A Moment of Truth: A Complete Bonus Set (A Matter of Trust #1-2)

by Q. T. Ruby

  I nod.

  He pauses, assessing me again. “I suppose the hardest part is that right now things are good, but . . . I wonder what will happen if the public tires of me.”

  I’m stunned by his honesty—to a total stranger, no less. Well, a stranger who’s forcing him to talk. “Considering the fact that so many of my students are obsessed with you, I don’t see that happening any time soon.” I smile wide, hoping to silently convey that I mean no harm.

  He shrugs. “Thanks.”

  But I feel the need to explain further. “The thing is—even though the entertainment business seems focused on looks, I don’t think you could be as successful as you are without talent too. I saw Life in Eden a few weeks back, and I thought you were really good in it . . . plus it doesn’t hurt that you seem like a nice guy.”

  A perfect smile graces his already perfect face. That stupid heat shoots through me again. Damn it. Shut up, Claire!

  The elevator quickly jerks and stops, rudely reminding me of my location in the tiny box from hell. We both reach for the walls.

  Dan studies me carefully. “Doing okay?”

  Breathe in, Claire . . . breathe out . . .

  “I think so . . . maybe I should sit.” I drop my bags from my shoulders and slide down the smooth wall to the floor.

  He takes my hand to guide me. Butterflies swarm my belly, battling the panic for attention.

  “Did I tell you how little I like closed spaces?” I ask, trying to distract myself once again.

  “You mentioned it.” He smiles kindly and joins me on the floor with his forearms resting on top of his bent knees.

  I hear the sound of someone banging on something outside the elevator. Muffled through the doors, walls, and whatever else separates us, a male voice calls, “Hey! You okay in there? It’ll be a few more minutes.”

  “We’re fine!” Dan yells back. He turns to me and asks, “Are you fine?”

  I nod and slowly breathe.

  “Is your family still in Connecticut?” he asks, surely because I look so on edge.

  With a quiet exhale, I look up into his eyes, but this time I find them soothing—soothing enough to focus and respond, “Yes, they’re all still there. Your family still in England? I mean, you are from England, right?”

  “Yeah, London.”

  “Do you see your family much?”

  “I go back when I can, but not as often as I’d like. Even still, they find ways to keep me grounded.” He rolls his eyes and chuckles.

  “Especially now I bet, with the hype of your movies and all that goes with it—like girls hurling themselves at you. Nothing like family to put you in your place, right?” I smile.

  “Precisely. My sisters don’t let a moment pass without reminding me what an idiot I am.” He laughs and shakes his head.

  I laugh along knowing exactly what he means—my family has never been big on stroking egos.

  “Do you see your family often?”

  I shrug. “Often enough . . . So your new movie—what’s it about?” I ask, purposely switching the topic.

  He furrows his brow but answers. “It’s about a guy who tries to find himself and how he deals with the outcomes of his decisions. It’s a bit more of a drama—different than Life in Eden.”

  “Sounds—”

  BOOM!

  The elevator rattles hard this time, ripping the air from my chest. I dig my nails into my palms and clamp my eyes shut, on the verge of tears. “God, I wish that’d stop happening.”

  “So, you work out?” Dan’s steady voice cuts through my fear and somehow calms me.

  In, out, in, out . . .

  When I pry my eyes open, he juts his chin in the direction of my open coat, which has exposed my sexy sweatiness. Oh geez . . . I tug it shut again. “Yeah, uh, I try to go after work. I feel better afterward, but half the time I have to drag myself there. How about you?” I allow myself to get lost in his kind eyes and incredible looks—whatever it takes to hold it together.

  “I go when I have to.” He grimaces, but his gaze holds me steady and keeps the panic at bay.

  “It’s got to make it easier if they’re paying you to work out, no?”

  “Yeah, but it doesn’t make me enjoy it any more, though. I’m not all that athletic, despite public perception.” He laughs.

  Not athletic? How can that be?

  We sit perpendicular on the floor for a few quiet minutes as I try to fully recover from the last jolt.

  He says, “You know, I’m enjoying the peace and quiet in here.”

  “Except that I’m making you talk to me. Sorry.”

  “No, don’t be sorry. It’s nice to have a normal conversation for a change. I’m not sure the last time that happened.” He frowns as if trying to remember. “Of course, I need to be in a death trap to have it.”

  He’s only joking, but the mention of those two dreaded words ignites my panic once again. “Death trap, ha! Yeah.” My voice is high, my hands curled into fists again.

  He winces. “Oh, sorry about that.”

  Breathe . . .

  I shake my head, chanting silently: refocus, refocus, refocus, green eyes, green eyes, green eyes. Finally I ask, “Aren’t conversations part of your job description?”

  He shrugs and nods. He seems unsure of what to say. “Well . . . yes, I do talk with people all the time, but I’m not sure the last time I spoke to someone about normal things like their work and family without prying eyes and ears around. Anyway, it’s usually just me prattling on to some journalist about what I’ve done.”

  Huh. How is he not a conceited ass?

  Suddenly, the elevator jostles us and begins inching upward toward the seventh floor. When the doors open, two men greet us—a tall, burly man called Bob, as his shirt is labeled, and a short, balding guy.

  “Dan! Let me help you up,” the short one urges to Dan, holding out a hand.

  “That’s all right, I’ve got it.” Dan stands and turns to me. Before I know it, he’s holding my hand, lifting me upright, and pulling me from the elevator into the windowed hallway.

  “You can breathe now,” Dan says, smiling, then retrieves my bags from inside the elevator. I inhale the biggest gulp of air possible.

  “Thank you.” I feel all flushed again as I take one of the bags from Dan.

  “Claire, this is my manager, Len.”

  I look to the short, balding businessman and hold out my hand. “It’s nice to meet you, Len.”

  “Nice to meet you as well, Claire.”

  “Everyone okay?” Bob asks.

  “Yeah, fine,” Dan answers as I nod and continue to breathe in steady intervals.

  “I have to run a diagnostic on this thing. Use the stairs for the next few minutes, okay folks? I’m going to shut it down ‘til I make sure it’s all set.” Bob turns and leaves.

  Dan, Len, and I stand there in awkward silence. I finally break it with, “I should be going.” I turn to take my other bag from Dan.

  Dan doesn’t let go of the bag, but instead turns to Len. “You go ahead to your flat. I’ll meet you there, okay?”

  My heart plummets. He’s sending Len away? He wants to talk to me alone?

  Len glances between Dan and me. With an impish grin, he says, “Okay. Nice meeting you, Claire.” He walks down the hall to his apartment as Dan and I watch. Once Len shuts his door, Dan turns his full attention to me.

  “It was really nice talking with you, Claire. I was just getting used to it in there,” he jokes, slaying me with his golden-boy Hollywood smile.

  I pull myself together as best as I can—being half melted and all—and reply, “Yeah . . . me, too. Thanks for the distraction.”

  Dan pauses, examining me a moment, and then says, “You still look a
bit shaken—are you sure you’ll be all right?”

  “Yeah.” I nod, pretending it’s the stuck elevator that’s still affecting me. “I’ll be fine. Of course, I’ll be avoiding elevators for the rest of my life.” I laugh.

  Dan smiles, glances down at his shoes, and then makes a quick swipe across the back of his neck with his hand. “Perhaps if we went for a drink later it would help you unwind after our little . . . trip?”

  Whoa. Did he just ask sweaty me for a drink?

  I should say no. Of course I should say no because, really, what’s the point? But then Bridget and Camille will be on me again about going out, so . . . “Okay.”

  Dan nods. “Do you know Mickey’s Pub? It’s a bit of a hole in the East Village, but it’s nice and relaxed.”

  “That’s near me actually. What time?”

  “Does nine work?”

  “Sure. I’ll see you then.” I take my second bag from him, smile in appreciation and leave.

  I float up the stairs to my student’s apartment, drop off her work, and leave the building. I walk home in a fog—literally and figuratively. I replay the entire elevator event in my head.

  After several passersby shoot me weird glances, I realize it’s because I’ve been walking around wearing a dopey grin and saying hi. I roll my eyes at myself and force my cheeks down . . . but the thought of meeting Dan later creeps in and the grin’s back, bringing a giggle with it. That’s when I scold myself: Don’t even, Claire. He’s probably just looking to get laid.

  I toy with the idea of telling Bridget and Camille about this afternoon, but they’ll drill me for every detail, and their questions will only tie my stomach into more knots. I decide there’s no need to let on—it’s only one night, anyway.

  When I arrive home, Bridget and Camille are lounging in the living room with the TV on.

  “Hi!” I call out.

  “Hey!” Camille answers from the recliner.

  “Hi.” Bridget’s nose is glued to her phone, no doubt searching for any special man-hunting events.

  I put my bags down and sift through the mail. Here goes nothing. “So what are you two doing tonight?”

  I can almost hear Bridget and Camille’s heads whip in my direction—I never ask about their plans. “We haven’t decided yet. Do you want to come?” Camille asks.

  “Actually, I have plans,” I say, feeling two sets of eyes boring into my skull.

  “Really?” Camille asks, muting the TV.

  I turn to face them. “Well, after your interrogation last night, I gave it some thought, and I figured it wouldn’t hurt to go out for a drink. A few work friends have been asking me, too, so I said I’d go to a bar with them. Not that there’s anything wrong with you guys, but I don’t think I’m ready for your loud dance clubs. They’re going to a pub, so . . .”

  “No. No, that’s fine. I think it’s great you’re going out to . . . socialize,” Camille stammers.

  Bridget and Camille exchange a glance that I pretend not to notice.

  We make dinner shortly thereafter and discuss important things . . . like what we’re going to wear. Admittedly, my wardrobe is lacking. It’s mainly T-shirts, jeans, and unexciting work clothes, which mean Bridget and Camille are more than happy to help me out.

  I would have protested far more if I’d known just how many outfits Bridget was going to toss my way. In the end, it’s Camille’s dark denim jeans, Bridget’s fitted, violet button-down shirt, and my ancient black leather jacket that look pretty good. Of course, Bridget insists I wear her ridiculously high-heeled leather boots, too. With my luck, I’ll fall.

  Camille and Bridget sit on my bed, smugly admiring their fashion victim. I can’t help but smile at their enthusiasm. I stand in front of the full-length mirror, twisting from one side to the other, making sure everything is in its place, when Bridget blurts out, “You’re such a bitch.”

  “What? Why?”

  “Because you have a great ass, and you hide it in hideous sweatpants,” she says, giving my ass a hard whack.

  “Ow! Shut up.” I laugh and rub my stinging ass.

  “So what pub are you going to?” Bridget asks.

  “Mickey’s.”

  “Oh, that place. It’s kind of a dive.”

  “Really?” Oh no. Where did I agree to go?

  Camille elbows Bridget.

  “But I’m sure you’ll have a good time,” Bridget says.

  Before we head out in different directions, Camille reminds me to call one of them if I need them. I really hate when she gets all motherly like that.

  Chapter Two

  On the cab ride over to Mickey’s, I wonder if I even know how to act on a date anymore. The last date I went on was the final straw in my mother’s forced attempt to get my love life back on track. I still can’t believe I let her meddle, but I was broken and didn’t care.

  Soon after that date with another “perfect match” who nearly humped my leg at dinner, I swore off men, and for the last three years I’ve been living my life well enough. I have a successful teaching career, a cute apartment with my best friends in the greatest city in the world, and even though I’m scraping by, I’m happy. What more do I need?

  I’m not quite sure what happened on that elevator, but somehow I agreed to drinks with a famous actor, who’s likely looking for a one-night stand. I haven’t had many of those. I’ve only tried it once and ended up feeling used and empty. God knows I’ve had enough of feeling like that.

  Sitting in the back of the cab with nerves fraying fast, I think back to Dan’s easy green eyes and his strong, warm hands helping me up from the elevator floor.

  It doesn’t help with the nerves.

  Why am I doing this?

  The knots tighten in my stomach as I get closer.

  What if he blows me off?

  At least I made the right decision not telling Camille and Bridget. If he’s a no-show, I won’t have to explain anything. Thank God for that.

  As the cab eases to a halt outside Mickey’s, I sit unmoving and stare at the obvious dive. Very much a hole-in-the-wall, it comes complete with a hazy glass window that I can’t quite see through and what looks like a homemade sign. It’s hardly a place for a celebrity—or a single girl, for that matter.

  The cabbie’s loud throat clearing brings me back. I pay, climb out into the frigid night air, and stand on the sidewalk talking to myself like the crazy person I’ve become in the last six hours.

  What the hell am I doing?

  It’s just a drink, Claire. Calm down. You can do this. Breathe.

  And just when I think I’m ready—

  What the hell am I doing?

  Claire, he’s just a guy. You know how to be calm and cool. You do it every day at work. Put on your game face and get in there.

  With a deep inhale of winter air, I step up to the solid wood door and pull. The rush of warmth stuns me a moment and gives me a chance to scan the dimly lit scene. There’s a cozy feel inside as friends chat, laugh, and drink. Tables line the left-hand wall, and there are a few people seated around them. In the far back, several people play pool or darts. My eyes shift to the thick, mahogany bar on the right. All of the seats there are occupied, and others stand around, as well. I realize that, thankfully, I’ve escaped the notice of all the patrons.

  Except one.

  At the end of the bar sits Mr. Beautiful, and he’s looking directly at me.

  Oh God.

  Our eyes lock, my breath hitches, and a devastating smile breaks across Dan’s face.

  His rumpled hair looks deliciously damp, and his green button-down looks so soft I want to run my hands over it . . . and under it—Claire! An obvious blush bursts across my face. I have never been more grateful for crappy lighting in my life.

 
I make my way to him, reminding myself—game face, game face.

  He twists on his barstool to face me. I can smell the soap and shaving cream that lick him clean—I mean wash him clean. What is wrong with me?

  “Hi!” I sputter because every muscle in my body has just sprung to life.

  “Hello,” he says in that swoony accent, smiling wider and casually glancing at me from head to toe. “I almost didn’t recognize you. You look . . . different than you did in the lift.”

  I swallow. “Well, I showered and changed out of my sweaty clothes,” I say, hoping he isn’t too disappointed he asked to meet me.

  Dan quickly responds with a shake of his head. “I mean you look . . . really . . . really lovely.”

  I smile a little, but it’s tough with my heart jammed up inside my throat.

  “Shall we sit down?” He nods in the direction of an empty table.

  “Sure.”

  Dan hops off the barstool, grabs his leather jacket, and leads the way to a table behind a pillar, hiding us from the general view of the bar. He holds out my chair, which impresses the hell out of me. I sit as he takes the seat across from me and throws his jacket over the back of the chair.

  I unbutton my coat, shrug it off, and drape it over the seat. When I turn back, his eyes jump from the center of my chest to my face.

  Oh no. Did my shirt unbutton itself? Damn Bridget for making me unbutton this thing so low! I covertly take a peek . . . phew. All is in place.

  A waitress appears. “What can I get you?”

  “Claire?” Dan says, indicating for me to order first.

  “Um, I’ll have what he’s having.”

  “Two more of the same, please.” Dan taps his almost empty glass.

  Once the waitress leaves, he shoots me a grin. “I’m glad you were able to meet up.”

  My heart knocks hard, but I grin back. “Sure. My roommates were harassing me about going out, so . . .”