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"Stand up to him. Make sure he notices you—really notices you—and then tell him how you feel."
"After he’s slept around with half the female population of the countries he’s been to?" I scoff.
"Is that what he said? That he slept with them?"
I drag my fingers through my hair. "I don’t know. He didn’t deny it."
"The media has a way of blowing things out of proportion. You should know; you’re a PR professional."
I lower my hand. "I’ve never been on this side of the coverage. Now, I know how my clients feel when their personal life is splashed all over the tabloids."
"Have you tried to talk to him? Like, really talk to him?"
I glance away, then back at her. "Every time I try to have a conversation, it ends with him behaving like an asshole, and that should piss me off…"
"But it doesn’t?"
I shake my head. "Clearly, I need therapy, if I find his being mean to me a turn-on."
"Don’t mock your kink," she chides.
I redden. “Don’t forget, I didn’t hear from him for eight months. Eight whole months. That’s no joke."
"But he’s back now."
I tilt my head.
"And he wants you to work for him and pretend to be married to him.”
"I asked him to be exclusive," I burst out.
She blinks. "What did he say to that?"
"He didn’t seem happy about it."
"But he didn’t say no?"
"He didn’t say yes either," I point out.
"Hmm." She rises from her bed and places the phone on a chair as she pulls yoga pants and a hoodie over her sleep shirt and shorts. Then, she walks through the hallway and into an adjoining kitchen.
"Where are you, anyway?"
"Vegas. I’m here for a performance."
"Hold on, if you’re in Vegas, you’re eight hours behind me, and it’s late here, so how come you were waking up when I called?"
"Went to sleep late last night after rehearsals."
"You’re performing tonight, aren’t you?"
"At the MGM Grand." She fills up the coffee maker with water and switches it on.
"You nervous?"
"Why should I be? It’s only 20,000 people in the audience, after all."
I stare, then burst out laughing. "Jesus, how do you handle the pressure?"
