“Fine, whatever.” In one fell swoop, Gina replaced her unglued expression with a calm, collected smile as she clapped along with the audience. The winning actress approached the microphone and the theater grew silent as everyone took in her gracious speech.
Whitney turned her head just briefly, giving Luke a wink. He was really starting to like her. He laughed into his cuff links, avoiding the daggers in Gina’s eyes.
It would be hours before Nolan’s category or the Best Drama category would be announced. Luke was feeling restless. Just as predicted, he and Elle shared several stolen, awkward glances. It wasn’t enough. He needed time alone with her, away from Saladino and the rest of the crazy people at their table. He shifted in his seat, feeling his third gin and tonic doing its job. A warm buzz was spreading throughout his body, and he wanted nothing more than to enjoy his buzz with the woman he loved.
When the host of the show dismissed the cameras, Elle rose from her seat and Luke sat up in attention. “I’m going to use the washroom,” she said to her date.
Feeling bold, Luke waited until she was just a few feet from the table before jumping to his feet and following her to the lobby. Her heels clicked against the marble floor of The Beverly Hilton lobby.
“Elle,” Luke called. She turned, and the color drained from her face as her feet appeared glued to the floor.
“Luke, not now. Go back to the table.”
“No, I need to speak with you.”
Elle scanned the hallway before grabbing Luke’s elbow and pulling him to a quiet corner near the empty entryway. Save for a couple of security guards, they were alone.
Elle’s eyes were troubled, stressed. Luke didn’t want to cause her pain. In fact, all he wanted was to make her happy, to bring love and joy to her life. Why couldn’t she see that? Yes, he was being impetuous, yes, the timing was all wrong, but he didn’t care. He needed her to know the truth.
“What do you want?” She crossed her arms in front of her chest. Gently, Luke pressed her into the wall, blocking her in with his hands against the wall. She looked back and forth between his arms that caged her in, then her eyes softened. Despite the harsh tone of her voice, her body language betrayed her.
“I had to talk to you.”
“Fine.” She looked around the hallway again. “Talk.”
“Why did you bring him here?”
“Luke,” she pleaded, her eyes welling with tears. “Don’t do this now. You walked away from me, remember? You said you were done. And now you’re all over my best friend. What in the hell do you want from me?”
“I never should’ve done that. My temper got the best of me and I was an asshole. But I’m not giving up, Elle. I didn’t mean it.”
“You say that now, but—”
“Do you want me to take out an ad in the newspaper to declare my love? I’ll do it. Give an interview with People? No problem. Quit the show? Consider it done. I’ll do whatever it takes to win you. Just tell me it isn’t too late, Elle.”
“I don’t . . . I mean—”
Luke leaned in closer, their noses almost touching. “I’ll never stop fighting for you.”
Elle’s eyes softened and her words came out in a harsh whisper. “You’re . . . fighting for me?”
“Yes.” He smiled, his fingers tracing a line down her warm temple and cheek. She closed her eyes at his touch. “And I don’t give up easily, you should know that by now.”
“Luke . . .” Her words trailed off and Luke nuzzled into her neck, planting feathery kisses on her silky skin. He wanted to stay there forever. Just the two of them, away from the craziness of the theater, away from the rest of the world that seemed determined to break them apart.
“Someone will see us,” she murmured. He could feel her heart pounding underneath that sexy dress.
“Let them see. Let them splash it across the front page of the papers. I want nothing more than for the world to know I’m yours.”
Elle opened her mouth to speak, and Luke traced her red lips with his thumb. “I have to get back to Troy. He doesn’t deserve this.”
“Fine.” Luke pushed away from the wall, placing his hands in the pockets of his tuxedo.
“I need to use the washroom. Go back now, so we don’t return at the same time.”
“Whatever you want. But this isn’t over.”
Elle swallowed hard, nodding. He smiled to himself as he watched her walk to the ladies’ room. His eyes followed the most beautiful woman in the world clicking her heels against the marble floor, and he had a thought. Saladino damn well better have his game face on.
Tap. Tap. Tap.
Troy tapped his fingers on the white linen tablecloth as he stared at the door, waiting for Rigby to emerge. She and the actor had been gone for far too long and he was on the verge of straight-up exasperation. This entire environment made him ridiculously uncomfortable. The gowns, the tuxedos, the pretentious assholes seated at his table. One was drunk off her ass and staring at him with a sick grin on her face.
He attempted to ignore her, but she simply wasn’t having it. “Hey, handsome.” She waited for him to make eye contact. When he did, her next statement came out in a sing-songy tone, as if she was trying to make him feel even worse about his kinda-sorta girlfriend wandering off with her ex. “They’ve been gone an awfully long ti-ime . . .”
“Shut up, Gina,” Whitney snapped. Troy took a sip of his scotch, attempting (yet again) to ignore the intoxicated star of the show, knowing she was probably upset about losing in her category.
“I’m ignoring you, whore.” Gina’s eyes stayed on Troy as she snapped at Whitney.
“Whoa!” Nolan interrupted. “There’s no need for that language.”
“Shut up!” Both women yelled at the actor, who raised his eyebrows and sat back in his chair with his hands up in the air, obviously retiring from the entire conversation.
Nolan nudged Troy in the arm. “I tried, man.”
“I wonder if they’re in the coat closet . . . or a bathroom stall,” Gina said. “Either way, someone’s getting nailed.”
Whitney stood and glared at Gina. “I swear to God, if you say one more thing about my friend I will rearrange your freaking face.”
“It’s all right, Whitney. She’s not bothering me.” Troy attempted to defuse the situation, taking another sip of his drink, trying to calm his nerves. He offered Whitney a polite smile with his lips pressed into a thin line. “No big deal.”
“Bitch,” Gina slurred before taking another sip of champagne. Whitney rolled her eyes and started typing on her cell phone. Troy wondered if she was trying to reach Rigby, to let her know her absence was noticed in a major way.
“Enough,” Rob the director said between clenched teeth. Troy could tell his patience was wearing thin with Gina’s antics. “Reporters and bloggers are all over this place.”
Gina perked up, a smug look on her inebriated face. “Hey, as long as we’re making headlines—”
“I mean it, Gina.” Rob bared his teeth at the actress. “The last thing we need is bad press at the Globes. Get yourself under control . . . right now.”
Kingston returned to the ballroom, and despite the fact his appearance was not disheveled in any way, Troy wasn’t convinced nothing had happened. Trusting Rigby was not his strong suit. He knew he was one to hold a grudge—and he held one against her for a decade. Weeks ago, he promised her he was done with that, promised the grudge would end to give them a real chance. But as he watched the actor casually return to the table, take a sip of his drink, and lean back in the chair to talk quietly with Whitney, Troy’s insecurities bubbled to the surface, and his old friend the grudge yelled at him. Loudly.
She’s not yours. Never has been. Even when she walked down that aisle.
Troy gritted his teeth, waiting for Rigby to return to the theater. A beautiful television star was holding an envelope and introducing nominees for Best Actor in a Drama Series.
“This is it,” Nolan said, nudging Tro
y.
“Good luck,” Troy said, noticing Rigby standing by the door, unable to return to her seat while an award was being announced. They locked eyes and she offered a smile. Skeptically, Troy returned it. He had no intention of ruining her big night, no matter how conflicted he felt inside. He watched as she pressed her interlaced fingers toward her chest. She wanted Nolan, and the show, to be rewarded for their hard work. He could tell she was holding her breath as her eyes remained glued to the stage. God, she was beautiful.
Nolan’s name was announced as the winner, and the standard music began to play. Nolan rose to his feet, shaking Troy’s and Rob’s hands before walking to the stage. Instead of watching the actor, though, Troy’s eyes darted back to Rigby, who was bouncing with excitement on her toes. Troy was so proud of her, of the world she created for these characters, of the recognition it had garnered her. She deserved every drop of success Hollywood had to offer her. As he watched her, he listened to Nolan’s speech.
“Wow. What an honor. First of all, thank you to the Hollywood foreign press for this incredible honor. Also, I need to thank the woman who created Desmond and Molly and everything that goes into this show. Even though this is my final season, I’ll always be grateful to Elle Riley for giving me this chance on one of the best television shows ever written. I want to thank my agent, my publicist, and our director, Rob. Gina, what can I say? It’s been one hell of a ride, sweetheart. And lastly, to Whitney Bartolina . . . thank you for inspiring me, baby. This one’s for you!”
Troy turned his attention to Whitney when he heard that final sentence and was baffled when Whitney didn’t seem pleased with the dedication. In fact, she seemed annoyed as she rolled her eyes and shook her head, diving back into her cocktail. Troy couldn’t figure these people out. He couldn’t imagine how he would feel if Rigby thanked him in a speech heard by millions. But he liked to think he’d feel grateful rather than irritated.
“This blows, I need a smoke.” Gina stood, her legs wobbly as she passed Rigby on her way to the smoking terrace. Troy, although concerned the terribly inebriated actress might get herself into even more trouble, knew it was not his place to do anything about it, especially since Rigby was walking toward him with a satisfied grin on her face. Her expression was contagious and he found himself smiling right along with her.
“Oh my God, he won,” Rigby boomed when she returned to the table. “This is amazing!”
She and Whitney exchanged an awkward glance and Troy became curious. Then he noticed Whitney and Nolan weren’t even sitting together. That dedication was starting to seem odd. Troy resigned himself to the fact this group would continue to confuse him—he’d never quite understand their dynamic, nor did he care to. Rigby was his focus, not them.
Rigby settled in next to Troy and he placed his hand on her thigh. “Congratulations. You know he won because of you.” And it was the truth. It also wasn’t lost on Troy that Nolan’s character was based on him. Troy was, for all intents and purposes, the character of Desmond, and he couldn’t help but feel proud for inspiring her to create such a character. Even if he was cloaked in heartbreak.
She kissed his cheek, smiling with gratitude. “Thank you for saying that.”
“It’s the truth.” He smiled, moving his hand from her thigh to wrap around her shoulder, pulling her close. He could feel the actor watching his movements, and he didn’t care. He wasn’t giving up so easily. He and Rigby had a history Kingston couldn’t possibly comprehend.
“Only a few more awards until Best Drama. Now that Nolan’s won, I’m jumping out of my skin.” Rigby hopped up and down in her chair, showing her vulnerability and excitement. As usual, it was infectious and Troy wanted her to take home that award more than anything. She deserved it.
Nolan returned to the table, hugging Rigby and Rob, and shaking hands with Troy and Luke. He approached Whitney, attempting to pull her in for a hug, but she pushed her hand into his shoulder and mumbled, “We need to talk.”
“What’s that all about?” Troy whispered into Rigby’s ear as the two made their way toward the lobby.
“Long story. I’ll tell you later, okay?” she said, looking sheepish as she peered at Whitney through the corner of her eye.
Troy kissed her forehead, not wanting to cause her any stress. Clearly, Whitney’s unhappiness became hers as well. That was always something he adored about his longtime love. She internalized the feelings of those around her. Regardless of her driven nature, she was quite talented at putting herself in the shoes of others—something Troy himself admittedly struggled with. It was difficult for him to see outside his own comfort zone, his own emotions. He tried, especially when it came to Rigby, but clearly he came up short.
As they settled in for another award announcement, Troy’s mind drifted back ten years, as it did frequently whenever she was near. The anger consuming him had dictated his actions. Even though, at the time, he loved her more than he loved another human being on the planet, he managed to treat her as if she didn’t exist within a day of her confessing she couldn’t be married.
What he heard that morning in Las Vegas was she couldn’t be married to him. Because, deep down, he knew in his gut, that was exactly the case. After all, he always felt Rigby’s feelings for him could never and would never match the intensity of his own. And so, when she made herself sick the morning after their wedding, the wedding he tried so hard to make perfect for her, he knew in his gut he was correct.
She didn’t love me enough. Not nearly enough. Not the way I’d always loved her.
For weeks, she reached out to him. She came to his apartment almost every day and he looked through the peephole, seeing her distraught features, her bloodshot eyes. But he couldn’t put himself in her shoes. All he could feel was his own pain, his own disappointment and anger. He wanted to believe she loved him, but the truth of the matter was, he couldn’t do it. Each time she arrived at his door, he’d look through the tiny window the size of a thimble, take in her expression, and press his forehead to the door, his hands against the wood. Then, he’d take a deep breath and retreat to his bedroom, closing the door and blaring his music.
He started sleeping with Amanda less than two weeks after returning from Las Vegas. He hated himself for leading her on, but he was inexplicably drawn to his ex-girlfriend during times of heartache. And if he was being honest, there was a part of him that wanted Rigby to know he was seeing Amanda again. He knew how to hurt her, and he knew how to do it well. She was right when she asked about Amanda looking through the peephole. He sent her to the door just once, when he was feeling especially angry and full of resentment. He wasn’t proud of that, or the fact that he’d gotten her pregnant. Payton, however, was someone he would never regret. He was blessed to be her father, no matter the circumstances.
When Rigby slid the annulment papers under the door, he knew it was over. She’d given up. He was finally free of his attachment to her, or at least that’s what he told himself.
Even now, he feared, despite the miles or time apart, he might never be free of her. Time, space, distance—none of it seemed to make a difference. And so, when she materialized in his restaurant months earlier, he let his guard down, albeit slightly. And now he was seated next to her during the pinnacle of her career—just minutes away from a possible Golden Globe win. With each smile that crossed her face, with each squeeze of her hand with his, he was letting go of that anger, of that pain. He was forgiving her—something he didn’t know he was capable of. And it felt nice.
Now, if he could only get visions of her with Kingston out of his head. He was in no way naive when it came to that situation, or the fact the actor clearly affected her. After hours sitting at a table with the two of them, the tension was palpable. He noticed the stolen glances, the way she avoided looking across the table.
Troy wanted to laugh at the irony of the situation. For years, his anger and resentment were the biggest barrier placed between Rigby and himself. And now that he was finally ready
to forgive, to break down that mammoth of a barrier and move on with her, creating a future together as a couple, he was faced with a different obstacle. One named Luke Kingston, a man who’d entered her life only months prior.
Perhaps he’d missed his chance. Perhaps ten years was just too long.
But he wasn’t ducking out so quickly, even though his old friend The Grudge was urging him to. The thought of being humiliated again was horrible. But missing his one shot with Rigby was even worse. So he would wait to hear it from her. Until that moment, if and when it happened, he would enjoy his time with her, squeezing her hand, and pulling her close as she enjoyed the biggest night of her life.
And the Golden Globe goes to . . . Follow the Sun,” the legendary film director announced from the stage as he clutched the envelope under his arm and clapped his hands. The crowd erupted in applause as the announcer continued over the loudspeaker. “Accepting this award on behalf of the show is Elle Riley, creator, head writer, and show runner of Follow the Sun.”
Elle jumped to her feet as every nerve in her body stood at attention. Her hands clasped over her mouth as the air in her lungs stood still. Troy stood to embrace her, a look of pride on his handsome face. Trembling, she wrapped her arms around his neck, squeezing him hard, grateful he could be there to share in the moment. A moment she never dreamed possible. Her show was deemed by the Hollywood Foreign Press Association as the best drama on television. What a staggering, humbling honor. Before she stepped away, Troy opened her tiny handbag and retrieved the speech she had prepared weeks earlier. She thanked him, knowing she would have completely forgotten to bring it with her to the stage.
Everyone at the table rose to his or her feet, shaking hands and exchanging hugs, joining her as she walked to the stage. Just before her unsteady legs attempted to climb the tiny flight of stairs, a familiar hand took hers in his own, to guide her gently to the top. Relief poured through her body, grateful for his assistance. The last thing she needed was to fall flat on her face in front of a thousand members of the industry.
Red Carpet Kiss Page 25