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She goes on to say he loves my sense of humor and smile, but the one thing she doesn’t mention is him talking about my looks. I don’t know what to think about that. Although, honestly, I’m more than amazed at how much she knows about me. He’s talked about me to his mother. She knows of the things Harrison loves about me. I’m floored.
“Hey.”
We both turn back to see Harrison standing in the opening of the living room. “Hi,” I say, pushing up to greet him.
Nora stands, and they hug each other. She says, “It’s so good to see you.”
“You saw me last week, Mom.”
“You’ll never understand until you have kids of your own.”
The eyes I missed staring into find mine, and he smiles, opening his arm and pulling me to his side. We kiss, and he says, “My mom didn’t share all my dirty secrets, did she?”
“Your secrets are safe.” Pointing at him, I add, “Except the nannies. I thought you were running a halfway house of errant nannies. Nope, just a kids’ exaggerated memory.”
“Really?” He turns to his mom for confirmation.
She shrugs. “There were three, Harry.”
I’ve never heard him called that, but it’s cute to hear his nickname and to see him in his element. Maybe I judged this place too harshly and out of fear instead of for the home he’s created and the family he has here.
“I could have sworn there were more. Guess I need to stop telling that story.”
His mom walks inside. “Probably best. I’m going to get home, but I’ll see you two tomorrow night?” She swings her purse straps onto her shoulder again.
“I look forward to it and meeting the family,” I say. Escaping Harrison’s side, I go to her and give her a hug. Her embrace matches her personality—warm and inviting. “It was so nice to meet you and spend that time together.”
“I agree. You were a lovely highlight of my day.”
When she leaves, Harrison’s staring at me like he doesn’t recognize me. “What?” I ask, throwing my arms out and letting them fall to my sides again.
“Nothing.”
“It’s something, so just say it.”
He comes to me and brings me into his arms again. With a kiss to my forehead, he whispers, “California sure does look good on you.”
29
Harrison
I shouldn’t have brought her here.
In a house buried in The Hills at an Oscar-winners property, some D-grade producer has been chatting Tatum up while I’ve been stuck discussing a house in Brentwood coming on the market soon and needing an agent. There are strings attached. There always are. These attachments come in the form of the owner wanting to seal the deal with sex in the jacuzzi while her husband watches.
No fucking thanks.
I don’t have to play nice. My portfolio speaks for itself. “You either hire the best or you go find some fucker down in the OC wanting to make a splash here in LA. Literally speaking. You have my secretary’s number.”
Cutting through the crowd, I have my eyes set on my girl, excited that it’s me she’ll be leaving with. Leaving is the goal, too. These Hollywood parties don’t hold the same thrill that they used to.
Since getting out of LA, I’ve had my eyes opened. Maybe that’s all it took for me to see the bigger picture of what my life could be.
Tatum’s confidence exudes in New York, so I’m not sure why she’s shrinking under the Hollywood lights. Only a few more feet until I reach her, but I’m jerked to the side and under a bellowing greeting, an ex squeals when she sees me. “Harrison Decker, where the fuck have you been?” She jumps me—literally—a crab claw-like hold around me and she hugs me tight.
Trying to peel her off me is a feat unto itself. Gemma Maze, former model turned serious actress, hails from the UK, and accepted the Golden Globe last year for her performance as a pig in mud in some psychological thriller. I didn’t see it, not ever wanting to see her again, in real life or on the big screen. She loves her drugs. Some things never change . . .
I put her on her feet again and quickly glance to find Tatum. Hoping she would have missed this scene, that hope is shredded under the glare she’s giving me. I push through the crowd to reach her. “I didn’t—”
“I know, but I don’t like it here.”
“Let’s leave then.” I take her hand and start for the door. The scene is familiar to most who are here. I look like her bodyguard trying to get her out from the hoard of fans and paparazzi spotlight. I’ll play that role for her if it gets her safely out of here.
When valet pulls my M2 around, we get in so I can get us the fuck out. It’s a few streets covered before I ask, “Are you okay?”
