Total pages in book: 56
Estimated words: 53725 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 269(@200wpm)___ 215(@250wpm)___ 179(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 53725 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 269(@200wpm)___ 215(@250wpm)___ 179(@300wpm)
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Alana
We pause at my dressing room door, and I say, “I’ll be right back.” I don’t wait for his confirmation, which is my first mistake with Damion. If my mom told him to wait to eat the cookies until they cooled, he snuck one while it was hot, and ended up with chocolate all over his face and my pissed off mother, but he got what he wanted.
I step into my private space, grab my purse, and take a tiny break to remind myself to tread carefully with Damion. Me and him never end well for me. My moment is cut short with a tingle on my neck, an awareness that is all too familiar. I know Damion is in the room before I ever turn around to find him standing just inside the doorway, inspecting the room.
I’m back to boundaries and rules. We need them, but we don’t have them.
And I feel that to my soul right now, considering the room is small, and everything about him is bigger than life. I’m literally suffocated in this man.
“It’s probably not a good idea that you be in here,” I say. “People will decide—”
“We’re engaged?” he supplies.
“I told you—”
“You’re worried people will think you slept your way to the top.” He closes the space between me and him and stops in front of me, so near, that this new, more manly and earthy scent of him teases my nostrils, and my heart is now thumping a rock tune against my breastbone. “The only people who are going to say anything of the sort,” he continues, “are jealous of you.”
“No one is jealous of me.”
“It’s a big thing, Alana, being on TV, and the star of a show. You know that, right?”
“Maybe. I don’t know. It hasn’t fully sunk in, I guess.”
“Then I say we try and fix that. Tonight is about you. We’ll celebrate your show.”
“I thought we were talking about a favor?” I dare to challenge.
“I told you, no pressure. If you don’t want to do it, I’ll accept that answer.”
And then he’ll find someone else, I think, which I should encourage.
But I don’t.
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Alana
We manage to leave my dressing room without even a single touch or physical connection, which works in my favor. My head is on straight with all things Damion until he touches me. That’s when it all goes south. That’s when I forget who his father is, and what the West family has done to my family and all the implications with those things. Therefore, the favor I plan to do for myself is to stay hands-off with Damion, and talk frankly with him about what happened with his father.
Then we’ll see about a favor for him.
And only then.
It’s a plan that sounds strong but flies right out the door when we exit the studio. Something unexpected happens. We’re swarmed by reporters. Cameras flash, and microphones are shoved at him and me. Damion wraps his arm around me and several men that seem to work for him block for us. Another man, who looks incredibly familiar, opens the rear door of a sedan for us, and Damion ushers me inside the vehicle. He follows and joins me, and we’re sealed inside.
I rotate to look out the rear window and Damion does the same. We all but collide and Damion catches my arm, holding onto me. For a moment we just sit there, staring at each other, and I have this sense that he might kiss me and I might let him do it. I pull away, and swallow hard. “What was that?”
“You’re a star, baby,” he says. “Get used to it.”
“It’s a real estate show,” I argue, jumping when the driver slides inside the vehicle and quickly pulls us away for the curb. Despite the hellish New York City traffic, we’re on the road and moving in a few blinks. “I can’t believe that just happened.” I eye Damion. “It must be you. You’re the future of the West Empire and now you’re taking a stateside role.”
“That wasn’t about me, Alana. It’s about you. Your new promo for the episode just came out. I saw it in studio. It was playing on a television. It was the best you’ve been on the show so far.”
None of this adds up to me. “This isn’t the first promo. There have been plenty of others.”
“They add up, along with the buzz for the show.”
My fingers curl on my legs. “I don’t know how I feel about this,” I murmur, worried now for reasons that have nothing to do with me. Okay, they do. Sort of. What if all of these reporters start digging into my life? What if they discover my father’s gambling addiction? It would destroy our business. It might even destroy the TV show.
I consider asking Damion to take me home, but he won’t let me cut and run without explaining myself. He’ll insist on walking me to my door and coming inside. I’m going to dinner with Damion.