Sweet Cheeks(86)

Shit, while I watched her from behind my dark sunglasses and beanie, I had half a mind to walk right up to her and not give her a f*cking choice in the matter whether I was going with her or not. Charter a damn plane myself if need be to get us out of there together because I’d lost her once and I wasn’t taking the damn risk of losing her again.

Last time it had been right to walk away. I had justifiable reasons. This time? Not a chance in hell.

That look in her eyes. She was spooked. Freaked out by the f*cked-up confines we Hollywood A-Listers live by. There’s a helluva lot of privilege but also a ton of bullshit. And the only thing worse than watching her walk away—letting her go face this beast on her own—is losing her.

So I hung back on the other side of the tiny terminal. Wanting to be sitting beside her, talking her stubborn-ass through this, but instead I did the hardest thing for a man to do: I sat and watched the woman I love, knowing she was hurting and all I could do was sit there and fume.

Because f*ck yes, I love her.

No doubt about it.

It was hard enough putting her in a car and kissing her goodbye. Biting back the words I feel but knew wouldn’t mean a damn thing to her considering the circumstances. Saying I love you for a second-first time should be special, not because I’m afraid I’m going to lose her.

But I f*cked up. Big time.

It was only after her plane took off that I realized my f*ck-up. She heard me say the words to Jenna. But not to her. And there’s no way to fix it except to earn the chance to tell her face to face.

But now I’m here.

In New York, my home away from Los Angeles, and way too damn far from her. So I’m depending on Benji to deliver because he’s the goddamn reason I agreed to sign the damn NDA in the first place. His quiet urging. His commentary on how Jenna wouldn’t dare f*ck up again because she didn’t manage her finances well and needed this big influx of cash the movie would bring. Trip after trip to a secluded, confidential rehab in Arizona, full of Zen gardens and yoga something or others with the best counselors money could buy, cost a pretty penny.

“Look, man. I’ve always respected your opinions. And I take full responsibility for the bullshit with Jenna, but I think you’re missing the bigger picture. I. Don’t. Fucking. Care.” Each word sounds like another string to my control snapping. “About my image. About the film. About shit. This needs to get fixed and it needs to get fixed f*cking yesterday.”

There’s silence on the line. My point has been made. He gets I’m not f*cking around.

“I hear you, loud and clear, but no one’s going to listen to you. You’re too good of an actor, Whitley. You’ve had everyone believing you were with Jenna. And then with your silence, you had everyone falling for the broody, bastard boyfriend routine where the guys questioned how you could find better * then Jenna Dixon’s. And the women, while hating that you might have cheated, were also pulling back their sheets and patting their Tempur-Pedics in invitation. You never broke character once. You didn’t talk about it. You didn’t—”

“Because I signed the f*cking NDA on your advice,” I grate through gritted teeth.

“Your balls were in a vice, man, with the studio acting as the henchman like I’ve never seen before. You had no choice. But you know as well as I do that painting the town red with interviews isn’t going to do shit to change the public tide on Saylor.”

And I f*cking hate that. With a vengeance.

My hands fist in reflex. My teeth grind together. I feel the same f*cking helplessness I had when she boarded the plane the other day and walked out of my sight.

“Get with Kathy. Figure out how to coordinate face time with Givens, Seacrest, and Cooper. The studio wants me to be their puppet boy? I’ll do their dance, pimp the movie, and while I’m at it, I’ll set the record straight about Jenna and me and where Saylor fits in the f*cked-up equation. The studio wants a buzz leading into release day? I’ll give them a buzz like they never expected.”

“Watch it, Hayes. You’ve walked the line this far, make sure you don’t step over it now.” I can sense his frustration. Hear his sigh across the connection. Expect the heeded warning one more time. “I get you’re frustrated. Know you want to shout on the rooftops the truth about Saylor, but I’m telling you your best plan of action is to sit and wait. This will blow over.”

“You’re right. It might. But it will blow over means a completely different thing to me than it does for Saylor. You know what it feels like the first time you open your car door and have a camera thrust in your face? Or hear the click of the shutter from somewhere in the bushes but don’t know where until you catch the glare of the lens? It’s f*cking terrifying if you’re not an attention junkie like we actors are. And she’s the furthest thing from that.”

“It will blow over, Hayes.” There’s sympathy in his voice this time, and it’s still not enough.

I hang up without another word. Sit and look at the lights of the city beyond. Wonder how many people out there have read about Saylor today. Wonder if they immediately believed the lies. And then wonder why the f*ck they even care about who I date in the first place.

I pick up the beer by the neck and down it. Exhaustion hits me, yet I can’t sleep. I glance at my phone, my thumb instantly swiping to check my messages just in case I missed a text back from her.