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I know it’s a douchey thing to say, but the more successful I get in my career, the more famous I get, the harder it is to enjoy life.
And now you’re thinking, Shut the hell up, you pompous dick.
But hear me out. The money, the cars, the ass-kissing—all terrific, and I’m grateful every day.
The truth is, though, that the wow factor wears off after a while. Sure, you can make a conscious effort to not take anything for granted, but it doesn’t ward off that dangerous moment where you look around at your life and wonder why you’re doing what you’ve been doing. And what the payoff is, really.
Seeing Ellie Wright relish every moment of pampering at the Four Seasons?
That’s my why.
Although her gawking at the lobby, her gasp of delight when we stepped into the suite, her moan of pleasure when she sank into the tub…none of that can quite compare to this moment.
To be sitting beside her on a secluded deck, her bare feet propped on my knee as we alternate between talking about nothing and companionable silence…this moment is as perfect as it gets.
Is the realization that our time’s limited hovering over our heads? Sure.
Are we both ignoring it? Absolutely.
I didn’t know what my plan was when I pulled up to the valet stand. I hadn’t thought it through beyond wanting to give her something—wanting to make her happy.
And well, yeah, to impress her a little bit, if only because she’d been so determined not to be impressed from the very beginning.
I’d figured she’d take her bath, maybe I’d convince her to do something more interesting than sleep on the big bed, then we’d head back to the villa to face the music.
Now, though? I can’t bring myself to end this moment. I want tonight. Hell, I want all the nights. But if this is the only one I get with her sans camera, I’m taking it.
I pull the bottle from the ice bucket, top off her glass. “Stay with me tonight.”
She looks over, hazel eyes startled. “What?”
“We have the room for the night. Might as well use it.”
“Do you have any idea how much trouble we’d be in?”
I shrug. “They’ll be pissed, probably yell a bit, and then get back down to business.”
“For you,” she says quietly. “The show doesn’t happen without you. They’ve got no choice but to slap your wrist and keep going. It’s a whole other can of worms for me.”
“If the producers give you shit, I’ll say it was my idea.”
She swings her feet off my legs and rolls her shoulders as though irritated. “Yeah, I’m sure they’ll really buy the kidnapping story. And even if they let it be, what about the other contestants? You have to see those women for a couple of hours every day, sometimes not even that much. I don’t have the luxury of retreating to the master suite of the house.”
She sets her glass on the table and walks to the railing. She leans on it, arms crossed, with her back to me.
I feel a stab of frustration at her being so logical. I can’t even think when I’m around her. I’m trying to jump off the ledge, damn the consequences, and she’s not there. She’s still thinking about the fucking show, and that I’m not worth any kind of risk.
“I don’t get what you want, Ellie. You don’t want to be at the house. You don’t want to be here with me.”
She whirls around, her eyes both tormented and furious. “I’ve told you what I want. You just don’t want to hear it! I’ve told you from the very beginning that I want to go home. I don’t want to be here, I don’t want to be your TV girlfriend, much less your TV wife. I don’t know how I could have been clearer. You just…you don’t listen, Gage. You’re so used to getting what you want, you just steamroll right over everyone else’s wants.”
Her outburst hurts more than I expect. And maybe that’s not fair, because she’s right. She has told me in every possible way that she wants to be sent home, and I…haven’t let her. I’ve thought of every possible excuse to keep her here in hopes that we’d round some vital corner and she’d want to stay.
I thought we were there. I thought after what just happened on the bed, at least, we would be.
Apparently Gage Barrett’s good enough for an afternoon fling but doesn’t even warrant a full night.
The thought’s unfair considering how many times I’ve been out for a good lay and not much more, and maybe that’s precisely what’s bugging the shit out of me.
