CHAPTER EIGHT
EIGHT
What do you mean, we’re over? Over is just four letters and I have more for you: love, need, stay …
– from ‘Four Letter Word’, by These Exiles
‘THERE YOU ARE!’
I’d never been happier to see Anna – or the two coffees in front of her – when I walked into Maria’s. Sliding into our usual booth, I grabbed the nearest –
‘Nope, this one’s yours,’ Anna said with a grin, pushing the other cup towards me. ‘Unless you want a drink laced with blueberry syrup. And can I ask why we are meeting this early – I thought you’d taken time off work?’
‘I have.’ Karun hadn’t been particularly pleased about that, but he was the least of my problems these days. ‘I’ve got to meet Patrick at some TV studio and –’
‘Ah, the life of the rich and famous,’ Anna teased. ‘Why you want to give it all up, I’ll never understand.’
I rolled my eyes as Laura dropped down next to Anna. ‘You try dealing with that man-child and see if you don’t start to get it.’
‘I should never have asked you to do this,’ Laura fretted, tugging her hands through her hair as she forced her unruly curls into a bun. ‘This is way too much –’
‘I can handle it,’ I found myself saying, almost despite myself. ‘You don’t have to worry about me.’
But my reassurances did nothing. Worry still clouded my sister’s face.
That was Laura all over. Always worrying, always stressing, always determined to fix things before they even became problems.
I smiled softly. ‘Seriously, sis, you don’t need to worry about me.
I’m not quitting. I thought – well, that I’d just see what my options were when I called Anna last night.
Not that she really gave me much advice …
since she had a friend over.’ I waggled my eyebrows suggestively.
I’d been disappointed when Anna had confirmed there was no way of getting out of the contract, but I’d been quickly distracted by the sound of a man’s voice in her bedroom.
‘I did not!’
‘I heard him!’ I snorted, delighted to see a dark flush on Anna’s cheeks.
‘That was just the TV –’
Laura groaned, her eyes closing momentarily behind her glasses. ‘You are not sleeping with your housemate again, are you?’
Anna plastered a look of fake shock on her face … but the twinkle in her eye gave it away. ‘Moi, slip into bed with Casimir again? I would never!’
Both my sister and I groaned, but as we chattered on, my phone pinged. I sighed heavily and pulled it from my pocket. My lock screen blinked at me.
You have five missed calls Eleven unopened messages Four voicemails
This was getting ridiculous. The first thing I did when I stormed out of our last fake date was delete Patrick’s number. I’d been deliberately ignoring all his messages since, determined to keep our contact to a minimum outside of our contracted duties.
‘For fuck’s sake,’ I whispered to myself. Why now, after being such a prick, was he blowing up my phone?
My phone pinged again.
‘Ooh, is that lover boy?’ Anna leaned forward as I went to open the messages and saw they were from – Ross.
My stomach dropped.
Ross.
It hadn’t been Patrick who had been hassling me.
It was Ross.
Just seeing his name on my screen was enough to send my mind spinning. It had been … what. Six months? Seven?
‘You won’t hear from me.’ His parting words echoed in my mind, making my lungs tight, every breath a struggle. ‘And I don’t want to hear from you. Don’t contact me.’
Five messages from Ross Bradley
Eleven missed calls from Ross Bradley
Four voicemails from Ross Bradley
‘Jessy?’
My thumb hovered over the icon, half-desperate to know what he could possibly have said – needed to say – based on the number of calls? And the messages. What could he –
‘Jessy!’
My phone disappeared. ‘What the f–’
‘I thought so.’ Anna frowned, her gaze fixed on my unlocked phone. ‘I knew it, I knew he’d come crawling back.’
‘What, Patrick?’ Laura said, confused, but one look at my phone from over Anna’s shoulder and she too was cursing out my ex.
‘That little –’
I tried to push aside the unsettling disappointment that it had been Ross, and not Patrick, who had desperately wanted to contact me. A feeling I wasn’t going to examine too closely – especially after our disastrous last encounter.
‘I’m going to block him,’ said Anna firmly.
I lunged for my phone. ‘Anna!’
‘It’s for your own good,’ my best friend argued. And she was probably right. Still –
‘Anna, give it back –’
‘Oh don’t get your knickers in a twist, you can always unblock him later if you really want,’ Anna said, her tone betraying her true feelings about the idea. When she handed back my phone, all the messages were gone.
If I want. What did I want? Did I want Ross to contact me? Did I want to hear anything he had to say? I wasn’t sure the answer was yes. But I wasn’t sure it was a no either.
Anna flashed a smile before she and Laura rose from our little booth. ‘Listen, we’ve got to go – do not be late for your big TV thing because you’re moping here.’
‘I’m not –’
‘And don’t think about that dick,’ my sister said sharply, giving me that big mother hen glare.
‘Which one? Patrick or Ross?’ I asked sarcastically.
When I looked up at Laura, there was laughter in her eyes. ‘I think it was pretty obvious I was talking about Ross,’ she said. ‘But sounds like you’ve got a certain hot celeb on the mind anyway.’
Kissing the top of my head, Laura whirled away, pulling Anna with her.
Well, fuck. She had me there. All those messages from Ross, and it was Patrick I was still thinking about.
I glanced at the time on my lock screen.
Shit. I was late.
‘YOU’RE LATE,’ SAID THE woman on the door with a frown. She was wearing a headset, had a pen stuffed into her bun, and had on a belt to rival Batman’s, stuffed with masking tape, two walkie-talkies and a hammer, even if her clipboard had definitely seen better days.
‘Yeah, I’m sorry, I –’
‘Ms Donovan, over here, please. We’re running behind schedule,’ said another headset-and-clipboard guy with a shake of the head as he grabbed my arm and pulled me along a corridor.
‘Sorry, I –’
‘You’re late,’ said Patrick flatly as I was dragged into a make-up chair beside him.
He was dressed in a simple white tee and a pair of smart trousers, and it was unfair how good he looked, how utterly relaxed in this mad world of corridors and clipboards.
I dragged my eyes away quickly. ‘I know,’ I said quietly.
Awkward silence sat between us. Both of us refused to acknowledge the elephant in the room.
‘Two minutes,’ said the guy with the clipboard, his jaw tight as his gaze zigzagged down what had to be a schedule. ‘Ready, Mr Tetlow?’
‘As I’ll ever be.’ Patrick exhaled, rising to his feet.
Panic bloomed in my chest. What was I supposed to be doing here? Derek’s notes had been brief: Act like a supportive girlfriend.
How the hell was I supposed to do that when Patrick could barely stand to be in a room with me?
My nerves must have been written all over my face, because Patrick took one look at me before turning round to the producer. ‘Can I have one minute with Jessy, please? I promise I’ll be right out.’ He waited for the door to close before sitting back down next to me.
‘Look, I’m really sorry,’ he said, true regret in his voice. ‘About how I spoke to you. At the Thirsty Bear. I didn’t mean what I said.’
He seemed earnest, like he truly hadn’t meant to hurt me. Honestly, I didn’t know what to make of it.
‘I – I appreciate that, thanks,’ I replied simply. What else was there to say?
Some of the worry lines disappeared from Patrick’s forehead.
‘I know this is your first time on set. It can be pretty overwhelming with all the lights, and noise, and everything else going on.’ He leaned towards me, his cologne and something deeper – muskier – flooding my nose.
Heat seeped deep into me, at every place our bodies met – his shoulders, arms and thighs all leaving invisible brands on me. I struggled to focus on his words.
‘If it gets too much, just throw me a signal or a look. I’ll get you out of there, Derek be damned.’
Where was the arsehole? What the hell was going on?
‘Who are you and what have you done with my Patrick?’ The possessive pronoun slipped out before I could catch it. I could feel myself flush.
Patrick chuckled – a deep, low thing – before continuing. ‘I know what it’s like feeling like you don’t belong here. I’ve been in the limelight for years now and I still don’t enjoy this shit. Probably never will.’
Huh. Well, that matched up with everything I had learnt about him so far – not that he’d given me much.
‘I imagine you’ve already had to give up so much because of me. I … I don’t want you to have to be any more uncomfortable than you already are.’ His voice was soft, softer than I had heard it before.
This. This was the Patrick I’d imagined when I first met him. This was the guy I’d been secretly longing to appear since that first fake date.
And now I had him, I didn’t know what to do with him.
A loud knock interrupted us. I swivelled my head to see clipboard guy peeking in. ‘We really need to get you mic’d up, Mr Tetlow, and we’ve got a seat for you at the front of the audience, Ms Donovan.’
Patrick took in a long, slow breath. Then the smile I knew so well – the smile I now knew was fake – appeared as he held out his hand. ‘Let’s go make Derek happy and get this over with.’
I looked up at him and placed my hands in his softly. His grip tightened and energy crackled between us, just for a second, before he turned and led us out the door.
My hand stayed in his all the way to set.