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Chapter 6
Trenton
Whatthefuck?Seraphina was the last person I’d expected to walk through that door. All too aware of the cameras rolling, I subtly rechecked the paper I’d been given when I arrived. It definitely said Alison Prescott and not Seraphina something-or-other.
For a moment, I wondered if this was Evan’s idea of a joke. Had he somehow found out that I’d spent the night with her then subsequently tracked her down? I didn’t see how that would be possible, but I wouldn’t have put it past him.
“I’m Alison,” Seraphina blurted, “but I go by Ali.”
I was thoroughly confused. I wished the cameras weren’t there so I could reply with what I really wanted to say. Ser—Ali looked panicked, which told me that if it was some kind of joke, she wasn’t in on it. So I went along with the guise that we’d never met.Hell.It wasn’t hard because I hadn’t met Ali—I’d met and slept with a woman named Seraphina.Fuck me.Oh, wait. She’d already done that.
I gritted my teeth. “I’m Trenton.”
“I know who you are.” Her voice shook.
“Right.”
We simply stared at one another for a moment. It was awkward as fuck and sure to make for riveting television. Damn it,Evan had promised I wouldn’t regret doing the show, and less than a minute into it, I already was.
She pushed that lavender hair that I’d been so enamored with out of her face. I was immediately struck by a mental image of her hair flowing over her naked breasts—not the best thing to be thinking about when I was being filmed for national television. I couldn’t help how aware I was of her, just as I’d been when I’d first met her.
“I like your music,” she said finally. “Especially that one song.”
“That one song?” Perhaps a nicer guy would have taken pity on her and not put her on the spot, but as I’d tried to tell Evan, I wasn’t cut out for this shit. It was more than that, though. Something fucked up was going on here with Ser—Ali—making me feel like I was the butt of some joke. When I saw how flustered she was, my anger softened. There would be time to straighten everything out once the cameras stopped rolling. “Why don’t you sing a few lines?”
“Oh, okay. Sure. Um…” She closed her eyes for a moment then started tapping a beat on her thigh with her open hand. When the lyrics I’d written poured out of her mouth, I blinked. She was good. Better than good—she was amazing. Her voice was silky, somehow soft and strong at the same time.
When she stopped singing, I whistled in appreciation. “Damn. You sing it better than I do.”
She blushed, reminding me of our first encounter in the men’s room at the club. “Thanks.”
I was a little surprised that she’d taken the compliment without protesting. I found it rare for a woman not to object or try to get further reassurance. It was a nice change.
I gestured to the sofa behind me. “Do you want to sit?” The room they’d put us in reminded me of a talk show set, only on a much smaller scale. The furniture was obviously staged to provide a means for dynamic interaction. Even if Ali and I hadn’t already had a history, the situation would have been awkward for someone like me. It would have been right in Evan’s wheelhouse, though. It wouldn’t surprise me if this setup had been his idea.
“Sure,” she said, seeming relieved as she sank onto the sofa. As I sat in the chair, the cameramen rearranged themselves to get better shots. I didn’t know how reality television stars functioned. The cameras were intrusive as hell, and though the guy who’d waited in the room with me had told me I should try to forget he was there, there was no way.
“Where are you from, Ali?” I’d already asked her that at the club, but I figured it was as good a question as any, considering we weren’t supposed to have met already. Or so I assumed. I still wasn’t convinced Evan hadn’t set this up on purpose, even though the chance was objectively slim. In any case, I was sticking to safe topics, at least until they stopped filming.
“Cleveland,” she said. At least that part was true, even if her name wasn’t.
We chatted about typical topics, given the situation, like who her favorite artists were. I could tell it was going to be boring for viewers, but I hadn’t been given a script to follow. I’d shown up at call time, been given a name, then shoved into this room to wait. The interesting conversation would happen later, but no way in hell was I letting America eavesdrop on that.
Finally, the cameramen turned off their equipment. “We got enough,” the first one said. “You can stay here as long as you like.”
We stopped chatting immediately, as if someone had flipped our vocal switches. The second the door closed behind the cameraman, I scowled at her. It wasn’t often I was made to feel like a fool, but it had been happening too much recently. “Would you like to be called Ali? Or Seraphina?”
Her expression was contrite. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to lie to you. I was planning to use Seraphina as a stage name, so I was trying it out.”
Well, hell.I’d slept with her, and I hadn’t even known her real name. That didn’t sit right with me. “And now?”
“It didn’t feel right, so I’m going with Ali.”
“Is that your real name?”
She nodded. “I really am sorry. I thought about telling you my real name, but that would have been weird, and anyway, I wasn’t supposed to see you again.”
I stared at her.What the fuck?
