Page 103 of Wicked Angel
But there she was, on my mind. No matter how I tried to focus on other things.
“I hired a woman to be my new publicist and I’m pretty sure I’m about to sleep with her.”
He eyed me again, in that way only someone who knew much better than you did—about everything—could. “You think that’s a good idea?”
“Which part?” Before he could answer, I forced it out. “I lost my record producer. The recording studio. And JC and Miles are gone. It’s official. And now the lawyers are in on it, negotiating. Hopefully not making everything worse.”
Rory had completely stopped caressing leaves to study me.
“Aren’t you going to ask me how I feel about that?” I asked him, semi-sarcastically.
“I would, but we both already know how you feel about it. Do you want to talk about it?”
“I don’t know.”
I knew he was reading things I wasn’t saying. There was a shit ton he could see, even when I wasn’t talking. I’d hated it when I was a kid. Now, it was a relief and kind of a curse, being in his presence. You couldn’t hide much from Rory. But he never forced me to talk about things when I wasn’t ready, either.
I was here because I wanted to be. I’d talk when I wanted to.
He’d talk back because he wanted to. If he didn’t, he would’ve kicked me out long ago, cut me off. I knew that much.
“Have you thought about telling her?” he asked me.
“She knows.” I rubbed my hand over my face. “She knows what’s going on inside my career.” Unfortunately, she knew too much. Already.
All that shit she’d said about me being my own worst enemy? About no one liking me? About me wanting to hire her to fix my shit because I wasn’t doing it myself?
Way too fucking accurate.
I wasn’t prepared for her to see all that shit. Or for what happened last night; getting all fucking jealous and possessive when I saw her admiring other guys… I wasn’t prepared.
I didn’t know how to handle a relationship, on any level. Having Angeline in my space, all up in my shit when I was at my worst…
No. Not your worst.
It gets much worse than that.
“I wasn’t referring to your career,” Rory said, with his usual infinite patience. “I was referring to the fortress.” He waited until I met his eyes again. “Do you feel like you want to tell her?”
I didn’t even know how to answer that.
It was not something he asked casually. He’d rarely asked. Which meant that something about her, something aboutme, had tipped him off that she might by important to me somehow.
Even though I was here for that—for his insight—it bothered me when he saw things I didn’t want him to see. And it was a relief. Because if he saw it first, I didn’t have to say it myself. I could waste time denying it instead. Then he’d waste time trying to get through to me. It was a game I played, and he knew it; making him work for it. Making him prove that he cared enough to help.
I couldn’t stop doing it. After all these years, I still couldn’t stop. Trying to make him, just like everyone else in my life, prove to me that they cared.
Because deep down, I never believed them.
“Why would I want to tell her?” It bothered me, the implication—that she was someone important enough, someone who deserved to be told. How the hell could he know that, when I’d barely said two words about her?
I wasn’t even sure how important she was to me.
I wasn’t ready for anyone to be important to me.
My sister, sure. My dad. My stepmom.
A few of my friends.
