Page 61 of Love On and Off Set

He regarded me impassively.

But I didn’t miss the flicker in his eye.

Or, later, how he stood by me as I was about to hop into my car.

That impassivity finally fractured when he saw my vehicle. “Did you bring everything you own?” Disbelief. Pure and simple.

“I find that to be a super-complicated question.” I gazed at him. We were only a couple of inches apart, so I wasn’t really looking down at him. His dark-brown, short hair shone in the sunlight. Sunglasses hid his always mesmerizing dark-brown eyes.

“I’ll follow you to the hotel. You can park in the garage. I’ll walk you up to your room.”

“Really? I might seem incapable of doing shit like that, based on my history, but I can manage to check myself into a hotel alone.”

“My job is to see you to your room, extract a promise you won’t leave, and then to pick you up from that room in the morning. I’m vaguely concerned about you leaving everything you own in your car. We’ll ensure you’re parked close to a security camera, and we’ll alert hotel security.”

“No one gives a shit if everything I own is taken—”

“So, it is everything you own. No wonder the border guard gave you such a hard time.”

“Well, you’ve got a nice country I’m not allowed to stay in.”

“Well, we have standards.” He cleared his throat.

Wow, that was nasty.

“And rules. You know what those are, right?”

Marginally less bitchy.

"You don't know what I've been through." I put my hands on my hips. "You think I've just had it good?"

“I don’t know…you looked pretty happy in those videos.”

Because of course you had to go there. One lapse of judgement.

Except it hadn’t been one. Omar had been the second big one.

Freddie had been the first.

“Whatever. Follow me.” He hit the remote, and the lights of a nice SUV illuminated. A newer model, no less.

I eyed my car. I hadn’t been entirely honest with Jeremy. I’d said something about paparazzi and bushes. Which was true. The truth also happened to be that I couldn’t afford to pay rent on a place where I wasn’t living. I had debts. This movie would pay off a bunch of them, and the studio was covering the cost of my hotel. So win-win. What I’d do at the end of filming was truly beyond me.

Another problem for another day.

I hopped into my car and followed Freddie out of the studio lot, to the main road, down a massive hill, and onto a main road. Soon, we pulled into a nice chain hotel. Not high-end, but not a dump either. I was incredibly grateful they’d picked something so nice.

By the time I’d parked in the underground lot—in the spot Freddie directed me to—I was marginally less ticked off. I could tell myself he didn’t have the right to judge me—but he kind of did. Not just for the video—which was bad enough—but also for the way I’d treated him. Without respect, dignity, or kindness.

Even now, shame could swamp me and heat my cheeks.

Freddie grabbed two of the three suitcases I removed from my car.

“Hey, I can carry those.”

He extended the handles and began rolling them. “It’s fine.”

“I’m worried about your nice suit.” Not a throwaway line—he looked damn good. Nice-cut suit. Perfect hair. “Hey, do you carry a gun?”