Chapter 32
CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
WE THOUGHT THERE WAS A SCOOP TO BE HAD, BUT NOTHING? NO INFO AT ALL? YOU GOSSIP WHORES HAVE LET US DOWN.
TRIPP
Greer was torturing me.
Fucking.
Torturing.
Me.
After the screenshot disaster a couple nights prior, I’d braced for residual anger or hurt from her, but there’d been none. She hadn’t tried to leave, except to go to yoga at the crack of dawn.
But even then, she’d invited me along. I’d had to turn her down since, as badly as I wanted to see her stretching in her tight outfit, the reaction I would have wasn’t something that should happen in a public space.
Otherwise, though, she’d been content to hang at my house and move on like nothing happened.
I was happy with the first part, but not the last. I wanted to talk. I wanted to make my feelings clear. But I knew what would happen if I pushed before she was ready.
She didn’t want a relationship.
Yet.
But we would get there. I could be patient.
Unless she drove me out of my mind first.
I sat on a barstool at my kitchen island and watched as Greer used a three-hole punch on the thick stack of papers.
Gripping the length. Stroking her hand down it to position it correctly.
I never knew something like that could be attractive, but watching her work was one of the sexiest things I’d ever seen.
My dick jerked in my pants.
I really am a pathetic fuck for her.
Greer glanced up before doing a double take. A small smile tilted her mouth as a blush spread across her cheeks. “Why’re you staring at me?”
“Payback.”
Her smile grew. “Fair enough.”
She went back to her task, making quick work of the rest of the pages before assembling them together in a binder. She hefted the book up.
My voice was thick when I offered, “I can think of a better way to spend the afternoon…”
She looked tempted before shaking her head. “I’m excited about this.”
How could I say no to that?
I gestured to the side. “Living room?”
“Can we drag the barstools into the empty room near the patio? I could use some natural light.”
I grabbed two chairs and followed her before moving to the living room to get my own papers. I returned in time to watch her lids drift closed as she slowly exhaled.
Making a mental note to equip the room with the most comfortable furniture I could find, I stayed standing. “Ready?”
Greer
“That’s it?”
“Yeah.”
I looked from my binder to Tripp and then back again. “That can’t be it. There has to be more.”
“I’m not used to hearing that from you.” He moved to stand next to where I sat, giving me a front row view of his rapidly hardening cock.
He wasn’t wrong. If there was any more to the impressive length, I would be risking permanent bodily injury each time I took it.
It would be worth the risk, but still.
The sight of it was almost enough to distract me from my outrage.
Almost.
I lifted my gaze—slowly and eventually—to meet his. “Did they give you some clue how it will end?”
“No.”
“Why?”
“Partially to avoid spoilers, but mostly so the end doesn’t influence our portrayal throughout filming. We won’t find out until right before we film that scene.”
That made sense. Logically. But I was still unhappy about it. I would’ve never begged to run lines with Tripp had I known it was going to end on the mother of all cliffhangers. I flipped through the script that I held, searching for clues I knew I wouldn’t find. “This is cruel.”
I knew that Tripp was good at his job. He was an amazing actor, and he made the rest of it look easy because he loved movies, and it showed.
He was also good at picking his roles. Far better than his father or Tony gave him credit for.
Summer was going to be big. I knew it. I could feel it down to my bones. Unless the rest of the cast sucked, there was no way it would fail.
And if there were issues with the cast, I would make a scene myself to fix it. The script deserved nothing less than perfection.
With the way Clark and Tony had shit on the booking, I’d assumed the film was going to be a cliché drama. And at the beginning, it kind of was. A recently dumped woman vowed to spend her summer experiencing all the things she’d never been brave enough to try.
And then the first gut punch came. And they never stopped coming.
Because rather than her living, laughing, and loving her way to self-fulfillment, a cancer diagnosis threw a wrench in the big plans she was finally going to make a reality. What followed was a gut-wrenching story of regret and missed opportunities because time was finite.
The script played up her ended relationship, making it seem like her ex would rush in like a knight to save the day. He didn’t. Instead, she found companionship and love with her neighbor, a playboy chef.
Played, of course, by Tripp.
The slow build of their relationship was going to be perfection.
The bit of the table read with the cast that I’d caught and then the full—though badly acted on my part—one we’d just finished made that abundantly clear.
I couldn’t wait for filming to start so I could catch pieces of it coming together.
If I wasn’t so close to finishing my degree, I would take a semester off so I didn’t miss a second.
Especially the mysterious end.
I was still distractedly flipping through the pages when my phone rang. I barely glanced at the number I didn’t recognize before answering in case it was something for Tripp.
Like the damn ending to the movie.
“Hello?” I said.
“Greer—”
I hung up.
Tripp’s watchful gaze took in the shock I wasn’t quick enough to hide. “Your dad?”
“Yes,” I lied.
Like the kind of liar I hated.
My guilt at the fib grew when his handsome face softened in commiserating understanding.
I wouldn’t have minded if it was my dad.
Halfway through the script readthrough, I’d reached the decision that I would go visit him.
I was still mad as hell. I would likely be a stiff wall or a raging, crying mess.
I wasn’t sure which, but it would definitely be one of those.
But my mom was right when she’d said he was a good dad. And if something happened to him…
I didn’t want that regret weighing on my soul.
But it wasn’t my dad picking the perfect time to reach out.
It was Josh, and there was literally never a perfect time for him to call me.
Ever.
I quickly blocked the number just as Tripp’s phone buzzed.
For an irrational second, I worried Josh had somehow gotten his number, but that was dumb. He didn’t even know about my job. Only Maddie and Wren did, and I knew they wouldn’t share that info. Hell, they wouldn’t share a glass of water with him if they found him crawling in Death Valley.
“Any chance that’s a message about the ending?” I asked, putting Josh out of my head.
“No, just Tony with a reminder about Hullywod’s New Year’s Eve party.”
My brows lowered as I scanned Tripp’s calendar on my phone. “I don’t have info on that.”
“I’m not going.”
“Why not?”
He lifted a shoulder. “Don’t feel like it.”
“Is it a quick thing at their office? You can pop in, make an appearance, then leave.”
“It’s also their twentieth anniversary celebration, so they’re making it a formal red-carpet affair.” His phone buzzed again. “Tony said they’re playing a montage film of their clients’s work, and I’ve got the most screentime.”
“Wow,” I deadpanned. “That sounds like a nightmare.”
He shot me a look.
“You should go.”
“Only if you’ll come with me.”
Walking a red carpet was my idea of a nightmare. I’d gotten stage fright accepting my high school diploma and had nearly busted my ass. Add in all the flashing cameras, press, and questions Tripp would surely get about our fuck-buddy situation?
I was nauseous just thinking about it.
“Uh, for your benefit, I’ll pass,” I said.
“Then I’m not going.”
We bickered back and forth for a few minutes longer before I relented.
“Fine. I will go.” I cut off his immediate smile by holding up a finger and adding a stipulation that I knew I wouldn’t regret.
“As your assistant. That means no touching. No flirting with me. No treating me any differently than a normal assistant.” He opened his mouth, but I kept going.
“And that also includes letting me do things for you.”
“If you’re telling me that I have to go the whole night without being able to touch you, there will be a lot of things you can do for me.”
My insides warmed. “We’ll go to Gilded after then.”
“Deal.” Another buzz from his phone, and all that carefree happiness was wiped from his face. “You’ve gotta be fucking kidding me.”
“What’s wrong?” I asked, but he was already turning his phone.
Photos from the disastrous Christmas dinner were plastered on the screen as some TikToker analyzed them. From the positioning, it was already evident that Skylar had taken the pictures even before she herself showed up in one.
One that was positioned to make it look like she was there with Tripp and not his father.
There was one of Tripp talking to Clark that must’ve taken place when I was in the study.
It was a great picture, even if it didn’t accurately portray that strained relationship.
The last was again angled strategically.
It must’ve been from when we got into the dining room because the staff was still there.
I was partially in frame, but with the angle and the way Tripp was standing, it made it seem like I was part of the household staff.
“Tony sent it,” he said, shaking his head. “He and my publicist think Clark and I should do more together since this is getting some buzz.” His lips tipped down as he looked at me. “Do me a favor, don’t repost any of this shit.”
“Of course not.”
My shoulders loosened when the video looped with only the lone sighting of me. Considering there’d been a point at dinner when Tripp had been using my hand to touch his dick under the table, it could’ve been worse.
It also likely explained why Josh had reached out after weeks of silence. Because although the glimpse was quick and obstructed, he’d probably recognized me.
Hopefully, he takes my hang up as a hint.