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“Roman!” She stomped across the deck until she was on the opposite side of the box from me. “Answer me, dammit!”
“How about, I’m your boss, so you could start treating me with an ounce of fucking respect?” I snarled from the top of the plyo box, looking down at her.
“You’re not my boss. You’re my client.”
“That can be fixed real quick if you keep talking to me like that.” I took a few deep breaths that had nothing to do with my workout and everything to do with how she was speaking to me. “I’m gonna finish up my workout. You can go inside and calm down. We’ll talk when I’m ready. Not a minute before. Clear?”
“Crystal.” She turned on her Louboutin heels and stormed back inside.
“That looks like it’ll be fun,” Kevin muttered behind me.
“You have no idea,” I huffed as I jumped down.
“Better you than me, buddy. Give me two more, then we’ll move on to burpees.”
“Sadists. I’m surrounded by sadists.” Everyone was torturing me this morning. But I still jumped on top of the box, again and again.
By the time I left Kevin behind and entered the house, I’d worked out most of my anger.
The same couldnotbe said for Hope.
When I walked into the kitchen, I found Jeff placidly drinking coffee at the island while Hope paced and yelled at someone on her cell. At least it wasn’t me for once.
“I don’t give a shit what you think. You’re going to do what I say, or you’re going to find a new publicist!” Hope didn’t wait for a reply. She stabbed the end call button and turned all that ire my way.
I mopped my face with a towel, blinked back at her for a moment, then turned to Jeff. “Want a breakfast smoothie?”
“You get that I’m the assistant here, right?” Jeff asked with a raised eyebrow. When he didn’t get a rise out of me, he asked, “What flavor?”
“Something tropical sounds good—maybe with pineapple.”
“Sounds good. I’ll have one too. Thanks.”
I couldn’t ignore Hope forever, even though I really wanted to. Actually, I wanted to berate Jeff for letting her in without warning me, but what good would that do? “Hope? You want one?”
Hope gave me a not-impressed look in return and bit out a, “No.”
“Your loss. I make an awesome smoothie.” I hustled around the kitchen, grabbing the blender, measuring ingredients, scooping ice, the whole time feeling the burn of Hope’s glare on me. Not that I gave a shit. She worked for me. If she didn’t like it, there were plenty of other publicists.
I gave her a grin as I fired up the blender. She stared back at me, nonplussed. Okay, I’d prodded her enough. I poured the smoothies into two glasses, slid Jeff’s to him, and turned and faced Hope. “So, let’s do this.”
Hope’s left eyelid twitched. “What were you thinking?”
“I’ll need you to be more specific.” I paused and took a drink. “What was I thinking when?”
Her eyes narrowed. “What were you thinking when you outed this relationship without talking to me? That is literally what you pay me for. Why the hell wouldn’t you want my opinion on it?”
“I had to move fast.” I hitched a shoulder. “Jeff had an idea, and I wanted to run with it before the story disappeared.”
“’Jeff had an idea.’” Hope mocked like it—and we—were stupid. “Did Jeff go to Columbia and get a degreesumma cum laudein communications? Has Jeff spent the past ten years working with the biggest actors in Hollywood and saving more than a dozen from tabloid hell?”
Jeff cleared his throat uncomfortably, holding his glass. “I’m gonna go help Kevin clean up outside.”
And he fled.
“Exactly my point.” Hope stabbed a finger toward the fleeing assistant as a snarl twisted her thin lips. “You’re trusting your gopher assistant with shit he doesn’t have the first clue about.”
“What’s your problem, Hope? That Jeff and I decided I should date someone for clickbait or that you were left out of the decision? Because neither matters anymore. The decision has been made. It’s time for you to either get on the train, or I’ll find someone who doesn’t mind me having an opinion about my own fucking love life.”
