by Fiona Riley
“Thanks.”
He gave her a kind look. “Hey, Hayley?”
“Yeah?” She wasn’t used to him regarding her in such a…friendly manner. It unnerved her a bit.
He looked a little shy. “I never messed with your coffee.”
Hayley’s confusion deepened as she realized Tremont was probably nearby the whole time all along. “You never left, did you?”
“And leave you alone with Emerson? Not on your life.” His usual confidence resurfaced. This Tremont was more like the one she was used to.
He helped her into the car and gave the driver orders to take Hayley wherever she wanted to go. “You could have been some secretly obsessed rabid fan. One can never be too careful these days.”
“Something tells me Emerson is plenty capable of taking care of herself.” After today’s interview, Hayley didn’t doubt that for a second.
“Everyone needs a little help from time to time”—Tremont gave her a small smile—“but you held your own just fine, Hayley.”
Hayley didn’t feel that way, but she appreciated the encouragement. “Thanks.”
“See you next week.”
As the car pulled away and eased into the traffic of the 101, Hayley couldn’t help but smile at the compliment Tremont had given her. At least, she was considering it a compliment. And she had a feeling he didn’t give those out very often.
Her thoughts drifted to her interaction with Emerson, and a wave of guilt washed over her. She’d ended up on the red carpet because Sharon was pissed that Hayley’s article about celebrity fragility in the current media market had interested Jonathan enough that he’d bumped one of Sharon’s pieces to feature Hayley’s for the week. Hayley was proud of that article; she’d spent an inordinate amount of time studying trends and the overexposure of current day celebrities, but not once had she been able to put herself in their shoes. To be fair, she’d never been in the presence of someone with as much celebrity as Emerson, either. But she’d also neglected to take her own conclusions to heart. Emerson had turned the tables on her in their exchange today, and Hayley had immediately gone on the defensive. She couldn’t imagine what it was like to live your entire life with other people knowing and assuming things about you on a large and small scale. Her article had been well intended and well received. But clearly she had some serious reevaluation to do. Writing about the media and its impact on the existence of celebrity and experiencing it firsthand were two very different things. She wondered just how much exposure to celebrity she would have and just how long this work with Emerson would last. She found herself hoping it would be a very long time.
Chapter Seven
“You were hard on her.” Tremont sat down next to Emerson with a bottle of water and a fresh towel.
Emerson brushed the wet hair off her forehead and continued with her vertical crunches. “I thought you would be pleased I put her through the wringer.”
“I didn’t think you’d traumatize her,” he added sarcastically as he checked his fauxhawk in the mirror across from them.
“She’ll be fine.” Emerson grunted as she pulled her ankles out of the brackets and signaled her trainer, Sebastian Diaz, to bring over the medicine ball. “And if she’s not, then it wasn’t meant to be.”
“Catch the ball, twist, lift your legs, and toss it back. Ready?” Sebastian held the ten-pound ball and waited for Emerson to nod before he began.
Emerson caught the ball and exhaled. She could see the sheen of sweat on her chest in the mirror as she rocked to the side. Her abdominal muscles burned with exertion. “I hate you.”
“You love me every time you make the top five of Best Bikini Bod and Hollywood’s Most Enviable Abs lists. Go faster. Now, flip,” Sebastian challenged and threw the medicine ball at her with more force, causing Emerson to huff out a sharp breath.
Tremont cheered. “Yeah, Sebastian. Give it to her, give it to her hard. She’s been a bad, bad girl.”
Emerson caught the weight and rolled, transitioning to fast push-ups with her palms on the ball and toes en pointe. She kept her body straight and her muscles engaged as she tried to stifle her laughter while Tremont whooped and catcalled.
“Time! Good work.” Sebastian clapped and pulled her up into a standing position. She accepted his high five and splashed Tremont with the remaining contents of her water bottle.
“Just so you know, I’ve been number one on those lists. Every time. Not just top five. That’s why I put up with your torture.” She winked and patted Sebastian on the chest. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have to go jump on a bike and burn off the warm water I had for breakfast.”
Tremont waved her off without so much as a second thought, but she wasn’t offended. She knew he had a total thing for Sebastian. She couldn’t imagine who wouldn’t. Sebastian was smart and sweet and ripped. Totally, insanely ripped. Which she happened to know was one of Tremont’s weakness. She’d been doing a little investigative work on her own and felt confident that Tremont had caught Sebastian’s eye as well. She’d kept that little tidbit to herself, though. She didn’t want Tremont freaking out like he usually did when he found out a guy liked him. But she was rooting for them to figure it out soon. Not that she had any desire to have to hire a new trainer if things went south—for as much shit as she gave him, she’d be a fool to deny that Sebastian was a fitness guru. Almost nothing made her sweat and her heart race like her workouts with him did. God. She needed to get laid, and soon.
She slipped in her wireless earbuds and trotted over to the bike. She dialed up the resistance and logged on to the monitor attached to the handlebars before queuing up one of her favorite high-octane training sessions. This was a scenic session, but there was nothing leisurely about it. The screen depicted an interactive training experience set on rocky mountain roads with sharp pitches and steep inclines. The music in the background beat hard and fast, encouraging her to match the intensity as she pedaled. She glanced up on a familiar resting turn and saw Tremont flirting with Sebastian by the mat where she left them. Tremont was waving his arms in a dramatic birdlike fashion, and Sebastian was in near tears laughing. Whatever this mating ritual was, it appeared to be working.
The resistance of the bike doubled, and Emerson sucked in a breath to accommodate the increased challenge. She returned her attention to the screen and lifted off the seat, standing on the pedals as she forced them down in a practiced and automatic descent she’d honed during the last ten months of cycle training. She could feel her heart rate pick up and her mind wandered to her previous thoughts. She’d been wrong before. Sebastian wasn’t the only one who got her heart racing. Hayley did, too.
She’d been trying to ignore that fact for the past few days, but she couldn’t seem to let it go. There was something about Hayley. Something about the passion behind her eyes that drew Emerson in. They hadn’t had the best first impression—more specifically, Emerson had thought she was working for that asshole Drake—but Hayley had proven herself to be more of an ally than an opponent in the short time they’d spent together. Emerson just had a feeling in her gut that this woman was different. And smart. God, Hayley was smart. And sarcastic. And funny. Her writing was what had initially captivated Emerson beyond the bravery she showed standing up to Drake. She loved the way Hayley used language to draw the reader into her work. Once Emerson’s team had tracked down all of Hayley’s public works, she had settled into a few entertaining nights of reading. And it took nights, plural. Because though she’d considered herself a fast reader from all her script work and memorization, Hayley’s body of work was significant. And surprisingly varied.
She’d followed Hayley’s work at the Sun and had been impressed by how easily she was sucked into the topics. Hayley had managed to make a write-up on plastic and glass bottle waste impacting the beaches along the Santa Monica Pier sound not only interesting but heart wrenching as well. Emerson had been so moved by her interview with famed marine biologist Dr. Massimo Andiamo that she’d fallen int
o a rabbit hole researching his marine work and totally got sidetracked. All of Hayley’s work—from the serious to the more recent puff pieces in the entertainment section—had heart. All of it. There was something there—between the lines, hidden in the text—that made Emerson feel that if anyone could tell her story, it would be Hayley. And it didn’t hurt that Hayley had the most beautiful green-flecked hazel eyes she had ever seen. Or that she was bold and fearless. And feisty. She liked the way Hayley had flared against her interrogation today. It was more than a turn-on that Hayley was no pushover. She’d have to be strong to take on this challenge. She’d have to meet Emerson halfway—maybe more—to make this work.
What troubled Emerson was that she wasn’t sure what this actually was. She’d caught Hayley checking her out during the dress fitting—that wasn’t all that unusual for Emerson, people admired her often—but for whatever reason, it excited her in a way she wasn’t expecting. She liked being noticed by Hayley. She felt like she was developing a bit of a crush. Which was not in the cards. No way. She had gotten in this mess by giving in to her libido. The last thing she needed was a distraction on her road to public redemption. She needed to keep this strictly professional. She needed Hayley’s help, and there was no way falling into bed with her would be helpful. Except maybe it would take the edge off a bit. She’d been feeling awfully lonely in that department lately. Focus, Emerson.
The image in front of her changed from the dry, clay-covered mountain path to a lush downhill forest trail with tree roots and dirt pits obstructing her route. She was glad for the redirection from her wandering thoughts. She strained to the right to maintain her form and accommodate the tipping motion of the bike on the pivoting platform as the forest path before her dropped sharply into a bumpy and fast flowing creek at the forest’s edge. The background music thumped in her ears, but she didn’t hear any of the lyrics. All she could hear was the deafening sound of her heartbeat as the bike resistance continued to fluctuate from easy to hard with little if any rest. This was how she trained—hard and fast. She liked to challenge her muscles to accommodate the short rest intervals by forcing them to recover quickly and improve their efficiency. She had built the last few years of her career around some key changes to her fitness goals. This was one of them. Hard. Fast. Relentless. Just like her life as of late.
* * *
Rachel’s simmer was heating up and it was making everyone sweat. Chandra had hired extra staff to keep a round-the-clock watch on any and all things about Emerson in the media. Emerson would have appreciated the diligence if it wasn’t all being done to save her image. To save the movie studio’s ass was more like it.
“They called again.” David’s voice was laced with anxiety—which Emerson had no trouble ignoring—but the incessant foot tapping was driving her insane.
“Unless you are trying out for the new Savion Glover biopic that’s in the works, I’m going to need you to stop that.” She pointed to his foot and tried to relax her jaw. She’d been gritting her teeth for the past fifteen minutes to stop herself from yelling at him about it.
David’s foot paused, and he glared at her. “You ought to show a little more concern about this, Emerson. We’re effectively being blackmailed—”
“We? When did I become a we?” Emerson still hadn’t forgiven David for the slipup that put Rachel in the position to ruin her life and career—thank you very much. “Last time I checked, I was the one being tarred and feathered by the public. Evidently, I’ve been home-wrecking every person I’ve come in contact with over the last decade and have been seducing poor, naïve, innocent straight girls in mass numbers. But please, take some of that burden from me if you’d like.”
David muttered under his breath and looked away. She knew he felt bad for what had happened. But it didn’t change anything. She was still the target, and all this was going to land squarely on her shoulders, not his.
“I’m just saying, you seem awfully calm is all,” David replied. He seemed more and more weaselly as the days progressed, she decided. She’d given serious consideration to severing their relationship. She’d had her lawyers looking into their contract since Rachel’s press release. She couldn’t stand the sight of him these days. It wasn’t good for either of them.
“Well, I am an award-winning actress, David. Did you ever consider that?” She had to stop talking to him before she said something she shouldn’t. Where was Tremont? She could use his filter right about now. The truth was, she wasn’t calm. She was more than panicked. She just didn’t need the added attention of anyone else noticing it. So she was doing her best zen impression and trying to seem unconcerned. Which had David fooled, but that wasn’t any real prize, was it?
“Fear not, my loyal subjects. I come bearing sustenance.” Like a fairy gay-mother, Tremont swept into the room and saved her from herself.
“I thought you’d never come.” Emerson gave him a dramatic sigh and wrapped her arms around his waist.
“That’s what she said.” He snickered and kissed her on the cheek. His hands were full of treats and something green, which Emerson assumed was for her.
“You’re a perv.” She accepted the green shake and frowned as he handed David a bag of hot, delicious-smelling doughnuts.
“I learned from the best.” Tremont pointed toward her pout. “Drink up. It’s got kale, whey protein, some banana, and—because I love you—a little pineapple.”
“Ooh, pineapple. You spoil me.” Emerson had to strain to get the dense contents up the metal straw to her mouth. “Jesus. This is thick.”
“And that’s what he said.” Tremont cracked himself up.
Emerson laughed along with him, happy to have the distraction. “Who whipped this up? It’s got an interesting aftertaste. Like—”
“Toasted almond?” Tremont washed his hands and dried them with a paper towel before reaching into one of the bags he brought and procuring another smoothie. This one was a bit larger than hers and purple in color.
“Yeah, exactly. Why?” She stirred the drink and warmed it in her hands to thin the liquid a bit. The second sip was even tastier than the first. “This is good.”
“It’s got almond milk as the base with some pulverized baked almond mixed in for fiber.” Tremont put another metal straw in the other cup and held it up to eye level, appearing to examine the contents.
“Who’s drinking that one?” Emerson leaned back against the kitchen counter and savored the delightful flavor of the smoothie.
“Me. It’s got purple carrots, beets, and blueberries.” Tremont sipped it and smiled. “This is delicious.”
“Since when do you drink protein shakes?” Emerson reached for his to try it and he pulled it away from her.
“Since when did you get so entitled that you thought what’s mine was yours?” He used his significant height difference to hold it in the air, out of her reach.
“Please?” Emerson smiled as he rewarded her with a taste. “Oh, let’s trade.”
“No way. You need the vitamins and minerals in the green one. This is like a protein shake lite. I’m easing into the healthy food lifestyle.” He took back his smoothie and patted her on the head.
This was not the usual, junk food loving Tremont she was used to. This Tremont was into fitness. This Tremont was an imposter. A thought occurred to her. “Why were you late today?”
“Late? What is this, a nine to five? Since when do I have to be here at a certain time? If you have to know, I went for a run.” Tremont was deflecting. He was never late. They had a meeting in a half hour with the movie studio to go over damage control from the Rachel backlash, and any other time he would have been here an hour and a half early to help her get ready. To help calm her nerves if she had any. Which—today—she definitely did.
“You don’t run.” That was also true. She examined his appearance. He was dressed in his usual designer pants and was wearing a pair of his fabulous Italian leather shoes from his extensive collection. His shirt was freshly press
ed and tucked in with his sleeves rolled up on his forearms and displaying the obnoxious diamond-encrusted Patek Phillipe watch that she’d given him as a birthday present last year. He’d been fawning over it for ages. He’d kept saying it was the exact accent piece he’d needed in his wardrobe. Something about it making his wrist so cold he could ice skate with it. Or maybe it was ice that was so cold it could stop traffic? She couldn’t remember exactly, but she knew he wanted it, and she gave it to him because she could, and because she loved him and wanted him to be happy. He wore it on special occasions. Today’s meeting wasn’t a special occasion per se. Or was it?
She stared at Tremont. He’d changed his haircut. He often changed his appearance, but he’d clearly just had his edges lined up. And he had on his fake eyelashes, the short ones that almost looked real but were too fabulous to be natural. “You had a date.”
Tremont looked up at her, his mouth opened in surprise. He regained his composure before he answered. “Is that a crime?”
She hopped up on the counter and swung her legs while sipping her drink. “No. Keeping it from me is, though.” She pointed to his shirt. “You look good. Fit. Strong. Been working out?”
Tremont’s eyes bulged, and she cheered, hopping off the counter.
“I knew it. Sebastian made these smoothies, didn’t he? You had a date with Sebastian and that’s why you’re late for work.”
Tremont scoffed. “I’m not late for work. The meeting isn’t for another twenty-five minutes. And they’re coming to you. So we don’t have to worry about traffic or anything. I’m right on time.” He pointed to her drink. “And I came bearing gifts.”
“Bribes is more like it. You came with bribes of sugary delicious death for David and emulsified kale for me. Don’t think I didn’t notice the difference there.” She glanced over at David in the other room. He was stuffing his face, stress-eating doughnuts while on the phone with his back to them.