“Does that pressing engagement involve watching hours of Bravo on repeat?”
“Maybe.”
She sighs and heads toward the front door. “Call him, Emmy.”
“Yeah, yeah.”
She pauses in the doorway. “I love you.”
“I love you, too.”
“Don’t be an idiot.” The door closes behind her before I have a chance to respond.
“Rude.”
I collapse back on the sofa, picking up my phone, going so far as to punch in my passcode and find Grayson’s name in my contacts. But I don’t press call. I’m not ready to hear his voice yet. I need to be well and fully over him before I can even think about talking to him. And because our press tour starts in three days, I guess I better get started on that whole getting-over-him situation.
Or I could binge the latest season ofProject Runway.
Tough choice, but Christian Siriano always wins.
—
Just like a typical day on set, my call time for the press junket is three hours before the damn thing is scheduled to actually start. Luckily, I was able to play my I’m-the-star card and insist on Sam and Amanda for my hair and makeup team. Neither of them knows the full story about the breakup—not many people do—but they both know enough that they are sensitive to the fact that today is going to suck. They fill the room with aimless chatter and gossip, and I’m able to spend at least the first portion of the morning nice and distracted.
After I’m all dolled up, a stylist hands me a comfortable yet cute outfit: jeans and a soft lavender sweater along with some dainty earrings and a gold necklace. A publicist pops by to usher me to the green room, briefing me along the way.
She stops just outside the door, checking around the hallway of the hotel to be sure we’re alone before she leansin. “Everyone has been briefed to stay away from personal relationship questions, but of course, it’s not unheard of for reporters to go rogue. Just remember to smile, and if you don’t feel like answering a question, tell them you prefer to keep your private life private.”
I nod, wiping my suddenly sweaty hands on the dark denim of my jeans. “Is he here yet?”
She gives me a sympathetic smile. “I haven’t seen him, but he’ll be stopping by here as well before we get you guys settled in the interview room.”
“Thanks.” I try to return her smile, but my lips feel numb and tight.
She opens the door to the green room for me, ushering me inside before closing it behind me.
It’s a small meeting room with a long table in the middle covered with food and snacks. Coffee is set up on a sideboard underneath a window, and although I want something to do with my hands, I think even a dash of caffeine would send my already jittery nerves into overdrive. I pick up a bottle of water instead, popping the cap and taking a swig, hoping it will calm me down.
It doesn’t. The only thing I can think to do is pace, so I start a lap around the table and am at the far end when the door opens.
I stop in my tracks, pivoting toward the door in absurdly slow motion.
It clicks shut behind him, and the tiny sound shakes me like it’s a gunshot.
For a second there’s only silence.
It’s only been a few weeks, but I drink him in as if I’ve spent those weeks traversing the desert and he’s a tallglass of water. He’s still tall, still broad, still bearded, and still gorgeous. But his eyes, when I finally allow myself to meet them, are dull and faded, nothing like the bright lightning I fell in love with.
“Hi,” I finally say, my hands twisting around my water bottle.
“Hey.” He shoves his hands in his pockets, which does nothing to hide his clenched fists.
The silence returns, blanketing the room in a painful awkwardness.
“You look good.” It’s not a lie, exactly, because he’s Grayson West and he always looks good, but it’s definitely not the whole truth. He looks like he would rather be anywhere else than in this room with me. Which is fair, I guess.
“Thanks.” He doesn’t return the compliment. Also fair.
