Page 43 of My Sexy Rival (Stars In Their Eyes 2)
I shook my head, giving him utter absolution because everything was my fault. “Trust me. It’s not you. It’s me. It’s all the things I didn’t say. Or should have said at different times,” I said, shoving a hand through my hair, then gesturing in the direction of the girl whose silhouette was fading in the distance. Like last night when I saw the flash card. When I realized who Trevor Highsmith was—that’s when I should have said something.
“I should go after her,” I said, and in a nanosecond, Matthew’s palm was flat on my chest.
“No,” he said crisply.
“No? Why?”
“Because when a woman walks away that pissed, you shouldn’t follow her. She needs breathing space, and she only needs to see you again when you have a big fat fucking apology properly planned. Send her a text, tell her you’re sorry and you love her, and then give her some room.”
I narrowed my eyes at him. “I suppose that means you pissed off Jane at some point?”
He nodded several times. “I did. And take it from the voice of experience, the next thing we need to do is sit down, have a cup, and plan that proper apology. Assuming you still feel the same about her?”
I rolled my eyes. “Seriously? Do you have to ask?”
He held up his hands in surrender.
“Hey kid, what the hell?”
James’s gruff, aggressive voice landed like wet concrete on my ears. Then I felt his clammy paw on my shoulder. “You don’t just walk out when we’re talking to a client. You get back in there and finish the hell up. That’s how we do it in America,” he said, digging his fingers into me.
Shrugging him off in one quick move, I swiveled around. For months, I’d been scratching and clawing at his door, hanging onto the frayed ends of his broken promises. Because I was desperate. Now I was done. I let go of that tattered rope, and let myself free fall, damn the consequences.
“Actually, James,” I began, my tone even and measured. “I don’t have to do anything of the sort. I don’t have to talk to your client, or to Avery Brock, because I quit,” I said and the words tasted like a victory prize. Even if I’d have nothing to show at the end of the day, being the first to leave was a vindication, and it was one I wanted more of. “Because that’s how we do it in America. When someone strings us along, and toys with our future, and plays games, we don’t have to take it. Thank you for all you’ve done, and no thanks to the letter of recommendation.”
He huffed and puffed, fumes wafting out of his nostrils. “You can’t do that.”
I nodded and smiled at him. “Oh, I can, and I did, and I’m not done. Watch this,” I said, then marched up to Avery Brock, parking my elbows on the railing and exhaling a tsk tsk tsk. “Avery, let me make this really simple for you,” I said to the two-timing bastard. “Your publicist hired a security firm to find out why the paparazzi keeps getting so many pictures of you with your pants down. The answer is precisely what my friend Claire Tinsley said, but allow me to spell it out even more directly for you. You’ve been caught on camera because you’re an ass. Because you cheat on your wife. Because you’re doing something wrong. Here’s the way not to get caught—don’t cheat. Easy as pie. Good luck in your directorial endeavors, and may these latest foibles be a reminder to keep your dick in your pants.”
A hand clamped down on my shoulder and jerked me away, possibly dislodging a shoulder blade in the process, though I couldn’t be entirely certain. James’s coffee-scented breath painted my cheek as he growled in my ear, “Leave the client alone, and get the hell out of here.”
“No, Uncle James. You leave my brother the hell alone,” Matthew said, interjecting as he grabbed me and steered me away from the bastard.
17
Jess
* * *
I did my best to pretend I wasn’t in the foulest of moods. My effort was aided by the staff at the restaurant because I was treated like royalty when I gave the maître d’ the name of the party, Ms. McDoodle, as Riley had instructed me. He escorted me to the best table in the restaurant and offered juice, tea, espresso, coconut water, or ginger soda, calorie-free of course, all compliments of the restaurant. I opted for a coffee.
A few minutes later, Riley arrived with Sparky McDoodle in her arms. Though the place was stuffed with other familiar faces, a noticeable buzz filled the air when Riley walked in and it wasn’t simply because the restaurant had skirted all health code rules by allowing entry to a dog. She was such a rising star, no one could take their eyes off her. Riley waved to me, then flashed a big smile to a well-dressed man in a crisp white shirt and a yellow tie at a nearby table. He was seated next to a gorgeous redhead, who looked like she could be an actress, but since she was actually enjoying her food, I knew she wasn’t. Riley held up her index finger to me, the sign she’d be right over, then stopped to give the man a quick hug. Next, she threw her arms around the woman. After the three of them chatted for a few seconds, Riley joined me.
