Clark just shook his head, unfazed by Tripp or the lack of symmetry in the beautifully extravagant table.
The first part of the meal went fine. Better than fine, actually. The food was delicious, each course served rather than presented in a buffet style. As much as I loved the typical Christmas dinner with all the trimmings, the gourmet version wasn’t exactly lacking.
Best of all, though, Tripp continued his teasing touches under the table, making it harder and harder to focus on the food.
Things only started to go bad as Clark’s glass grew empty, just to be refilled and emptied again. His tongue loosened, and with it came more questions, more stories.
And more judgments.
“Wait, wait, wait,” he said, waving his hand as food spilled from the fork he must’ve forgotten he held. He stabbed the now empty prongs toward Tripp. “Why the hell would you take that role? Couldn’t your agent get you out of it? I told you, you should’ve stayed with my agency. Harold wouldn’t have let you take a supporting role. It’s a downgrade. A big one. You need to strike while the ironandyou are hot.”
Funny enough, his words were reminiscent of Tony’s during the meeting, but Tripp didn’t say that. “I take the roles I want. I wanted to take this one.”
“Well, back out, for Pete’s sake. No one will care that it’s unprofessional. You can’t have loyalty in this business. Roles are fickle, beautiful women, only available for a short time. If you stay focused on one, you miss out on everything else your fame brings. One day you’ll wake up and think about all you could’ve had, and by then, it’ll be too late.”
At the apt metaphor, every last bite of delicious food suddenly sat in my stomach like shards of glass coated with thick acid. It burned and tore at me as my belly churned.
Clark’s mouth tipped down, and for the first time, he looked his age. Or closer to it. “I passed up on the chance to star in a blockbuster movie after you were born, and I regret it every day.”
“I’m sure you do,” Tripp muttered under his breath.
My hand shot to his leg under the table just as he readjusted his position. I’d meant for my touch to be reassuring, but the end result was my palm landing on his crotch instead of his thigh.
I should’ve moved it.
I was going to move it.
But before I could force my body to listen to common sense, Tripp caught my intention and cut off my escape. He covered my hand with his and shoved it back down. Not only that, he dragged it up his hardening cock, then back again.
Grinding it against him.
Despite the twisting in my stomach since Clark’s warning tapped into a very real insecurity, my brain was instantly clouded in a lust haze. I remained like that. Frozen with Tripp’s dick under my hand as conversation continued around us. I wasn’t even sure what was being said.
A shrill ring cut through the air, and I jumped, dropping my fork with a clatter as I snatched my other hand away. Realizing the ringing was coming from my pocket and not a chastity alarm in Tripp’s pants, I slid my phone out to cut off the aggressive noise. It’d been set to silent with only a few exceptions, and one ofthose people was sitting next to me. Two would text instead of calling.
That left one.
Sure enough, it was Mom’s name that flashed across the screen. I lifted my napkin from my lap and set it on the table. “I’m sorry, it’s my mom. Is there somewhere I can take this?”
Percival appeared behind me like magic, pulling my chair out before Tripp could stand.
That was likely a good thing given what was happening under Tripp’s napkin.
“I’ll show you to the study.”
I followed Percival down the long hall that was as over the top as the rest of the house. Framed photos of Clark from sets, awards shows, and with other people I didn’t recognize were dotted throughout. He pushed open a heavy door and stepped aside. “I’ll be down the hall when you’re ready to return.” He gave a sympathetic, knowing look, like he was aware that table was the last place I wanted to be. “But take your time.”
“Thank you.”
Once I was closed in, I scanned the study. The heavy shelves were lined with books, and I wondered if they were ever read, or if they went to waste on display. Like the hall, more framed mementos and photos decorated those walls, too. An archive to Clark Carter’s achievements.
Or a shrine to his fame.
I lifted my phone to my ear, dialing into my voicemail. Only it wasn’t one message from my mom waiting. It was a dozen.
My dad’s voice carried through, the familiar sound filling me with rage and heartache and guilt until I had no choice but to collapse onto an uncomfortably firm chair that I doubted got much use. My shaking knees wouldn’t support me. “Hey, sweetheart?—”
Delete.
