Hate the Player: An Enemies-to-Lovers Romantic Comedy(21)

Billie glares at me over her shoulder. “Just get me out of this.”

I grin and undo the zipper. “You got it.”

Instantly, the torture device is loosened, and Billie breathes out a huge sigh of relief.

“Oh, thank everything. I can breathe again.” She shrugs herself out of the dress. “I swear to God, I thought I was going to die in that thing.” She rubs one hand over her belly. “I’m so sorry, little baby.”

Before I can offer up another sarcastic comment, my phone chimes from its forgotten spot on the carpet. I pick it up to find a message from my assistant.



Samantha: I just spoke with Andrew Watson’s assistant, and they would like to set up a dinner meeting for the two of you.



“What? Why?”

Billie’s curious eyes jump to mine at my unexpected verbal outburst.

“What’s going on?”

“Everything still okay in there?” Colleen’s voice is back outside the dressing room door.

Jesus Christ, Colleen. Chill out over there. Your dresses are fine. I’m dealing with another crisis right now.

“We’re still good!” Billie replies to the bodiless feet. Thanks to the curtain, Colleen seems like the very opposite of a floating head.

As Colleen retreats again, Billie turns her attention back to me. “What’s wrong?”

“It’s nothing,” I answer, still staring down at the message on my phone. “It’s no big deal,” I lie.

It is a big deal.

In a few short weeks, I’m going to be filming a movie with Hollywood’s hottest douchecanoe. Every day, for several weeks, I’m going to have work side by side with Andrew fuckface Watson, and I was really counting on making sure I didn’t see him again before then—no need to prolong the length of my suffering.

“What does that text message say?” Billie asks, wiggling her body against the side of mine in an attempt to see the screen.

“Like I said, it’s nothing.” I offer a nonchalant shrug.

“Tell me what it says, sis. I don’t want to have to schedule my at-home water birth for your place of residence.”

My eyes narrow. “You wouldn’t.”

“Oh, I would. I’ll inflate that kiddie pool right in your living room.”

I roll my eyes and groan. “You suck, you know that?”

Billie just raises her eyebrows, and I sigh. “Andrew Watson wants to set up a lunch or dinner meeting with me.”

“Oh,” she says, waving a hand in front of her face that very clearly says she thinks I’m being overly dramatic. “Maybe he just wants to get to know you a little more before you guys start shooting for the movie?” She shrugs and starts putting her clothes back on. In the name of preventing another hostage situation, I don’t bother mentioning to her that there’s still one more dress to try on. “I mean, it’s not all that abnormal for the two leads in a movie to try to establish some kind of amicable working relationship.”

Amicable? I’m pretty sure amicable is not in the cards for Andrew and me. All we do when we get together is amica-boom like dynamite.

“Trust me, I got to know him enough at that fucking audition.”

“Birdie,” Billie says through a laugh. “I get that he’s a dick, but he’s also your costar. You can’t toss his body on a raft and send him upriver for a Viking funeral.”

The night after my audition a week and a half ago, my sister got more than an earful about our encounter. But clearly, she wasn’t paying enough attention. Andrew Watson is exactly the kind of guy you set on fire and send out to sea.

“Yeah, but costar or not, it doesn’t mean I have to be friends with the guy.”

“No, it doesn’t, but you should at least be friend-ly with him,” she replies. “I mean, you’re going to see him every day for the foreseeable future.”

I sigh. Son of a buttered biscuit.

“I hate to be the bearer of bad news, but I think you have to bite the bullet and agree to that meeting.” Billie grins and finishes shrugging her clothes back on. “And may I suggest you attempt to fit the meeting in before you have to go back to Nashville for a few weeks?”

I stick out my tongue to let her know what I think of her suggestion. She just laughs.

Ugh. Fine. I need to be professional about this. Whether I like or not, I need to suck it up and get used to spending time with Andrew Watson that doesn’t become violent.

God help me.





Andrew



Most women love me, but as luck would have it, Birdie Harris isn’t most women.

The engine of my Audi R8 slows to a gentle purr as I pull up to the valet stand in front of Tao, and in the newfound quiet, my phone pings with a text message.

I grab it from the center console and hit the button to kill the engine before the door swings open from the outside. I grab it and pull it closed when cameras start to flash. The valet gets the message and waits for me outside the door.

Quickly, I click into the message from Blake and read through its contents. A grin takes over my face.



Blake: Birdie Harris has agreed to a 45-minute lunch with you tomorrow.



Not only did she outright refuse the possibility of a dinner, she put a time limit on our lunch.