by Elise Faber
“Okay, honey,” I said. “We should pack up and head to the next hotel. I’ll do that now so I can get to set on time.”
“All right.”
My cell rang and I reached down to extract it. “Hey, Mom,” I said into the receiver.
“Why are there suited men on my doorstep?” she snapped loud enough that Artie winced.
I smiled reassuringly. “In case you’ve somehow slept through what’s plastered everywhere, Artie and I are apparently hitting our celebrity couple status.”
“And what does that have to do with them trampling my begonias? They stepped on the grass and—”
I hit mute and kissed the top of Artie’s head. “I’ll see you later?”
Her eyes were bleak, but almost as quickly as I noticed it, she nodded and stepped back. One more kiss, this time to her lips, and I unmuted long enough to tell my mom I’d replace the begonias.
“They’re not replaceable! They’re a special variety that . . .”
Off she went.
I hit mute again and headed for the door, uneasy about the look on Artie’s face, but knowing she’d need time to process this blow.
“Pierce?” she asked as I reached for the dead bolt.
“Yes, sweetheart?”
“I love you.”
My heart skipped a beat, my knees went weak with relief, and my smile was wide enough to hurt my jaw.
“I love you, too.” I took a step back toward her, wanting to kiss her, to hold her, to forget about the call time and—
“Pierce? Pierce?”
She smiled and nodded at my phone. “I’ll talk to you soon.”
“Okay, love,” I murmured, unmuting my phone and hitting the hallway.
It wasn’t until much later that I realized she hadn’t promised to see me that evening or meet me at the hotel . . .
Or that soon could mean very different things to different people.
That soon could also mean never.
Twenty-One
Artie
I was a coward.
I embraced that.
I’d directed my driver to take me to the airport and had called in an old favor to a friend who’d let me borrow her private plane.
“Is this about what’s in the news?” Heather O’Keith had asked.
“I need out of Scotland,” was all I’d say.
“It’s about the news,” Heather replied matter-of-factly. “I can get you a plane out of Edinburgh. When will you be there?” We’d taken the next few minutes to discuss details, but before hanging up she had stopped and said, “I feel like it’s my duty to ask this next question.”
“Heather—” I began.
“No,” she said. “I’m speaking as a woman who tried to run from her past, not one that was as tough as yours, but one that still made me feel unworthy and incapable of being in a relationship.”
“I’m not . . .” But I couldn’t finish the words because I didn’t know what I was.
I was running. Part of me still felt unworthy.
But it had been different when it was just Pierce and me. A hard pill to swallow, of course, that the paparazzi might be trailing us, but also knowing that he’d been aware of the situation. That while it was something to be adjusted to, it wasn’t like his world would implode.
Movie sets were isolated and secure for the most part.
And soon another much juicier celebrity scandal would take top billing over just a director and a producer, even considering my past and our age difference.
It was just . . . begonias.
Or more clearly, Pierce’s lovely, perfectly, imperfect family.
Dory had security guards outside her home, trampling her flowers. Soon there would be paparazzi crowded on the street, filming into her house, following her around.
Following Marie and Kate.
Scaring the kids.
And it was the idea of Thomas being frightened by a huge intimidating man with a camera, screaming at him that had done it for me.
It didn’t matter if and when this blew over.
I couldn’t let my life bleed over into theirs.
“I’m not saying don’t take a second and think this through,” Heather said, and I knew she understood part of what I was going through. She was in a powerful position, had struggled her way through life and a shitty upbringing to make something of her life. And then that had all almost been unraveled when she’d met Clay Steele.
But they’d figured things out.
They were happily married with a successful joint company.
However, they didn’t have the paparazzi hounding them, potentially hurting their families, reporting on every sordid thing from their past.
So, as much as I appreciated her caution and support, I knew she could never get it.
“I’ve thought it through, Heath.”
Silence, then, “Okay.”
“I’ll call Colin and get you on a plane.”
“I owe you one.”
“Payment in the form of screeners, as always,” she said, voice joking, but I could tell she was worried about me.
I released a breath, forced my tone to be light. “As long as you keep giving me a discount rate on that secure distribution platform, then you’ve got a deal.”
“You’re on.” A beat. “You’ll call, though? If you need a pair of nonjudgmental ears to listen?”
“Yeah.” I blinked. “I’ll call.”
We said goodbye and hung up.
Two hours later I was at the airport.
Thirty minutes after that, we were in the air.
Twenty-Two
Pierce
I knew something was wrong the moment I went up to my room.
Don’t know how I knew, maybe just instinct, maybe it was the way the security guard stationed in the hall outside of Artie’s room looked at me, maybe it was just the sinking feeling I’d had all day, growing larger as it twisted and knotted my stomach.
I used the key card to enter my room then dropped my bag onto the desk and used the room phone to call Artie’s.
No answer.
My assistant had given me the room number, but it was possible she was wrong.
Though security—
I shook my head and dialed her cell.
No answer.
I texted.
No answer.
I went back out into the hall and knocked on Artie’s door.
No answer.
“Haven’t seen her come in, sir,” the security guard said.
“She’s definitely in this room?” I asked.
“I haven’t been notified of any changes.”
I nodded and went back into my room, dialing my assistant and confirming that Artie had been assigned that room.
“I’ll call the front desk,” Shelby said. “Make sure the keys were picked up.”
“Thanks.” I hung up, waffling for a moment before I decided to just do it anyway. I dialed the number for Artie’s assistant, Lauren.
“Hello?” she answered.
“It’s Pierce.”
Her inhale was loud, and it told me enough.
“She’s gone,” I whispered. “Isn’t she?”
“Pierce—” Her voice was sad. “I’m sorry. I don’t know. I can’t say— I—”
“It’s okay.”
It wasn’t okay. I wasn’t okay. She’d said she loved me and—
She’d left.
I sank onto the side of the bed and dropped my head in my hands, trying to come up with a plan, with some way to make Artie see reason. But I’d tried. I’d been patient. I’d been understanding. I’d put myself out there and been vulnerable and open. And now I had paparazzi camped outside the hotel, a movie to finish shooting, and . . . my heart had been sliced to pieces.
Exactly as I’d felt the first time Artie had left me.
Almost six years had passed.
And nothing had changed.
Twenty-Three
Artie
I got all th
e way to the private airfield outside of L.A. before I realized exactly how grievous of an error I’d made.
I’d left Pierce.
I’d left Pierce after promising to always talk it out.
I’d left and—
Just being apart from him like this was absolute agony.
I turned on my cell as I walked to the waiting car, feeling it vibrate and hearing it chime as all of the messages from the last twelve hours came through.
Pierce had texted every hour.
Pierce had called several times.
Pierce had stopped.
That only added to the agony, only added to the idiocy that was me and my brain and my fucking life being ruled for too long by fear. I sank into the back seat, eyes taking a moment to adjust to the light as I wrapped my head around the thoughts in my mind, the feelings in my heart.
Did I want to risk the one thing in my life that had been good?
Did I want to let my past taint it?
But maybe . . . my past would only taint my future if I let it ruin the one good thing I had.
I dropped my head back to the seat and asked the driver to wait.
Then I called Heather.
She answered. “Artie?”
“I fucked—”
“My plane is waiting on the tarmac.”
I frowned. “What?”
“You were going to finish that statement with up, right?”
“Yes?”
“Good,” she said. “Colin’s crew needs rest before they fly home, but the RoboTech jet is fueled and cleared to leave at terminal two.”
“I—” I shook my head. “How’d you know I’d change my mind?”
“Because you’re smart. Because you’re scared. Because you’re strong.” Her voice dropped. “But also because you know when it’s worth it to take a risk.”
“I do?”
“Yes, Artie. You do.”
I nodded, repeated without the question mark. “I do.”
“You got this,” Heather said. “Because you’re not stupid enough to let someone as special as Pierce slip from your life without fighting for it.”
No question this time. “I do. I do have this.”
I hung up, pushed out of the car, and got my ass back onto a plane, trying Pierce's cell once before we took off. It went to voicemail, but I didn’t panic.
Pierce Daniels better watch out, because I wasn’t ready to give up on us.
I’d finally shed the fear, finally realized what I should be really fighting for.
One way or another, I was going to grovel my way back into his life.
Twenty-Four
Pierce
For twice in as many days, pounding on my hotel room door woke me up.
“Motherfucker,” I muttered, throwing back the blankets and wondering why in the fuck I was paying for security when they didn’t bother to. Stop. The. Assholes. From. Knocking. On. My. Door.
I threw on a T-shirt, glanced at the clock, and huffed in annoyance.
I’d fallen asleep all of thirty minutes before.
And the pounding didn’t stop.
I slammed open the dead bolt, scrabbled at the door handle, and yanked the door open. “What the fuck—?”
Blue eyes.
Blond hair.
Pink cheeks.
I didn’t think, just reacted, grabbing Artie’s arm and tugging her into the room. I slammed the door shut and stared at her for a long moment, eyes searching her for injuries, but knowing I wouldn’t find any.
She’d left in fear.
She was back because . . .
I didn’t dare to hope.
“Hi, Pierce,” she murmured tentatively.
Fuck, that hurt. I whipped around, paced into the room, the nervousness in her tone was fucking agony. We’d made so much progress together and yet, it was right back to this.
“Are you all right?” I asked, facing her.
She shook her head. “No, I’m not.” The bleakness in her expression turned my gut.
“Don’t worry,” I said, shoving a hand through my hair and pacing away again, focusing on the curtains instead of the woman I loved with painful intensity. She’d come here to end things permanently. That was it. That was good, really. She wasn’t running anymore. She was talking to me and even if it wasn’t what I wanted to hear, I was still proud of her. “I’ll finish the film. I’ll do the promotion and then I’ll leave you alone.” I cleared my throat. “The script is yours, if I can’t sign over the rights, I’ll make sure I’m only a silent partner.”
Silence.
I stayed facing the wall. “I’ll make this easy on you, Artie. Don’t worry. You’ll get to make your movies and travel the world. You’ll get to have your safety and freedom and not have to worry about me.”
More silence.
Fuck. Sighing, I braced myself against the pain of seeing her and spun around.
She had tears on her cheeks.
“It’ll be okay, sweetheart.”
“No,” she said. “It won’t. Because the life you just described doesn’t have you.”
The air froze in my lungs.
She stepped close enough that I could smell her floral scent.
My heart twisted.
“I don’t want a life without you, baby. I love you,” she said. “I know I failed our first test as a couple. I know I ran when I was supposed to talk. I know I really fucking suck for making you worry for more than twenty-four hours.” Her teeth nibbled at her bottom lip. “But I just flew all the way to L.A. and back, and I was equally miserable both ways. You know why?”
I shook my head.
“Because on the first leg I’d known I’d lost you.” A beat. “On the second, I worried I wouldn’t be able to get you back.”
I blinked. “Baby—”
“No,” she said. “Let me finish?” I nodded. “I made one promise to you and that was to trust in us, to trust in the friendship we’d built over the years. I promised I wouldn’t run, that we would talk things out. And I broke that promise.”
“You said that already,” I murmured, taking her hands and leading her to the bed. “We’re both going to fuck up. I know that, and I don’t need you to rake yourself over the coals for it.”
She snorted. “And when do you fuck up, Pierce?” she snapped. “You’re always perfect and—”
“You haven’t seen my Lego collection.”
Artie blinked. “Um, what?”
“I have an entire room of them—buildings, mini figures, streets, and cars and teeny, tiny food stands. I talk in my sleep, I hog the remote, and I definitely don’t eat enough vegetables.” I bent a little so our faces were level. “I’m far from perfect, Artie. You’ve just been so wrapped up in your imperfections that you haven’t seen mine.”
Her lips parted, a long, slow exhale escaping.
Then her face changed. The torture left her expression, her stiff shoulders relaxed. In turn, I was able to do the same. The fist gripping my gut since the previous evening loosened and my lungs finally began working again.
“I love you,” I said. “I don’t care if we make the cover on every magazine. I don’t care if every reporter starts off an interview with a question about what it’s like to be dating the amazingly talented Artemis Miller. I don’t care if I need to slow down so that I can make our schedules fit better or take a hundred red-eyes just so we can spend one night together.” I cupped her face in my palms. “Because the alternative is that I wouldn’t have you. And that’s not acceptable.”
Her eyes filled with tears, but she blinked them back. “I’m going to screw up.”
I grinned. “Ditto.”
“I’m not stopping eating pasta even if my ass gets huge and I look horrible in dresses at your premieres.”
“Wear pants.” I kissed her nose. “And if your ass was bigger, then there would just be more of it for me to grab on to.”
She snorted.
I smiled down at the woman I loved, the one who mea
nt so much because she’d come back to me, who’d found the courage to knock on my door at an obscene hour even though she was scared, even though it meant that she’d have to own up to making a mistake.
“You know, it is almost exactly six years to the date that I walked into that restaurant thinking that I was meeting an old, fat, balding guy named Artie.”
Her eyes narrowed at me.
“Turned out, the only adjective I got wrong was the fat.”
She tackled me to the bed, fingers coming to the outsides of my ribs and digging in. “Pierce Daniels, are you fucking kidding me? Old and balding?”
I was laughing too hard to bat her hands away then laughing too hard because she’d actually found a ticklish spot. Eventually, I got my shit together and captured her wrists, flipping us so her back was on the mattress and I was holding both of them captive in one of mine up and over her head.
She glared.
I dropped a kiss on her lips.
She nipped at mine in response.
And then I was kissing her, our mouths meeting in that perfect collision that was just me and Artie, the heat instantaneous and building, my cock hardening, but more importantly, the feeling of just right that was pure Artie, settling back over my heart, seeping into my bones, and reminding me that I was the luckiest son of a bitch on the planet to have a chance with this woman.
It didn’t matter that there were years between us.
I didn’t care that her past might make our relationship newsworthy.
I didn’t care that she might run.
Because I’d go after her.
Always.
Speaking of which, that reminded me. I slowed the kiss, removed my hand that had slid under her shirt, the one that was creeping north to cup those beautiful breasts. I released her wrists and I pushed off.
“What—?”
“I have to make a call real quick.”
Shelby answered on the second ring, even though it was late at night in L.A. “Pierce, everything okay?”
“Everything is perfect,” I said. “The only thing is that I need you to cancel the plane.
I could feel her smile through the speaker. “Artie came back?”
“I plead the fifth.”