8. Chapter Eight
And the entertainment reporter says, “We can’t get enough of Christina and Graham, but how long can it last?”
* * *
I understand the lack of Thor knowledge once I step into Christina’s condo.
My bungalow sits on a quarter acre and has four bedrooms. It’s no mansion, but I’m happy there. But this...
Marble floors, open space, extravagant furniture, mirrors, collectibles, and a professional-grade kitchen that appears to never have been cooked in.
I set our bag from the market on the island and take in the view from the large bank of windows.
“How long have you lived here?” I ask.
Christina sets her purse on the counter, putting her sunglasses in the case before dropping them inside. “A while,” she says, but then chews her bottom lip.
I can’t help but notice how her eyes go dark when I ask personal questions. Or how her lips grow pinker when she gnaws on them.
“I can find out,” I say, leaning my hip against the counter.
“You don’t really have to learn about me. It’s not like we’re really dating.”
“Well, we’ve been working together for years, so it’s not like we’re strangers either,” I say, but in fact, we really are strangers. We’ve never gotten to know one another. That’s equally on me.
“Don’t you think you’re pushing it?” she asks, crossing her arms in front of her. “I mean, you’re in my home. You drove my car.”
“And I guarantee you that someone noticed.”
Her nose wrinkles up. “It still doesn’t mean I need to share intimate details of my life.”
“I only asked you how long you’ve lived here.”
She continues to chew on her lip, and I’m worried she’s going to make it bleed.
“Don’t judge me, okay?” she asks sincerely as she moves around the island and stands across from me.
“No judgement zone, except about the Loki thing.”
She rolls her eyes. “I’ve lived here since I was eighteen.”
I purse my lips so that I won’t react. An eighteen-year-old alone in this place? Was she banished here?
“You’re judging.” She folds her arms in front of her again and shifts her weight from side to side.
“I’m sorry. I don’t mean to. I respect your upbringing.”
“Oh, no you don’t,” she accuses. “You think I’m a spoiled brat.”
Well, who wouldn’t think that? But then I think about how her parents treated her at the awards ceremony. An extravagant condo given to an eighteen-year-old seems appropriate. And, she didn’t say they gave it to her, but, yeah, I’m assuming—I’m making judgement.
She moves past me, and I reach for her arm. “Hey, it’s a nice place.”
Christina studies me. “It’s not like I don’t work, you know.”
“I know. I’m there with you, remember?”
She nods, and somewhere we come to a truce.
I drop my hand and she moves to the refrigerator. “I have sparkling water, flavored water, Sprite Zero, and sugar free apple juice.”
I purse my lips. “No Coke?”
“I don’t drink sugar drinks.”
“That’s too bad. I guess I’ll need to bring some over.”
“I don’t see that you need to do that,” she says, pulling a flavored water from the refrigerator.
“I’ll take one of those,” I say, and she nods as she hands me one. “Thank you.”
“We can eat in here, or out on the balcony,” she offers.
“Where is your TV?”
Her brows draw inward. “In my bedroom.”
I purse my lips again to keep from laughing. “Your house is this big, and your TV is in your bedroom?”
She tucks her hair behind her ear and lifts her eyes to meet mine. They’re still dark and defensive as they settle on me.
“It’s really the only room I spend time in. This is a big place for one person.”
Interesting. She’s lonely.
I could ride this until she’s in tears, but standing in her kitchen, I feel protective of her. I’m seeing a different side to this Hollywood princess. Maybe these were questions I should have asked her when they first paired us up.
Nah, she wouldn’t have let me.
“So, I’m going to guess you’re not going to invite me to watch a Marvel movie?” I study her as her eyes go wide at my suggestion.
“Not in your lifetime,” she confirms.
“You know, why don’t I get an Uber, take my lunch, and head out.”
She opens her bottle and takes a sip.
“That’s probably a great idea.”
I nod and pull out my phone. She gives me the actual address of her place and I input it.
Christina moves to the other side of the island and sits on one of the stools.
On any other day, I would have done anything to get out of her presence as quickly as possible, but today, I guess I feel as if we are forging a friendship of sorts. Why? I don’t know, but I’ve been enjoying myself, even if it was for show.
But that’s not what Christina and I do. We don’t enjoy one another’s company. We don’t hang out or share details of our lives with one another. The fact that I knew where she lived seemed to surprise her enough.
I look at my phone and realize that my Uber driver is only three minutes away. I move to the bag from the market. I take out her lunch items and keep mine in the bag.
“When do you think we should see each other again?” I ask.
“We start production in four weeks.”
I wrinkle my nose. “I think we’re going to need to see each other a few more times before then.”
She twists a tendril of hair around her finger. “I have to be at a grand opening for my mother’s new spa on Thursday,” she says.
“Another one?”
Christina nods. “This will be the sixty-fourth one to open. But this one is a new concept spa.”
“I don’t understand that at all.”
She laughs. “I can’t say that I do either.”
“I could pick you up and take you there.”
Lifting her bottle to her lips, she takes a sip and studies me. Her eyes have softened, and her shoulders have dropped. She’s easing around me, even if ever so slightly.
“I suppose that would be okay. There’ll be a lot of press there.”
“All the better.”
She wipes her fingers over her lips. “I hate this,” she says, but it’s more sad than angry.
“It’s not forever,” I say, taking her feelings a bit personally. But what I don’t understand is why it matters to me.
This woman sitting across from me isn’t my friend. She’s someone I’m forced to work with, and now, in order to get all the things I want, I’m forced to spend time with.
But seeing her in her own home, I feel something. Let’s call it compassion. I know her mother doesn’t drop by with leftovers because she’s worried that her daughter doesn’t eat.
I see my mother at least three times a week when she drops by, or I take her to lunch.
My father invites me to go golfing or hiking a few times a month. I wonder when Christina last had one-on-one time with her father—or if she’s ever had that.
Even though we’ve worked together for a while, I don’t know if she has siblings, though I assume she doesn’t. I have my brother. At least when we are irritated with our parents, we have each other. Who does Christina have?
I look at my phone. “My driver is here.”
“I’ll text you about the grand opening, and we can make plans.”
I nod. “Okay.”
I pick up the bag with my lunch and head to the front door. As I walk through her house, I look around again. There isn’t one personal effect out. No shoes. No miscellaneous articles of clothing. Not one single photo.
Maybe this Hollywood princess isn’t the hot mess of perfume I think she is. Maybe she could just use some attention.