Hell on Heels(34)

Tina and Tom clapped from their position on the wall, and Emma twirled Kevin around behind me.

My palms were sweaty, but I was smiling so hard it felt like my face was going to split in two.

In time with the music, Johnny backed up, and Baby did too, before she came running from the end of the hall.

My heart swelled.

She jumped.

He caught her.

And they did the lift, right there in the waiting room of Smith & Co Productions on a Wednesday morning.

I felt Kevin’s arm around my shoulders, and Emma’s came around my waist on the opposite side.

My life sometimes scared me, but it was exciting.

I shook my head and gave in, singing along with the rest of the office, and trying, for all that I had learned, to enjoy the moment.

The cast finished their performance and we all clapped—or, well, Kevin hooted and hollered, and the rest of us clapped.

After their bow, the woman who’d been playing Baby handed me my Burberry jacket I’d left in the coat check, and the man who’d been playing Johnny passed me a card before they all filed from the office, no doubt to return for some much-needed rest before tonight’s show. I knew from the posters they’d be in town for the rest of the week.

Sliding open the envelope, I read the message.



Sorry we missed the finale.

-Beau



“Oh my.” Kevin whistled. “That man.”

He wasn’t wrong about that.

“Yeah.”

My hand covered my mouth, likely to cover the smile that now somewhat permanently adorned my face when anything to do with Beau Callaway surfaced. That being said, it was also joined by the twist and turn of butterflies in my gut, some good and some not.

Grand gestures plagued me with nerves.

I am an independent woman with severe co-dependence tendencies. I do not believe in needing people. I believe in wanting them, and that is far more dangerous. Need is a stable emotion. You need food, so you eat. You need water, so you drink… but want, want is unstable. You want cigarettes, so you smoke, even though you know it kills you. You want to wake up to your car in the morning, so you drive home, even though you know you had one glass too many. You want to believe him, so you do, even though you know that lipstick on his collar isn't yours. It takes practiced restraint to decline the things we want over the things we need. To want someone badly enough is to forgo the basic instinct of self-preservation.

It's a trade off.

You can't protect two people at once.

I was worried that with a man like Beau, with a man that headed all error and was nothing but perfect. I’d want to want him so much that I’d self-destruct in the process, because no woman in her right mind would protect herself over a man like that.

She would protect him.

Because while being single wasn’t all bad, it wasn’t all good either.

It had its perks, and if you were lucky, you'd be able to see them for a year, maybe two, before the panic sets in. Your unavoidable relationship clock would start to tick and you’d begin to wonder how long it would take your neighbours to find your body if you died. Morbid, I know, but nothing sends women into a tailspin faster than the prospect of dying alone in a house full of nothing but cats. Truthfully, I thought cats got a bad rep. They were independent, and affectionate when they wanted to be. Though, I supposed all of that was besides the point I was making.

In a way, I loved being unattached. I was able to fill the holes in me with the affection of multiple men, not necessarily always at the same time, and it stopped the bleeding.

I was a functioning addict.

The high of male adoration kept my stride steady until, well, it didn't. Like they say, what goes up must come down, and the down is an ugly bitch. In Beau’s case, I was worried the down of falling for a man like that might kill me.

“You’re going to need to change this”—Kevin gestured a finger up and down my outfit—”style of yours if you’re going to be the first lady of the ‘Couv.”

I rolled my eyes. “Shut up.”

“You can try and make me, but mmm…” He closed his eyes. “I’m so team Beau.”

“What?” I shrieked at him.

“Well, there are three teams, and right now, I’m team Beau,” he stated matter-of-factly.

My headed started to spin. “There aren’t three teams.”

Kevin waved his hand in the air like I didn’t know what I was talking about. “Mm-hm.”

“I have to go thank Beau.” I scowled at him.

He made the universal rawr motion with his hands in the shape of claws. “Mm-hm. I bet you do.”

I ignored his asinine comments and took the card to my office.

Three teams.

No, there only ever was and would ever be one team.

Team Charleston.

Team me.

Searching the mess of files on my desk, I lifted and moved them to the side before I eventually located my iPhone and pulled up an iMessage to Beau.

Me: You’re crazy.

Delivered.

Me: Thank you. (kiss emoji)

Delivered.

His response was almost immediate.

Beau: Crazy for you. You’re welcome. x

I tossed the phone onto my desk, the card in my purse, and returned to sort out the Weizmann fundraiser situation with Tom.