I opened my mouth and froze for a second. Since nothing was quite making it out, I snapped my mouth shut and gave Layton a curt nod before I turned and got the hell out of there.
Chapter Nineteen
Layton
I spent twenty more minutes chatting with Ricky but my head wasn’t into it. In fact, I couldn’t remember a fucking word I said to him; I could have told him we were using nursery rhymes in the next film for all I knew.
Christ. I slammed my hand down on the desk, startling Harriette, who lifted her head off the dog bed and stared at me like the asshole I was. I was so mad that Charli had described me as nice, I’d subconsciously set out to prove her wrong. Or some shit like that.
I was fucking sick of being the nice guy when the arrogant pricks got all the great girls. I didn’t want to settle for the quirky girls anymore, the ones who read paranormal fiction and loved Luke Skywalker. I wanted someone different from me, not the female version of myself. My head and heart—and my dick—craved something more, something different.
Charli, to be exact.
I could have sworn I saw a tear drop from her beautiful blue-green eyes, a tiny droplet so uncharacteristic of her hard shell. The sight of it filled my heart with so much regret, it nearly split it in half.
“Fuck!” I brought my hand to the desk a second time and toppled a stack of discs, mesmerized a second by their spinning pattern on the hardwood floor.
Frustrated, I stood up and threw open my studio door. “Come on, Harri.”
I shoved my feet into an old pair of running shoes and snatched Harriette’s leash from the hook. We took another long walk through town and back again, stopping outside the coffee shop for water. Most people walked their dogs to exhaust them—I walked to exhaust myself.
And I couldn’t believe it, but after one week of walking, it was taking longer and longer to exhaust my fat ass. I needed to e-mail Charli like I said I would, but I couldn’t bring myself to hide behind my computer with kind words when I’d gone all asshole over FaceTime.
By the time I had my head on straight, I’d done two huge loops with Harriette and was drenched in sweat.
When we got back home, I dragged myself into the shower, dried off, threw on sweats, and poured myself a bowl of cereal. Only half of what I poured interested me, and I ended up spilling the rest down the disposal and snatching my laptop.
FROM: [email protected]
TO: [email protected]
SUBJECT: Harriette is disappointed in me
Charli –
Even my dog is hiding in shame from me. My actions today were not me. Asshole is too nice.
*Cue head bang into desk.*
And to think Ricky said you called me nice.
I would never call you a bitch. Yeah, I chose that song after our flight, but it wasn’t directed at you. I don’t know what I was thinking. Life’s a bitch, or some shit they print on a T-shirt.
Forgive me?
I really will be in NYC next week, staying in Columbus Circle. I have to go to dinner with the label on Tuesday, but was hoping you could join me for dinner on Wednesday. A makeup dinner? Even sushi? Anywhere you want.
Okay, I’m rambling…
—Lay
I attached a picture of Harriette hiding her snout behind her paws and hit SEND.
* * *
It had to mean something—me being seated in 2D on my way to Chicago and then again as I headed to New York. I slid into the leather seat and asked for a bottle of water rather than a drink; it was a Tuesday and I had to go straight to a meeting and dinner.
“Thanks,” I mumbled to the attendant and then squinted at her. I must have had something in my eye because I was pretty sure she winked at me.
At me?
“Have a good flight, and let me know whatever you need,” she said, and winked again. Maybe she had something in her eye.
Scrap 2D being lucky. It was making me crazy.
And then it got worse when a curvy redhead in a Princess Leia tee and hip-hugging jeans squeezed in next to me.
“Hey,” she said on a breath.
“Hi,” I muttered.
Ignoring her, I grabbed my laptop and headphones, busying myself with listening to some of the music repped by SoulTime Records, the label I was meeting with later.
“Ooh, I like that song.” She reached across the center armrest and pointed at my screen. Her arm was covered in bangles and a large Darth Vader tattoo. My type. Usually.
“Oh, yeah?” I asked, my eyebrow raised.
“Yeah. That song, ‘Loving Like a Hero,’ is the bomb.”
“Say it ain’t so?” I said, my voice condescending and gruff.
She crinkled her nose up at my rebuff. When did I become a dick?
“Yeah.” This time her response was muted, and I decided to never take seat 2D again.
Nothing good ever came of it.
* * *
My meetings were a blur of wooing, fancy food and beverages, and music. These SoulTime dudes meant business; they had a full roster of clients and they wanted to get maximum exposure. They’d gotten my name from a guy on a few movies back—that one had made the chick from reality TV famous, and I’d put her song in the credits.
Finally, back in my hotel room on Wednesday afternoon after twenty-four hours of being pursued, I sat down at the small desk, kicked off my Chucks, and opened up my e-mail. I’d purposely avoided checking it while in meetings. Mostly out of fear that Charli would cancel.
I had a few messages from the studio about filming updates and when they would be sending some footage, and there was the one I was both fearing and wishing for.
FROM: [email protected]
TO: [email protected]
SUBJECT: Re: Dinner
Hi, Layton –
Hope you are having fun here. I have a staff meeting until six, and then I’m free. How about Chowww? It’s close to where you said you were staying, and I can easily grab a cab up that way. I probably can’t get there until about seven. See you then.
—Charli
That was all she wrote, and I started to climb the walls trying to decipher what that meant. Curious, I googled Chowww and found it was a sushi restaurant. Shit. But I’d gone and suggested that.
It was hip. Shit again. All I had was T-shirts and jeans, and of course my Chucks.
But she hadn’t said no. That was a start. She’d agreed to a second dinner with me.
Pacing my hotel room, I found myself absently reaching for Harriette’s leash. Where was the damn dog when I needed her? And when had walking become a source of tension relief for me?
Where was the freaking minibar?
Oh, fuck it.
I grabbed my earbuds and phone from the desk, shoved them in my pocket, and stomped toward the elevators. Outside the hotel, I stuck in my earbuds and hit the pavement.
With a bundle of nervous energy in my gut like a high school girl on prom night, I crossed to Central Park and merged with a group of runners, joggers, power walkers, and narrowly avoiding a bicyclist.
People passed me on the left and the right, and I quickly was lost in the pack of pedestrians sweating it out in the park, but I kept walking. I passed an iconic rock, the reservoir, and the dormant ice skating rink. It was closer to summer than spring and the park was in full bloom, kids and New Yorkers getting their fitness on and roaming every nook and cranny of the park, dressed to impress in their brightly colored workout gear.
I stuck out like a sore thumb in my Converse sneakers, loose jeans, tee, and hoodie, but I kept going. Soon, I was in the Upper East and then Harlem. I went until the bend in the road and headed back toward where I came from. As I passed the Upper West, Central Park South came into view. As dusk fell on the city, I could see the rooftop of my hotel peeking out above the trees.
Drenched in sweat, I looked at my phone. Fuck, I had forty-five minutes to get to Chowww. I ran across the street to my hotel and headed
toward the elevators before changing course to catch the attention of the bellman.
“Excuse me, but how far is the big loop of the park? All the way around?”
“Six,” he barked.
“Six what?”
“Miles,” he said curtly, frowning at me like I was the weird one.
Hmmm. Six miles, and I’d successfully avoided the minibar.
As I stepped onto the elevator, I fist-bumped the air. Harriette was in trouble when I got back home.
Chapter Twenty
Charli
I finger-combed through my layers in the cab and ran my tongue over my teeth before popping a mint into my mouth. Of course, we ran late at work and now I was stressing about getting to Chowww on time. Well, I wasn’t, but I was silently wishing the cabbie would step on it.
Eh, I muttered to myself and sat back. There was nothing I could do, and why was I rushing like this for Layton? The last time I saw him, he was an ass. Of course, I’d been a bitch the time before that, but who cared? He wasn’t my type, not even close.
My phone dinged.
Janie: You up for drinks?
Charli: Can’t tonight, have a thing.
Janie: A thing? Be that way.
Charli: Seriously. No biggie. Tell you tomorrow.
She wasn’t going to let this go, but I couldn’t bring myself to tell her yet. How would I explain my unnatural attraction to the big dude? The one I’d sent out an SOS to have her rescue me from.
My phone dinged again, and I almost ignored it.
Mom: Why are you ignoring my e-mails?
Yep, I should have ignored it. My mom only resorted to texting when she felt it was the only way to get me to answer. She was sort of right.
Charli: Because I am not going to date Garrett.
Mom: Don’t kick a gift horse in the mouth.
Oh God, she was getting all cliché on me, and to make matters worse, was mixing them like metaphors. I thought groupies avoided clichés?
Charli: No, it’s just no. Love you. I will call you over the weekend.
I tossed my phone in my tote, refusing to look at it anymore.
Closing my eyes, I drew in a long breath. This was it. One dinner with Layton, and then I’d let him down easy and move on with my life.
I repeated the mantra to myself all the way to the restaurant, then flipped the fare toward the driver and hopped out of the cab at quarter after seven. Pushing through the double doors, I left the humidity outside for a thumping bass and cool air-conditioning.
As I made my way into the bar area, guilt ghosted over me. Guilt over predetermining how this evening would go. Shame over how I texted my mom, and even more guilt over leaving Janie in the dark.
“Charli!”
I heard my name called over the crowd and looked up to find Layton sitting on a couch, nursing a cocktail. He looked relaxed in loose jeans and an AC/DC T-shirt, his legs spread wide, his hair mussed and damp from a recent shower. He would have looked badass except for the broad smile on his face and the excitement brightening his eyes.
Yes, I was a bitch.
Oh, and I’d suggested sushi without thinking, and I already knew he didn’t like it.
Determined to shrug off my attitude with my coat and apologize later, I made my way over to where he was sitting and dropped my jacket on the sofa.
“Hey!”
“Hey!”
We spoke at the same time and chuckled awkwardly as Layton gestured for me to sit.
As I sat next to him, I was surprised by the heat radiating from his body. His scent titillated my senses, so fresh and clean with notes of rain, and I felt dirty taking my fill.
“I ordered a drink so they would let me keep the seat,” he said, his tone apologetic. “I didn’t know what you would want.”
“Oh, that’s fine. Sorry I’m a few minutes late, but…no buts. Work ran late and then I had to get a cab.”
Layton motioned for the cocktail waitress, and I asked for a glass of cabernet before turning my attention to the guy in front of me. I drank him in despite telling myself he wasn’t my type. Although, there was something different about him…a little bit of a tan and something else, a glow maybe? Did men glow?
“So, how’ve you been?” He cocked his head and focused on me.
“Pretty good, busy. We’re throwing ideas around for the holidays already.”
“Really?”
“Yep. It will be ninety outside, and I’m looking at ideas for low-calorie hot cocoa and how many calories we burn while sledding. Takes all the fun out of the season.”
“Damn.” He laughed, a warm baritone more genuine and relaxed now. “How many calories do you burn sledding?”
The server brought my wine, interrupting my time to answer.
“Cheers.” I clinked my wineglass against Layton’s tumbler. “Something like four hundred.”
“Wow.”
“More than sex.”
Layton raised an eyebrow, and it caught on a small lock of hair that had fallen on his forehead. I resisted an urge to run my finger through his hair and push it back. Instead, I gulped my wine to hide my embarrassment and nodded.
“Hmm, interesting. I may have to move where there’s snow. Although Harriette likes the beach.”
I giggled as if we did this every Wednesday after work. And every Friday. And again on Sunday over brunch. Sitting here next to Layton, our thighs brushing, no pretenses. Just us.
The nice guy and the bitch.
Beauty (him) and the Beast (me).
I swept back my negative thoughts and released the smile that so desperately wanted to come out. “Tell me about the elusive Harriette.”
He winked. “She’s my girl, tried and true. I love that bitch.”
I gave him a fake scowl.
“It’s what they call a female dog—”
“I know,” I said, grinning as I interrupted his explanation.
“She’s really pretty awesome. A buddy of mine got one of her littermates for his fiancé a few years back, and I went over for a drink and knew I needed one. The next day, I drove out to meet the breeder and came home the proud owner of a golden retriever.”
“I’ve never had a dog,” I admitted.
“Really?” His eyebrows perked up in disbelief.
“My dad worked a lot, and then when he passed away, it was just my mom and me. Too much work, I guess.”
“Sorry to hear that. Your dad, not the dog thing.”
He reached out and his knuckles grazed my cheek in sympathy, starting a shiver that ran down my whole spine and shot back up again. I gave myself a mental shake, shocked that I was ready to get it on from a tender touch.
“I grew up in Arizona,” he added, “on the outskirts of Phoenix. My parents bought in Scottsdale when it was still cheap. We always had three or four dogs at a time, mostly little ones, Yorkies and Peekapoos. My mom loved them…I guess they were her company while my dad worked. But those little guys were low maintenance compared to Harriette.”
“I couldn’t even imagine having a dog in my apartment.”
“One afternoon with my girl and you’ll be googling breeders.”
The conversation was getting too personal, too intimate and emotional, talking about his parents and his mom and his beloved dog. So I went for a topic change.
“How was your meeting?”
“It was pretty good. Cool guys, from Pittsburgh originally, and they have a pretty intense pipeline of up-and-coming artists. I liked what I heard, and I’m going to take it back to the producers.”
I followed his hand, watching it lift his lowball glass to his lips, fascinated that he didn’t have fat-person hands. I didn’t even mentally chide myself for thinking that; I just watched in wonder as his strong hand, so large and well groomed, wrapped around the glass.
Layton’s voice drew me out of my crazy hand fascination. “If you want, I’ll send you a sample later. They’re good tunes.”
Snapping my gaze back to his face, I
smiled. “I’d like that. So, is this movie romantic?”
“Nah, it’s an action flick. I can’t spend my whole life on romance.”
“Why? You don’t believe in true love and love at first sight?” I tried to sound as if I were joking, but I was intrigued. Intrigued enough to delve back into his personal life.
He almost choked on his drink as a small cough barreled up his windpipe. “Um, I don’t know. That’s not what I meant. I just meant I don’t want to specialize in one kind of flick. You know, keep my options open and all that.”
“Oh.” I swallowed the lump that had taken up residence in my throat, clearing out more guilt. Why would he be thinking about love with me? “In this action movie, it’s all hard rock or rap? No soft tunes?”
“Mostly, which is why I don’t do all action either. My tastes are eclectic when it comes to music. I like it all, and when I do all types of movies, I get to use it all.”
I took a sip of my wine, allowing the small burn to move down to my lungs, hoping to breathe free again. After all, I didn’t like being stuck in fitness that much, but I wasn’t bold enough to branch out.
“I get it.”
I turned my head to the side, pretending to take in the DJ, and the shorter layers of my hair fell over my cheek.
“You do?” Layton reached out to brush my hair back behind my ear, searching for my gaze as if he wanted to see into my soul, to capture what I was really saying.
“Well, yeah. You don’t want to pigeonhole yourself, to borrow a trite expression. I get it, you know? I used to be a full-fledged writer but now I’m stuck in this editing rut. So I get it.”
“But do you want to write more than edit?”
Warmth crept up my cheeks. How was this man pulling everything honest and real from me? Maybe because he’s so real…
I lifted one shoulder in a shrug. “I guess I do, but it’s not that easy. I landed this job fresh out of school and here I am moving up the company ladder, and it’s BubblePOP, which is the big leagues when it comes to online content. What would it look like to go backward, to set up shop in my apartment? I’m not Carrie Bradshaw looking for my Mr. Big.”
Modern Fairy Tale: Twelve Books of Breathtaking Romance Page 189