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Gary sneers. “Well, I guess it really is as we all suspected. Hollywood’s goodest girl must be really good at turning bad.”
Harrison’s patience is damn near saintly, but I can just barely tell it’s starting to thin as he snaps, “I’m dating the girl I knew when we were kids. Not a Hollywood caricature.”
“Well, how cute is that. You were childhood friends. I think I can speak for all of us when I say we had no clue about that.”
“Unless you hired a private investigator to dig into the trenches of our life,” Harrison retorts, “I wouldn’t expect you to know about it.”
“Sorry to be the bearer of bad news, Harrison Hughes, but digging into the trenches of your life is kind of our job. You are in the spotlight now.”
“I’m not in the spotlight,” Harrison refutes. “Raquel is in the spotlight, and I’m in the shadows, ready to support her.”
“That’s the same thing, buddy.” Gary laughs, and Harrison shakes his head. “Oh no. Am I the first person to mention this to you?”
The audience laughs, and I shift in my seat, ready to go full-on pregnant mama bear on Gary’s ass, but Harrison handles it all with class and grace. His smile never breaks, and honestly, it’s kind of like he’s been taking Hollywood classes behind my back for the last six weeks.
Frankly, he might be better at this than I am.
“Oh, you know what? You are the first person to break the news. And in the most distasteful, bordering on anti-feminism way, I might add,” Harrison says with a laugh before taking my hand in his, clearly done with the conversation. Lucky for Gary, the show is out of time. A little while longer and I have a feeling Harrison would have turned Gary’s own audience against him.
Gary turns to the camera and pastes on a smarmy smile for his parting line. “Men all over the world are crying tonight about the loss of the single, luscious Raquel Weaver.”
I roll my eyes as he glances over to me, and then he narrows his eyes on the man at my side.
“Actually, I’m thinking women all over the world are crying tonight too.”
Hmm…for once in my life, I might have to agree with the prick.
Harrison is quite the damn catch. Any woman would be fucking lucky to call him hers.
If only you could call him all yours…
Harrison
Hello, Bull. Meet horns.
I can’t deny that I still have a little thrill in my chest from being able to tell Gary Bull off in the nicest, most calculated way. I’m hoping tomorrow I’ll see news articles questioning the bastard’s view of women. Because, truthfully, from the way he was treating Rocky, his respect for the opposite sex is questionable.
But that bastard aside, now I’m certain I’m going to have to face another one of Heidi’s textbook wraths. A fucking broken record, that woman.
The walk back to the car through the halls of Gary Bull’s studio is long and silent. Heidi and her hounds lead the way, with Rocky and me in the middle, and Alejo and Roberta trail in the back. I can sense the overwhelming pressure that’s building in Heidi with each and every step she travels without speaking her mind, but we haven’t been in a room without being in close proximity to the press since the moment I stepped foot on that set and told Gary Bull—and the world—how it really is.
Heidi doesn’t like that she doesn’t have control over something—anything—even if it is a human with absolutely no obligation or responsibility to her. I have a responsibility to Rocky and our baby, and for Heidi, she sees those two things as synonymous. But they’re not.
As a matter of fact, the longer I’m around, the more I’m starting to wonder if the two are ever in tune.
Heidi’s agenda seems at odds with Rocky’s health and well-being, and as someone who cares a great deal about both of those things, that doesn’t sit all that well with me.
I reach out cautiously, skirting my hand into the empty space at the palm of Rocky’s. She looks up and stumbles in her stride, surprised by the action for a couple reasons. Not only was she lost in her own thoughts, but the action itself is, admittedly, a deviation from our normal public interactions.
Maybe it’s because she’s pregnant. Maybe it’s because she’s famous. Or, I don’t know, maybe it’s because, whether I like to face it or not, I’ve been heavily invested in Rocky since the moment I stepped up next to her at that bar and realized who she was. The little girl from my past—a memory of a life that was uncomplicated.
But whatever the reason, I’ve been timid in a way that I don’t even recognize myself anymore.
I’m not normally the guy who sits on the sidelines and waits for things to come to him. I’m not the guy who gets pushed around and shoved to the back and replaced by some dickwad like Ben Huddleson.
