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“True, man, but I didn’t ask you to get drunk or let the party go on till the morning,” he answers.
“Sorry, mate. Didn’t mean to lash out at you. I'm just miffed that she was right and I should’ve been more careful.”
“Instead you gave her shit for being honest,” Willie chuckles.
“Yeah,” I mumble, feeling even worse. “I was being kind of an asshole wasn’t I?”
“Grade-A asshole.” Willie laughs.
“Too bad. She was kind of cute too, don’t you think?”
“Bullshit,” he answers.
“What?”
“Man, you've slept with half of the gorgeous women in this town since you got here and now you’re telling me you found that simple girl cute? I don’t believe it.”
“I don’t know, Willie. There was something about her. She told me straight to my face. Everyone else I know is too eager to please me. It was... nice, for a change.”
“Whatever, man. That’s you and your business. For now, get your ass into the showers and behave like you belong here. And for crying out loud, try to get along with the coach.”
Maybe I will this time, I think as Willie pats me on the back before leaving. That Carrie. She’s an honest, no-nonsense woman. It d
oesn’t hurt that she’s cute as anything, in a very girl-next-door way. Big brown eyes, makeup-less face, the utter vulnerability in her that speaks of a woman who fought all of her battles by herself. A petite firestorm that ignites a fire inside me.
I shake my head to dust off all thoughts of her. I have a lot to do, a lot to fix, and I’m not going to let these scandals get in my way. But before I head to the locker room, I message Shauna: Please send Carrie a big bouquet of flowers and an apology card from me.
Chapter 85
Thanks to all the drinking I did at David Adams’ party on an empty stomach, I called in sick yesterday. But even a day of rest, with my phone switched off hadn’t done much good. Even if I did receive a huge bouquet of flowers from David Adams along with an apology note.
I kind of wanted to throw the flowers away but they’re too pretty… besides what kind of person doesn’t like flowers when they're sick? Even so, I’m sure it’s not his doing— it’s probably somebody from his management who thought of it. The guy is arrogant and obnoxious. He could never be so thoughtful.
I spend most of the first hour at the office worried about how to tell Max that I’m not going to do the story on David Adams. Just sending my resignation via text is appealing, but I can’t muster up the courage to do it. It has to be done in person.
When Lilian tells me that Max is out of town, my relief turns to misery when she adds that Max is out of town with Katherine Griswold, the main woman in his life.
The main woman? Then what am I?
Shauna’s insulting warning about Max at David’s party has carved suspicion in my mind and made way for doubt. Deep inside my heart I know I have to get over Max. That I’m nothing but a fling for him. I’ve gotta forget all those late night talks, all the sweet kisses and each promise that he made. It’s much more difficult than I thought it would be.
Most of the morning goes peacefully and no one bothers me with any extra work since I’m supposed to be working on the big David Adams story. So I spend half the day browsing my favorite literary websites, hoping that it’ll provide strength to my dying dreams of being a legitimate writer.
When I’m about to leave, early I might add, I’m told David Adams’ PR agent would like to see me and I have no choice. Shauna Rosenfeld is one of the biggest PR professionals in the country and can’t be denied.
First they send me flowers, and now they want to meet me. I wonder what’s going on.
Shauna calls me over to a restaurant nearby. Why does Shauna want to meet at a Michelin Star restaurant, and during off hours, when they’re not even open? Is there some special event? These people always seem to call me to places where there is something going on.
Straightening my shirt and brushing the tangles out of my hair, I do my best to look presentable even if I’m not wearing the right clothes. A quick ten minute walk and I’m at Willow, the trendy L.A. restaurant that has been the hangout joint for A-list Hollywood celebrities for quite a while now. Apparently it takes half a year just to get a reservation at the place. Unless of course you’re someone famous. This is just how this town works. Be famous or die trying.
I feel out of place as I walk in and find myself in a massive room, with sofas lined up haphazardly and a long bar toward the side. A couple of staff members are readying the place up or that night’s festivities and it takes a few minutes for someone to notice me.
“Yes?” A man in a waiter’s uniform asks.
“Er, I'm looking for Shauna Rosenfeld,” The man just stares at me blankly for a second and then exclaims, as realization hits him.
“Oh yes, yes! Please, come this way. You're Carol?”
