Chapter 10
“ Y ou’re not R.J. Miller,” I stammer.
I’m stating the obvious. But I’m so shocked, they’re the only words that come to mind.
He laughs. It’s the same throaty laugh I remember from years ago. “I’m sorry for catching you off guard with the fake name. I just figured if you knew it was me, well—you probably wouldn’t have come.”
“What are you doing in Chicago?” I ask, bewildered.
“I’m here for work,” he says. “Indefinitely.”
Part of me is tempted to turn around and take the elevator back downstairs.
But it’s the other part of me—the curious part—that wins.
“Let me get you something to drink,” he says. “Coffee? Tea? Juice? You name it, I’ve probably got it.”
“Coffee’s fine,” I say, a bit curtly. Well, curtly for me, anyway. So I follow it up with a softer, “Thanks,” because I don’t want to seem ungrateful. What happened between us is ancient history. I need to stop dwelling on the past and focus on the present instead.
I follow him as he makes his way to the kitchen. It’s only the two of us in an expansive urban palace, with floor to ceiling windows and a panoramic view of the city. It takes my breath away.
“Cream and sugar?” he asks.
“Just a splash of almond milk, if you have it.”
He nods. As he tinkers with his state-of-the-art coffee maker, I stand at one of the many windows and admire the lake, which is speckled with sailboats on this warm summer day.
When he’s done making my coffee, he hands me a steaming hot cup and stands beside me at the windows. I thank him, still in complete shock that I’m in the presence of this man I thought I’d never see again. At least not in person, anyway.
He’s a movie star, after all. His face is everywhere. Even up close, he’s picture perfect, with that chiseled jaw and jet-black hair—and the ocean-blue eyes that remind me so much of Hunter Reed’s.
His name is Grady Brooks. He’s a megastar on par with Dex—although neither actor would appreciate the comparison.
According to the media, they have a longstanding rivalry that started early in their careers.
They rose to fame around the same time; they were both young and incredibly hot; and they went up against each other for a lot of the same roles.
Eventually, Dex was branded as Hollywood’s hero, while Grady took the title of quintessential bad boy.
You’d think the tension between the two would have ended there, since they weren’t vying for the same parts anymore.
But as far as I know, Dex and Grady are still more frenemies than friends.
“You look good, Jenna,” Grady says, eyeing me up and down. “Haven’t changed a bit since the last time I saw you.”
“The only time you saw me,” I remind him.
Grady and I met just once, about three years ago, at a small gathering Dex offered to bring me to, because we’d been hanging out when he got the invitation.
There were only ten or eleven people there—all A-list celebrities, except for me.
I felt like I was dreaming, especially when Grady Brooks started hitting on me.
“You made quite an impression,” he says, fixing me with his smoldering eyes.
The ocean-blue eyes that are so similar to Hunter’s, I have to work hard not to succumb to the shame and guilt that are always bubbling beneath the surface, threatening to drown me.
Especially these days, since I met Charlie, and wish more than anything that I could wipe the slate clean to let myself love him.
But thinking about the mess I’m in will do me no good now. I need to keep my wits about me. I’m not sure what Grady wants from me, but I’d be shocked if it were interior design.
“You made quite the first impression, too,” I tell him with a wry smile. “I guess you already know that, considering you used a pseudonym to lure me here.”
He laughs in the lighthearted way that only an obscenely rich, gorgeous Hollywood bad boy would deem appropriate under the circumstances. “Touché,” he says.
When I roll my eyes and take a sip of coffee, though, his movie star grin fades. “Look, I’m sorry if I was out of line that night. You told me you and Dex weren’t a couple, so I figured you were giving me the green light to ask you out.”
“You did not ask me out, Grady. You told me you wanted to…um…” My cheeks burn as I look down at the floor.
“Fuck you,” he says without any hint of embarrassment in his voice. “Yes, I remember. You ignored me the rest of the evening. I was heartbroken.”
“Yeah, I could tell from the way you kept looking at me with those sad puppy dog eyes. I guess that usually works for you, huh,” I say, turning back to see an amused look on his face.
“Hey, let’s not forget, you’re the one who gave me your number,” he says, playfully. “Can you blame me for thinking you were interested?”
I scoff. “I gave you my number before you propositioned me…and only because you said you might need an interior designer. Had I known you were going to use it to send me dirty texts about all the things you wanted to do to me?—”
“I was drunk.” For the first time, I see an expression that resembles sheepishness on his face. “I’m sorry.”
“Grady, it wasn’t only one time. You texted me for months. I had to block you.”
He lets out a breathy exhale. “Look, I’m not being glib. I actually was drunk most of that time. I had a drinking problem, Jenna.”
I’m quiet for several seconds. “Oh,” I finally say.
“I try to laugh it off, but it almost killed my career,” he goes on. “It ruined most of my personal relationships. I had a lot of amends to make while I was in rehab. I should’ve reached out to you, too.” He sighs. “I’m really sorry.”
There’s something different about his face now. A pretense that’s melted away. In his eyes, I see genuine pain.
“Okay. I accept your apology,” I say, quietly. “So, um…you’re doing better now?”
He smiles, then pulls a bronze medallion out of his pocket. “One year sober.”
“Congratulations,” I reply with a sincere grin that matches his.
I have another sip of coffee, then take my gaze around his penthouse—or as much as I can see of it from where I’m standing.
It looks like something you’d find in the city issue of House & Garden magazine.
Open and spacious. Simple, yet stunning in its contrast of textures.
The combination of supple leather sofas with natural wood tables and glass pendant lighting is undeniably alluring.
There’s even an impressive collection of modern art pieces that experiment with color and form.
I guess that’s not surprising. Like Grady Brooks himself, the paintings on his walls don’t play by the rules.
“So, why am I really here?” I ask him. “This place is gorgeous. I have a hard time believing you need an interior designer.”
After a deep sigh, he explains. “I fired the last designer because she was trying to gouge me. I know tons of celebrities who sign off on their bills without even looking at them—but I grew up poor, so that shit won’t work on me.
” He shakes his head. “Anyway, she was nearly done with everything, but one of the guest rooms never got finished. I saw that tweet from Lola about your design work?—”
“Ah yes, Lola,” I say casually, as though the popstar were also a good friend of mine.
“And when I looked you up online and saw that you were in Chicago, I thought to myself—here’s someone I can trust,” Grady continues. “I mean, you’ve been friends with Dex for a long time, so you don’t seem like the type to take advantage of someone’s fame.”
“Of course not,” I say.
I bite my lip, tempted to ask about his relationship with my famous friend.
I never told Dex about my conversation with Grady at the party, but I guess I didn’t need to.
When we were on our way back to his place that night, I remember Dex saying something along the lines of, “I know we’re not committed, and it’s none of my business who you date, but trust me—you can do a lot better than Grady Brooks. ”
At least I think that’s what he said. I was pretty tipsy. Regardless, I didn’t ask Dex to elaborate, because it was obvious to me, even from our limited interaction, that Grady was no gentleman.
But now I know Grady had a drinking problem.
I wonder if that also explains the bad blood between him and Dex.
Although I’m curious, I decide against bringing up the rivalry between them.
It probably makes more sense for me to call Dex later and ask him.
At least I know he’ll be honest, because he isn’t trying to get in my pants.
I’m not sure I can say the same about Grady.
It’s no secret he’s attracted to me. I’m sure many women would kill to be in my shoes right now. To have the Grady Brooks standing less than a foot away, gazing at them longingly.
But it only makes me long for Charlie, and the warmth and safety of his arms around me. I miss him .
“So, whaddya say?” Grady asks. “Want to check out that guest room, and tell me what you think?”
“I can take a look.” No harm in that, I guess.
He leads me down two very long hallways, and I admire the beautiful artwork on the walls as we walk. Whoever the last designer was, I have to admit she did an amazing job. Too bad she wasn’t trustworthy.
The room is pretty bare, with only a bed, nightstand, and dresser. I ask Grady to show me the four other guest rooms for comparison, and he does.
“I’m guessing you want to maintain a similar aesthetic for the final room?” I ask him afterward, as we walk back into the living space.
He stops and turns to me. “I want you to do what you do. You know—that process you talked about in the video. I want you to get to know me.”
I laugh, raising my eyebrows. “I see.”
“Come back for dinner tonight,” he says. “We’ll have a nice meal, you can ask me your questions, and we’ll call it a day. Like I told you, Jenna, I’ve changed. I’m not trying to sleep with you, I promise. Unless you wanted to, of course?—”
“I don’t,” I say decisively.