Rocky has the audacity to look wounded.
“Don’t you think you’re being a bit shortsighted?” he asks. “Think of how convenient it will be to work together. We can have the kids nearby. It’ll be a real family affair. PR will love this.”
“Rocky.” I pinch the bridge of my nose and shut my eyes. He’s not wrong about the potential PR spin. Or the convenience. But that is so not the point.
He pauses before going in for the kill. “Maybe this is exactly what was meant to happen. You and me, back on the same team. Maybe once we’re working together, you’ll reconsider my offer. We belong together, Rissa. We could be a family again.”
“You know,” I say, “that would sound a lot more sincere if you weren’t in bed with your mistress.”
Rocky pouts.
“Speaking of which,” I continue, “what is going on with Rayna? Are you still planning on going through with this marriage?”
Rocky nods glumly. “I can’t exactly back out now, with all this press coverage. The paparazzi would rip me to shreds.”
I roll my eyes. Of course his public image is what he’s worried about. I decide to shift my strategy and match his perspective.
“If the paparazzi are what you’re worried about, I don’t think doing a movie with your ex-wife is the way to go. Imagine the headlines. The press would have a field day with the invented love triangle.”
Rocky’s eyes light up and I realize I’ve played this all wrong. The idea of headline-grabbing drama is only making this more enticing for him.
“Please,” I say, the fight leaving my body. “Please step away from this project.”
The light in Rocky’s eyes dims. “I don’t know, Marissa. I’ll think about it.”
“I’d appreciate that,” I say. “I just… I need something that’s just for me, you know?”
Rocky nods. “I get that. Let me look over the contract and we can discuss it again in a few days. How does that sound?”
It sounds like it’s not a yes. But right now, it’s the best I can do.
32MARISSA
Toby and Shelby’s house is less than five minutes away from Jesse’s and, like his, has no shortage of charm. It’s nestled among a cluster of trees, and the exterior is lined with uneven wooden slats in an indeterminate shade of blue. The red front door echoes the red wooden bench resting against the side of the porch.
After a brief debate on who will notify the residents of our arrival, it is determined that Isla will ring the doorbell and Levi will knock. The combination elicits a muffled barking sound from inside, and a few seconds later, Toby answers the door. He’s wearing an apron that says,I’VE GOT THIS, I WATCHED A YOUTUBE TUTORIAL, and there’s a splatter of sauce crusted into his beard.
“Hi, sweetheart,” he says, wrapping a burly arm around me. He pulls back and offers Levi a high five. When he declines it, he seamlessly shifts his hand in Isla’s direction. She shakes it instead and he lets out a bellowing laugh.
“Well now, I didn’t realize we were in the company of royalty,” he says. Isla gives him a pleased grin and he leans into it further, dropping into a bow and sweeping his arm toward the open door.
“Please, do come in.”
We step into the small foyer and are welcomed by a loudroo roofrom upstairs. It’s followed by the clicking of doggy toenails on the wooden floor and then Diesel is skittering down the staircase. Jesse hurries down the steps behind him and I hear him calling the dog’s name in warning, but it’s too late; the invisible springs on the bottom of his paws have been activated, and he bounces several feet in the air as he leaps on me, licking my face in greeting. Isla takes a few steps backward, which doesn’t surprise me; she likes animals, but she’s always been cautious, especially around bigger dogs. But I am surprised to hear Levi scream. Unlike his sister, he loves dogs unequivocally. When he was a toddler, our neighbor’s goldendoodle would regularly knock him over, and he’d squeal in delight as the dog slathered him in kisses.
The second Levi screams, Jesse grabs Diesel by the collar and pulls him back. He scoops the dog up into his arms—no small feat considering Diesel’s size—and carries him back upstairs. A bedroom door closes, and muffled dog barks come from behind it. A moment later, Jesse is descending the stairs.
“Sorry about him,” he says quickly. “We’ll keep him in Charlotte’s bedroom.”
“I’m sorry too,” I say. I already feel a pang of guilt—I hate the idea of locking up a dog, even when it’s necessary. I look at Levi, perplexed. He’s clearly agitated, flicking his ear as he paces back and forth.
“He normally loves dogs. I’m not sure what this is about,” I say as much to myself as anyone else.
“Don’t worry about it,” Jesse reassures me. “Here, let me grab this.” He takes the plastic-covered bowl out of my hand. I had completely forgotten I was holding it. “What did you bring us?”
“It’s nothing special. Just an Italian green salad that I like to make with pasta dishes. I hate to show up empty-handed.”
“You don’t need to be formal with us,” Jesse reassures me. “We are very informal people. But we do appreciate it. I’m thrilled that I’ll have something good to eat tonight.”
