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Hard to Hold (The Hold series Book 2)

Page 25

by Arell Rivers


  When the PSA concludes, Jon is the first to speak. “Well done, Cole.”

  In a husky voice, he replies, “Thanks, man.”

  Kim chimes in, “Your fans will love seeing you with your mother.”

  After an awkward pause, Russell says, “How are you feeling, champ? Ready to rock entertainment news?”

  Clearing his throat, Cole replies, “Yeah. Rose prepared me yesterday. I’m ready.” He grins at me and my lower half responds. His grin widens because he knows exactly how he affects me.

  “The small screen is going to love you,” Kim gushes. Cole’s smile slides away.

  After a discussion about the prep work for his world tour starting in November, Greta says, “Cole, I think we should get you over to the studio for your first interview. You do have two changes of clothes, right?” Cole nods. “Good. Jon, Russell, are you coming with us?”

  “I am, but Jon can’t make it. I promise to tell you all the sordid details.” Russell elbows Jon as he stands. Meeting adjourned.

  Cole and Russell have their own limo, so I trudge back down to the parking garage in my sensible two-inch heels, juggling my paperwork and laptop. Greta and Kim strut ahead of me in shoes twice as high as mine, hands free. No, thanks, no help needed here. From the sidelines, Jared sees me struggling and winks at me, honoring the instructions I gave him this morning. His silent support gives me some degree of comfort. The two ahead of me don’t even notice him.

  “Kim, while I appreciated your comments back there, it’s best if you let me do the talking during these meetings from now on. If you think I’ve missed something, please pass me a note.”

  “Sure thing, Greta.”

  From now on? Is Kim a permanent fixture on Cole’s team? Am I? Probation sucks.

  AFTER ARRIVING at the set of Let’s Dish, I go off in search of the production team while Kim is assigned to be with Cole for hair and makeup. I hope she doesn’t get on his nerves too much. Greta disappears with Russell, presumably to talk with the show’s executives.

  As this is Cole’s best friend Dan’s network, perhaps he’ll stop by during the interview. If he does, I’ll have to pretend we don’t know each other. I hate all this deception, but it’s the only way I can keep both my job and my love . . . I hope.

  I meet with the producer I spoke with on the phone earlier this week, and we review the planned interview. She takes down my comments on the interviewer’s sheet, then directs me to the Green Room before heading off in the other direction.

  The designated room is empty, so I take a bottle of water and sit on the sofa to review my notes while I wait for Cole.

  “Kim, don’t touch my hair. It’s fine.”

  I stifle a giggle as Cole and Kim enter the Green Room. Cole gives me a dirty look.

  Taking pity on my man, I say, “You’re going to be interviewed by Stacey Hill She’s going to hit all the highlights about Starr and focus on ‘No One to Hold,’ just like we prepped yesterday.”

  “Okay, thanks.” He plops down next to me. I scoot to the right so that our legs aren’t touching. Kim sits in a chair across from us.

  “Your hair looks good, by the way.” I give him an innocent smile.

  More than just his hair looks good. He’s wearing black pants and a white button down, opened at the collar, which emphasizes his muscles and tan. Damn.

  Kim opens her mouth, but her undoubtedly insightful comment is thwarted when the producer walks into the room. “Stacey is ready for you. All set?”

  Cole stands and nods at the woman, who tries to hide her obvious appreciation of his physique. At least she tried.

  Putting on a suit jacket, Cole motions for the dazzled producer to go first, followed by Kim. As I go to pass, he grabs my wrist. I stop, and he winds his arms around me. “I couldn’t do this without you by my side, Ro,” he says into my ear.

  “You’ll be great. I’m here for you. Always.”

  He releases me and swats my backside, causing me to skip a step. My Tarzan.

  Without looking back at him, I catch my balance and walk briskly toward the other two women so they don’t realize I was detained. The four of us join Greta and Russell at the doorway to a small studio. Waiting inside is Stacey, the interviewer, perfectly groomed in a gorgeous dark blue wrap dress.

  Stacey extends her hand, saying, “Cole, it’s a pleasure to see you again.”

  “Hi, Stacey.” Cole takes her hand and then leans in and kisses her on the cheek, causing my insides to tighten. I need to get a grip. I didn’t even realize I was the jealous type, but Cole has brought out plenty of new sides in me.

  Once introductions are completed, we all file into the studio. This time, I’m at the back of the pack, behind Cole. I pinch his tight butt as I walk past him toward one of the folding chairs lining the wall. He offers me a surprised smirk that makes me feel like I won the lottery. It’s nice to get one up on him at last.

  The studio has two director’s chairs in the center of the room, in front of which Stacey and Cole have stopped. Cameras and lights are placed strategically around, with crew members at the ready.

  Stacey clears her throat and Cole turns to her, that smirk still plastered on his face. Her cheeks pinken. Yeah, I get it.

  “So, uhm, Cole”—she clears her throat—“I’m just going to ask these questions that your team approved,” she holds up the sheet I had discussed with the producer. Greta asks to see the paperwork and shares it with Russell. They both nod and Greta returns the paper to Stacey. Whew.

  His cheek twitching, Cole asks, “Can I see that?”

  I don’t think he should because he’ll sound too rehearsed. I look over at Greta who is checking her phone. Without checking with our boss, Kim shrugs and replies, “Sure.”

  “No, wait.” I say, causing Stacey to hold the paper in mid-air. “Cole, we want this interview to sound natural. You don’t need to know the exact questions. You’ve got this.”

  Anxious green eyes find mine.

  I nod slowly. “You’ll be great.”

  Greta motions for Stacey to keep the sheet. Kim huffs. Cole inclines his head in my direction and says, “Let’s get this show on the road, then.”

  Cole and Stacey take their seats. Sound checks and adjustments to the lighting are performed, and then Stacey jumps right into the interview. My heart rate increases as I sit on the corner of my hard seat, sending positive vibes to my boyfriend. I may be more nervous than he is. I glance over at Greta, who’s watching me intently, so I sit back and compose myself, professional mask firmly in place.

  Cole does better than I had hoped. He’s usually comfortable during interviews, but this one is so much more personal than most. Plus, he hasn’t done any interviews since before Julie passed.

  Stacey flirts with Cole for the camera. Either he doesn’t notice or chooses not to acknowledge it. His demeanor remains perfect. She doesn’t ask him any underhanded questions and the taping wraps after about an hour.

  “I can’t believe you’ve been dealing with this crazy woman for months now, Cole,” Stacey says after the cameras have stopped rolling.

  “It’s been”—Cole pauses—“challenging.”

  Placing my left hand over my right to stifle the movement of each finger to my thumb, I sigh. All the warnings I give him this morning about how microphones never stop recording were clearly taken to heart. I can only imagine what Cole really wanted to say.

  “We’ll edit this today, so it will be all ready to roll in tomorrow’s Let’s Dish,” the producer says to no one in particular. As per protocol, the show—plus all the other entertainment news—will send reporters to the courthouse to confirm that no paperwork was filed. Then Stacy’s interview, and the one for In the Know, which we’ll tape in a couple of hours, will take over the airwaves. Jeremy’s print article will hit then, too. Our social media posts will help round out our blitz.

  Russell, who’s been checking his watch every ten minutes, says, “Sounds good. Thanks, ladies.” He looks at Greta and
continues, “Sorry, Greta, but I’m going to have to run to another appointment. I’ll meet you at the next studio.” He rushes out of the room.

  “I heard you were in the building.” The voice is immediately familiar.

  “Dan,” Cole exclaims, handing the mic to Stacey and striding over to his best friend. While they talk, I gather my things, head down. No need to draw attention to myself. I join the line of people filing past the two of them.

  “Rose,” Cole says when I’m one step away from my escape.

  Halting, I hold my breath and turn to look at him. It seems like the rest of our entourage is watching our every move as he strips off his jacket and hands it to me.

  “Can you take this for me? Dan and I want to grab a bite to eat.”

  On autopilot, I extend my arm and Cole drapes his jacket over it, accompanied by a wicked smirk. He knows exactly what he’s doing. Conceited rock star, huh? You’re going to pay for this, mister.

  Kim chirps, “Why don’t you two join us for lunch?”

  “Thanks, but I need to fill Dan in on some personal stuff. I’ll meet up with you for the next interview.”

  Greta cuts off whatever Kim was going to say next. “Your limo will leave in an hour for the next taping. Call if you have any problems.”

  “Always do.”

  Cole strolls past us, rolling his sleeves up. Dan gives me a nearly imperceptible shrug and follows his arrogant friend.

  Thursday evening

  “AT LEAST YOU got to hold his jacket,” Kim says, washing her hands. “Too bad he asked for it back. You could have slept in it.”

  If she only knew. Tearing off a towel, I bite my tongue and reply, “I just responded to what our talent needed.”

  “Ever so helpful, huh, Rosie? I know that he really appreciated all my help today. I wasn’t a coat rack.”

  I can’t get into it with her. What would be the point? Tossing the used towel into the garbage bin, I walk out of the ladies’ room to the sound of Kim’s mocking laughter. Bitch.

  The prom photo greets me when I step into my office, taunting me. I’m intent on face-planting the frame onto the credenza when Greta says from behind me, “Cole did well today.”

  Turning toward my office door, I school my features and reply, “I agree.”

  Greta’s gaze bypasses my shoulder. “Is that Marco?”

  Clearing my throat, I reply, “Yes. From our high school prom.”

  She perches on the corner of my desk. “He’s keen on expanding his business out here.”

  My conversation with Mom pops into my head. As far as Greta knows, he’s my boyfriend, so I guess I should support him. “His company does good work.” Maybe I should embellish. “I’m very proud of his accomplishments. He’s self-made, like you.” Hopefully, this comment will earn me some much needed brownie points.

  Greta pulls her teeth back into a feral smile. “Special breed. The stars hit the catwalk, while others are left holding their clothes.”

  Her eyebrow raises. Greta’s not-so-subtle innuendo hits its mark. Despite Cole’s protests to the contrary, I’m not convinced I have what it takes to run my own business. Greta has always implied that I don’t, and she’s the one who would know. Isn’t she?

  A little voice in my head, which sounds a lot like Cole, protests, She’s threatened by you.

  Kim enters my office, breaking the tension. Or, at least, displacing it. “I’ll see you tomorrow, Greta. Big day.”

  Standing, Greta says, “Great job today, Kim. Assuming Cole listens to us and stays out of the spotlight tonight, everything should go fine.”

  Kim responds, “I’m sure Rose will let us know if he ventures outside.” The two snicker and leave me alone.

  Collapsing into my chair, I replay today’s events. Cole’s interviews were right on target. I power up my computer and respond to emails from the producers for both shows, as well as Jeremy Davis. I also answer some final questions from the Evening with Eddie producer for tomorrow’s show. Everything’s on track. With any luck, tomorrow will be the first day of the rest of my career.

  Or my life.

  I NEED TO make Cole pay for his jacket stunt today. He can make me dinner. And not just heat up something from his personal chef. Plus, my plan will keep him off the streets tonight.

  I gather my papers and laptop and text Jared to let him know that I’m ready to go. And that we’ll need to make a detour to the grocery store before going home.

  I meet Jared in the hallway. “Hi. Sorry about the additional stop tonight.”

  “No big deal. I’ll go in with you.”

  As we walk to our cars, I text Cole: You’re making us dinner tonight. I’m stopping at the grocery store.

  Cole immediately responds: No! It’s too dangerous. Come home to me.

  While I appreciate his concern, I need to do this normal everyday thing. For me. I’ll be fine. Jared’s with me.

  I drop my cell into my purse and drive to my place. All this subterfuge is a pain in the butt. I park in my garage, then pick up my mail and climb into Jared’s car. My phone is pinging the entire time, and en route to the grocery store, I check my missed texts. All from Cole.

  I wouldn’t go out in public if I were you.

  Why did I fall in love with such a stubborn woman?

  I’ll make you pay for this stunt. You’re going to BEG me for a Colegasm.

  Laughter bubbles up as heat rises up my neck. Jared slants me a sideways look and continues driving, albeit with a grin.

  I read the text again. Damn that man. I can’t even muster the strength to stay mad at him. After several tries, I settle on texting him, Think pretty highly of yourself, huh?

  Cole’s response is immediate: I have you to whip me in shape. Whips, mmmm

  Snorting, I sort through my mail which, thankfully, is just junk.

  A new text arrives. Speaking of whips, how about picking up some whipped cream? ☺ Shaking my head, I ignore him.

  Jared finds an empty spot quite far from the entrance to the grocery store. Side-by-side, we walk up the row of vehicles and into the store. I pick up a basket, which he tries to take from me, but I refuse. This small thing, I can do.

  Walking down the dairy aisle, I pick up whipping cream. I hope my cheeks aren’t too pink as I place it in the basket.

  The ping of a new text makes me jump. Since you’re there, pick up Manchego cheese, avocado and chorizo. I’ll make you an unforgettable meal. No clothes allowed.

  Shaking my head, I pick up a nice wedge of cheese, then make my way to the avocado display.

  Cole’s next text makes me blush. Get 2 avocados, please. And make sure they’re plump and ripe. Give them a squeeze.

  My eyes dart from left to right. Jared isn’t looking at me. No one knows what Cole’s texting me. Rather, sexting me. Inhaling a shaky breath, I put two avocados into the basket.

  On the other hand, the chorizo should be long and hard.

  Hand over my mouth, I try to appear like a normal shopper as I make my way to the cured meat aisle, Jared in tow. I fling a package of chorizo into the basket.

  Before Cole can text again, I squeak, “Okay. Ready to check out.”

  Jared raises an amused eyebrow but silently follows me toward the check-out. A copy of The Gossip is opened to Starr’s spread, as if someone had been reading it. The picture of Cole and his “wife” with champagne flutes is front and center. Jared reaches around me, closes the rag and hides it behind an old magazine.

  It’s in the parking lot that my normal moment is shattered. Three reporters rush us, camera bulbs flashing, and Jared grabs my arm. Panicked, I don’t know where to look. I focus on the pavement and stay behind my bodyguard as we make our way toward the car, trying not to give the paps a shot. I’ve dealt with them for so long, but never as their target.

  “Are you Cole Manchester’s real girlfriend?”

  “What does Emilie think about your relationship?”

  “Is Greta VonStein the ‘old model’ Starr t
alks about?”

  Feeling the noose of probation tightening around my neck, I take a deep breath and say, “Of course I’m not in a relationship with Mr. Manchester, I’m his PR account rep. He is living with Emilie Dubois. And Greta VonStein is the absolute best publicist in the industry.”

  I step toward the open car door and stop.

  Closing my eyes, I continue, “I’m not seeing anyone special.”

  Friday morning

  GINGERLY, I TAKE my seat at the week’s pre-weekend team meeting. Cole definitely did not like my brilliant idea of telling the world that I’m not seeing anyone “special.”

  Shari sits next to me and whispers, “I saw what the media did to you last night. I can’t believe they cornered you.”

  “It was awful,” I whisper back.

  “I think you did a good job. Don’t worry. Some new scandal will happen next week. This will be old news.”

  “I hope so.”

  Kim and Melanie sit down across from us. They talk between themselves, glancing at me every so often and rolling their eyes. Greta enters the conference room and runs through all of the account managers at the table, barking rapid-fire orders and dismissing them until it’s just Kim and me left.

  “I saw you had a run-in with the press last night, Rose.”

  I incline my head. My heart is racing so fast it could win the Triple Crown.

  “Publicists are not the story. Ever.”

  I stare at my pen bouncing on my notepad.

  Her stilettos pierce the floor as she stalks toward me. She leans down, putting her face even with mine. Do not show any weakness. I hold her stare. In a low voice, she says, “You answered the questions well. Almost too well. Remember, my reach is long and deep.”

  We continue to stare at each other. Breathe, in and out. So many thoughts go rushing through my mind: She is intimidated. But you need this job. She can blackball you in the industry. Breathe, in and out.

 

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