Chapter 19 Emmy
Chapter 19
I’m honestly starting to pity myself.
Emmy
AMANDA JOINS ME at a high-top table near the pool. I finish uploading one more social media post and tuck my phone into my purse.
“You okay?”
I force a smile. “Of course! Why wouldn’t I be?”
She twists her perfectly lipsticked mouth to the side. “Jason bombed the contest. That probably wasn’t in the plans, was it?” She adjusts the bodice of her skintight dress and takes a sip of her drink. The way she flicks her hair out of her face makes me think of a real L’Oréal Because You’re Worth It commercial. Come to think of it, I think she starred in one or two.
“Oh, that’s no big deal,” I say, although inside I’m still reeling from the total bait and switch of that hug. The way he pulled me to him so tight… again. His hand in my hair. His breath in my ear. He was about to whisper something.
“I can tell it was a big deal.” Amanda’s brown eyes look like they don’t take shit from anybody.
I sigh and lean back in my chair. She’s a friend of Jason’s. Maybe she has some insight, and maybe I can tease it out of her without admitting my own feelings. “I’m not stupid, you know. I know how Hollywood works.”
She nods. “Okay. So you know you don’t have a chance with him, right?”
That went in the opposite direction I expected it to. “I—I’m just here to sell books and promote the movie,” I stammer.
Her smile is half pity, half razors. “Oh, Emmy, hon. I know he’s hot. He’s successful, he’s charming. Everyone falls for him. You’re not the first.”
I’m sweating now, even in the cool evening air. “Did you?”
Her laugh is spontaneous and melodious. “Nah, Jason and I go too far back for that. But you have to understand. Jason’s job is on the line. He can’t afford a messy affair with a fan.”
I pick at the mosaic tiles in the tabletop. “It was a hug, not an orgy.”
Amanda gives me a knowing look. “Except it wasn’t just a hug, was it?”
Shit, she can see right through me! I cross my arms over my chest. “It was a social media stunt, nothing more. And I didn’t even put Sean up to it. I just capitalized on it.”
Her eyes narrow. “You’re good at that, huh?”
I don’t know how Amanda and I suddenly became enemies, and I don’t want to argue with her. But the only other choice is admitting how I really feel about Jason and having her laugh about it, either to my face or behind my back.
“Look, we both work in this business.” I uncross my arms and hold the chair seat instead. “Although, I’ll admit, with him, sometimes it’s… confusing.”
“I don’t say this to hurt you.” Amanda studies me. “But you know he has a son. You have a daughter, right? When you have kids, your relationships need to be stable.”
I don’t let myself squirm. “Did he say that?”
“Does he have to?”
Shame heats my cheeks. Great, now she’s basically called me a bad mom. Of course I understand we have a responsibility to our kids, but I can’t help the way I feel. Besides, we had one kiss. Aren’t we at least allowed to figure things out before we start slapping labels on everything and judging it?
Still, I know she’s right. This whole thing is more complicated than I’m giving it credit for. If it’s even a thing , which I’m not sure it is.
Over Amanda’s shoulder, I spot Jason crossing the patio toward us. I sit up tall.
He drops his elbows onto our table. “So, this is the gorgeous women’s section! I’ve been looking for it all night.”
Amanda slides off her seat and wrinkles her nose. “Tell me you’ve got better pickup lines than that.”
He takes her place on the high-top chair. “Thanks for keeping my seat warm.”
Amanda gives me a hard look. “No problem. Emmy and I were just finishing up a riveting conversation… about you.”
“About me?” Jason looks over his shoulder at her, but she’s already gone.
“She’s lying. We were talking about… pie.” I can’t help but look at his mouth. Jason Connor kissed me! I want to scream it from the rooftops. And at the same time, it feels like a dirty little secret.
“Okay, well, I think I got everything smoothed over.” He blows air out of his cheeks. “The showrunners were the last people I wanted to see that performance.”
Performance. The word is like a dagger between my ribs. Suddenly, I feel like a Westworld android, getting hurt over and over again for other people’s entertainment.
“I posted the videos from tonight.” I paste on a smile. “They’re taking off already.”
His face lights up. “That’s great!”
I take a deep breath. “I was thinking maybe I should just go home tomorrow after all.”
His face transforms in confusion. “What? I thought we had a deal.”
“Maybe it’s not such a good idea. After what happened tonight.” I run a finger over the rim of my wineglass, staring into the dregs.
“Emmy!” Jason takes both my hands in his across the table. “Don’t let that stupid contest bother you. That was me. I panicked. The showrunners didn’t even care. They know the whole thing’s a publicity stunt.”
I gaze into his eyes—two clear, indigo pools in the dim patio lighting. “The contest was a publicity stunt, but what about the rest of it? Won’t it look bad for me to be hanging out with you, making videos all weekend?”
He pulls his hands away and takes a swig of his drink. “You’ll be helping me fix my image. They’ll be happy. As long as it doesn’t look like we’re having some sordid affair, it’ll be fine.”
I hate the word affair , and adding sordid in front of it makes it that much worse. What I feel for Jason Connor doesn’t feel like a sordid anything. Is that how he sees us?
“The videos are doing well, Jason. Maybe I should just go home.”
He looks around and then takes my hands again and presses them to his lips. “Please stay, Emmy. I want you to stay. I still need your help. And I want to make it up to you.”
His hot breath on my fingers combined with the memory of that soft, slow, delicious kiss gnaws away at my righteous indignation. I don’t want to become Jason Connor’s latest disposable utensil, but he’s lived in my heart forever, and he kissed me, and now he’s asking me to stay. How can I say no?
He must sense my weakness. One side of his mouth curls up in the tiniest smile. “Whoever cares most gets to win, right?”
Damn it! He used my favorite line on me. That is cruel and unfair and 100 percent effective. Of course I will stay. I’ll take whatever Jason Connor is willing to give me. It’s not the same for him, but so what? This was always the deal, right? He was never going to feel about me the way I feel about him. Crushes are, by definition, one-sided, and here in Hollywood it’s even worse.
I’m not nineteen anymore. I’m a grown-up, and we all know the hull gets thicker the longer you travel through the void. Bulletproof isn’t something you are, it’s something you become. I want more than he can give me, of course I do. I want him to feel the way I do. But I can do this. I can keep my emotions in check. Let him “make it up to me,” whatever that looks like. Dear God and Tom Hanks, Emmy, don’t imagine what that looks like!
I clear my throat. “Fine, I’ll stay and finish the campaign.”
“Thank you!” He releases my hands. His smile is genuine. Victorious. Unapologetic. He hasn’t got a clue what he’s doing to me. I’m honestly starting to pity myself.
I look around the patio. I don’t feel like being here anymore. “I think I’ll get an Uber back to the hotel.” I stand up.
His chair scrapes on the pavers as he stands up, too. “Are you sure? The party’s not over yet.”
“I have to get up early. I need to change my flight in the morning, make arrangements for Peyton, and extend my hotel stay.”
“I’ll drive you.”
“It’s better if we don’t leave together, don’t you think?”
A muscle moves in his jaw. “I guess you’re right.”
“Thanks for bringing me tonight. I mean it.” I give him a tight-lipped smile. “It was a dream come true.”
His gorgeous brow furrows. “Of course.”
I dig out my phone to order a ride, but he stops me. “I’ll do it. It’s the least I can do.”
I watch the thick night air toss his curls around as he navigates the app. I rub my bare arms and marvel at how the moonlight gilds the classic angles of his gorgeous face, the relaxed curve of his neck and shoulders. God, he kills me. This whole thing is like a dream that I know I’ll have to wake up from. It’s torture. When he looks up from his phone with a melancholy smile, I think I might die of happiness and heartbreak at the same time.
“I’ll call you in the morning,” he says as I slide my purse over my shoulder.
What I want to say is, Do I have a chance with you, Jason Connor? A real chance at you being mine? If we both wanted to, could we make it work?
What I say is, “See you tomorrow.”