Page 33 of Sweet Surrender

On any given day, I’m plain on the Los Angeles scale of beauty—because yes, the land of fame and dreams is different from the rest of the world—but when I look at myself now, I feel beautiful. Maybe I’m allowing myself the grace to feel this way, to admit to it, and maybe Jase and his attention, despite his “normal” comment, are allowing me to see myself in a different light.

A more positive one.

Then again, maybe I’m just overthinking everything in the silence of this room. That’s why I’m grateful for the knock on the suite’s door.

“Cookie Cutter, you in there?” Jase’s muffled voice comes through the door, and oddly, I feel like I can breathe a little easier at the sound.

CHAPTER TWELVE

Gizmo

There’s silence on the other side of the door.

Silence that a part of me wishes remains—that she bolted without looking back—while the other part of me knows this is how I redeem myself in the eyes of the judge.

Both are shitty prospects.

Both have my heart perfectly lodged in my throat regardless of how nonchalant I’m playing this shit.

“Yeah, I’m here,” she finally says on the other side of the door.

I’m not sure why I breathe a sigh of relief, but I do. She didn’t leave. “You okay?” I ask.

“Terrified,” she answers as she pulls open the door.

I lose my words. My thoughts. My senses.

Hendrix Wright stands before me in a sheath of ivory, the sun at her back like a halo around her hair, and those expressive hazel eyes begging me for an escape I can’t give her.

She’s fucking gorgeous.

And feeling vulnerable if that look on her face is any indication.

Hell, if seeing my pretend wife standing in front of me like this doesn’t move me in ways it shouldn’t.

“Wow,” I finally say as she stands there staring at me. “You look . . . stunning. You are stunning.”

A smile flutters over her pale painted lips as her hands smooth down the fabric at her stomach. “Really? You’re okay with this choice? It’s okay for your image—”

“Yes.” I step into the room without asking and set down the bag in my hand, my eyes glued to her as I take her in. “Most definitely yes.”

“Whew. I was nervous. Am nervous. I got here and there were all these people and all this stuff”—she waves her hands around at the chaos of the room— “but I didn’t see you and that made it harder and me more anxious and then I was alone with just my thoughts and . . . yeah.” She blows out a heavy sigh as her cheeks stain pink.

There’s something about her little rants that I love. On anyone else they’d come across as crazy and yet with Hendrix, they’re adorable. She is adorable.

“I’m sorry. I had things to finish back home before I hopped on the jet. They ran long.”

“Oh my gosh. Look at you,” she says and holds her hands out to me. “You look so handsome.”

“I clean up okay,” I say.

“Yeah, but you have on a tux.”

“A tux is a tux is a tux. Once you’ve seen one, you’ve seen them all.”

“I know, but you wore one. For this.” Her brow furrows and I can see what she’s not saying. For me.

That prick really did a number on her, didn’t he?