Page 59 of False Promises

The moment the door of our apartment closed behind us, Savannah dropped to her knees, fumbling with my pants. Her entire demeanor changed. Gone was the reluctant woman and back was the sex-driven side of her persona. Sometimes, it felt like two women lived in the same body. “Stop.”

She ignored me and unbuckled my belt and unbuttoned my pants.

“Stop,” I repeated.

Her eyes bore into mine, and her lips parted, ready to engulf the lower part of me that swelled under her palm. “You said… Carter, you said once we get home…”

I stepped back, buttoning my denims. “Not like this. Not after you flirted with another guy right in front of me, surrounded by people I work with.”

Still kneeling, Savannah moved toward me. “It was innocent flirting, you know that. Don’t act like a big baby. You’re sounding ridiculous right now.”

I pointed to my chest with my thumb. “I’m ridiculous?”

She bobbed her head. “Yeah. Acting like jealous and shit. It doesn’t suit you. You had your fun; I had mine. Stop making a big deal out of it.”

I blinked. A dozen times. She was fucking delusional.

“He’s producing a TV show, and they’re looking for lead actors. It was business. A golden ticket you stole from me with your misplaced jealousy.”

Coils of tension tightened my insides. Air washed in and out of my lungs faster. My entire being overheated. My skin felt too tight around my body. I knew the signs. An episode was coming.

Closing my eyes, I breathed in. And out. In. And out.

It did nothing to quiet the uneasiness swirling in the depths of me. I had to get out of here, breathe in some fresh air. And run. For as long and as fast as I could. To relieve the tendrils of tension swirling in me at a vertiginous speed. The walls of the apartment were closing in on me. I undid the top buttons of my shirt and massaged the column of my throat.

Nothing helped.

Snatching my phone from my back pocket, I shot Ed, my security detail, a text, then hurried to the bedroom.

Savannah’s high-pitched voice resonated from the entryway. “Where do you think you’re going?” she asked. “Carter, come back here. We’re not done. I’m not done.”

I ignored her, changed into my workout gear, laced my sneakers, and sprinted to the door. “I’ll be back later. Don’t wait for me.”

Before the door slammed behind me, I heard her pleading voice. “Carter, come back. Don’t go.” Her confident, carnal self was gone. Back was the sensible woman. Too late. The storm inside me wasn’t calming. I had to exert myself physically. Until it killed all the voices in my head.

And for the first time, I wondered if Savannah Prince was really the woman I thought her to be or if I was just a pawn in her game toward stardom.

With a shake of my head, I brushed the thought away and jogged down the stairs, not in the mood to wait for the elevator. When I landed on the sidewalk, cold air filled my lungs, and some of my angst diminished. Seconds later, Ed stood beside me, wearing an outfit similar to mine, and nodded as I tried to outrun my own self. The sound of my soles hitting the pavement, the noises of traffic and sirens in the background, the smoke and aroma from take-out counters quieted my mind as I pounded away faster.

17

SAVANNAH

Since the night of Dylan Daughtry’s party a couple of weeks ago, Carter had been more distant. He often went for a run in the middle of the day or disappeared for hours, pretending he was recording music in a studio he booked in Santa Monica. At night, he slept in one of the guest rooms and would wake up early for another run or visit at the gym.

Last night, he announced he was going to spend a few days in Green Mountain before leaving Los Angeles for four weeks next month because he had engagements. TV interviews on late-night shows and a much-coveted spot as a guest judge on the most popular reality-TV singing competition, all being filmed in New York City.

How much would I give to have this kind of notoriety? Be adulated. And wanted.

I was desperate to get the real Carter back. The one who cared about me and my opinions. The one whose face lit up when we got together. The one happy to cook dinner just so we could spend a night in and discuss our lives and our dreams. Our pasts and our futures.

This morning, we were having breakfast at a small eatery near Santa Monica, and if it wasn’t for the fact we drove here together, I would have thought we were strangers. Knots tied my stomach. I hated the distance that had grown between us. We used to have fun together. Now I felt invisible by his side. In a black T-shirt and a pair of jeans, he looked handsome even without trying. He sipped his tea, reading the news on his phone, not granting me any attention. Like I said, invisible.

I sucked in a breath and broke the tense silence. “How about we visit the music exhibition in the afternoon?” I waited for him to look up and answer. This was my extending an olive branch to resolve whatever disagreement still lingering between us. Carter loved music. More than he ever loved anything else in his life. And there was an exhibition in town showcasing the history of music in the movie industry for a limited time. I thought it could be enjoyable for us to go. And get me some brownie points to make up for our fight at that party.

Carter grunted a reply.

Leaning forward, I rested my hand over his, wishing he would grant me a few seconds of his time. I plastered the most genuine smile over my lips. “What do you think? We could walk on the beach first, grab lunch afterward, and get there later.”