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For a moment, Parker’s lip trembled, the fireplace by his side glistened in his eyes. They were wet, full, and undeniably hurt. Maybe it was true, maybe he didn’t want this, but then why were we here?
“It kills me that you think so little about what I really want,” he fought back a look that broke my heart.
“No,” I warned. “I love you, Parker… and if you love me too—whatever spectrum that may be on—then you’d respect me enough to let me go.”
“Love?” he asked, his voice rough, the kind of rough that could only occur when every exhausted word had already scathed your throat. “Was it love when you kicked me out of Claire’s? I trusted thatyouknew best, because I didn’t know what it was you were hiding. But I respected it. Love can be uncomfortable, Gemma. It’s doing what’s right, even when it hurts. And trust me, I’m always hurting.”
I composed the burn in my throat, our candid moment instantly ruined as Camilla appeared by our side. I looked away, but Parker refused.
“Do you really know Alex Rivers?” Camilla sighed; her martini glass held delicately between her red painted nails. She looked like the devil herself, her shiny, black hair falling along the thin straps of her red dress.
“That’s a silly thing to ask,” I answered, checking my phone one last time.
“Silly is imagining that Hollywood’s biggest star would even show up, especially for his stylist.”
“I’m his designer.”
“And he’s your boss,” she retorted. “Or is there more to this?”
“That’s enough.” Parker inhaled calmly, his low voice bristled with the burn of scotch. Either he was focused on the interaction to come or annoyed by Camilla’s question. Regardless, he silenced the both of us, leaving me no room to answer.
Besides, what would I say anyways? Alejandro and I had no labels, we had nothing but the beginning of an idea, the possibility of some partnership, but I knew that nothing good could ever come from keeping secrets. Lina’s nondisclosure sat folded inside my purse, and her approach from earlier was an alarm to the patterns I always had, the attempts I’d made to avoid tough topics.
“Good evening, Jones Party,” a waiter greeted, interrupting with a silver tray in hand. He bent over, resting a bottle of crystalline liquor on the table. “Compliments of Mr. Rivers,” he placed two accompanied glasses along its side: one for Parker, the other for Alejandro.
“Don Jefe?” Camilla laughed, reading the unfamiliar label of the newly set bottle. I examined the embossedJaliscoletters as Camilla reached into her clutch, pulling out a cigarette. “Shots for a ghost. How imaginative.”
“I said enough, Camilla,” Parker commanded, using her full name like a disappointed parent. Camilla’s response was stifled, disguised with the flick of her lighter, its sharp wheel giving me the most unbearable chills.
She took a long drag, holding it loosely between her fingers. Between the anticipation of Alejandro arriving and the pungent cigarette smell, I began to feel anxious. I stroked my neck, just as I always had, but covered it by trailing my thumb along a gold necklace I wore.
“There’s nothing here that needs your approval.” I pointed Camilla to the exit, “This isn’t some Great Pumpkin moment. You’re welcome to leave.”
“Don’t get me wrong. I just never assumed Alex to be so underwhelming. The drinks, the waiting, the exaggerated sense of self-importance. Parker was right, he should be here by now. Feels… I don’t know… not as courageous as I’d assume an action star to be.”
Camilla always had a sense of superiority, an ability to make me feel like the discounted version of herself. I never appreciated that from her, but the look of disappointment she gave when I didn’t react was pure ecstasy.
I assumed she wasn’t expecting me to smile, but I couldn’t help myself. It had been so long since I’d seen him, and now he was through the door and by her side; the man who crept his way from my fantasies and into my life.
I grinned.
“Maybe you should tell him yourself. It appears he’s on time.”
Chapter7
Parker
Iimagined this meeting going a thousand different ways in my head. Each time there was a different introduction, a different setting. But not ever—and I mean ever—did I picture the greeting I heard from Alex’s deep, provocative voice.
“Good evening, Gemma.” He inhaled her name, allowing it to enter his mouth with such delicate intention.
I hated it.
It made me fucking sick.
And as much as I despised how it burned a pit into my stomach, the discomfort he caused was nothing compared to how Gemma responded.
“Hi…” she stumbled out, breaking into an uncontrolled shyness that pinned my back to the bottom of my chair.
