Chapter Three #3
Back at my apartment, I change into a pair of leggings and an oversized tee shirt and keep myself busy while waiting for Ivy, who is coming over in a little while to hang out.
I spend time on the phone with Anna arranging voice-over work with companies who contacted my agent with interest, and putter around the apartment, watering my plants and straightening up.
I deliberately ignore the man sitting on the sofa making himself at home.
If he acknowledged the kiss or discussed the intimate moment between us, then I’d be more willing to move forward like two adults.
He has a job to do, to protect me, and I don’t want to make it more difficult.
But the fact that he is deliberately pretending that the kiss didn’t happen pisses me off and hurts my feelings.
I just haven’t decided how to handle him yet.
Instead of dealing with him, I head for the kitchen, take out two glasses, and pour myself some wine, setting one aside for Ivy. I settle into a chair at the kitchen table, scrolling through my laptop, checking my various social media sites for mentions of today’s performance.
A YouTube video has already gone viral, and a photo with contrasting shots of my panicked face when I realized the earpiece was dead and my triumphant hand pump at the end when I nailed my performance has hit the entertainment blogs. I’ve been hailed a success, but all in all, it was a long day.
A knock sounds at the door, and I jump up to let my friend in. Ben beats me to it, his big body blocking the entire entrance.
“Who’s there?” he asks in a rough voice.
“It’s my friend Ivy.” I try moving him over, but he is like a brick wall.
“Ivy Jameson,” a familiar female voice replies from the other side of the door.
“You see?”
Ben unlocks the door and opens it partway. “ID, please.”
“That’s ridiculous. I can vouch for her.” I grasp his forearm, shocked by the hard muscles I encounter and the jolt that goes through my system at the innocent touch.
He stiffens, obviously affected, too.
I pull my arm back and curl my fingers into a fist.
Ivy slips her license to Ben.
He studies it and hands it back. “And you’re alone?” he asks.
“Yes. One hundred percent I’m here by myself,” Ivy says.
Ben puts a hand on his weapon and waits as Ivy slips inside.
“Hi. Ivy Jameson. Best friend,” she says, extending her hand to Ben.
“Ben Hollander. Bodyguard.” He shakes her hand and glances at her with the passing interest of a man doing his job and studying the newest visitor.
Not that of a man captivated by the woman in front of him, which is curious because with her blonde hair, light brown eyes, and slender figure, Ivy turns most men’s heads.
Ben steps to the door and turns the deadbolt once more, locking us all inside before heading back to his position on the sofa in front of the TV.
Ivy hooks her arm with mine, and we walk toward the kitchen.
“So that’s your hot ex?”
One thing about Ivy is her overly loud personality. Even in this small setting, her voice carries, and I have no doubt Ben heard over the sounds of the television.
“Shh.” My cheeks heat, and to shut up my friend, I hand Ivy her glass. “Here. Take a drink.”
“I’d love one. Tell me all about today! I saw you on TV. I was so worried, but you were amazing, singing without your band and getting the audience to eat out of your hand. I was cheering out loud.”
Her words and tone hold a pride I need to hear from my friend.
Someone close to me who understands how hard I’ve worked for the opportunity I have and how important every appearance is toward my goal.
I hoped to hear from my mother or father, even from far away they know my schedule, but so far there’s been no word.
I take a long sip of my wine, finishing the glass and pouring another.
“Whoa. Let me catch up!” Ivy laughs and takes a big drink of her own.
“I’m so glad you’re here,” I say, pulling my friend into a hug. “Thank you for coming over.”
“My best friend is on The Morning Show and kills it. Where else would I be but here to celebrate?” Ivy taps her glass against mine.
For the next couple of hours, we talk and drink, and when the pizza Ben ordered arrives, we share that as well and drink some more.
Ben maintains his seat on the couch, which continues to aggravate me, his aloof manner driving me to distraction. While I can’t get that kiss out of my mind, he seems to have put it behind him, and easily at that.
Pouting and tipsy, I lean closer to Ivy, who just finished regaling me with a story about her latest date, an online site disaster of a matchup.
“I kissed Ben after the show today,” I whisper.
My friend starts to reply, and I place a hand over her mouth before Ivy can shout something I don’t want Ben to hear. “He hasn’t mentioned it since,” I say just as softly.
“He’s a tough one.” Ivy glances over at Ben. “I think the fact that you’re both under one roof is going to make things escalate sooner rather than later.”
“I hope so,” I say and pour another glass of wine for fortification.