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Kyle beamed at him over his shoulder and smacked me playfully on the bum. "That's 'cause it's perfect!"
I tried very hard to keep my head high as we walked into the event and die neither from embarrassment nor from my secret, sick joy at his compliment.
* * *
The evening flew by in a whirl of champagne, glittery sneakers, hand-holding, and about a million questions about my new boyfriend. Only one person mentioned the events of the night before to me, which was a testament to how much of a splash Kyle was making.
"Sorry that happened to you," said Tracy Ross, another young actress. She had a bleached cropped bob and skin as white as porcelain.
"Let me be a lesson to you," I said.
"To not get drunk?" she asked.
"That, and to just in general keep your mouth shut. It's safer that way."
She nodded toward Kyle, who was examining a pair of platform high-tops. "He seems to be a hit tonight."
"He's holding up nicely," I admitted.
"Well then, you will be a lesson to me. Next event I have, I'm bringing man candy. Quality man candy."
"Quality helps," I agreed. I watched him for a minute.
He was chatting easily with some of the other guests while checking out the shoes. Letting him come tonight had been a mistake. A mistake in a long line of mistakes, I lamented. The press loved him, which meant I wouldn't be able to get rid of him easily. Shirley and Gigi had already sent me about ten text messages saying what a great job he was doing and how impressed they were.
And he needed this job. He wanted to quit turning tricks.
Tonight was going surprisingly well. Everything was heading in the direction I wanted so badly—to clean up the mess I'd made last night. To make the press happy with a new story and win back my director's approval. Still, I couldn't help feeling as though I was making a terrible mistake.
Stop it, Lo. You need this. You have to make it work.
I went to fetch Kyle. I had a headache, and I wanted to intercept him before he went back to the press and started trying to sell an interview with me to the highest bidder.
"Are you ready to leave?" I asked hopefully.
"I'm at your command, princess," he said, flashing his dimples.
Heat pooled in my belly as I remembered his kiss. I made myself shake it off, or at least try to disguise it to myself as righteous indignation. He shouldn't have kissed me in the first place. "I'm hardly a princess." Still, I reached for his hand when he offered it.
"I just want you to feel special," he said.
"That's a first from you," I said lowly, so no one else could hear. I needed to take him down a peg or two.
"I've grown up," he said, sounding hurt but keeping his grin intact for the public. "It would be lovely if you did too."
That cut. I wanted to frown at him, but we had to walk by the press. Being the fine actress I was, I beamed at him instead.
He took the opportunity to put one hand on my ass again as he waved at the press with his free one. "Call us! We'd love to go on the record!"
By the time we finally made it back to the safety of the car, my righteous indignation was bubbling over. "You weren't supposed to talk. You weren't supposed to grab my ass. You're a loose cannon, Kyle. I should fire you. You don't have the right to speak on my behalf like that."
Control freak, Tori's voice sing-songed in my head.
"Now, Lowell," he said, sitting back calmly, "you don't strike me as the reactionary type. Except, of course, for when you hired an escort to clean up the proverbial mess you left all over the Internet."
"I can't do this," I said, my ch
est heaving.
