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Aurora gives him a look. “That’s very mature,” she says sarcastically.
“You’ve gone too far,” Weston tells her. “This isn’t fair. You’ve left me no choice.”
“No choice.”
“Except to tell the truth.”
Weston turns to me, looking down with flames in his eyes.
“Alice, I’ve never met Kennedy before. The night of the fight, those douchebags were making sick jokes about Maxwell, about his skiing accident. That’s what the fight was about. And then Kennedy saw her chance, as many people in this town do, and she created a false story.”
“Ouch,” Kennedy says, laughing lightly. “Nice to meet you too.”
I replay her words… nice to meet him.
Suddenly, despite everything, I’m grinning. I’ve got a big wide smile on my face. I can’t help it, the smile spreading wider.
“But why did you say that in the video….”
“It was either that,” Weston says, “or talk publicly about the real reason for the fight. About Maxwell. I won’t bring him into the public. I refuse. At the time, Kennedy’s bid for fame seemed like a gift. But that was before I met you.”
“So there aren’t any other women?”
He’s looking at me closely, his lips flitting between a frown, a smirk, a smile, and a grimace, and so much more like he thinks what he’s about to say is dangerous, and he wants to stop himself but can’t.
“No,” he says. “None. Just you.”
“Is this why you called me in?” Kennedy snaps, addressing Aurora.
Aurora leans back, sighing.
But it all seems to happen very far away.
Weston and I keep staring at each other, captured in each other’s gaze, hungry for some alone time.
“I didn’t expect any of this,” Aurora replies. “Lovebirds.”
She claps her hands.
“Hey, come on. We need to strategize. Alice, this is your job, remember. Your place of work.”
I think about Mom, the crash, and the thought I could work in PR one day in a capacity that makes the world a better place.
Turning, I face Aurora. Weston does the same.
Kennedy makes a huffing noise, causing me to glance at her. She doesn’t seem too bothered about anything Weston has said.
I get the sense this was never about wanting him… it’s all about the possible fame.
“The fact is, Weston,” Aurora says, “you’ve never wanted to be seen as a playboy. You’ve never wanted to be seen as one of those actors who go away on yachts with a bunch of worshiping women.”
“Correct,” Weston says gruffly.
“Well, that’s the way it’s going. If you want me to help, you need to listen. I’ve arranged for you to go onto the Michael Henley Show tomorrow.”
“He records out of New York,” Weston says, glancing at me. “In the day. Which means I’ll need to leave soon.”
My belly gives a hot shiver.
I can read his eyes.
He doesn’t want to leave me.
“I want you to be charming and to address this issue in a way we’ll discuss,” Aurora stampedes ahead. “Kennedy, I’ll also discuss how to handle your social media. Finally, we need to figure out a way to reveal this was all a ruse without seeming slippery.”
“A ruse?” Kennedy says. “Like, I faked it? My followers will, like, freak.”
“We’ll figure it out,” Aurora snaps. “As for you….”
She looks firmly at me.
“You jeopardized one of our PR campaigns. You should’ve known somebody would take your photo. It’s always a risk in this town.”
“I know,” I murmur.
“I’m going to assign you an ungodly amount of grunt work,” Aurora says. “It will keep you busy. Keep you from showing up in the media. How does that sound to everyone? And listen, Weston, you’re right… I can’t force you to do anything. But if you don’t agree, people will assume you’re the same as the playboys you detest. And I know that’s not what you want.”
Weston looks at me again, his jaw tight, as if there’s so much else he wants to say.
With a sigh, he turns back to Aurora. “I’ll do it. I don’t want anybody thinking I sleep around.”
I wonder if, by anybody, he means me.
He wants me to know he doesn’t sleep around, and he wants me to know that this thing we’re building is unique, as special as I desperately wish it is.
CHAPTER 17
Weston
I sit in the hotel's penthouse suite, looking down over Central Park as the rain lashes down and the sky gets an even deeper shade of silver.
My phone vibrates from my pocket as I stand at the window, thinking about the TV show I’m going to record in a few hours, wondering what I’m going to say.
Wondering if I’ve got the balls to say the thing I really want, though I know it could result in everything crashing down.
Is it time yet?
I can’t help but smile when I read Alice’s name.
We’ve been texting ever since I left the West Coast, mostly discussing the Kennedy situation and wondering what Aurora’s going to do.
