Читать книгу Playing Her Cards Right: Choose Me - Jo Leigh - Страница 17

FRIDAY NIGHT CAME ALONG with a tux for the Courtesan premiere, and the only reason it was bearable was that Bree was in the media room getting prepped. He would check on her after he was dressed, although this time he’d made sure she’d eaten before Sveta snatched her away.

As he worked on his tie, he thought about the night ahead, pleased that she’d get to walk down a legit red carpet. A dream literally coming true, she’d told him.

The less sleep she got, he’d discovered, the more she revealed about herself. How when she was a little girl she would practice her Academy Award acceptance speech in front of the bathroom mirror, holding a bottle of shampoo or a hairbrush. She would very purposefully not thank whoever happened to be annoying her at the moment, which would sometimes be one of her siblings, a teacher, a friend or one of her parents.

It had made him laugh when they were slouched in the backseat of a limo, and it made him grin now. He could picture it so easily. He wondered if she’d always had short hair. Probably, given that she was so small. You wouldn’t want to hide any of that face, not with hair, not with too much makeup. Sveta had turned out to be the perfect stylist for Bree. People were taking note.

Her blogs were getting heavy traffic. Unique hits were much higher than with most of his new contributors, which made sense because this approach was fresh. Charlie had never asked one of his companions to post.

Much of the chatter was about the two of them, naturally. Were they? Weren’t they? There had been reports of Bree leaving in separate transportation at the end of an evening, and his place had acquired a few more paparazzi hoping to catch her doing the walk of shame in the morning. Speculation without confirmation was exactly what he’d been hoping for.

Bree had turned up on TMZ, PopSugar, Page Six, on almost every single one of his gossip feeds, as well as in the newspaper tabloids.

He slipped on his jacket, glad he’d chosen something so traditional. Beautifully cut, nothing radical. He wanted Bree to shine tonight. He had no idea what Sveta had chosen for her to wear, and he wondered how the stylist was going to top last night’s look. Bree had knocked his socks off when she’d made her entrance.

Come to think of it, every time he saw her she got to him. Having her so close, and so damned untouchable probably had something to do with it. Okay, a little interest from his cock, not good for the cut of his suit. Not good in a number of ways. She was off-limits. The statistics didn’t lie, and this new deal had increased NNY’s unique hits remarkably. It might kill him, but he’d keep to the script. Unfortunately, that meant touching. So much damn touching.

He checked his watch, made sure he had what he needed in his pockets and then went into the living room. He glanced at the open door in the atrium and wondered why he hadn’t taken Bree across to his office. It wasn’t that far to the other side of the elevator. Then again, they hadn’t had much time for anything but work.

He heard Sveta in the hallway, and swung around in anticipation of Bree’s entrance. Damn. She did it again. Like a slap on the back of his head.

She was a vision. So much for not getting excited tonight. He would have to put his cock in a straitjacket to pull that off, and yeah, he did not need to be thinking that when she was walking toward him with a smile that made him forget how to breathe.

Her white-and-purple dress was a structured strapless design that looked like origami. It drew his gaze to her face, then right to the bare stretch of skin from her long neck down to the top of her bust. Her waist looked tiny, her legs slim yet curvy, and with that smile and those smoky eyes, no one would be able to look away.

Jewelry would have been redundant.

“Well?” she said, her shoulders moving in an almost-but-not-quite shrug.

“You’re gorgeous. You’ll be the most beautiful woman on the red carpet.”

Bree blushed, rolled her eyes. Charlie let her think he was talking her up.

He took her hands in his and kissed both cheeks. Very European. All business. Not close to what he wanted. He’d kissed her on the mouth that first night, when he’d barely known her, and now he ached to take her mouth again, to taste her, and not only her lips.

“We have a half hour before we go. Want a drink?”

“Just water,” she said. “As excited as I am, I’m so incredibly tired I’m afraid a sip of booze will have me passed out for the night.”

“Can’t have that.” He nodded at the couch. “Sit. I’ll bring you water, then take care of the rest of our group.”

“Tell them again how wonderful they are, will you? I did, but I think they think I have to say it. I don’t. They’re magicians.”

How could he not like her? She was the anticelebrity, the cure for New York cynicism, complete with authentic goose bumps and unabashed excitement. But even he could see she hadn’t exaggerated about how tired she was. Not that anyone else would notice, but he’d been watching her for days, staring too frequently and too deeply. There was more makeup under her eyes tonight. He wondered if he should cancel tomorrow night’s club opening. Bree had to work for a few hours tomorrow morning, but then she planned to sleep for the rest of the afternoon. He doubted that would be enough.

He fetched her water as she made herself comfortable, a feat in that dress, on the couch. Then he conveyed her compliments along with his own to the team and saw them to the door. The limo would be arriving any moment.

He could see Bree’s dark hair over the edge of the couch, and he needed to remind her to bring her other shoes for when they got back in the limo. How women walked in those ridiculous heels …

Bree had rested on the leather sofa with one leg curled up under herself. The glass, now empty, tipped at a thirty-degree angle in her hand. She was sound asleep.

After carefully lifting the glass from her fingers, freezing for a moment when she made a little low-pitched sound, he touched her bare shoulder gently. “Bree? Bree, we have to leave now.”

She mumbled something and adjusted the side of her face on the back cushion.

He hated that he had to disturb her. He brushed the back of his fingers across her cheek. “Bree,” he said as he sat down next to her. He wanted to wake her, not scare her. “I know you’re tired, but it’s the premiere. Movie stars! Glamour! Lights, cameras, action!”

She tilted. Toward him. He repositioned himself quickly so she would land on the inside of his shoulder, not the bony edge. She slumped against him, the leg that had been tucked under now at a weird angle. While it looked ungainly and not very ladylike, it didn’t seem uncomfortable.

It was too easy to shift himself, to wrap his arm around her back, to hold her close, to inhale the smell of her. Slumping turned to snuggling and he sighed as he gave his next move some consideration. Then, with his free hand he pulled out his cell. He had to call Naomi, as he wasn’t adept at one-hand texting.

“You in the car?”

Ah, the voice. Car became cah, and he couldn’t stop his grin. “No,” he whispered.

“What?”

How she’d given that simple word such a swoop gave him equal parts joy and the willies. “We’re not gonna make it. Danny can take my place. Catch him quickly, though, ‘cause he’s not going to be dressed for it.”

“Why are you not going? Why are you whispering? Charlie, what have you done? It’s something about the girl, isn’t it?”

“Shhh,” he said, although Naomi’s voice over the cell wasn’t going to wake Bree. “She’s under the weather. It’ll be fine.”

“How’s it gonna be fine? You’ve got deadlines. You know how many comments you got today? Over twenty-five hundred. And you’re taking sick leave? What the hell, Charlie?”

“It’ll work out. Like always.”

“Yeah, well, it’s me you’re talking to, sweetheart, and ‘like always’ my ass.”

“Naomi. Call Danny. I’ll send you the copy and photos in the morning.”

He disconnected before she gave him additional grief, and put his cell down on the coffee table. Bree hadn’t stirred an inch. She’d probably be mad at him for sending someone in their place, and he had no idea what he was going to do about tomorrow’s blog pages, but there was no way in hell he was going to wake her. Not now.

She needed to rest. There would be other premieres. He’d spin the story to his advantage. In fact … He had the perfect angle. Take that, Naomi.

He’d have a story for tomorrow, but for tonight, he was keeping Bree to himself.

BREE HEARD A DOG BARK AND while it was a real dog barking, it was a dog once removed. A television dog. But she didn’t open her eyes, not yet. She liked this place, the in-between where there was nothing at all unpleasant and no alarm was going to intrude. The subtle, woodsy scent of Charlie made her sigh and smile. He knew how to use cologne, not like some of the guys from work who showered in the stuff. There was always a hint of the man underneath with Charlie, and that was the best part.

She moved a bit, her head at a weird angle and it wasn’t her pillow at all, and oh. It was dark, very dark. Charlie’s window was right there, across from his coffee table and behind his big television. It was late. Wrong. All wrong.

“You’re up.”

She couldn’t exactly see as some of her fake eyelashes were now sticking to her cheek, but she looked up in the general direction of Charlie’s voice. “What’s going on?” As nice as it felt to be pressed against his chest, she pushed off, up, until her feet were on the ground and she was sitting like a person. “What time is it?”

“A little past nine.”

“Nine? p.m.? Oh, God, was the premiere called off? Did something bad happen? Is everyone okay?”

Charlie laughed as he rubbed his shoulder, the one she’d been nestled against. “Everything’s fine.”

“We were supposed to be at the theater at six.”

“You were tired.”

“I was …” She peeled the lashes off both eyes and settled them in her palm like two spiders. When she glanced back at Charlie he was still rubbing his arm, shaking it. She must have been sleeping on it the whole time. Hours. He’d undone his bow tie, the top button of his shirt, too. The apartment was darker than it had been because he hadn’t turned on more lights. She’d slept through the red carpet. He’d let her. “I don’t understand.”

“I bet you’re starving,” he said, as he stood. “I know I am. How does Thai sound? Maybe some Tom Yum soup?”

“Wait.” She raised her hand to stop him, but it was the hand with the eyelashes. “Wait. Explain please. Why are we here? Why was I sleeping?”

“I told you.” He turned to leave.

“No, you didn’t.” She stood up. She might be foggy headed and probably looked like hell, but she was going to get an answer. “Why didn’t you wake me?”

He kept walking to the kitchen, his tux jacket swinging loose, and she thought of watching him take it off slowly, seeing those perfectly cut trousers fall.

Her heels clicked on the floor and made her wince with each step. Holy crap, these shoes were the instruments of the devil. Speaking of which, her dress, the architectural wonder of a dress, looked like a badly folded sheet. Sveta was going to kill her. “Charlie!”

He paused. Turned around. Smiled at her. “There’ll be other premieres. I promise. I’ll make it up to you.”

“You don’t skip things. You never do. I’ve read your blog every day forever, and you’re always there. Even when you’re not, you have a really good excuse. Like natural disasters. Not that your arm was trapped under a sleeping person. So what the hell?”

Charlie sighed. God, he really did look hot in that tux. “Take off your shoes. It hurts just looking at them.” He kept walking to the kitchen, and she kept following, the pain in her feet making her blink.

“In fact,” he said, not bothering to turn, “just get into something comfortable. We’ll eat. You’ll have a decent night’s rest and so will I. We’ll go back to the madness tomorrow.”

They were in the kitchen proper and he’d flipped on the lights. It took her eyes a moment to adjust, to see he was holding a handful of delivery menus. Everything felt tilted sideways.

“Thai?” he asked. “Chinese? Pizza? Deli? There’s a terrific Indian place nearby that makes a hell of a chicken tikka masala.”

Bree inhaled, noticed that she really needed to brush her teeth, and that she was still completely bewildered by everything that had happened since she woke up. “Whatever,” she said, shrugging. “As long as it doesn’t have cilantro, I’ll like it. I’ll be back.”

She didn’t make it to the media room before she took off the shoes. The dress came off in the hallway entrance. When she reached the racks of clothes, she’d already decided to wear one of the kimono robes because dammit, she wanted to be comfortable even if she did have to dress to go home later. Not a teeny short robe, either, because she didn’t want him thinking she wanted that. They didn’t do that. It had been decided.

Besides there was a particularly beautiful long black robe with a crane on the back that felt like heaven over her bare skin and covered her more than her dress had. She didn’t even mind that it dragged on the floor. So what if she wasn’t an Amazon? She was compact. Efficient. Far more comfortable in airplane seats.

The bathroom was next, and she debated keeping the makeup that had taken such time and effort to apply, but in the end it was just no. It took longer than it should have, but feeling clean and herself was worth it.

She looked once more in the mirror and stalled. It made no sense that Charlie hadn’t shaken her awake. That they were here instead of Radio City Music Hall. The red carpet was long over now, of course, and that was the important part—not watching the movie. But there was an after party they could have attended.

It was highly unlikely that his excuse that she was “tired” was the real reason they’d stayed in. No, there had to be something bigger in play, but she was too fuzzy-headed to figure it out right now.

What she should do was get dressed, go home and go to sleep so that when she went into the office tomorrow to catch up on her real job, she might have an actual working brain cell or two.

On the other hand, a girl had to eat. That she got to eat with Charlie without a hundred people surrounding them was extraordinary. Unprecedented. They’d been on the run for what felt like months instead of days, seeing each other in snatches and in the blinding light of flashbulbs. The only truly personal moments had been in his bed on Valentine’s night—which she wasn’t allowed to think about—and last night in the back of the limo. She’d thought about that conversation all day. Not only about how different their worlds were, but how he’d opened up to her. It was as if she’d seen him naked again.

Screw it, she wanted to. Eat with him. Talk to him. Alone.

Her accelerated pulse and the rush of excitement that ran through her body merely thinking about what was next moved her out of the bathroom and into seeing dinner through. It was only her heart at risk, after all. And hadn’t she admitted, to him of all people, that she wanted her heart broken by callous men who wore gorgeous suits?