Keep Her Safe, page 3
“You just found out your boyfriend is cheating on you and you don’t think getting wine drunk is the answer?” She points at me before snapping like she’d just gotten another idea I’m sure I’ll like even less than wine. “You know what? You’re right. Tequila is the answer. I’ll rally the troops for tonight. Imagine how he’ll feel seeing you out in the streets without a care in the world. Maybe we should stage a run-in with someone. I’ll see what everyone is doing tonight.”
“V…”
“Shay.” She shoots me a look. “You wouldn’t have told me if you didn’t want this.”
She’s right that I had expected this, but I tell Veronica everything, and keeping this from her wouldn’t have lasted a day because we can read each other easily. “I told you because you’re my best friend.”
She doesn’t say anything for a moment, and I hope that means she’s getting over the idea of going out tonight for me to drink my sorrows.
She pulls out her phone and begins scrolling. “That girl is hideous by the way.”
“No, she’s not.” I sigh. “A terrible actress, yes, and the only reason she got that part allegedly is because she fucked the executive producer, but you know what? That’s hearsay so who knows if it’s even true? Maybe she got it because she was fucking Paxton.” The back of my head prickles forcing tears back into my eyes and I do my best to blink them away. “But she is pretty and it’s pissing me off.” Sparkling green eyes and tanned skin and gorgeous long wavy dark hair. I spend hours and thousands of dollars to get my hair to do what hers does naturally. It’s fucking irritating. And now she’s had my man inside of her.
I flex my fists picturing taking a swing at her and him once. I’m not violent and my parents are probably turning over in their graves at the thought of me hitting anyone, but I was furious.
“You looked good when you left. Not a ton of questions as to why you left early. Of course, some, but nothing with any substantial proof. It seems Paxton left shortly after you did and he was alone. Do you want to see?” She holds out her phone and I see him emerging from the club in the Valentino suit I’d picked out.
Was he thinking of me when he pulled off the clothes I’d bought him? Did he look down at his wrist and see my initials he’d had tattooed on him when he’d wrapped his hand in her hair? Was he reminded of me and just didn’t care?
Did he ever care?
“No.” In this moment, I care less about what everyone thought and how anything is being perceived and more about how badly it hurts and how I’m ever going to get through this. How, in two weeks, I’m supposed to begin the press tour for the final season of the dramedy that made me famous. A show that might get me my first Emmy nomination after this past season. How am I supposed to play someone who’s generally happy when I feel like there’s a hole in my chest? Paxton and I had several upcoming appearances and parties we were supposed to attend together, and when you’re in the limelight it isn’t as simple as “not showing up.”
Not showing up to commitments makes a woman look difficult, undependable, and overall, a diva. In this situation, it could look like I’ve let personal problems affect my job or my responsibilities. As a black woman, the speculation could potentially be even harsher depending on the news outlet.
“Did you actually walk in and catch them?”
“Yes, and I see it every time I close my eyes.”
She scrunches her nose in disgust and shakes her head. “I am shocked. Shit, Shay, I’m so sorry. I thought…” She trails off.
“I know, I thought it too.” I thought we were moving towards more. I’m twenty-three now but we started dating when I was twenty, and in Hollywood, a three-year relationship with no drama or scandals is a lifetime.
Every other day, news outlets questioned if we were engaged or if I was pregnant. They were always camped outside of my house or his to see where we’d stayed the night before when we were both in town. I was constantly on baby watch and there were always pictures zoomed in on my left hand in search of an engagement ring.
Not that we’d really discussed marriage…but again, perception.
And the perception is that we are this gorgeous, successful, talented power couple that is very much in love and very happy.
Ugh.
The worst part about all of this is I thought the same.
“I still think we should go out tonight,” Veronica says interrupting my thoughts. “A night out with your best friend who is also friends with a lot of guys from a very popular LA basketball team! And a baseball team…and hockey.”
I chuckle in response. “Let me take a nap and see how I feel.”
“Nap by the pool.” She motions towards my backyard at my gorgeous pool.
“Is that your way of saying you’re staying over tonight?”
“Obviously!” She pads down the hall towards my staircase.
My house has ten bedrooms, one of which is Veronica’s whenever she stays over.
When I make it to the foyer, I see my house manager, Annette has moved my suitcases, and when I make it to my room, I see the open empty suitcase on my bed indicating that all of my clothes have been put away.
My bedroom is one of my favorite places in the world. It’s located at the back of the house overlooking my terrace and my pool as well as my large backyard that sits in front of a small forest of trees. There’s a gate that goes around the back to keep people out, but my backyard is the length of at least two football fields. I have a huge bay window and bench built in for me to sit and read or just stare out the window and think about everything or nothing. I have two bookshelves built into the wall that are separated by a fireplace set between them that I love reading in front of but my bed is the best part. A king set a bit off the ground that sometimes I needed to run and jump to get on to especially if I’ve had a few drinks.
I know Veronica wants to relax by the pool, but I want my soft, satin sheets and my blackout curtains. I want to shut out the world and forget this whole shitty day ever happened.
I begin pulling off my clothes to take a shower to wash the travel off of me when anger begins to spike in my veins. How the fuck could he do this to me? Paxton pursued me. For months! Showing up to set under the ruse that he was coming to see some of the guys he was friends with, sending flowers constantly, liking and commenting on my social media posts. He’d even done an interview where they’d asked about his love life and he’d explicitly said he was holding out for me. Looked straight at the camera and said, “Shay Eastwood, please go out with me.”
I believed he’d staged more than one casual run-in so we could spend the night talking and getting to know each other better. It wasn’t as if I wasn’t interested. Paxton is gorgeous and charming and talented and a laundry list of other positive attributes.
We can take loyalty off that list.
I was just busy and we had such different schedules and I was just starting to feel like myself again after losing my parents so suddenly. I wasn’t trying to throw something as unknown and unstable as a high-profile romance into the mix. So, I’d made him wait months for a date. Months for me to claim him publicly and probably a full year before I’d slept with him.
Now I’m questioning everything. Was he doing this the whole time? My fingers tingle with the urge to text him and ask him that very question. No. Don’t do it.
He’d probably lie anyway.
Paxton had been blowing up my phone since I left Canada. Texts, emails, voicemails. My boxes were full of messages of him apologizing and trying to explain. Telling me he loved me. That she didn’t mean anything. That it was just sex. It was just one time. Yeah, okay. That he was drunk. What a cliché.
By the time I get in the shower, I’m pissed. I scrub my skin almost raw as I argue with Paxton in my mind. Then I argue with Cooper. Then with my PR Team.
Then with Damian.
And I don’t miss the way my nipples harden slightly when I think about his chiseled and hard jaw clenched as his blue eyes bore into mine. I bite my bottom lip trying my best to think of my opening line of our argument when I remember how he was in Canada. I’d been on the verge of breaking down when he’d said, “You can’t cry right now. Don’t give them that.”
I don’t think he has feelings for me, but I do think that he cares for me on a different level than other clients. I think when I lost my parents, he did step into a protective role that went beyond his job, and now the lines are a little blurry because this is my first-time experiencing heartbreak and betrayal and I think he wants to beat the shit out of Paxton for that.
Not because he had feelings for me but because like my parents, he didn’t want to see anyone fucking with me.
That’s all it is.
“You sure about that?” I hear his voice in my head and instantly my nipples harden again and goosebumps erupt on my flesh. It isn’t unheard of that I get off on Damian’s protectiveness, but I am a little surprised that I feel turned on amidst this mess with Paxton. It’s something I’ve struggled with and I admit that I’ve felt a bit of shame for thinking of Damian when I touch myself while having a boyfriend, but I couldn’t help it. Sometimes it was the only thing that got me off.
“God you’re fucking beautiful, Shay. He’s an idiot,” I imagine him saying. “Don’t let that get to you. Let me touch you. I’ll make it better. You know I can,” he murmurs.
I moan thinking about him between my legs. His fingers. His tongue. His dick.
No, Shay.
Two Weeks Later
“Rise and shiiiiine!” The voice of my best friend rouses me from sleep at god knows what hour because not only am I wearing a mask over my eyes, but I’ve been sleeping with my blackout curtains which I rarely do. I hate the feeling of not knowing what time it is when I wake up and only use them in desperate times like when I’m jet lagged or have been awake for a considerable amount of time.
Or when I’m sad.
I slide my silk sleep mask up over my eyes to rest on my forehead. I can barely make out Veronica’s form as she moves through my room to one of my large floor to ceiling windows. She presses the button to open it, letting a considerable amount of light stream into the room.
“Go away,” I grumble.
“I’ve allowed you to hole up in here for the past few days, but you’re done.” She marches over to the side of the bed and puts an iced coffee on my nightstand and motions towards it. “I ordered us breakfast and if you’re feeling up to it, I made mimosas. I would love to get you out of the house, but I would settle for getting you out of this room.” She’s dressed casually in high-waisted, holey, wide-leg jeans and a tank top sporting a tan that I’m fairly certain she didn’t have the last time I saw her.
In true best friend fashion, she’d spent the first week staying with me. Ordering takeout and binge watching television shows, namely Sex and the City to commiserate over all their terrible boyfriends. I’d let her force me into working out two of the days after I spent one day consuming nothing but cinnamon ice cream from my favorite local shop. I’d also made a visit to my physician to be tested for anything that Paxton could have potentially given me over this past year. Thankfully, I’m not leaving this relationship with any unwanted parting gifts.
Paxton is still in Canada, but he’s been calling non-stop and has sent hundreds of flowers since I left, and while the press circuit is quiet, there’s still some speculation about why I left Canada so hastily. Some theories are true, some have parts of the truth, and some were way off base, but most of them surmised that Paxton and I were on rocky terms, especially since I haven’t been spotted out anywhere.
I’m not a party girl, but I am someone that usually makes appearances at social events and I haven’t been anywhere. I sit up, reaching for the coffee, knowing that after sleeping for what felt like the past twenty hours, I probably need some caffeine.
“How are you feeling?” Veronica asks as she sits on my bed in front of me.
I’m not sure how I feel. I’ve experienced loss on such a visceral level this almost feels inconsequential. Paxton is still alive, he just isn’t going to be my boyfriend anymore. Once you go through the worst thing you can go through, it makes everything else seem not as bad. Right?
Should I be more upset?
I haven’t cried yet, surprisingly. I’m too angry, too humiliated, and just too much in shock. Those feelings haven’t reached my tear ducts yet and so I haven’t shed a tear, but I know the second I let that first one trickle down my face, I won’t know how to stop.
I’ve been with him for three years and I haven’t cried yet; what does that mean?
“I think I’m still numb.”
She nods. “He was still in Canada as of yesterday.” Veronica has been my eyes and ears because I’ve been avoiding all social media including my burner accounts. “Spotted going to get groceries looking like a tool.” She says with a look of disgust.
I get out of bed, stretching my legs with each step, and move into the bathroom with Veronica right on my heels.
“Do you want to go out tonight? The guys have all been trying to get together.” I shoot her a look and she shakes her head. “I haven’t told them anything. It might be good to get out though.” I begin brushing my teeth as she continues. “We don’t have to do anything crazy. Maybe just to Rush?” she says mentioning one of the more lowkey clubs we frequent. “We start the press tour next week, so it’s the last bit of time we all have together before we go back.”
I spit and stare at her through the mirror. “Sure, but lowkey, V. Just the guys.”
Me: Veronica and I are going out in a little while.
I stare down at my phone knowing that I’m about to be hit with a mass of questions in response to my vague text message and sure enough, the bubbles appear instantly.
Damian: Where exactly and what time?
A smirk pulls at my lips knowing he’s probably a little irritated with me because he hates when I’m vague with details. I go to respond when Veronica comes into my room carrying two glasses filled with a clear liquid and cut-up strawberries swirling amongst the ice that I assume to be something with vodka. Her makeup bag that she never leaves the house without sits under her other arm while her hairbrush is held between her teeth. She’s still in a white silky bathrobe but her hair is blow-dried and pin-straight hanging down her back.
She hands me the drink and I take a sip before shooting Veronica a look over the rim of the glass that is filled with more vodka than tonic. She winks at me before she speaks, not even addressing the strength of the drinks she made. “How dressy are we thinking tonight? I brought all kinds of outfits. Also, should I curl my hair?”
“No leave it, you look hot.” I turn back to my phone when I feel it vibrate in my hands.
Damian: Are you planning on meeting anyone?
Damian didn’t love when Veronica and I went out with the entire main cast of the show. The six of us are like family and we tend to get a little more reckless when we’re all out together. With it being the last week before we enter into our final season of taping, I’m sure he’s predicting us to be in rare form when and if we’re together.
Me: I think we are just going to Rush or any of our usual spots downtown. Maybe in an hour? Probably just Jeremy and Derek.
I rattle off the answers to his questions and I’m already preparing for more when my phone begins to ring in my hand. I swipe my finger across the screen, and before I can even say hello, he speaks. “Think, maybe, and probably,” he repeats. “Do you have any definitive plans? Are you sure you even want to go out?” It’s a question, but the bite in his tone makes it sound more like, “Why would you want to go out?”
“Yes, I need to get out.”
“Are you sure about that?” I can tell he wants to say more but he doesn’t and I’ve now caught Veronica’s attention as she emerges from my closet holding up my brand new Jimmy Choo boots that I haven’t even worn yet. I shake my head and mouth NO at her and she rolls her eyes and stomps her foot before retreating into my closet.
“Tell Damian to RELAX!” she yells.
“Did you hear that?” I ask him, knowing that Veronica’s voice carries and that he more than likely did.
“Tell Veronica that I will certainly not relax and that Max is sick of her shit.” I chuckle over the fact that Damian has developed a sort of friendship with Veronica’s security because of how often we’re together, and I do believe that her bodyguard, Max, is probably sick of her shit.
“Damian, I’m fine.”
“Are you? I don’t think this is a good idea.” And? I think to myself.
“Okay, well I don’t recall taking a poll. I’ll see you in an hour,” I snap before hanging up the phone and tossing it over my shoulder. I should be able to go out with my friends without it being some huge inquisition, especially after the past two weeks I’ve had. And even if I do get hammered and embarrass myself, so long as I’m safe, how is that his problem?
“You sound pissed.” I hear Veronica’s voice from inside my closet.
I’m about to respond when a hard knock on the door startles me and my eyes snap to it knowing not many people would be knocking on my door like that. “What?!”
“Open the door.” His voice is low and Veronica comes out of my closet wearing wide-leg leather pants and a strapless lace top both of which are mine, earning a look from me. She puts her hands together under her chin to say please and I roll my eyes before opening the door. “Did you hang up on me?” The first thing I notice, like always, are his eyes. Icy blue and narrowed with anger. His lips are pulled into a scowl and his arms are crossed over his chest. He’d changed out of his suit into black jeans and a black t-shirt that isn’t particularly tight but still seems to highlight his very muscular forearms and his chest, the sexy sleeve of tattoos, and if he lowered his arms and I looked hard enough, I could make out his eight pack.
