Chapter 12
Adam and I played in the shower until the water ran cold. I love the way he watches me. Not because he was worshiping my chest like he’s never seen bare tits before. It’s how he checks for my reaction every time he touches me.
I don’t think I’ve ever had a man pay this much attention to me. Under different circumstances, Adam and I could really be something. Maybe in an alternate reality where we want the same things, and I’m not struggling so damn much to understand who the hell I am at twenty-eight years old. But it’s clear we’re both jaded, for different reasons, sure, but jaded nonetheless, so boundaries and timelines make most sense.
He emerges from the bedroom, dressed again, and his hair is already dry. Mine is still damp, braided in a tight tail so I don’t have to worry about blowing it out later.
From the blowup mattress on the living room floor, I ask, “Everything okay? You’ve been in there a while.”
“I was on a call,” he replies, studying me with a pensive smile. Has he always been this good-looking? How the hell did I keep my hands off him for weeks? Or do men just get better looking after they give you multiple orgasms?
“Hey, summer girl,” he says as he plops down next to me, making me bounce in place. “I already told you you’re breathtaking, right?”
“You just want to see me blush.”
He plants a kiss on both of my cheeks where I’m assuming they’ve turned pink. “Maybe.”
“Are you leaving?” I ask, pointing to the bulge of his wallet in his back pocket.
“Yeah,” he exhales. “I hate to leave like this, but a work problem came up, and I actually have to go to New York…like right now.”
“Oh, okay,” I say with a small nod.
“You don’t believe me, do you?” he asks, staring right into my eyes. “You think I’m trying to ditch you after sex?”
“We didn’t technically have sex. But no, I believe you. Plus, you don’t owe me anything. Is everything okay with work, though?”
He drags his thumb under my eyes across my cheek. “Loyalty is everything to me. When someone breaks my trust, I like to handle it swiftly.”
I lie backward, resting my head on the pillow. I’m a little turned on at boss-man Adam and thoroughly annoyed that neither of us has protection. I’ve had my fill of his fingers and tongue. “Uh-oh, who’s in trouble?” I ask.
He stays sitting, rubbing his palm against the top of my thigh. “There’s a rumor going around that Chase’s agents lied and declined a role on his behalf months ago. It was a big opportunity, and they said Chase wasn’t up for it, so they could put one of their new clients in his place. If that’s true, I will fuck them out of Chase’s new deal so hard, their heads will be spinning.”
“I don’t understand. I thought you made Chase’s deals. Aren’t you his agent?”
“Manager,” he clarifies. “I used to work for Chase’s agency, LMC–Lucas, Maines Corbin Talent Agency. Not an easy agency to get into. I interned for free while finishing my undergrad in business law and they were still reluctant to give me a desk after I graduated. Chase was one of my very first clients, and after a few failed auditions, LMC instructed me to drop him.”
“Why?”
“They had no faith in him…or me. Maybe I took it as a challenge. For almost a year, I made it my sole mission to prove them wrong and make Chase Hollywood’s next prodigal son. I worked every angle, every strategy, traveled nonstop, schmoozing the most powerful Hollywood assholes, until we finally got our shot. Chase just needed a chance. His talent took him the rest of the way. His first real job came with an eight-figure contract. LMC shut the hell up then.”
“Then you left?”
Adam nods. “Chase needs me more as a manager than an agent. So it’s my job to keep LMC in line. Unfortunately for them, I still think like an agent and I can literally smell blood in the water right now. I’m going to the source. The casting director for that job they screwed us out of is in New York right now. She’s under an NDA, so I need to get the truth, off the record, face to face.”
“You’re really protective of Chase,” I offer, running my fingers against the scant brown hair on his forearm.
“I’m really protective of everyone I love,” he says simply. “Maybe overly.”
Little does Adam know, a jealous man turns me on. A protective man could easily make me fall in love. But I’m “summer girl” and he’s “summer guy,” so it’d be unwise to tell him that tingles surge through my body every time he touches me so tenderly like this.
“Have you ever been to New York?”
I shake my head. “Actually, no. At least not the city. I had a layover in Syracuse once.”
He shrugs. “Do you want to come? It’d be for a couple days because I have some other business I want to take care of while I’m there, but I could book a nice hotel. We can even check out Broadway. There’s lots of content you can film in New York City.”
The word “yes” is on the tip of my tongue. A knee-jerk reaction. Of course I want to go to New York with Adam. I imagine we’d play footsie under the tablecloth at a fancy restaurant. I’m sure he knows all the best places to eat. We’d hold hands as I watched my first Broadway play. After, we’d roll around all night in the sheets of a king-sized bed in the penthouse of a fancy hotel. It’d probably be one of the most memorable weekends of my life…with a man who most definitely doesn’t want a family with me.
Not to mention, after waking up in bed this morning, playing house and pretending like Adam and Carson were mine to keep, I’m getting a little worried I’m losing touch with reality. I don’t want to walk right into the dead end of guaranteed heartbreak.
“That sounds fun, but I have some stuff I have to figure out here.”
“You sure?” he asks. “I’d love a travel buddy. And I’ll fly you first class if that’s any incentive.”
I laugh as I rise into a sitting position. “Thank you, but it’s not. I need to get used to less luxury, I think.”
“Why?” He cocks his head slightly to the side, like I’m speaking in riddles. “I promise I won’t try to fix it. Just tell me what’s going on.”
I’m not in the mood to talk about my money problems. Especially because I’m learning that simply knowing I’m in a pickle makes Adam overreact. It’s very sweet, and I appreciate his help, but I don’t want to be saved. I want to save myself. “Don’t you have to get to the airport?”
“It would not be the first time my assistant, Staci, had to change a flight for me. Last-minute changes to my plans are basically her job security.” He pinches the space between his eyes. “Which reminds me, do you think you could help me with something?”
“What’s up?”
“If I got you a very generous gift card to Olive Garden for your birthday, would you be offended?”
I’m silent for a moment, hoping my deadpan stare and narrowed eyes convey my point. But he looks more confused than ever. “My birthday isn’t until November, so you have plenty of time to rethink that.”
“Point taken. Could you give me some ideas for my assistant’s birthday gift? Normally, I just give her a fat bonus, but it’s the third year she’s worked for me, so I wanted to do something more personal on top of it.”
“And you thought an Olive Garden gift card would accomplish that?”
He laughs. “It’s her favorite date night restaurant. Her boyfriend takes her the third Friday of every month. Believe me, I’ve suggested nicer restaurants, but I guess they love the endless breadsticks. I was trying to buy them a dinner date as a gesture. I was going to throw in a nice bottle of wine. Shit, I don’t know. It’s easier to impress women I’m not attached to, but when it comes to showing someone I really care, I suck at gift giving.”
“Come here, you,” I say, standing. I reach for his hands and try to pull him up, but Adam is too heavy. Hoisting himself up, he takes my hand and I lead him to the spacious master closet.
I collect a medium-sized pink box with a little golden latch from the farthest corner of the closet. Sitting on the carpet, I cross my legs as I jiggle the latch open.
Adam sits down in front of me, leaning backward against the closet wall. “Is that what you keep your diamonds and pearls in? Because I’d recommend something a little sturdier.”
“I have so much random shit in here. No diamonds…this stuff is far more valuable.” I hold up a billfold with a golden clasp with little initials engraved. “My dad’s. He gave it to my mom as a keepsake and she gave it to me when I was about ten years old. It’s real gold. But of course I’d never sell it.”
I put it back in the box and pull out a small beige carpet square. “This is from the apartment I shared with my four best friends in college. It’s basically a condemned building now, but we built something incredible there. An entire family.”
I feel him watching me again as I shuffle through my most sentimental items one by one, getting lost down memory lane. I hold up a clear little jar of sand from Cancun, the only mother-daughter vacation Mom and I took. “Mom and I were so broke when I was growing up, but somehow she scrambled up the cash to take me to Mexico as my high school graduation present. That was the trip where I learned my mom could drink me under the table.”
Adam laughs. “You guys sound close.”
“We are. We used to do everything together.”
“Used to?” he asks.
I rub circles against my knees, trying not to dwell on the uncomfortable visuals of my mom curled in a ball, writhing in pain. “My mom has severe chronic pain. A deteriorating spine and serious nerve damage that makes her life unbearably painful. I empty my bank account every month paying for injections, electro stimulation, nerve block treatments, pool therapy, acupuncture, massages, you name it. It costs a small fortune to keep her out of a wheelchair. It’s why I started my influencer business in the first place. I mean, I hate my job, but it’s my mom, so—”
“I get it,” Adam assures me, nodding. “I’d give up everything I own if it’d bring my dad’s memory back. It’s frustrating when you’ve paid fortune after fortune, tried every experimental treatment, and yet you’re just running in place…coping.”
“Exactly.” I let my eyes water, unashamed of my emotions. He gets it. He just fucking gets it.
I pull out a small crystal, marbled with thin silver lines. “I got so desperate, I bought this from my psychic, who promised me that its healing powers would make my mom’s suffering subside. I’m still waiting for that one to work.” I chuckle bitterly.
Adam gives me a pitiful smile as he reaches across the space between us and squeezes my knee. “Damn crystals are like dividends. You have to wait forever for them to pay out.” He smirks.
“You don’t believe in that stuff, do you?” I ask.
“Not remotely. But I believe in hope. Hang onto it. And who knows. I’m not always right.” He winks playfully.
After patting his hand, I continue to rummage through my box. “Ha, look at this,” I say as I hold up the old, worn note on blue-lined notebook paper that I wrote Noa when I was eight. “This is a contract between Noa and me.” I hand it to Adam. “Careful, don’t rip it.”
He laughs as he unfolds the note that reads: Will you be my best friend forever? Check yes or no.
“I don’t think this is legally binding if the Bs are backward.”
“Wrong,” I say with a laugh. “It’s even notarized.”
“Is that what this little butterfly stamp is at the bottom?”
I smile at him. “Initialed and everything.”
“Well, that’s pretty damn adorable.” Adam very carefully folds the note back and hands it to me. “This might be my favorite detail about you now, but why are you showing me all this?”
“Because of this,” I say as I pull out the little pink bedazzled guitar Adam gave me a couple weeks ago. “I took it off the key ring and put it in here so I wouldn’t lose it.”
For once, I’m trying to make eye contact while Adam’s eyes are on the carpet. “That little keychain is worthy of your box? It cost me like ten bucks.”
“This little guitar means everything to me. It marks a definitive moment. You could’ve walked right past me when you saw me having a breakdown in the parking lot that day. But you didn’t. Somehow my meltdown drew you in instead of scaring you away. It was the very moment I realized I could be real with you.”
Replacing the keychain, I set the box aside and scoot forward on my knees and swivel in place, so I’m sitting right beside him. “You’re good at gift giving when you don’t overthink it. Women like gifts that show you notice. Even if it’s not a romantic relationship, it’s just nice to be thought about and cared about. So what details do you know about your assistant?”
He wraps his arm around my shoulders and squeezes. “She mostly works from home, but every now and then I take her to SoHo House with the whole crew so she feels included.” Adam teeters his head back and forth, thinking hard. “She’s really frugal. She once told me she exclusively shops at Goodwill for clothes and stuff. She found some kind of purse there once that she nearly lost her mind over. Some new designer line that’s supposed to sweep the market. It’s called Hot. Hottie. Something like that.”
Of course an L.A. Goodwill has a luxury designer purse.
“Hautte,” I correct him. “As in h-a-u-t-t-e,” I spell out for him. “A Swedish designer who is trying to take Dolce Gabbana, Chanel, and Prada head-on.”
Adam nods. “Good luck with that.”
“She’s actually doing amazing. I’m in her corner all the way. She donates ten percent of every single sale to battered women shelters.” I wiggle out of his grip and snag a rogue coat hanger from the floor of the closet. Geez, the clutter. I really need to get this place in order. Using the coat hanger as a scooping tool, I retrieve the box from the high closet shelf that Adam helped me put up yesterday. “Remember this?” I ask.
With the box in my hands, I sit back down in front of him, spin it around, and open the magnetic flap. The box itself has gold marble streaking, the very packaging making it feel like a treasure. Carefully unwrapping the thin protective paper, I reveal the bright purple wristlet. Part of me is expecting a small gasp at least, but I forgot I’m showing a man a purse. Tough crowd.
“This never even hit shelves. I was given it as part of an influencer campaign to promote their ‘Parade’ collection, but Hautte sold out about ten minutes after it went on sale. It was a limited edition run, so these wristlets retailed at like two grand. But I bet you it’s worth quadruple that now. It’s such a pretty piece, one of my favorites.”
“It’s nice,” Adam says simply, examining the purse, but he doesn’t touch the box. I smooth the paper back down and close the lid, nudging the box in his direction.
“Give this to your assistant. If she follows Hautte, she knows exactly what this is. She’ll be really impressed with you.”
Running his finger over the top of the box, he asks, “And I can’t just buy this somewhere?”
“Nope.”
He shakes his head. “Then, no. You just said it was one of your favorites.”
I look around my closet and all the boxes of stuff. “Look at everything I have. This isn’t even half of it. I’ve given so many freebies to my friends over the years.”
“See? Being an influencer is the smartest hustle. Not only are you making money, but you never have to spend it.”
I drop my gaze, watching my toes. “All these free things somehow imprison me. They make me a slave to the platforms I’m growing to resent. My whole life purpose is to build an audience that businesses can buy from me, but what am I selling? More stuff? More distractions?” I rotate my arm over my head. “All these beautiful things just sit here and rot in my closet. And here I am begging other people to fill their lives with the same empty things, promising them that the next big luxury purse or swimsuit is going to be that thing that cures their loneliness, pain, and anxiety. As if looking good can make you impervious to what’s really going on in the world.”
It’s such a powerful lie, I’ve almost convinced myself.
Adam opens his mouth, then closes it. Whatever he wants to say, he decides against it. After fiddling with his thumbs for a moment, he taps the box with his forefinger. “So you don’t want it anymore?”
“It is one of my favorites, but it’s one I’ve never used. So please give it to someone who will treasure it.” I gesture around the closet. “It’ll go unnoticed here.”
“Talk about wrong first impressions,” Adam mumbles under his breath. I mean to ask him what he means, but he surprises me with a quick kiss, sending the delicious tingles up my spine. “Thank you, Amani. How should I wrap this?”
“Just a ribbon bow around the center, and get a nice matching birthday card, okay? It’s a classy touch.”
Adam’s phone dings from his pocket. It doesn’t sound like a phone call. More like a notification. Standing, he holds his hands out to pull me up before grabbing the box and tucking it under his arms. I rub my knees, red and indented from kneeling on the carpet for so long.
“You sure about New York?”
I nod. “Yeah. Maybe we can hang out when you get back, though.”
He finds my lips again with his. “Definitely, summer girl,” he says, “I’ll call you as soon as I’m back.”