All the Feels, page 18
Marcus chafed his shoulder supportively. “Maybe we should reclassify you as a weepy bitch instead of a gossipy bitch.”
Alex raised a trembling middle finger.
“Have you checked your email yet?” Marcus’s voice was gentle. “Because I imagine Ron and R.J. had something to say.”
“Before I stopped checking my phone, I got a message from them. I forwarded it to my team, but didn’t actually read it.” He took a shuddering breath. “I wasn’t ready.”
“Are you ready now?” It was a genuine question, not a demand.
His best friend would give him as long as he needed. Thank fuck for Marcus.
“Yeah. I suppose.” Using the backs of his hands, he swiped away his grateful tears, then accessed his inbox. “Here we go.”
It was no worse than he’d expected, really.
Too late to remove you from the show, blah blah blah. Consulting with our lawyers about legal and financial consequences, blah blah blah. As the public now knows, you’re an embarrassment to your profession, blah blah blah. Not welcome at the convention or future publicity events, blah blah blah.
It was the last bit that jolted him from the cozy depths of the armchair.
As you’ve defamed us and our show, we are no longer interested in helping you. Thus, Lauren is fired, as she should be after such gross incompetence. Also, we have ceased paying for your virtual PA as of this evening. If you want her continued assistance, you’ll have to shoulder her hourly rate yourself.
The gross incompetence part set his teeth on edge, but there was something else niggling in his brain, some sort of idea . . .
Yes. There it was.
For the first time in two hours, the pounding in his skull eased, because he could see a possible path forward again. One he could actually live with.
Surging to his feet, he strode into his bedroom and slammed his still-open suitcase closed again, then zipped it shut. He tossed it onto the bed, then reached for his phone and ordered a ride to the airport. Next step: an airline ticket back to L.A.
When Alex began scrolling through possible flights, Marcus cleared his throat. “Care to tell me what’s happening?”
Whatever. The car ride to the airport would give him time to buy a ticket.
“Take a look at my inbox.” He tossed his phone to Marcus. “I’m no longer welcome at the convention, and all the relevant conversations with my team are happening over phone and email, so there’s no point in staying. I might as well go home.”
Using a text-to-speech app, Marcus listened to the showrunners’ message.
Once the entire vitriolic email had been read aloud, he glanced up at Alex. “You’re going back to L.A. tonight?”
Alex inclined his head. “If I can catch a plane, I’ll fly. If not, I’ll rent a car.”
“You’re going after Lauren,” Marcus said neutrally.
He managed a hoarse laugh. “Of course I am.”
And when he caught up with her, he was going to do his damnedest to convince her to stay with him, because he wasn’t ready to say goodbye. Not now.
Recently, he’d begun to wonder whether he’d ever want to say goodbye. Whether he’d ever be willing to miss one of her rare, piercing smiles. Whether he could ever happily live without her deadpan comebacks, her gentleness, or the way her snarky tees molded against her small breasts and the curve of her soft belly.
Maybe Lauren still thought they were simply minder-and-charge, or platonic friends, but he knew better now. He’d known better ever since that temptation-soaked near-kiss in his car.
“I have to go,” he told Marcus. “My driver should be here in about five minutes, and making my way through the lobby will take a while.”
Marcus’s sharp stare could have peeled grapes, but Alex didn’t flinch.
Finally, his best friend sighed. “I’ll run interference. Let’s go.”
They finally managed to reach the hotel entrance just as the car pulled into the circular drive. Alex half tackled Marcus in a hug, then flung himself inside the SUV, slammed the door, and fastened his seat belt as quickly as possible.
“To the airport?” the driver asked, her gray hair in a coronet of braids.
“To the airport,” Alex confirmed. “As quickly as possible. I’ll double the fare if you get me there in time for a flight at ten.”
“You got it.” Her foot stamped on the accelerator, and the SUV jolted around the circle and onto the streets of San Francisco.
He bought his ticket for that late-night flight as they wove through traffic and streaked along straightaways, then managed to send Marcus a quick message of reassurance despite the rough ride.
Going to fix this. Don’t worry.
He wasn’t talking about his career. But his best friend likely knew that already.
ALEX SHOWED UP at her duplex just before one in the morning. Which was only appropriate, since they’d often gone for their nightly walks around that same time.
It was a sign, he decided. A definite sign.
When she answered his peremptory knock and repeated doorbell-ringing, she didn’t look like she’d been sleeping. She did, however, look like she’d been dragged backward through several different circles of hell.
“You look like shit,” he told her. “Being away from me doesn’t suit you.”
She did not seem especially impressed by his opening conversational salvo. Lips in a thin, tight line, she merely stood in her doorway and looked up at him, eyes puffy and red-rimmed from traveling fatigue.
“Such a terrible hostess.” Dramatically sagging under the weight of his very light suitcase, he shook his head at her. “But if you require a lesson in appropriate etiquette, I’m here to assist. According to Miss Manners, you should invite me in, lest I collapse on your front porch from exhaustion. It’s the only polite thing to do.”
On second thought, perhaps that wasn’t the best advice, given Lauren’s overly generous nature.
Quickly, he clarified, “But if any other dude shows up at this hour of the night, don’t invite him in. He could be a miscreant. Or a vampire. Although maybe that’s covered under the miscreant umbrella?”
She closed her eyes and took a deep breath, then moved to the side of the doorway and waved him in. “Just shut up and come inside, Alex.”
Once he did, he found himself oddly unsure what to do with his hands.
Given his druthers, he’d tug her close. He’d wrap her in his arms and hold her, basking in her proximity, reassuring himself that whatever relationship they’d formed hadn’t simply ended.
Wren was absurdly, wonderfully round. Abundant, despite her diminutive height. She’d be soft and warm under his hands and against his body.
He wanted to feel it. He wanted to feel her.
But his proposal would impose the same old barrier between them, so he needed to keep his hands to himself. Accordingly, he set his small suitcase on the wooden floor and lowered the handle, then folded his arms across his chest.
Wren had changed into one of those faded, oversized tees she used as nightgowns, and her bare legs appeared especially pale against the darkness of the living room. The only light filtered in from the bedroom, where she’d apparently turned on a lamp.
They were alone in her house at night. Her bed might be rumpled. Welcoming.
He caught himself studying her legs again, and quickly glanced away.
They stood there in her small, dim apartment, staring at each other for a long minute. He blinked first, because of course he blinked first. Lauren was a fucking machine. A Terminator, as he’d once informed Marcus, albeit a very short one.
Finally, as if on cue, they spoke at the same time.
“I’m sorry,” they both said, and frowned at one another.
Then, in unison once more, “You shouldn’t be sorry.”
More frowning.
“You first,” they both said, and Alex couldn’t help it.
He laughed until his eyes were wet again, and the crushing weight in his chest had lessened enough for him to draw something near a full breath.
When he calmed, there was still no levity in her expression or those lovely eyes. Then again, she hadn’t heard either his apology or his plan yet, so he wouldn’t count that as defeat.
“Because I’m nothing if not a gentleman”—he polished an imaginary monocle—“please speak first. While keeping in mind that if you apologize for anything, I may have to murder you. Thus proving my point: You shouldn’t let strange men into your apartment.”
Not even a lip twitch. Dammit.
“Murder me as necessary, but I need to say it.” Her voice was gravelly, hoarse, and entirely determined. “I’m so sorry you endangered your career because of an insult to me. As soon as I understood that was even a possibility, I should have resigned and told Ron to find you a new companion.”
If she took one of those Which Gods of the Gates Character Are You? quizzes, she’d definitely be Atlas, the poor bastard. No question about it.
“Jesus Christ, Wren.” He heaved a heartfelt sigh. “Why are you so determined to be a martyr? I’m not sorry I caused problems for myself. I’m sorry I caused problems for you. Along with a few other people, but they’re not my priority right now. You are.”
Her brow furrowed even further, which he hadn’t thought physically possible. “What do you mean?”
“You needed time before deciding where to work next, and you needed money to buy you that time.” He hung his head. “When I lost my temper at Ron, I took away your extra time and income, and I apologize. You have every right to be angry with me.”
She held up a palm, her expression twisting in distress. “You were trying to avenge me, Alex. Because you were upset on my behalf. How in the world could I be angry at you for that?”
God, he wanted to roll his eyes so damn much. But he couldn’t, not with her obvious confusion and remorse and . . . whatever else was carving deep lines into those distinctive features.
“Lauren, you’re fucking terrible at being angry at other people for mistreating you or overlooking your interests.” A home truth, and one he hoped she understood. “Your lack of anger does not reliably indicate a lack of wrong done to you.”
She blinked those gorgeous eyes up at him, looking lost.
Whatever. They’d have plenty of time for informational lectures soon enough.
“Anyway, the good news is that I’m here to right this particular wrong.” He beamed at her, more certain than ever that he could fix everything. “I have a plan.”
“Oh, shit,” she muttered.
Ignoring that, he carried on. “The production used to provide a virtual assistant for me, given my organizational issues. In Ron’s email, he said—”
“Wait.” She held up a hand, somehow looking even guiltier. He could only assume it was a Guinness world record of some sort. “I can’t believe I didn’t ask this right away. What’s happening? What did Ron and R.J. do?”
“According to my agent and lawyer, I should be able to avoid financial retaliation and a lawsuit. That said, I’m disinvited from upcoming publicity events and forbidden to comment on the show, and both you and my virtual PA are fired.” The other, non-Gates-related consequences didn’t need to be discussed now. Or, preferably, ever. “Which brings me to my brilliant pl—”
“Not so fast, Woodroe.” Forget about birds. She was a fucking badger. “What about the post-finale jobs you had lined up? Have you heard anything about them?”
He stared with great interest at her bookshelf. “Not all of them.”
Not yet, anyway.
“Oh, Alex.” She dropped onto her sofa as if her legs had collapsed beneath her. “I’m so—”
Nooooope. “If you say ‘sorry,’ I swear to God, Wren, I’ll—”
“What?” She raised a challenging brow. “You’ll what?”
Okay, perfect lead-in. “I’ll remove the gym benefits from your employment package, and you’ll have to work out with me in my home gym.”
Her mouth opened, then closed.
“Just kidding,” Alex said. “You don’t have gym benefits, so you actually will have to work out with me at home. Assuming you want to work out, which isn’t a requirement or anything. You do you.”
That wide mouth had dropped open again, and she looked delightfully fishy.
“I wasn’t joking about the employment package, though. My lawyer is still”—amidst much complaint, given her other efforts on Alex’s behalf that night—“drawing up the contract, but it should be ready within a day or so. I’m happy to negotiate terms, as necessary.”
At first, he’d considered offering Wren work as his continued nanny-slash-companion, but he already knew what her response to that would be. She’d turn down the offer, claiming she’d already proven her inability to keep him out of trouble.
So he’d come up with a different solution. A better one.
“I don’t . . .” She licked her pale lips, and his own legs turned a bit weak. “I don’t understand.”
“Jeez, you’re slow.” When she merely stared up at him, he heaved an exaggerated sigh and explained, “I’d like you to be my new personal assistant. Not virtual. In-person.”
Her nose wrinkled, and it shouldn’t be so damn cute. “That makes no sense. Why not rehire your previous PA on your own dime and keep things virtual? She clearly has more experience than I do. Besides, I have several job options in my actual field of work, so my income isn’t dependent on your largesse. Hers might be.”
Dammit. He’d hoped she wouldn’t think of that.
“I’m keeping her on too.” He shifted his weight. “Otherwise, I’d feel bad.”
How he was going to produce enough work for both women, he hadn’t yet determined. He’d burn that bridge when he got to it, as was his custom.
She pointed an accusing finger at him. “You just told me you’ve lost jobs already—”
“I didn’t actually say that. You merely surmised.”
“—and I already know how generous you are to friends and charities and everyone else on the face of this planet, except maybe Ian and Ron—”
“Like you’re one to talk, Lauren Chandra Clegg, aka Ms. I’ll-Drop-My-Entire-Fucking-Vacation-the-Moment-My-Dickish-Cousin-Asks.”
“—so there’s no way you can afford two PAs long-term, and even if you could, I won’t accept make-work when I could be doing actual work instead.”
At some point during the discussion, she’d risen to her feet again. Right now, she was staring him down with her hands planted on her hips, her chin raised high.
She was so fucking stubborn, and he wanted to plant a kiss on that soft, truculent chin as much as he wanted to call her the absolute worst. But his entire plan was slipping through his fingers, goddammit. There was no time for kissing or even insults. He needed to find a winning argument, and he needed to find it now.
“But keeping me in good order is a two-person job,” he pointed out, desperate.
She held up her forefinger and middle finger. “Yes. You and your PA. Two people.”
“But—” Shit. “If you don’t come work for me, you won’t have as much of a break. You said you needed time to get over your burnout.”
At that, she actually smiled. It was small and sad and grateful and terrible.
“I’ve been able to save money these past few months, so I’ll still have time. Not as much as I originally thought, but some. Enough.” She audibly swallowed. “Thank you for thinking of that, though. Thank you for thinking of me. I appreciate it more than you know.”
A very kind and polite goodbye was on its way, he could tell. If he didn’t conjure another reason for her to stay by his side within the next five minutes, she was gone from his life for good.
He would come up with that reason. He would.
But first, he had to ask. “That email . . . are you okay?”
“I’m fine.” Her eyes were earnest on his. “It’s nothing I haven’t heard before. Ron used to say stuff like that all the time when we were kids.”
He closed his eyes and took a long, deep breath.
Upon seeing his expression, she quickly added, “Which doesn’t excuse his rudeness, of course, but it’s fine. I just wish you hadn’t seen that message, because I know it upset you more than it upset me. Obviously.”
And that killed him. Absolutely gutted him.
He didn’t want her upset, but he did want her angry. Or maybe not even angry, but at least cognizant of the wrong done to her. He wanted her absolutely unwilling to accept that kind of cruelty as a normal or acceptable part of her life.
But it wasn’t up to him.
“And I know you don’t want one, but I do owe you another apology.” When he opened his mouth to protest, she raised a hand. “Let me finish, Alex. Please.”
Goddammit. When she said please, he couldn’t do anything but what she wanted.
Glaring at her all the while, he braced himself to listen.
“If you say I shouldn’t be sorry for getting you in trouble, I’ll try not to be, and I won’t apologize for it again.” Her mouth turned down at the corners, which he hated. Hated. “But I can and will apologize for not being by your side as you dealt with the fallout. You asked me to come to your suite, and I should have done it. I should have supported you.”
Her absence had hurt. He couldn’t deny that, even as he’d understood her reasons for leaving. Or, at least, he’d thought he understood. But if she hadn’t been angry at him—
“I just . . .” She twisted her neck and stared into her lamplit bedroom for a few moments before turning back to him, her eyes glassy, and he hated that even more. “I knew it was the end of our time together, and I was”—when she blinked, the tears slipped down her cheeks—“I was really sad, Alex. I didn’t want to distract you with my own feelings, though, because you had more important things to deal with.”
Again. Gutted. Because again, she’d placed herself below everything else, everyone else, in his life, and she didn’t even seem to notice. Didn’t acknowledge how wrong that was.
She tried to smile, and it was wavery and heart-wrenching. “I’ll miss you.”
Then she was stumbling forward, and her arms wrapped around his waist, and she was leaning into him, just as soft and warm and precious as he’d imagined.
