by Karina Halle
“Did your co-workers say anything about us?”
Now I glance at him. I shouldn’t have. I’d forgotten somehow how mesmerizing his eyes are at this non-distance. “They did, actually.”
“Good things?”
I bite my lip, thinking it over. “It depends. I got a standing ovation over you.”
“No kidding. And that’s bad?”
I guess in these circumstances it can’t be.
“No, it was wonderful.”
Lie, lie, lie, I tell myself. Then again, it was kind of nice for once to feel special among my peers. But I wouldn’t admit that to Emmett.
“And did you sign that contract we were talking about?”
I nod. “I did.”
Even though the courier dropped it off at my desk and I signed the simple documents alone under fluorescent lights, I felt like I might as well have been in a dungeon, by candlelight, and signing it with my own blood.
“Did you find out who took the photographs? Anyone from your work?”
“The guy who I suspect was out sick so I couldn’t ask him,” I tell him.
“That’s convenient…”
“Right?”
Our conversation changes to easy topics after that, though the entire drive he keeps his hands all over me. I keep going from wanting him to touch me and enjoying it to hating the fact that I’m enjoying it because none of it is real.
By the time we get to the restaurant, Rodney’s Oyster House in Yaletown, I need a drink or twenty. Especially as the driver lets us off a few blocks away and we have to walk there, holding hands, past people who stop and take pictures. Luckily it’s only a few people who actually recognize Emmett but it’s still enough to make me feel awkward and question why I’m doing this again.
Forty grand, forty grand. It’s a mantra I’m repeating in my head.
“You’re doing so well,” Emmett whispers to me at the restaurant while the hostess walks us toward our table. He gives my hand a reassuring squeeze and instinctively I squeeze his hand right back. That part I know was real and it gives me a dash of courage.
We’re lucky that even though we’re on display, the booth where we’re seated is out of earshot of everyone else in the restaurant so we don’t have to carry on a fake conversation. After the waitress leaves with our orders for drinks and a dozen oysters, Emmett gives me a sweet smile.
“How are you holding up?” he asks, tilting his head as he inspects me. I’m assuming I must look absolutely shell-shocked.
Well, I am.
“I’m…okay,” I tell him. I take in a deep breath and try to smile. “This is just really…weird.”
“I know.”
“I mean it has to be weird for you, too.”
“It is,” he says, still smiling.
“Why are you smiling like that then?”
“Because if you were my girlfriend and we were on this date, this is how I’d be looking at you.”
Oh.
He frowns. “Don’t tell me the guys you date aren’t drooling all over themselves when they talk to you.”
I let out a dry laugh. “Yeah right.”
“You’re either exceedingly modest or just plain oblivious.”
“I’m neither of those things,” I tell him. “It’s just the truth. The guys here in this city, they’re constantly looking over my shoulder for someone better.”
“And where are you finding these guys?”
I swallow. “Dating apps.” I don’t know why I suddenly find it so embarrassing when that’s how everyone is doing it these days.
“That’s what you get for using those.”
“Easy for you to say, you’re Cruiser McGill and Doctor Death. You don’t need them, you can just snap your fingers and girls will appear in front of you. Naked, probably.”
He smiles and looks off, running his hand over his jaw. When he looks back to me, his eyes are dancing like he has a secret. “You want to know something? Before I got the role of the Doctor, I was using dating apps too.”
I blink at him in surprise. “Really?”
He nods slowly. “Yes. And you know what I discovered? That the women in this city were constantly looking over my shoulder for someone better. It goes both ways, you know.”
“Then it’s too bad we didn’t end up on a date with each other.”
“It is too bad,” he says this almost wistfully. “I would have liked that.”
The way he’s staring at me is causing all sorts of raucous inside. I clear my throat, not sure what to do with his sincerity. Is it acting or is it real?
“But you’re not really a city girl, are you?” he asks me. “You’re from Penticton.”
I shouldn’t be surprised he knows that. Autumn probably did his homework.
“Yep.”
“Did you like growing up there?”
I nod. “I love it out there. I miss it, actually. Cold winters, hot summers, none of this doom and gloom. I love how dry it is, like a desert. I miss the smell of the sagebrush in the morning, the calm of the lake. The vineyards and the big, big sky.”
Shit. All this talk is making me want to take a quick trip to visit my mother now. I wonder if I can get away with doing that without having Emmett come along. I feel like my mother would pick him apart.
“So why did you move to Vancouver?” he asks.
Here it comes. I try and play it off. “Why does everyone move to Vancouver? Opportunity. A taste of the city life.”
“But why did you move here? What brought Alyssa Martin out further west? What did this place promise you?”
The way he’s staring at me is like he’s looking right through me and if I don’t tell him the truth, he won’t be satisfied. He knows something is there, even if he doesn’t know what it is.
“Honestly?” I say slowly. “I wanted to be an actress.”
He stares at me with a blank expression. “Are you serious?”
“Yup,” I tell him and smile at the waitress as she approaches. The oysters look good but my dirty martini looks even better. Emmett, of course, is having a Manhattan.
When she’s gone, he’s back to grilling me.
“I had no idea,” he says, watching as I drink. “What happened?”
I swallow a mouthful, feeling the delicious burn. “What happens to most people. The dream didn’t work out. I couldn’t afford it.”
“But it’s not that expensive,” he says, then trails off.
“Did you just say Vancouver isn’t that expensive? When double-income couples who have no debt and make over two hundred grand a year still can’t afford to buy a home here?”
“I mean that acting shouldn’t cost that much. Just headshots, maybe some classes.”
“And time. Time is money, especially when you live here. I went to auditions and took classes all while working waitressing jobs. But it wasn’t going anywhere and I wasn’t making enough money, so after a while I realized I needed to smarten up. I put it on hold, promising myself that I’d give myself another shot at it later. But I needed a proper job. My mom couldn’t support me, we barely had any money growing up. My sisters are all scattered around the world, even then, and I’m the youngest so I was on my own. I got a real job, administration for an engineering firm, and then life just…got in the way.”
“How come I didn’t know this about you?”
I smirk at him over my drink. “Because this is all fake and we don’t know a thing about each other.” I take another sip and give him a steadying gaze. “I know you must hear this all the time, but you’re one of the lucky ones, Emmett. You had a dream, you went for it, and you got it. You didn’t have the struggle.”
At that he bursts out laughing, head thrown back. “Struggle? Baby, all I did was struggle.”
“Didn’t you have a rich aunt or something that helped fund you when you first started?” I’m trying to remember the Wikipedia page on him but judging by the look on his face, I’m not sure how accurate it is.
“I didn’t
have anything like that,” he says soberly. “You’re right though. We don’t know a thing about each other.”
We lapse into a strange silence. Both of us almost sound bitter at that fact.
“So tell me,” he says, after we’ve started to tuck into the oysters. “Does this forty grand you’ve wanted have anything to do with your original dream?”
“Yeah.”
“How come you didn’t want to tell me?”
I bite my lip, considering it while I watch him swallow the oyster downs. God, he even makes eating oysters look sexy.
“I guess I just felt…like a fame chaser or something.”
“A fame chaser.” He lets out a wry chuckle. “Is that similar to a star fucker? Those are all the things you don’t like about me. Though perhaps the real reason you don’t like me is because I’m a working actor and you aren’t.”
“Ouch,” I tell him with a frown. “Naturally you would assume I’m jealous of you.”
“I didn’t say jealous,” he says. “But slighted.”
“Well I’m not slighted,” I say, busying myself by finishing off the rest of the martini. But as I drink, I’m starting to wonder if he’s right. Maybe one of the many reasons why I have such an aversion to him is because he’s an actor who has been working a long time. Forget the fact that he’s on a TV show, he was doing theatre in London, which is pretty much my idea of the dream. But that dream wasn’t enough for him.
I shake the feelings off. It doesn’t really matter and it’s useless to compare us. After all, I’m the one who gave her dream a half-hearted approach and gave up when the going got rough. Whether he struggled or not, he didn’t give up. And that’s why he’s here right now.
“Actually,” I tell him, though I’m already starting to regret the words that are about to come out of my mouth, “I admire you.”
A cautious smile tilts his lips. “You admire me?”
“Let me rephrase that. I admire that you went for what you wanted and you didn’t give up.”
He seems to let that sink in, nodding slowly. “Well, then I suppose I have one admiral quality about me. That’s good to know.” He pushes the tray of oysters toward me. “I’ve had my share. These are all yours. Eat up, baby.”
I love, love, love oysters. But there’s something insanely sexual about them and it’s not that they’re supposed aphrodisiacs. Or maybe it’s that being around Emmett, everything turns sexual after a while. Either way, I hesitate before I pick one up.
After sprinkling some horseradish and vinegar on the oyster, I slide it off the shell and let it sink down my throat. Like I figured, Emmett is watching me the entire time, his gaze growing heated.
“God,” he practically growls, his voice low, “I can imagine you swallowing my cum in the same way.”
I nearly choke on it. In fact, I start coughing harshly, the vinegar catching in my throat and immediately grab my glass of water, gulping it down.
When my coughing fit has subsided and I can breathe again, I shoot him a glare. “What did I say about hitting on me?”
“Oh, sunshine, I wasn’t hitting on you. I was just thinking out loud.”
“Then how about you keep your thoughts to yourself.”
He raises his drink to his lips and smiles at me over it. “No promises.”
To his credit, for the rest of the date he doesn’t say anything else lewd and crude. Sometimes I wonder how much he actually means the dirty things he says and how much of it is just to shock me. He does seem to get more of a kick out of my reaction.
Then again, this man has been inside me. He’s made me crazy with just a kiss. I have a feeling that when it comes down to it, he means every single filthy word that leaves his lips.
And, truth be told…I think I’m starting to like it.
We’ve just finished our desert when he reaches across the table and grabs my hand.
“Kiss me,” he says, giving my hand a squeeze.
“What?”
He smiles that gorgeous grin, and I feel my resolve slowly melting inside. “Kiss me. Trust me, it will look good.”
Ah hell. I’m tempted to look around the restaurant to see who is watching but I have a feeling if no one is now, they will be in a second.
Kiss him, I tell myself. This is part of the deal.
It’s not even the kiss that I mind so much, it’s that I have to do it in public, in front of everyone, and there’s a good chance that someone is going to take a picture of this moment.
Still, I give him a smile, trying to look at him like I’m in love with him, and then I lean across the table and he leans across the table and I kiss him. Good Will Hunting, eat your heart out.
I mean it to be short and sweet, nothing more than a press of the lips. But just like what happened in the car, the moment our mouths touch, there’s a magnetic pull between us, our lips immediately wanting, no, demanding, more of each other.
Before my brain can catch up with what’s going on, we are full on Frenching in front of the entire restaurant like a pair of horny teenagers.
And the moment we pull back, I see something in his eyes, a wild sort of tenderness, that I can only hope is true. The fact that there are a million eyes and even the flash of a camera on us doesn’t seem to matter. When we kiss, it becomes the only thing that’s real.
I give him a shy smile and sit back down. I’m not embarrassed at having done that in public but once again I’m chiding myself for letting me read into something that’s just an act.
Don’t catch feelings. You might not be as immune as you think.
“Thank you,” he says to me. “I almost believed that.”
I give him a puzzling look just as the waitress comes by with the bill. Then I put back on my happy girlfriend face, which slides in place with ease. Maybe I’m a natural born faker.
After dinner, while the heads in the restaurant swivel our way as we leave, we get into the waiting Suburban.
I expect Emmett to start touching me wildly like he was doing earlier, but he just stares out the window, deep in thought. The silence isn’t uncomfortable for once, so I close my eyes and nearly doze off in my seat, only waking up once the car comes to a stop outside my apartment.
“Let me walk you to your door,” he says to me, taking my arm and leading up the path toward the building. He stops, grabbing both of my hands.
“You survived your first date with me,” he says, eyes shining with quiet amusement. “Congratulations. How does it feel?”
“Strange,” I admit. I can’t help but smile. “But actually it was a lot more fun than I thought it would be.”
“You know how we can make it even more fun,” he says, taking a step toward me, closing in the inches. One of his hands disappears into my hair and I try not to sink into this feeling, the easy way he touches me. “Invite me in.”
“Emmett,” I whisper, trying to find my nerve. I need to be hard and prickly to stand up to him, to turn him down, and yet the more he touches me, his fingers now trailing down the back of my neck, the softer I get. “I don’t think this is a good idea.” But my words come out in a squeak.
He leans in closer and I swear he’s coming into kiss me again and if he does, fuck, there’s no way in hell that I’ll be able to resist this time. I’ll be dragging him up to my bedroom in a hot second and riding him ragged.
But he closes his eyes and presses his forehead against mine, taking in a deep breath.
“I know you don’t always like it when I speak what’s on my mind,” he murmurs, my skin igniting just from the raw lust I hear in his voice. “But it’s taking everything I have to not try and persuade you.” He bites his lip and glances up at me through his long lashes. “For you, though, I’ll be the gentleman you need me to be.”
Then he pulls back to press his lips into my cheek, shivers cascading down my back, and straightens up.
“I’ll call you tomorrow,” he says to me with that easy smile of his and then he turns and walks away, calling over his sh
oulder. “Sleep well, sunshine.”
And then I’m left in front of my apartment building, turned on and bereft. I was this close to having a wild night of hot, sweaty sex with him and then he had to suddenly turn into a gentleman and leave me be.
I watch as the Suburban drives off and shake my head as I go into the building. I love a gentleman as much as the next girl, but damn it, Emmett sure has a knack for making me appreciate a scoundrel.
Chapter 9
Emmett
“So, how’s the new Sheila treating you?” Julian asks me while the hair, makeup and wardrobe team flits around us, adjusting us under the lights. I can tell they’re listening as they always do.
I give Julian a look. “You know, I’ve been to Australia and I never heard a single Aussie use the term Sheila. Nor were there any shrimp tossed on any barbies, either.”
Julian shrugs and gives me a sheepish grin. “Sorry mate. I know the ladies here love it, ain’t that right girls?”
On cue, all of them give him a placating smile, just to keep him happy. The fact is, I might have a bad reputation for being a bit, well, to borrow from Alyssa, prickly on set, but Julian Crane is an outright douchebag. But he’s the star of Boomerang and the one with the permanent contract, so it doesn’t seem to matter what he gets up to, he’s staying put.
As for me, well, I have to say the crew is treating me a bit differently today. Pretty sure it’s all because of Alyssa. They aren’t exactly falling over themselves to talk to me or be extra nice, but I’ve seen a few more smiles tossed my way than what I normally get.
Knowing I have a captive audience who might go report this down the entertainment grapevine, I say, “It’s actually going really well. It’s still really early of course, I met her at a mutual friend’s wedding. But she’s really quite special.”
“She’s very pretty,” Tina, my makeup artist says, as she presses powder onto my forehead. “So natural looking.”
“Yeah, she definitely doesn’t seem very LA,” Julian says. “Except for her tits, am I right mate? They have to be real.”
For some reason it bothers me to hear him talk about Alyssa that way.