Bombshell (Hollywood A-List #1)(47)

Brad was already in the kitchen underlining things in a script. He looked as though he’d gone out and come back already.

“We’ll be out of here in a minute,” I said when Nicole and I hustled in.

“Wait!” He let the script flop closed. “I’ve had a lot of time to think.”

“Side effect of a kid forcing you into a twin bed.” I pulled the tub of gourmet cream cheese out of the fridge. The little slider buns were in the bread drawer. Knife. Plate. Little girl on little bench.

Brad leaned over to Nicole. “How would you like to go to Disneyland?”

She gasped and covered her mouth with brows arched over wide eyes.

“That’s a yes, I’ll take it,” Brad said with a big stunning half-moon of a smile.

Nicole clapped. “When?”

“Day after tomorrow. Two days of nothing but fun.”

He glanced at me. I was supposed to say something.

“I think that’s a great idea.”

Nicole bounced as if her chair was a trampoline.

“I hate to bring this up,” I said softly, looking at Brad. “Have you arranged security?”

He snapped his fingers. “Under control.”

That was what I was afraid of. His version of under control wasn’t mine. Not when it came to Nicole and not when it came to where his lips landed. I was pretty sure we’d keep spontaneously combusting in moments of weakness without making any decisions about whether I should stay or go.

“I think we need to talk,” I said. “A lot happened yesterday. We crossed lines.”

“I hate lines,” he said, smiling. God damn that face. “Listen. I thought about it.”

He paused long enough to refill his coffee.

“Go on,” I said while Nicole drew Minnie Mouse.

“Coffee?” he asked. Nice stall. I’d give it to him because I needed coffee.

“Yes.”

He took his time pouring and pulling the cream out of the fridge. When he handed me the cup I made an effort to take it without touching him, and failed. His finger brushed mine, and I remembered the way he’d stroked my arm the night before. The perfect amount of pressure.

I put the cup to my lips.

“Go on,” I said.

“Before I start, do you have anything to say? I’m sure you have an opinion.”

“You’d been drinking.”

“Not that much.”

“I’m trying to give you an out.”

“If I wanted an out, I’d be out. I want in.”

My mouth went dry. I swallowed, but I had nothing to go down. Nicole was singing to herself at the counter, and I wanted to die or jump up and down in joy. Both. Neither.

I started to say something, but never decided what, so I just stood there with my coffee circled by both hands, mouth half open. He met my gaze and held it.

“Here’s how it is,” he said, finally breaking the silence. “You don’t want to work for me anyway. Ride out your time here, then all bets are off.”

“What bets are off, exactly?”

Now I was the one stalling.

He jerked his thumb to Nicole. “You don’t want me to talk about what I’m going to do to your body in company.”

I had the professional demeanor thing down to a science until then, because I wanted to hear what he was going to do to me in fine detail.

I cleared my throat and focused on my circle of coffee.

“It’s not appropriate. None of this is. We shouldn’t even be talking about it.”

“When your time’s up, that talk’s getting real. Mark my words.”

He took a swig of coffee that had a serious finality.

“I do a lot wrong,” he said, rinsing out his cup. “But when I decide something, it happens.”

“Do I get to decide?”

It was a rhetorical question. Of course I got to decide. And I was going to let him tell me what he was going to do, and then I was going to let him do it. I could barely breathe thinking about it. I hadn’t thought about the bulge in his tuxedo pants by sheer force of will, but at the counter with his promises heavy in the air, I let that vision move me.

Yeah. I got to decide. And it was yes. All the way yes.

I must have been wearing my feelings all over my face, because he smiled at me in a way that made me blush, and I had to work not to smile back like a teenager.

He came around behind me, and I remembered the first salvo of dreams where I couldn’t see him. I could only feel him behind me. He leaned over and whispered in my ear. “See you in a couple of weeks, Miss Cara.”





CHAPTER 34


BRAD


This was a setup. Mike didn’t go to Ken’s office unless he had a good reason, and the reason this time was Mr. Fuckup. Me.

Ken had called me to his office to talk about security at Disney, which I admit, I didn’t call him about until Cara left for the day, because it hadn’t occurred to me until she mentioned it. I bolted to my publicist’s office downtown, around the back way where I wouldn’t be seen by anyone who wanted an autograph or a picture, and up to his office, which was decorated in about forty-nine shades of gray.

Ken told me he’d take care of security in one sentence on the way to his office. Then, once I stepped in, he closed the door. Michael Greydon was on the couch in a navy jacket and white shirt. Mr. Neat. My friend. Didn’t call. Didn’t text. Just sitting there with an iPad on his lap. He hugged me and slapped me in the chest with the tablet.