Total pages in book: 244
Estimated words: 236705 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 1184(@200wpm)___ 947(@250wpm)___ 789(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 236705 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 1184(@200wpm)___ 947(@250wpm)___ 789(@300wpm)
I seethe. This again? “Because—”
“William isn’t the reason I needed a fake boyfriend,” Jude cuts in, using a voice I’ve never heard from him before. It says don’t fuck with me, and it’s seriously hot.
Slade’s taken aback. “Excuse me?”
“The press is the reason. William is a friend, our friend, and I’m not going to explain that again. And I’m not going to apologize for that photo with William. We took it and posted it and we’re good with it.” Jude smiles without showing teeth then gestures to me. “Now if you’d still like that picture of TJ and me, we’ll go make a big show of our farewell and what have you. But our friendship with William is officially off-limits.”
“Whoa,” Slade says, his mouth opening and closing like a fish.
The intensity in Jude revs my engine. I want to slow clap and shove him up against the wall. “You could totally play the HMFIC,” I whisper.
“And you’d love it,” he whispers back. Yup. I do enjoy Bossy Jude.
But there’s no time to savor that victory. As we walk to the elevator, Slade quickly recovers, reviewing Jude’s agenda in Paris and London, letting him know he’ll be traveling with him.
Poor Jude.
Slade also briefs us on the staged photo-op coming our way in less than five minutes. “There will be lots of press downstairs right now. I tipped off the usuals—Piper, Desmond, and plenty of others. So, expect them and their questions. Just smile and wave, though.”
“We’ll behave,” Jude says.
Once we’re downstairs, Slade marches us through the lobby and then whispers showtime when we reach the main doors. He slinks off.
Jude and I step outside into the portico. The driver of a sleek, waiting limo scurries around for my bag.
Reporters and photographers close in, cameras slung around necks. Piper and Desmond. Some others I don’t recognize. The honey badger didn’t show. But then, she’s never popped up at staged events. She gets all the dirt in other ways.
I shove her out of my mind as Piper calls out: “Jude and TJ, how was your time in Vegas?”
Desmond, I think, is next. “TJ, how do you feel about the Top-Notch news?”
An American dude barks at Jude: “Word on the street is you and Ellie will have the centerpiece love story on Unfinished Business. Can you comment?”
“What did you think of William’s surprise appearance?” Piper adds.
Another American voice chimes in. “Did the three of you have a good time last night?”
The barrage of questions is suffocating, but I have to get used to it. I follow orders and draw Jude close for an embrace. Our kiss is quick and poignant and ends too soon. I reach for the door handle, a nagging voice in my head reminding me to finish the question.
Fuck perfect moments.
Grabbing his hand, I pull Jude into the back of the car and slam the door. We’re all alone.
“Are you stealing me away?” Jude asks like nothing would make him happier.
“I want to,” I say, taking hold of his face. The clock is ticking. Slade is waiting. My flight is probably boarding in minutes. My stomach cartwheels, but I don’t waste any more time. “Will you be my boyfriend? For real?”
The question is ten months overdue.
Hell, it’s eight years in the making.
“Yes,” he says, and tingles rush down my chest. “But I have to tell you something.”
Whatever he has to say, I want to hear it. “What is it?”
“I feel like I already am,” he says, and then he kisses me like we could spend all day in bed wrapped up in each other.
It’s not a bad idea, but my agent will kill me if I miss my flight.
Jude lets go, then points to the tinted window. “When they want to know what you asked me, I’m going to say you wanted to know if we could get a cat.”
I crack up. “We can get a cat.”
With a tender kiss on my cheek, he pushes open the door and leaves.
I watch him walk through the crowd until the car pulls away. I try not to miss him, but this weekend feels like a distant memory far too soon.
31
A PIG AT MARKET
Jude
On Wednesday night, I’m in a tux, holding a martini, and I’m acting. Acting like I’m not counting down the seconds until I can escape from The Ritz Carlton on Place Vendôme.
The ballroom is a who’s who of the awards circuit. Over by the stage is Sebastian Lowe, nommed for his devastating turn as a drug lord suffering from panic attacks. By the swan ice sculpture stands an elegant Carrie Winslow, who sharply played a suburban wife tempted by a lurid affair. I’m dying to tell them both how much I adore their work. I’ve devoured all of Sebastian’s films and obsessed over Carrie’s character work.
But I’m handcuffed, here in the corner of the glittering room. Slade taps his chin, quietly debating who to introduce me to next.