15. Chapter Fifteen
And the caption read, “The view from the beach is worth its weight in gold.”
* * *
The city is slower to come to life on Saturday morning. I sit on my patio and enjoy my morning coffee. I have lunch plans with my mother today, but she doesn’t lunch until one o’clock. I have plenty of time to do some yoga, give myself a facial, and maybe rethink my outfit.
I haven’t heard from Graham since Thursday, when he was at the vet’s office. I don’t know if Loki is okay or if something else happened. I just know that I offered to do a read through of the script we received, and then I’ve heard nothing.
There’s no reason to read into it. Graham and I aren’t really a couple.
I sink into my chair, wrapping my robe around my legs.
But we kissed.
I bat the tears that sting my eyes. God, why am I such an emotional twit? Yes, we kissed. I have kissed that man more than any man I’ve ever dated, which isn’t many.
This is all fake. I know it’s all fake. So why am I so freaking emotional about it?
Picking up my phone I scroll through my emails, and I stop at one from Penny.
This was just postedthe subject reads.
I open the email and there is a picture of Graham and I kissing on the beach the other day when I thought no one was looking.
Well, shit.
He played me.
He knew someone was looking.
The tears that had been stinging my eyes fall now, and I don’t even bother to wipe them away.
I fell for it. I thought he kissed me because he wanted to. But the whole point of us pretending to be dating is so that people see it. They want their Love Is in the Air movie couple to be real, and Graham and I agreed to it so that we could be handed opportunities that mean so much more than cookie-cutter scripted movies. I signed on for this.
Well, I just need to keep my priorities straight. It’s all about Penelope Mondragon—not about Graham ghosting me.
I do not have feelings for Graham Crowley, no matter how amazing that kiss was.
I don’t care that he can be kind and gentle, because now I know that’s all part of this act.
I can respect his acting talent.
My phone rings in my hand and I jump. It’s my mother.
I swallow hard, hoping that my voice won’t crack when I speak.
“Hello, Mother,” I say, and it sounds light enough.
“Christina, what is this picture that I see on social media?”
I wince, but then shake my head at the silliness of her question. My mother has now been around Graham and me twice where we held hands or were close. She’s even asked me about seeing him and commented about me not liking him.
This she notices and decides to mention?
“What picture?” I stand, pick up my coffee mug, and walk back into my condo.
“What picture? My agent just sent me a picture of you and Graham Crowley kissing on the beach in Santa Monica. What are you doing?”
I dump out what’s left of my coffee into the sink and rinse the mug before putting it into the dishwasher. The top rack is now full, so I decide to run it. I consider for a moment that all I have in there are coffee mugs and one plate. Someday, I need to learn to cook and eat at home. As it is, I have a refrigerator full of pre-made, portioned meals that I choose from when I feel like eating.
“You’ve seen me and Graham together, Mom. Why is this a surprise?”
I hear her gasp at the question. “I thought you didn’t like him.”
I don’t, but I can’t even tell my mother that. It’s a bit eye opening to realize that even if I tell my mother the truth, then this fantasy I’m living is over. My mother can’t keep gossip out of her mouth. She’d say something to someone, and the next thing I know the headlines would read Christina Malloy, daughter of producer Charles Malloy, is lying to everyone.
That might happen no matter what.
Well, shit.
“Mom,” I say calmly as I lean my hip against the counter. “Things change. Graham and I have worked together for years. We’ve figured it out.” The words taste vile on my tongue and my stomach growls as if it, too, objects.
“You brought him to the grand opening.”
Did she just figure that out? Seriously, he got more press for being there than she did.
“Yes.”
“Oh, Christina. This isn’t good for your reputation,” she scolds.
“I beg your pardon?”
“He’s a playboy. A flirt.”
“I dare you to find a man, or a woman for that matter, in this town that isn’t one,” I counter, suddenly very defensive over this man that I don’t like. And, if I’m being honest, he might be a flirt, but I don’t think he’s some playboy.
“Christina, your reputation is sweet. Do you really want to have pictures of yourself kissing a man on the beach? Please tell me you didn’t take him home with you.”
“Mother!” The word echoes through my kitchen.
“Well, this is bad, Christina.”
“No, it’s not. Graham Crowley is a nice guy,” I say, nearly choking on my words. “We’re seeing each other and working together. Besides, Dad must not think he’s too bad a guy. He wants him for one of his movies.”
There’s silence for a moment. “He hasn’t mentioned it.”
I’m sure my parents haven’t had a conversation about their jobs in years. Talk about a power couple that shows up to be photographed. I don’t think my mother realizes that’s them.
“It’s what I’ve heard,” I say. “I should get going so I can be ready for lunch, Mom.”
She hums into the phone as if she’s deep in thought. “Don’t forget, The Palm,” she says as if I don’t have a full itinerary in my email about the lunch.
“I won’t forget.”
“I’m sending a car for you.”
“I can drive,” I say.
“Why don’t you invite Graham to join us?”
That takes me by surprise.
Great. How do I even approach that?
Before I can explain that he probably can’t make it, she says goodbye, and the call is dropped.
I blow out a breath of frustration and click on Graham’s contact info.
I know this is very short notice, and you’re probably very busy, but are you free for lunch at one?
The text goes unread.
I start the dishwasher, wipe down my counters, tie up my trash, and carry the bag down to my garage.
Still no answer.
Well, she can’t say I didn’t ask.
It isn’t until I’ve finished my yoga workout, sat in my sauna, and applied a facial that he finally texts back.
Sorry I didn’t respond quicker. I was walking Loki and forgot my phone at home.
I read the text, and instead of being disgusted by his name popping up on my screen, I smile.
No problem.I don’t mention the lunch again. It’s right there if he wants to accept or not.
So, why lunch?
See? Neither of us find the need to see one another outside of public events. I shouldn’t have even asked.
My mother and I are going to lunch. She saw the picture of us kissing on the beach in Santa Monica and had some questions. And she invited you to lunch.
My phone rings, and it’s Graham. I’d rather just text. I suppose I could just not answer, but it’s not like he doesn’t know I’m holding my phone in my hand.
“What do you mean the picture of us on the beach?” he asks.
I laugh. Not only do I laugh, I snort because it’s so funny.
“I mean the picture of us kissing on the beach. You orchestrated that. Don’t tell me you didn’t know someone was watching.”
“I didn’t,” he says quickly. “I kissed you to kiss you.”
“Well, I don’t believe you. Not when Penny sent me the picture and then my mother saw it, too.”
“Fine,” he snaps out the word. “Don’t believe me.”
“I don’t.”
“I don’t think going to lunch is a good idea,” he counters.
“I didn’t think so either, but I had to invite you.”
“I don’t think you had to. Just tell her I can’t come.”
“Oh, I’ll tell her.” I’m shouting now. This feels more realistic than him kissing me.
“I’ll see you at the reading,” he snaps out the comment.
“Fine by me,” I say and disconnect the call.
Graham Crowley is an asshole, and he just keeps proving it. I can’t wait until I get that Penelope Mondragon film tied up and I can drop his ass. I don’t even care if he gets his film or not. All I know is I don’t want to be associated with him more than I have to be.