Page 72 of Mister Mom

“You guys moved fast, huh?”

I thought he said he was just happy for me? Noticing my confused expression, he quickly raises his hands.

“I’m not saying it’s bad, I’m just curious how you guys started going Mach nine.”

I sip my water and focus on the sound of the ice jiggling in the glass for a moment. “I’m not sure either. One minute I just wanted to kiss her and the next thing I know I want to spend every second with her.”

He nods like he understands what I’m saying. “I wish you guys luck. What’s up with the ex? Carver Sterling, right?”

I shake my head. Asshole. “Not much. I guess he’s filming, but he’s called a total of two times since I’ve been around.”

“He has to know you’re in the picture, what with the photos of you surfacing.”

Technically, no paps have been able to see my face yet. But it sucks sneaking through back doors and taking Ubers and taxis all the time. Not to mention, we can’t go anywhere public.

“I’ve been able to dodge them, but after I meet the investor and charm her to love me, I’m telling Layla. I gave Jagger my word that I’d wait until after this meeting and after everything he’s done for me I don’t want to screw him over. But I can’t keep the secret anymore. I need it over and done with so we can move forward.”

“I’m sure she’s not going to care. I mean, it’s one part. She’ll know what you guys have.”

I sip my drink. I pray he’s right because the guilt gnaws at me.

“Enough about me though. I wanna know why you’re not dating anyone.” I push my own issues away because there’s not much more to be done at this point except get this meeting with the investor over and done with and then man up and tell Layla. The more I think about it, the more I just want to shoot her a text, but that’s not the right way to tell her.

Leo presses his lips together for a second before answering. “I hate the L.A. dating scene. Everyone wants to be something they’re not, there’s zero loyalty, and most women here are so wrapped up in what they look like, they don’t bother looking past the surface to work on what’s inside. Besides, actresses are a handful and after that clinger Yvette I decided to concentrate on the business for a while.”

“You’re happy though?” I ask, because I’m a firm believer friends don’t ask friends enough. Especially guys. Hell, I barely asked my best buddy from high school if he was all right after he lost his wife once the funeral had passed. I tried to be there for him, but I didn’t ask how he was feeling about the situation. It was obvious.

“Yeah, but thanks for asking.” Now it’s him picking at his beer bottle. “It’s not why I came to L.A., but it’s made me a good amount of money and there’s a future there, so how can I really complain?”

“You could still try to make it as an actor.”

He stares over at me, his blue eyes holding just a note of disappointment. “I know.”

I let the conversation stall and eventually the two of us rest our heads on the back of the seats. If only I could get rid of this cagey feeling I have just under the surface. Everything is going great. We’re on the way to Chicago to meet the investor and check out locations. Layla is done filming, spending time with the kids at home. All the boxes are checked. So why can’t I help but feel like it’s all about to come crashing down?

* * *

“Make sure you smile. You’ve got that resting bitch face thing going on when you aren’t smiling.” Jagger fixes my perfectly knotted tie—again—and then brushes his hands down my arms.

“I’m not five, asshole. Besides, I don’t think resting bitch face is even a thing for men.” I push him away from me.

He gives me a quick once-over. “I beg to differ.” We both step into the elevator. “You’re practically a baby in this industry.”

“I was a producer for more than eight years. I know this industry, jackass.” The elevator doors open and I file out before him.

His shoes click on the floor beside me as we make our way to the restaurant. His body language screams poise, confidence and privilege and I’m hoping mine does as well. I’m about to throw up, but I’d never tell him.

We walk to the restaurant of the hotel where Hannah wanted to meet us and Jagger takes the lead with the hostess.

A second later, Jagger’s gaze is homed in on the ass of the cute hostess while we follow behind. My nerves are shot, my anxiety starting to make sweat form under the collar of my shirt. I plaster on a smile so wide, my cheeks fucking hurt.

Damn it. Calm down. You got this.

Her only stipulation was Layla, who we have.

The little devil on my right shoulder reminds me that I only have her until I tell what I did, but I can’t pay any attention to that evil voice because the hostess extends her hand. Jagger approaches and there she is.

This woman is a few years older than me. She’s dressed in a revealing red dress that dips down between her breasts. She’s definitely someone I can see tests Jagger’s ‘no sleeping with clients’ rule. Technically, she’s not a client, but he does have to work with her.

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