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Chapter Eight
Natalie woke to find her television on, cold pizza on her coffee table and Brooks Adams passed out on her couch. His head was resting on her stomach, his legs draped over the arm of the sofa as he snored quietly in his sleep.
When had they fallen asleep?
They'd been watching old movies, talking about the parties she used to go to and the people she'd met. The stupid social formalities and then...
She couldn't remember. She must have dozed off talking about something or other and Brooks had done the same.
It was odd in a way, this man sleeping on her looked so peaceful. Without those frosty blue eyes of his staring down at her, it was almost possible to forget the kind of sway he had over her emotions. He was so close. If she reached down, she'd be able to brush back his chestnut hair. To feel the light stubble that always covered his cheeks...
She swallowed hard.
What was she going to do when he woke up? Hell, what was she going to do in general? She'd made up her mind about him, had decided that he was the worst kind of man to bring into her life.
But after last night...
She sighed and reached for her phone. Maybe if she texted Rachael she'd know what to do. After all, she didn't have to say it was Brooks.
She could just say it was some mysterious stranger whom she had previously hated with the burning passion of a thousand suns but who now, as it happened, sort of maybe kind of turned her on.
Yeah, that could be anyone.
She slid her thumb over the lock screen to find a big red notice in her text messages.
Five missed messages. All from Franco.
She thumbed the message screen open and scanned it.
Why are you blowing up my phone?
Oh, just saw the interview. Damn.
Can you believe this shit? It's all out-and-out lies.
Natalie? Can you call?
Just finished the interview. I think you might be right. It's time for some damage control.
Her thumb hovered over the keyboard, but she couldn't bring herself to say anything. After all, what else was there to say? She couldn't take away whatever Gianna had said in that sham of an interview and as for the damage control...
She glanced down at Brooks just as he shifted in his sleep. One strong bicep was draped over her thigh and he held it tighter. Like his own personal pillow.
It wouldn't make sense if she suddenly couldn't help Franco. And she certainly couldn't leave him hanging, either.
But she couldn't use Brooks, all the same.
Before it had felt like an indecent proposal, now it felt...wrong. After last night, something had undeniably shifted between them, and she couldn't pretend like it hadn't.
Like, if they slept together now, she wouldn't have just as much to gain as he did.
She closed her eyes, willing an answer to come, but nothing happened.
Finally, she thumbed a response.
I'll call you tonight. I'm going to figure out the next step.
She set her phone on the side table and sat back.
