I’m made aware of how dickish that sounded when I catch Eleanor flinch. A tiny crease between her eyebrows, a downward pull of her mouth. She blinks and that quietly stunned expression is wiped clean away.
“Shit, I didn’t mean—”
“No, I get it.” Eleanor shrugs. She is radiating indifference, to the point where I start to wonder if I imagined the wounded look she wore a moment ago. “I don’t want anyone thinking we’re together either.”
I wince hearing it repeated back to me. I open my mouth to explain that it wasn’t about her, or her reputation, but before I can parse the right words, Eleanor is spinning on her heel and walking away.
“Let’s just get this picture taken offline, yeah? We’ll figure out the rest later.”
My throat tightens around everything I can’t figure out how to say. In the end, the only thing I can do is trail after her.
CHAPTER NINEELEANOR
Griffin and I slept together for the first time on a Monday night. Which meant the morning after, I couldn’t lounge in his luxurious Cal king bed, or even hole up in my own apartment to obsess over every detail from the night before. We both had to go to the office.
Griffin had gotten up before me, so I helped myself to a quick shower and borrowed some of his toothpaste before dressing for my walk of shame. I found Griffin in the kitchen, sipping coffee and scrolling through his email on his phone. I was fully braced for him to give me a whole song and dance about how he’d had fun, but no one at the label could find out, and maybe it would be better if this was a onetime thing. Instead, when I tried to preempt him by ordering an Uber, Griffin had frowned.
“I’ll drive you to work.”
“Oh. Aren’t you worried about people seeing us?”
He tipped his head. “Are you?”
My lips parted, and when I didn’t answer right away, Griffin nodded in understanding.
“We can wait,” he said, gentle. “However you want to handle it is fine by me.”
Some of my nerves began to settle. He wasn’t treating me like a dirty little secret. In fact, he didn’t seem remotely concerned about being seen with me. Even so… I glanced down at my wrinkled clothes. I couldn’t very well show up to the office on a random Tuesday morning with Griffin, in the same outfit I’d worn the day before. “I don’t want to make you late, and I still have to head home and change.”
“Where do you live?”
“Studio City.” The exact opposite direction from the office.
“Hmm. Might be faster to buy you a new outfit.”
I laughed, thinking it was a joke, but then he added: “Rodeo Drive is on the way.”
“… You want to take me shopping on Rodeo Drive. Like inPretty Woman?”
Griffin’s lips twitched. “Is there somewhere else you’d rather shop?”
“No, that’s not…” I licked my lips. What was even happening? “… You really don’t have to.”
“But I want to,” Griffin said easily. He picked up his coffee and took one more sip before pocketing his phone and keys and gesturing with two fingers for me to follow him. “Let’s go.”
Twenty minutes later, he was parking his Tesla outside a bougie store that wasn’t even open yet. This did not deter Griffin. He walked straight up to the glass double doors and knocked to get the attention of an employee who was carefully folding knitwear. She smiled tightly and came over,probably to tell us to come back later, but Griffin slipped her his business card and while she read its contents, he asked if she wouldn’t mind making an exception.
It was that easy.Everythingwas that easy for Griffin. People bent over backward for him, and problems evaporated, and I’m not proud to admit that sometimes I miss that part of being with him. Just… having things handled for me.
Especially in moments like this.
Given the trajectory of this entire trip, I guess I shouldn’t be surprised that getting the picture taken down isn’t as easy or straightforward as I expect it to be.
Calling the resort accomplished precisely nothing, so Adam and I go to the hotel to speak to someone in person. We hit the information desk first, where the employee gives me a deer-in-headlights look when I explain the situation. They call their manager, who tells me the person I need to speak to is the social media manager, Mae. Fifteen minutes later, no one has been able to track her down. Eventually, they take my number and assure me they’ll pass along my request and reach out as soon as it’s taken care of.
Which would be great, if I actually believed it would happen. Unfortunately, from what I’ve gleaned, Mae is perhaps not the most reliable employee.
I check my phone, half expecting there to be another message from Josie, since it’s already quarter to three, hours past when I should have replied to her last email. Instead, the only message I find is an automated text from my credit card company, reminding me I have a payment due. In case I weren’t already painfully aware of how dire my financial situation has become. I take a slow, steadying breath.
