“What do you need?”
I knew what Tripp was going to say by his wicked smirk and his hooded gaze as he scanned me up and down. Or at least what kind of answer he was going to give. “You.” He touched the cuff bracelet I wore. “Secured to the bench. With your pretty dress around your waist while I make your ass red and raw.”
I had to lock my knees to stop myself from swaying into him. Despite that reaction, I infused sternness in my tone that I didn’t feel. “Hey. No flirting.”
“I can’t help it when you look like that.”
I choked down a scoff as I rolled my eyes.
Like the rest of the assistants, employees, and entourage members, I was dressed to blend into the background as I trailed Tripp down the lengthy red carpet from a distance.
I remained in my relegated area.
He also tried to remain in my relegated area.
I offered him a bottle of water. “You seem thirsty.”
“Damn right, I am.” He took it and held eye contact as he drank. It shouldn’t have been hot.
It very much so was.
As was the way he eyed me like he wanted it to be my wetness dripping down his throat. Like I was dressed in something far more alluring than the simple black cocktail dress. Like there weren’t starlets and models on his side of the velvet rope, with bodies and faces that were deservedly plastered on screens, runways, and advertisements.
Like he himself didn’t look every bit the star in his expertly tailored black suit and dark gray shirt that was undone at the collar to show off his muscular neck and a hint of his chest hair. His hair was pushed back, but each time he looked down at me, pieces would fall across his forehead. And each time, he would push them back into place in a way that was effortlessly cool and ridiculously hot.
And since he seemed to always be looking at me, that meant I got to enjoy that view over and over again.
That didn’t stop me from rolling my eyes as I took a step back.
He took a step forward, the menacing look in his eyes sending a tremble down my spine. I had no doubt he would duck under the barrier if I tried for more space.
Taking the cowardly way out, I averted my gaze to check my notes and refocus. “You’re almost done. JoltNews is next.”
“Name?”
I scanned the info I’d compiled. “Nia. Make sure you mention the fan edits. They’ve been hyping them up, and that’s great for you and the small creators.”
“Got it.”
And he did have it.
When he approached the next interviewer, Tripp was perfection. He greeted her like they were old friends catching up before asking about her night. When her voice cracked from all the talking she’d been doing, he didn’t get annoyed the way she said some of the other attendees had. He backtracked to me to get one of the unopened bottles of water I held in case he needed them and offered it to her. Then he effortlessly sank back into the rhythm of banter and charming humbleness while naturally working in details that teased future roles as a romantic lead, even referencing their article as inspiration.
Everyone was smiling when he walked away.
And moved right back to me.
“You’re really good at that,” I said, in awe of how easy he made it look. I wasn’t anywhere near the action, and my hands hadn’t stopped trembling with nerves all night. If I had to talk to anyone other than Tripp, I would be a stammering mess.
He shrugged. “Some kids do Boy Scouts, I did media training.”
“Seriously?”
“Yup. Clark wanted to make sure that I never said or did anything that would embarrass him.” He smirked. “Some of it stuck. The rest? Not so much.”
And I thought my dad was image-obsessed.
Okay, he was, but not that bad.
