Acting on Impulse

by Mia Sosa

I lift my head and stare into his eyes. There is nowhere I’d rather be. “I’m so glad I’m here, too.”

  THE NEXT MORNING, I wake and discover that I’m alone in Carter’s so-big-it-must-be-custom-size bed. Now that I’m not being stroked to oblivion, I can appreciate the view of the Hollywood Hills that spans the entire length of the room. What a stunning view to wake up to.

  He’s rustling about in the other room, if the banging of pots and pans is any indication. I reach over to check the time on my phone just as it buzzes.

  Eva: I just heard. So sorry, sweetie. Did he have an explanation?

  I have no idea what she’s talking about, but I suppose “he” is Carter since she knew I was traveling to California to visit him this weekend.

  I could pretend all is well, but Eva’s my best friend, and I want to know what’s going on.

  Me: I haven’t heard anything. What explanation?

  A minute later, my phone buzzes again. Eva has sent another text, this one including a link to a website. I pull up the page and scroll through until I see a picture of Carter with his crotch against a woman’s ass in a tightly packed room. His hands are in the air, suggesting that they’re dancing, and his head is thrown back, but not far enough that you miss the big ol’ smile on his handsome face.

  Maybe I’m naïve to think this, but I don’t believe Carter did anything other than dance with that woman. In a suggestive way, sure, but I’m not lying here thinking she was in his bed last night. In any case, Carter knows as well as I do that in Hollywood reality is valuable only if it’s interesting or scandalous, and if reality is boring, innuendo takes its place.

  Still, the caption accompanying the photograph hurts. It reads: “Has Carter Stone found a new love interest? Hmm. This photo suggests the answer is hell yes.”

  Lovely.

  Welcome to life with Carter. If we’re going to have any chance of a future together, I’ll have to deal with situations like this one. And if Carter values his balls, he better give me a good explanation for that photo.

  I quickly type a response to Eva.

  Me: Thanks for this. It’s fine.

  Eva: Fine? Not fine. I’ll cut his ass too. Just say the word.

  Me: I’m going to give him a chance to explain. Check in with you later.

  Carter returns to the bedroom holding a tray of eggs, pastries, and juice. He’s also grinning from ear to ear, but as soon as his gaze lands on my face, he sets the tray down on his nightstand.

  I prop myself up with a pillow and toss my phone on the mattress, the screen still showing the photograph of Thursday’s festivities. “I’m having a hard time looking at that.”

  His face crumples. The change in him is so swift and complete it’s as though I’m watching a sunny day unexpectedly turn into a stormy one.

  “It’s a photo of a single moment,” he says. “That was a sneak attack on my crotch, I swear. I told you about the event, remember? The point of going was to show that I’m not drowning in the sea of bad reviews for Hard Times. I knew there would be paparazzi there. We were just dancing, and yeah, she got a little frisky with it.”

  I trust him, and I don’t think he’s deceiving me now. More than that, he’s right that I knew about the event. In fact, if it weren’t for my meeting with the investors, that might have been my ass on his crotch in the photo. “I believe you.”

  The tension around his eyes fades, and he dons a hesitant smile. “Thank you.”

  “Eva’s going to kick your ass, though.”

  “Shit. I’m sorry about this. All of it.” He points to my phone. “You’ll explain this to her?”

  “Yeah. I’ll get you off the hook.”

  “And maybe next time, you’ll be the woman in the photo?”

  Great minds. “Yeah, I’m ready to try.”

  He blows out a breath, and his answering smile lights me up inside.

  I pat the bed. “Now come here and feed your woman.”

  He sets the breakfast tray on the bed and sits next to me, his back pressed against the headboard. After planting kisses on my cheek and forehead, he nibbles on my neck, and I use my chin to shoo him away. Then he pulls the tray closer to us, so we can both enjoy the food.

  “You made this?” I ask him.

  “Don’t be too impressed. The pastries are from a bakery a mile away, and the eggs are probably runny.”

  “I’ll stick with the muffin, then, thanks.”

  “Ingrate,” he teases.

  “I’m grateful. Just protective of my digestive health.”

  “Tell me about the meeting with the investors,” Carter asks between chews of his whole-grain bagel. “Was it really a dumpster fire?”

  I snort when I remember the text I sent Carter after I’d walked out.

  Tori: Meeting over. Total dumpster fire. Guy was a pendejo. Will explain later.

  I take a sip of my orange juice before answering. “It was. We were never going to be a match, and although I’m bummed that I lost a prospect, I’d rather find the right partner than get stuck with the wrong one. The guy didn’t understand key aspects of my proposal and said some crappy stuff about my lack of experience.” Laughing off Evans’s rudeness, I mimic his gruff tone. “Ms. Alvarez, you have three years of management experience but you know nada about running your own studio.”

  Carter chuckles, his eyes gleaming with mischief. “Yeah, I could tell immediately Evans was an ass.”

  I rush to pick up a slice of apple, but then my hand hovers over the plate, my laughter petering out like a stalled engine as Carter’s comment sinks into my psyche.

  I could tell immediately Evans was an ass.

  A ton of bricks lands on my chest, making it difficult to breath. I’ve never mentioned Evans by name, so how does Carter know he’s an ass? “You could?” I say in a strangled voice. Somehow, I manage not to wince at the sound of it, the evidence of my own gullibility in high-definition audio. “How the hell is that possible, Carter?”

  His grin collapses, and his face turns ashen. “I talked to him . . . but I can explain.”

  Why would Carter meddle in my affairs? It makes no sense. “What possible reason could you have had to speak with him?”

  He jumps up from the bed and runs a hand through his hair, but he’s not meeting my gaze. Instead, he paces the room and stares at the walls as though the answers to his troubles can be found in them.

  Screw this. I jump up from the bed and wrap the sheet around me.

  “Tori, don’t,” he says. “Give me a minute.”

  Ignoring him, I scramble around the room picking up my discarded clothes. I can’t find my damn jeans. Turning away from him, I hastily throw on my top and underwear, my heart racing as though the finish line is outside my chest. No more than five feet separate us, but we’re miles apart in understanding each other. I stand there, pantsless, and put my hands on my hips. “Your minute is up.”

  Chapter Thirty-One

  Carter

  I CAN’T GIVE her an excuse because I don’t have one.

  Earlier, when I walked into my house and saw Tori in my living room, I felt like I’d climbed a mountain and reached the summit. She was here. She’d come on her own. She was willing to try to make our relationship work. I’d planned to take her for a ride up Mulholland Drive, where we’d eventually head to my secret spot near the overlook and I’d tell her I love her.

  My own stupidity pushed me off the mountain, and now I’m free-falling. All I can do now is tell her the truth. “I contacted Evans yesterday.”

  “Why?” she says. “Were you trying to influence my pitch?”

  The confusion in her voice guts me. I shake my head, realizing only at this moment how she could have made that assumption. “No, just the opposite. I called him after I got your text. I knew it hadn’t gone well, so I didn’t think I’d be influencing it in any way.”

  She shakes her head as she speaks. “But just because I thought it was a crappy interview doesn’t mean they thought it was, too. You
hadn’t even talked to me. So you could have influenced the outcome.”

  Fuck. She’s right. This is a mess. “Yeah. I’m not trying to excuse what I did.”

  She throws up her hands. “What did you do, Carter?”

  “I asked him if you’d mentioned me. If you’d used my name to promote your pitch. I just . . . I needed to know.”

  Now that I’ve said that out loud, the idiocy of my thought process mocks the fuck out of me. I know in my heart that Tori wouldn’t have betrayed me like that, but I let my own insecurities guide my actions. I convinced myself a quick call would confirm that my trust in Tori was well placed. That a person in my position couldn’t be too careful and there’d be no harm. I was wrong.

  She stares at me, unblinking, her lips parted in an O. Then she drops her chin and studies the floor. She’s disappointed in me, and that’s the worst part. “You were checking to see if I was using you.”

  She’s not asking. She’s telling.

  “Yes. It was a stupid thing to do. In here”—I pound on my chest—“I know you’d never do that, but I let my head get in the way. I’m sorry. I’m so fucking sorry.”

  She straightens and looks around the room. Then she drops on her hands and knees and drags her white jeans from under my bed. “I don’t understand any of this,” she says as she struggles into her pants. “Did Evans tell you I nearly bitch-slapped him for trying to get to you through me?”

  “He didn’t describe it that way, but yes, that was the impression he gave me. I—”

  She lets out a heavy sigh. “You asked me to trust you, and I did. I even held it together when I saw the photo of you with that woman. Because you’d earned my trust. Now I realize I haven’t even earned yours.”

  I stride to her and place my hands on her shoulders. “You have my trust, Tori. It was a momentary lapse. Please forgive me.”

  Her eyes are cold, and her mouth is pressed into a thin line. She shakes my arms off her. “You had one pass, remember? I have none left to give you.”

  She’s shutting down on me, trying to put me in her past. “I know what you’re doing, Tori. You’re pulling away. What’s your go-to phrase again?”

  She tilts her chin up and looks at me defiantly. “Siempre pa’lante, nunca pa’tras. It’s fitting for this situation.”

  “I’m not a situation, Tori. I’m your boyfriend, and I want to be with you, and I want to make this right. Tell me how to do that.”

  She says nothing for what seems like an eternity. When she finally speaks, her voice is calm, eerily so. “This was always going to be a bit of a gamble, you know. My fear of being in the public eye guaranteed that. And I thought I could meet you halfway, at least try to work through this because I thought you were worth it. But if we don’t have trust, Carter, none of this works.”

  “We do have trust, Tori. Please don’t take this instance of stupidity and make it the poster child for our relationship. It’s not.”

  “Carter, you’re not getting it. For weeks, I’ve been operating as if I’m the reason our relationship can’t move forward, but I’m not the only one who needs to work through some issues. I know people have used you before, but I don’t think you even realize how much it’s affected you. You don’t believe in yourself, in your own abilities, in the qualities that make you special. You’re on this quest to be taken seriously as an actor because you don’t think you’re enough. You assume everyone’s out to take advantage of you because you can’t possibly imagine that people could want you for anything other than your fame. I didn’t fall in love with Carter Stone. I fell in love with Carter Williamson. But as long as Stone is running the show, you’re bound to make choices I can’t live with.”

  She’s so right I don’t know what to say. Too many people have fucked with my head—Simon Cage, ex-girlfriends, the paparazzi, the freaking doctor—and I’ve been on the lookout for the next person who’s going to hurt me. But I want to work through this. With her. For her. For us, dammit. “Help me make the right choices, Tori.”

  “These aren’t my choices to make,” she chokes out. “I’ve done nothing to warrant your distrust, yet here we are.”

  “So what? You just move on?”

  “I don’t know. I need time.”

  She means time apart. But I know this is just a stopgap measure for her. She’ll run back to Philadelphia and stuff me in the closet of boyfriends past. She honestly believes that’s the right way to go, just as much as I honestly believe it’s not. “Fine. But while you’re figuring things out, think about this. That phrase you love so much is bullshit.”

  She narrows her eyes and flares her nostrils.

  Yeah, get mad, Tori. If it takes getting her angry, then so be it. I pace the room as I speak, unable to remain still as I fight for us. “Listen, part of moving forward is embracing your past, not ignoring it. Part of life is working through your problems, not searching for a problem-free existence. Think about you and your family. You can’t talk to them about your fears, and it’s killing you. You think you’ve moved on from that? You haven’t. The whole You Are What You Move concept is practically an homage to your father.”

  She’s been following me with a wary gaze. Now her eyes widen and her breath hitches.

  Because she knows I’m right. Hell, I know I’m right regardless of what she thinks. “You can’t help him, so you’re helping others like him,” I continue. “But you’re never going to be truly happy unless you work through that issue with your family.”

  She folds her arms over her chest. “You’re right. Which means we both have issues to get through. We should take the time to do that.”

  Fuck. In her head, she’s already gone, and I can’t do this alone. My chest deflates, and I sigh heavily. Then I scoop up my T-shirt off the floor and slip it on. “I’m going to head out and give you space. Let me know if you need a ride somewhere.”

  As I’m walking out the door, she whispers, “I’ll be fine.”

  Great. That makes one of us.

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  Tori

  AFTER THE FRONT door slams shut, I flop onto the bed and groan. Somehow, I pull myself out of the dark abyss and gather my toiletries.

  Minutes later, the doorbell rings, and I freeze. I’m not even sure I should answer it, but whoever is out there is resting a finger on the doorbell and isn’t going away.

  I stomp to the door and peek through the side window. An impeccably dressed black man with the longest eyelashes I’ve ever seen is standing outside. Now he’s resting his hands in the pockets of his pants, his expression pinched and impatient.

  I crack open the door. “Yes?”

  He smiles, and his dimples appear to say hello as well. “You must be Tori.”

  “Are you Julian?”

  “I am. Is Carter here?”

  “He’s not, and I don’t know when he’ll be back.” I open the door wider. “Would you like to come in?”

  The corner of his mouth quirks up. “Sure. But I do have a key.”

  My face warms. Of course he does.

  Julian enters Carter’s home like he’s been here a million times before. I laugh to myself, because he probably has. He drops an envelope on the sofa table and sits in one of the accent chairs across from the couch.

  I stand by the sofa table, unsure what to do. “We had a fight,” I blurt out.

  Julian’s eyes widen, and then he grimaces. “If Carter were any other client, I’d pretend I didn’t hear that and point out the great weather we’re having. But he’s my best friend, too, so I’m here to listen if you think that would be helpful.”

  I take a seat across from him. “He doesn’t trust me.”

  He nods. “There are very few people who fall into that camp for Carter.”

  “Yes, I can see why. But I thought I was among them. In that camp. And then he did something that revealed I wasn’t. I’m not sure I can get past it.”

  Julian fiddles with his tie. “Guys like Carter are naturally magnetic. He’
s a nice guy who does stupid shit sometimes.”

  “You sound like him.”

  “I prefer to think he sounds like me.”

  My mouth twitches. “Fair enough.”

  Julian studies the view from the living room window. “I’m not sure it’s my place, but I’ll give you my advice anyway. It’s easy to get drawn into Carter’s circle. But after a while your life might revolve around him, and that’s not healthy. He’s a bit of a lost soul himself, so it’s not wise to lose yourself in him. He won’t grow if you don’t challenge him.”

  “Sounds like you’re speaking from experience.”

  Julian turns his head, and his eyes bore into mine. “I am. And I’ll be the first to admit I don’t always get my own advice right.”

  “How long have you known him?”

  “Since we were kids. We’ve been best friends for over fifteen years.”

  “How’d you end up being his agent?”

  He shakes his head. “You ask a lot of questions.”

  I shrug. “I’m an inquisitive person.”

  Julian returns his gaze to the scene outside. “My parents were entrepreneurs, so I grew up in a household that valued business acumen. An MBA seemed to make sense. When I graduated, I thought I’d head to New York for a few years, work for a consulting firm or something, and then join my father’s company when I was ready. Around that time, Carter found out his then agent was skimming him, taking more than the customary commission and underreporting the pay he was getting for jobs. He asked me to look at his books, his contracts, everything. It snowballed from there. Before I knew it, I was interning at a talent agency in California.”

  Julian’s professional and authoritative, “together” in a way that inspires confidence. Carter’s lucky to have him in his corner. But as Julian alluded to moments ago, there’s an undercurrent of discontent between them that worries me. Julian’s life revolves around Carter—and I suspect he’s not happy about it.

  “What happened to his former agent?”

  Julian grinds his jaw before answering. “Simon Cage is a sleazy piece of work, and I wish Carter would let me do something about him. When Carter accused him of stealing, he ripped Carter a new one, told him he was and always would be a B actor and he didn’t need this shit from him. Started badmouthing Carter with casting directors. It’s the reason Carter’s been more successful in television, it’s a different community.”