ll be listed for sale online before I drive away. But when it’s an actual fan, yeah. I enjoy it.”
“That’s good.”
And enviable.
The enjoying-the-perks-of-his-job part, at least. The rest of it sounded like hell to me. Though, I wasn’t exactly in a position to judge the invasiveness since I’d just secretly installed a location tracker.
Guilt swirled through me, and I did my best to hide it as I passed his phone over with a quick, “I’ll see you tomorrow.”
I turned away, but his hand went to my door, caging me in and preventing me from opening it.
Oh shit, he saw what I was doing. He knows.
He knows!
But his voice was a low rumble when he asked, “Are you forgetting something, Greer?”
How to breathe.
How to think.
How much I used to dislike my name since the way you say it makes me love it.
Before I could open my mouth to blurt any of that—or confess my app stalking or the even more inappropriate thoughts filling my head—he said, “You still have my keys.”
Oh.
Right.
Smooth one, Greer.
Real smooth.