Total pages in book: 58
Estimated words: 53466 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 267(@200wpm)___ 214(@250wpm)___ 178(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 53466 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 267(@200wpm)___ 214(@250wpm)___ 178(@300wpm)
“Summer!”
“Anna!” I straighten and force myself away from Ben and face my agent. “I didn’t realize you’d be here.”
“I wanted to support you! What happened?” she asks, concerned.
“Yes, what happened?” Michael walks up beside her, joining our small group.
Ben straightens his shoulders and takes a step back, letting me focus on my professional life. But a glance at his steely gaze and my stomach churns uncomfortably at the cool look in his eyes, telling me in no uncertain terms that he regrets that lapse in his precious self-control.
I frown before turning to my agent, who I know expects an explanation. “The earpiece went dead. I had no choice but to improvise.”
A flash of distress crosses Anna’s face. “But you stepped up and did great! Everyone’s talking about how you pulled out a win. Congratulations.” My agent touches my shoulder in support. “Isn’t she a star?” she says to Michael.
He smiles back, but as he is pulling for Tawny, his gaze is rather cool. Speaking of Tawny, she glares at me from her corner of the backstage area. No great job would be forthcoming from my rival.
“We are so sorry!” The producer of The Morning Show comes rushing over to me. “I don’t know what happened. The equipment worked fine for Tawny, but you were amazing. Social media is going crazy for your performance!” The woman smiles and rushes off to handle another crisis.
“Summer, I’ll talk to you later,” Anna says and heads away as well.
I turn to Ben, wanting to address the moment despite the fact that the adrenaline pressing at us has passed. He might regret what happened between us, but I don’t. Not at all.
“Can we go?” he asks, all business.
“Umm, sure.”
He grasps my elbow in a professional hold and leads me past the backstage crowds.
Gone is the hot-blooded man in whose arms I lost myself for a few glorious seconds, and back is the cool, calm, unaffected bodyguard. He is right by my side, but the distance he places between us might as well be miles. If I thought I broke through his reserve, I was sadly mistaken and am definitely disappointed.
* * *
Summer
Back at my apartment, I change into a pair of leggings and an oversized tee shirt and keep myself busy while waiting for Ivy, who is coming over in a little while to hang out. I spend time on the phone with Anna arranging voice-over work with companies who contacted my agent with interest, and putter around the apartment, watering my plants and straightening up. I deliberately ignore the man sitting on the sofa making himself at home.
If he acknowledged the kiss or discussed the intimate moment between us, then I’d be more willing to move forward like two adults. He has a job to do, to protect me, and I don’t want to make it more difficult. But the fact that he is deliberately pretending that the kiss didn’t happen pisses me off and hurts my feelings. I just haven’t decided how to handle him yet.
Instead of dealing with him, I head for the kitchen, take out two glasses, and pour myself some wine, setting one aside for Ivy. I settle into a chair at the kitchen table, scrolling through my laptop, checking my various social media sites for mentions of today’s performance.
A YouTube video has already gone viral, and a photo with contrasting shots of my panicked face when I realized the earpiece was dead and my triumphant hand pump at the end when I nailed my performance has hit the entertainment blogs. I’ve been hailed a success, but all in all, it was a long day.
A knock sounds at the door, and I jump up to let my friend in. Ben beats me to it, his big body blocking the entire entrance.
“Who’s there?” he asks in a rough voice.
“It’s my friend Ivy.” I try moving him over, but he is like a brick wall.
“Ivy Jameson,” a familiar female voice replies from the other side of the door.
“You see?”
Ben unlocks the door and opens it partway. “ID, please.”
“That’s ridiculous. I can vouch for her.” I grasp his forearm, shocked by the hard muscles I encounter and the jolt that goes through my system at the innocent touch.
He stiffens, obviously affected, too.
I pull my arm back and curl my fingers into a fist.
Ivy slips her license to Ben.
He studies it and hands it back. “And you’re alone?” he asks.
“Yes. One hundred percent I’m here by myself,” Ivy says.
Ben puts a hand on his weapon and waits as Ivy slips inside.
“Hi. Ivy Jameson. Best friend,” she says, extending her hand to Ben.
“Ben Hollander. Bodyguard.” He shakes her hand and glances at her with the passing interest of a man doing his job and studying the newest visitor. Not that of a man captivated by the woman in front of him, which is curious because with her blonde hair, light brown eyes, and slender figure, Ivy turns most men’s heads.