Marlee’s lover.
She was my friend, after all, and envy was a hideous monster. Especially when it lived inside you, nested deep, holding on with hoary claws.
It seemed best, all things considered, to avoid her.
To make things worse, I got a hint of the flu after my return so not only was I super busy and weepy and trolling the gourmet food section of the local food market, I was throwing up. My staff made it a point to avoid me whenever they could.
I’d been back three weeks when Harlan came to see me. He poked his head into my glass-encased corner office on the twenty-third floor of the Milford Bank Building in the Wilshire District, and arranged his features into an apologetic moue, though on him it read like petulance.
I took him in. His pretentious leather and chains, his poser tats and his deliberately scruffy persona. And it hit me like a fist to the gut. Had I ever wanted him? Had I ever liked him?
Well, of course I had. I’d thought myself in love at one point. But now, when I looked at him, there was nothing.
He hadn’t changed.
I had.
“Harlan. Come in.” I rearranged some papers on my desk and rose to meet him, thrusting out my hand.
He gaped at it. “Aw baby,” he said in that smoky voice crowds went nuts over. “Don’t be like that.” He stepped closer and wrapped his arms around me and hugged me tight. He pulled back and met my gaze, his hazel eyes boring into mine. He reeked of sincerity. And a hint of Jim Beam. “I’m sorry for what I did, baby. I was a complete douche. Can you ever forgive me?” Oh yeah. That was why I’d adored him. He was damn charming.
But I felt nothing.
“Of course I forgive you, Harlan.” I tried to detach myself from his hold but he wouldn’t allow it. He tugged me back and set his lips on mine.
He kissed me for a while before he realized I wasn’t participating.
The look of confusion on his face was understandable. He was an enormous rock star. Women threw themselves at him on a daily basis. He was used to getting what he wanted, when he wanted it and exactly how he wanted it.
He’d probably never made a woman scallops once in his life.
“What’s wrong?” he asked.
“I said I forgave you, but it’s over between us.” I turned away and stared out the windows of my suite at the sprawling Los Angeles skyline, but in my heart, I was gazing out at another vista entirely. One with swaying palms and sparkling waters. I always was, anymore.
He followed me and took my arm, turned me to face him. “What? It’s over? But—”
“First of all, you screwed your makeup artist.”
“Yeah. I’m sorry about that. But she was hot—”
“And then you proposed to her onstage.” In front of thousands .
“I was drunk. She knows I was just foolin’ around. I’m always foolin’ around.”
“But that’s it, isn’t it?” I put my hand on his cheek so he would know I was deadly serious and so he would know I wasn’t angry. I wasn’t. Not anymore. “I wasn’t fooling around.”
He paled. Swallowed. “Yeah. I know. I mean, I knew. I’m…” His voice broke. “I’m sorry, Paige. I didn’t mean to hurt you.”
I forced a smile and then, somehow, it became real. “I’m over it,” I said.
“Over it?” His brow bunched. “Over me?” As in, how could anyone in their right mind ever be over me ?
My laugh was deep, full. “Over all of it. If you want to keep me as your rep, you just need to respect that decision. Go play with your groupies. Have a good time. Enjoy yourself. But ours is a business relationship and nothing more. Am I clear?”
His face puckered up, all the way. “You’re starting to sound like Sandy,” he muttered.
“Sandy is a damn good rep.” I waggled a finger at him. “You could do a lot worse. You may want to think about staying with her.”
“Why?”
I shrugged. “I may be backing off on the rock-and-roll contracts.” I was getting tired of it all and while they were a large chunk of our clientele, we
She was my friend, after all, and envy was a hideous monster. Especially when it lived inside you, nested deep, holding on with hoary claws.
It seemed best, all things considered, to avoid her.
To make things worse, I got a hint of the flu after my return so not only was I super busy and weepy and trolling the gourmet food section of the local food market, I was throwing up. My staff made it a point to avoid me whenever they could.
I’d been back three weeks when Harlan came to see me. He poked his head into my glass-encased corner office on the twenty-third floor of the Milford Bank Building in the Wilshire District, and arranged his features into an apologetic moue, though on him it read like petulance.
I took him in. His pretentious leather and chains, his poser tats and his deliberately scruffy persona. And it hit me like a fist to the gut. Had I ever wanted him? Had I ever liked him?
Well, of course I had. I’d thought myself in love at one point. But now, when I looked at him, there was nothing.
He hadn’t changed.
I had.
“Harlan. Come in.” I rearranged some papers on my desk and rose to meet him, thrusting out my hand.
He gaped at it. “Aw baby,” he said in that smoky voice crowds went nuts over. “Don’t be like that.” He stepped closer and wrapped his arms around me and hugged me tight. He pulled back and met my gaze, his hazel eyes boring into mine. He reeked of sincerity. And a hint of Jim Beam. “I’m sorry for what I did, baby. I was a complete douche. Can you ever forgive me?” Oh yeah. That was why I’d adored him. He was damn charming.
But I felt nothing.
“Of course I forgive you, Harlan.” I tried to detach myself from his hold but he wouldn’t allow it. He tugged me back and set his lips on mine.
He kissed me for a while before he realized I wasn’t participating.
The look of confusion on his face was understandable. He was an enormous rock star. Women threw themselves at him on a daily basis. He was used to getting what he wanted, when he wanted it and exactly how he wanted it.
He’d probably never made a woman scallops once in his life.
“What’s wrong?” he asked.
“I said I forgave you, but it’s over between us.” I turned away and stared out the windows of my suite at the sprawling Los Angeles skyline, but in my heart, I was gazing out at another vista entirely. One with swaying palms and sparkling waters. I always was, anymore.
He followed me and took my arm, turned me to face him. “What? It’s over? But—”
“First of all, you screwed your makeup artist.”
“Yeah. I’m sorry about that. But she was hot—”
“And then you proposed to her onstage.” In front of thousands .
“I was drunk. She knows I was just foolin’ around. I’m always foolin’ around.”
“But that’s it, isn’t it?” I put my hand on his cheek so he would know I was deadly serious and so he would know I wasn’t angry. I wasn’t. Not anymore. “I wasn’t fooling around.”
He paled. Swallowed. “Yeah. I know. I mean, I knew. I’m…” His voice broke. “I’m sorry, Paige. I didn’t mean to hurt you.”
I forced a smile and then, somehow, it became real. “I’m over it,” I said.
“Over it?” His brow bunched. “Over me?” As in, how could anyone in their right mind ever be over me ?
My laugh was deep, full. “Over all of it. If you want to keep me as your rep, you just need to respect that decision. Go play with your groupies. Have a good time. Enjoy yourself. But ours is a business relationship and nothing more. Am I clear?”
His face puckered up, all the way. “You’re starting to sound like Sandy,” he muttered.
“Sandy is a damn good rep.” I waggled a finger at him. “You could do a lot worse. You may want to think about staying with her.”
“Why?”
I shrugged. “I may be backing off on the rock-and-roll contracts.” I was getting tired of it all and while they were a large chunk of our clientele, we
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