by Cara Dee
She'd bought some twenty fashion magazines at the airport in Denver because she wanted all the help she could find.
"Yeah. And for the record, Sophie? Just 'cause I'm gay doesn’t mean this fashion shit is my thing." He leaned against the doorframe and winked at her. "I leave that to my man."
"Oh my God, like I don’t know that." She chuckled and waved a hand. "The search words?"
"Understated and chic. Can I be excused now, Ms. Former Diva?"
She found a lip gloss and tossed it at him.
"Ha!" He laughed and moved toward the door. "Maybe I added 'Former' way too fast. Have fun at that art thing, darling. I'll check the interwebz for pictures later."
Sophie grinned nervously to herself and rummaged through her trailer in search of her new phone. She wouldn’t lie; she'd been tempted to give her new number to the people in LA, but she'd put her damn foot down.
She couldn’t ignore everyone at home forever, but she was happy to begin something new here in Vancouver. A new Facebook account, a locked Twitter handle she wouldn’t apply to get verified—or give out to random people—and an Instagram that she would keep free of drunken selfies.
On her regular Twitter, she had approximately four hundred thousand followers, yet the meager three followers she had on her new handle mattered more. Daniel, Noah, and Brooklyn were genuine.
After tucking her phone, the key to her trailer, and her wallet into a small clutch, she left her temporary home and walked over to the parking lot behind the row of trailers.
It was a little chilly but not enough to need a jacket or cardigan.
A driver exited an SUV and held the door open for her. "Evenin', Ms. Pierce."
"Hi." She smiled and slid into the backseat, just then noticing Tennyson was already there. "Oh, hey." He looked very handsome, she had to admit. She liked that he kept his beard neatly trimmed now, and the man could definitely fill out a pair of dress pants and oxford shirt well. "You've got your shades tonight, huh?" They sat on top of his head.
"I need them," he said with a faint smile. "I see you're making use of your new wardrobe."
She nodded and gathered her hair to fall down the left side of her front. "I wanted a change."
The car drove out of the gates, and Tennyson hummed. "You've been all about changes lately."
Sophie had no desire to discuss the whore-slut-bitch comments that had become the tip of the iceberg, so she kept it casual. "Nothing wrong with a little reinvention."
That "little" reinvention had cost her a lot of money, but every receipt had been saved so she could reimburse her father with her next paycheck. After that, she'd be out of his life.
"Are we going straight to the art café, or…?" Sophie recalled Tyler had mentioned they could eat there or at another place before, and she didn’t care which.
"There's a great burger place on the way," Tennyson replied. "Is that all right with you?"
No. Not even close. God, a fucking burger? Her stomach twisted with hunger, but there was no goddamn way she'd go that far. She'd already eaten five hundred calories of her daily intake of eight hundred. A burger would ruin everything.
"I actually ate in my trailer, but I'll get something small." She hoped the place had salads.
Ten minutes later, they arrived at a small corner grill. Through the large windows, Sophie could see just how small it was. There weren't any tables, only the black-painted, L-shaped counter. Walls and floor were tiled. Easy to hose down after serving late-night drunks?
"I know it's not much to look at." Tennyson held the door open for her and flashed a ghost of a smirk. "But they make up for it with the best bacon cheeseburger in Canada. American bacon, not Canadian."
Was there any difference? Sophie hid her confusion and entered the…interesting…establishment. The smell of grease hit her like a wall, and she didn’t know which was worse. That her mouth watered or that the air was difficult to breathe.
Only two of the ten stools were occupied, so Sophie chose a spot in the corner farthest away from the two grills.
"No menus?" she asked quietly.
Tennyson pointed up. Ah, there. The menu was written on chalkboards that were dotted with grease stains.
A heavyset man walked over to take their orders, and Tennyson went for a bacon cheeseburger and a large strawberry shake. Sophie swallowed her hunger and ordered a side salad and a bottle of water.
"No fancy brand this time?" Tennyson was fucking teasing her.
"Because they'd have it here." She couldn’t help but laugh. "But no. A man once told me I wouldn’t be able to taste the difference."
It was mostly true. There were many brands of water that didn’t taste the same, but she'd be a liar if she said she'd followed the latest water trend because of how it tasted.
Don’t go over the top when it comes to brands, Daniel had advised.
It was a fine line to walk because, in LA, you had to both stick out and blend in. There were certain trends that one was expected to follow, and then there were a few times where you were supposed to be a leader and not a follower.
She'd told Daniel as much, to which he'd given more advice. Don’t give in to pressure from the media.
"Sounds like a smart man." Tennyson was looking at her strangely, and the close proximity made Sophie nervous. At a real restaurant, they'd have a table between them. Here, there was nothing. They sat next to each other, a mere five or six inches between their shoulders.
She realized she'd never been this close to Tennyson before, and when she chanced a quick glance at him, she was struck by how handsome he really was. Without the ball cap he loved to wear, he looked…distinguished. His eyes were a rich brown color, and the man had two dimples hiding beneath his beard. The dark brown of his hair and beard mingled with hints of silver, and Sophie didn’t find it off-putting like she'd thought she would.
Hunh.
Having no clue what to do with this new information, she faced forward and fidgeted with the rubber band around her wrist. She knew Tennyson was thirty-eight, and doing the math was like being doused in ice water. He was almost twice her age.
Tennyson probably remembered what it was like before the internet.
Their food arrived, saving Sophie from delving deeper into her new thoughts about Tennyson Wright. Now she was only focusing on not eye-fucking his food. Or rather, the huge milk shake. Served in a plastic glass, Sophie saw the bits of strawberries and how vanilla white swirled with the pink.
She could stay away from burgers without a problem, but sometimes she secretly indulged in shakes and fries. God, it looked delicious.
Letting out a soft breath, she peered down at her sad salad and picked out the croutons. The lettuce was anything but crisp, and the cherry tomatoes were a little soft.
"Would you like to try some?"
Sophie snapped her head up to be met with a knowing little smirk on Tennyson's face.
He pushed the shake closer to her.
She pressed her lips together and shook her head quickly. "I shouldn’t—"
How many calories would one sip be?
"Please." He placed a hand on top of hers, causing her to freeze and stare down at his large hand covering her smaller one. "We can pretend it's only for my peace of mind. Have some, Sophie."
"What do you mean?" She dragged her gaze away from their hands and looked him in the eye. "Your peace of mind?"
Tennyson withdrew his hand and picked up his burger again. "It's none of my business, and I don’t want to offend you."
But Sophie wanted to know now. "We can pretend it's your business." She threw his words back at him. "Tell me, Tennyson."
He leveled her with a stare, maybe wondering if it was worth speaking up.
"Your health," he murmured eventually. "I'm concerned you don’t eat enough."
Sophie blinked then drew a blank mask over her face, wanting to hide her real reaction. In truth, she didn’t know if she wanted to laugh or cry. No one had ever said anything
like that to her—ever. It was crazy.
"I gotta stay healthy," she said.
"If you say so." Tennyson was making it clear that he didn’t want to argue with her.
It annoyed Sophie. "No one's ever complained before."
"Okay." He bit into his burger and focused on his food.
Sophie gnashed her teeth together because she couldn’t let this go now. "Are you saying I'm too skinny?"
She recalled reading that in some of the comments online.
Skinny skank.
Anorexic twatwaffle.
"Let's go back to when this wasn’t my business, Sophie. I apologize for saying anything."
"No, you can't do that," she told him. "I wanna know. I just…" A sudden onslaught of emotions surged forward, and Sophie was so frustrated and fed up. "Can someone for once in their lifetime just give me the fucking truth?"
Or could she only trust Daniel?
Her comment seemed to catch Tennyson's attention, and he turned his head to stare at her intently. Sophie resisted the urge to fidget under his gaze, but it wasn’t easy. The man unnerved her.
"All right." He set down his burger and shifted in his seat to face her more fully. "Let me make this clear first: this isn't necessarily your truth, but it's my opinion." Sophie nodded in understanding. "Good. All I have to say is stop listening to the industry. I've been around actors and actresses since you were in kindergarten, Sophie. I know what I'm talking about, and there's a difference between healthy and thin. There's nothing healthy about an actress fainting on the red carpet because she's ignored her body's needs." He turned his body forward again. "I'm not telling you what to do. I don’t even know you well enough to know what's best for you, but I doubt this is it. If you're hungry, eat."
Sophie felt like she was becoming unglued. She didn’t know what to think; her experiences and everything she knew pulled her in one direction, and her gut instinct in another. No pain, no gain. Beauty didn’t come without hard work. But it wasn’t beautiful to see a friend throw up her dinner, and Sophie had certainly witnessed that. Ugh.
What's beautiful, anyway?
She didn’t know she'd voiced that question out loud until Tennyson tilted his head at her and asked, "In general, or…?" He smiled, confused.
Sophie went with it. "In women."
Tennyson averted his eyes, pensive. "Hmm. Are you old enough to get the unfiltered version?" He was taking to teasing again.
Sophie sorta liked it. "Don’t be a douche," she laughed.
"Fair enough." He let out a chuckle and thought about his answer some more. "In my opinion, beauty is passion. I'm addicted to my work, so I find it sexy when I see there's someone else who is completely consumed by what she's doing. And she's not doing it to please others. She's doing it because it's her passion."
Huh. Sophie pondered his response, having half-expected some crap about "beauty comes from within." Perhaps that was true, but she found it difficult to believe that wasn’t something women told themselves to feel better.
"You're so fucking dirty," she told Tennyson wryly. "Maybe I should've asked for the filtered version."
Tennyson smirked. "And maybe I withheld some things, after all."
She rolled her eyes but grinned. "Sure you did. Me and my innocent mind can't even imagine." She ignored his narrowed eyes and popped a cherry tomato into her mouth. "Shouldn’t we get going?" Checking her phone, she saw it was eight thirty, and they'd be getting their art supplies in half an hour.
She didn’t know the first thing about art, but she wasn’t worried. She could fake it until she made it, and she'd seen some fucked-up shit being auctioned off for charity in the past. Art could be anything, it seemed.
"I suppose you're right." Tennyson wrapped up his burger, perhaps to eat the rest on the way. "I'll go pay."
"Tennyson—" She spoke before she could think, placing a hand on his arm. She bit her lip, hesitating, and he looked back at her in question. "Um. Could you ask to get that in a to-go cup?" She pointed at the milk shake.
Tennyson waited, as if there was a punch line coming, but screw it. Sophie wanted at least a sip or two. And when Tennyson realized she was serious, he smiled. A lazy smile mixing with approval and surprise.
"You got it, princess."
Chapter 7
When they arrived at the art café, Tennyson noted there weren't any paparazzi lurking outside, but he could see a few people with cameras inside the café. He opened the door for Sophie, who—much to his delight, which he couldn’t quite understand—was still nursing the milk shake.
They hadn't spoken much in the car, but every time he'd heard the thick draw of the shake through the straw, he'd grinned to himself.
Tennyson was aware of Sophie's reputation with men, so the fact that she blushed because she was enjoying a damn milk shake was…endearing.
"I think I'm high on sugar," she whispered conspiratorially as she passed him. "Don’t tell anyone. Oh God—" She pivoted and pushed the cup into his chest. "I can't be seen in public with this garbage."
Well. Rome wasn’t built in a day.
Tennyson's grin appeared again, and he threw away the milk shake in a trash can, then joined her side to greet the café owner and the spokesperson for the charity.
Art wasn’t his forte, nor was he particularly interested in it—unless it was film, of course—but Sophie seemed to know enough. He shook hands with the people in charge and glanced around the industrial interior of the café. Mismatched chairs and tables stood along the walls and windows, and the street-corner feel and graffiti art didn’t exactly impress him.
Sophie working a crowd did, though.
She knew when to tease, when to be serious, when to comment, and how to make those around her smile. The twenty-something people listened, recorded, and photographed her as the spokesperson asked about her view on animal rights and endangered species.
"Do you have any pets, Ms. Pierce?" the café owner asked with interest.
"Unfortunately not." Sophie smiled softly. "Hopefully someday."
Tennyson folded his arms over his chest and brought one hand up to pinch his lips together. He knew he was observing the young girl next to him much like art enthusiasts would study a painting, but it couldn’t be helped. He found himself intrigued by Sophie, especially with the changes that had been going on.
"If you ever wanted a pet, would you consider adopting?" the spokesperson asked Sophie.
"Oh, of course." Sophie said it like it was obvious. "I see no point in breeding for profit, and I'd rather give an abandoned dog the home he or she deserves."
She wasn’t stupid at all.
The people around her were pleased with her answer, and then it was Tennyson's turn for the spotlight when the spokesperson asked him about his brother's own foundation, Fight for Fighters.
Ever since Tennyson and Asher were young, their parents had provided shelter and food for homeless dogs, and Asher had taken it to the next level after college. He'd started Fight for Fighters to raise awareness and assist with adopting dogs that came from abusive owners or had been injured in illegal dog fights.
Tennyson had always enjoyed helping his brother, but it had been a few years now since he'd had the time. His last pup had been a pit bull that'd been blind, and she'd died of cancer two years ago.
I should make time…
He did miss companionship.
Once they'd covered the topic of animals, the spokesperson moved on to tonight's event. An assistant came out from the back of the café, and Tennyson and Sophie followed the guy into a studio-like area. The concrete floor wasn’t bad, but the blinding spotlights bouncing off the white-painted brick walls were pure agony.
He slid down his shades from the top of his head and cursed himself for not bringing painkillers. He'd need them soon enough, he was certain.
Sophie gave him a curious look before she followed the assistant to a large table full of art supplies.
"We will give you privacy to work
soon," the spokesperson explained, "but do you and Ms. Pierce have anything to share before we leave? Any glimpse of what you're going to create together?"
First of all, Tennyson didn’t know they'd be given privacy, and to learn they would was a relief. Second of all, no. It was laughable, but he didn’t have the faintest clue of what he and Sophie would do.
"I think we'll stick to saying it's gonna be wild," Sophie answered for him with a spark of mischief in her eyes.
Tennyson chuckled at her wit.
The spokesperson tittered a laugh, and the reporters took another few photos of Sophie and the art supplies behind her. After that, the café owner announced that everyone was welcome to refreshments in the café while they waited for Tennyson and Sophie.
Two hours—that was how long they had—to create an art piece that would be sold at the fancy auction this fall.
Soon, it was only Tennyson and Sophie in the room. The assistant slid a door shut, and Tennyson let out a sigh.
"What the hell are we going to do?" he asked. "I don’t believe I've painted anything since I was advised to take an art class in college. Not even my mother would give me a raving review."
Sophie giggled and tapped her chin, turning to the table with all the supplies, and Tennyson joined her there. "Let's see. There is one thing we could do—if there's any paint that’s nontoxic." She began sifting through the bottles and tubes of paint. Acrylic, oil, water, and some Tennyson didn’t recognize. "I'm not much of an artist either, but this will be easy." Sophie sent him a lopsided grin. "As long as you're willing to get dirty."
He lifted a brow. "Should I be afraid?"
She laughed softly and shrugged. "No more than I should. My friends back home would be fucking appalled." Her mirth faded and she tried to shake it off. "I can't care about that," she whispered, seemingly to herself.
Tennyson's brows knitted together, and he was struck by the concern he had for Sophie. There were many things about her he didn’t understand, but he did know about peer pressure—especially for young people who were trying to fit in. Most people went through that at some point in their lives, and Sophie was doing it with paparazzi stalking her.