The Austen Playbook (London Celebrities #4)(62)

“Likewise. I had a series of meetings about the film.” That explained the suit. He always dressed smartly, but in a dress jacket he maxed out on the fanciable scale.

“How—” A horn blared, cutting her off, and the traffic noise seemed to increase in volume. “What did—” Another horn blast, and the wind whistled past them.

With a frustrated sound, she grabbed Griff’s hand impulsively and started power-walking back to a less chaotic spot.

They ended up standing by a railing in a pocket of comparative calm on St. Katharine Docks.

She was wheezing. The Austen Playbook was a lot of fun, but it wasn’t very physically demanding. With all these talky, nondancing shows lately and her lack of morning runs, she really was out of condition.

She’d have some serious work to do if Fiona Gallagher liked what she saw in the performance and cast her in the Anathorn musical.

If. If, if, if. Everything was an “if” right now.

“So—how did it go? Your meetings?” She studied Griff anxiously and had to catch her breath all over again when he reached out and very lightly touched the end of a curl that had gone fluffy against her cheek. He seemed surprisingly unfazed by her yanking him about like a tugboat.

His hand dropped as they looked at each other, his eyes searching hers.

“At this stage, the Henrietta film remains on the backburner.” Griff pushed back the edges of his jacket to tuck his hands into his trouser pockets. “So, we move an alternative project forward.”

“Do you have a Plan B?”

He cocked his head, still looking down at her penetratingly. “I always have a Plan B.” A shade of Snooty Critic in the response that brought an impulsive twitch to her lips, but the tension immediately racketed back up again.

“What about Highbrook? Will it be—enough?”

“No.” Fleetingly, Griff’s jaw went taut, but he was very calm now. “It won’t be enough. The property will go. I don’t see any way around it.”

“Right.” Freddy’s mind was whirling. She opened her mouth, closed it. Reached out to rest her fingertips against his stomach, grounding herself. She could feel the rhythm of his steady breaths. She didn’t know how to say this. If—bloody ifs again—she was wrong, it was opening up a false avenue of hope for Griff. And if she was right, the implications for her own family...

He suddenly cupped her cheek, rubbing the pad of his thumb along her cheekbone. “You didn’t say why you’re back in the city.” His voice was deep and seemed to curl around her spine. They’d drawn closer together. “Don’t you have rehearsal today?”

People walking past shot them an idle, curious look, but Freddy was too worried, and too overwhelmed by being back with him, to care about onlookers.

“I organised a partial day off today in my contract.” She closed her eyes briefly, and his fingers moved in a stroke against the sensitive skin of her neck. When she looked up again, a frown was starting to grow in his expression. “For my audition. For The Velvet Room.”

His small movements, that little touch that was making her breath stutter, didn’t falter, but she could sense him go very watchful. “I forgot that was today.” He was emitting jaguar vibes again. “How was it?”

“I got as far as the door into the stands at the Metronome. And then I bailed.”

Griff’s brows shot up. “You walked out?”

“I barely walked in.” Slowly, she reached up and slipped her fingers through his, entwining their hands. Not for an expedient dash through the streets this time. Just to have that connection, that surprising, incredible sense of wordless support. It was like being able to breathe just a little easier, having that contact back again. “You remember that line in The Velvet Room, when Anna says there’s a moment you just know, and there’s no choice anymore, you have to act? The truth has to come out. I reached that moment.”

“And what did you know?”

Freddy lifted her gaze from her fixed study of his shirt buttons. “That I’ve reached the turning point where my career is concerned. Either I keep doing things I regret to try to meet my father’s expectations, or I grow up and take control of my life.” She bit her lip, then, on impulse, reached up and touched her mouth to the corner of his, and he turned his head so that his cheek slid against hers, moving in a gentle, thoughtful nuzzle.

She realised how hard she was gripping him, and tried to relax her tense knuckles. “There’s something else... Well, a lot else, if we’re talking about you and me.” She was starting to babble. “But...if there’s something I think has happened that’s wrong, I can’t just keep quiet, can I, even—” Her voice faltered, and she cleared her throat. “Even if some of the consequences won’t be good.”

“Freddy.” Griff’s own voice was very steady, but there was both concern and calculation in his eyes. She suspected he was mentally treating her like one of the medieval puzzles she’d seen him discuss on TV, examining all the angles, deciphering her. “I was an absolute bastard to you on Friday. I shouldn’t have lost my temper, and I sure as hell shouldn’t have taken it out on you.” He traced the line of her jaw with a gentle knuckle, and then pressed his mouth briefly to the curve of her cheek under her eye. He seemed equally uncaring of anyone who might see them. “I’m sorry.”