Page 25 of Steamy on Set

I knew this would eventually come up when I clocked her watching me turn him down. A breath pushes past my lips, this topic sitting heavy in my chest.

“I’m just not ready.” While my relationship may have only been a year old, the feelings were built up over a lot longer. Letting that go and walking into someone else isn’t going to be easy, and it certainly isn’t going to happen over a few cocktails.

“Even for a fling?” She looks at me, her eyes suggesting all the options Josh could offer.

My legs twitch with the urge to be thrown over my head, but still the idea seems like too much of a commitment.

“Even that.”

“What do you think it will take for you to get over Christian?”

I shrug, not exactly sure of the answer. Hopefully, time will heal the rest of these lingering pains, and I’ll eventually be able to openly love someone else again. Right now, the only thing I think is they will betray me like he did, and that doesn’t seem fair to assume.

We stay for a couple more hours, bemoaning about the terribleness that is dating men, then we head back to the house. Once there, the length of the day has me feeling overwhelmedand exhausted. With Christian on my mind, and Errol never having left it, I’m stuck in a state of anger and sadness. All it took was one conversation from both of them. Had Errol just come and asked me about the changes, he could have found out the truth without yelling and making a scene. If Christian would just talk to me, I’d finally let him go and move on. Why do men suck at communication?

Falling into my leftover pizza from the bar, I eat away my frustration until I’m full and content. That is before I remember that in one more day I’ll have to come face to face with Errol and deal with everything. For now, I try to push it to the back of my mind.

Chapter 10

Walkingontothelot,thoughts weigh heavy on my mind, waiting to be acknowledged. Everyone I pass seems to be thinking the same thing as they throw me looks. I try to ignore it all and focus on getting through the day, but fate seems determined not to let me.

Entering the wardrobe room, I find Errol sitting in my chair with his ankles crossed. His eyes are unfocused as he stares off into space, giving me a minute to study him. With his hands knitted together in perfect unison with his eyebrows, that full mouth of his is tilted downward, his square jaw flexing with the tension he’s holding on to. His locs are free, framing hisneck and falling on to shoulders that are rigid and stiff. Sitting solemnly still with a heavy unease, he looks as bothered as me.

I expect to feel resentment when I look at him. Instead, pure exhaustion flows through my body as I get ready for a continuation of that night.

Clearing my throat to get his attention, I come in all the way and close the door behind me. As his eyes raise to meet mine, I look for the anger that was there just a few days ago. I don’t know what to do when I’m met with nothing but sorrow.

“Can we talk?” he asks, pointing to the chair across from him. He waits patiently while I move to sit. Not quite smiling, his expression eases into one of calm while he looks me over.

“If this is about the other night—”

“It is,” he cuts me off. Squaring my shoulders and straightening my spine against the chair, I put on my armor of a steely expression and gesture for him to continue.

“I have to apologize to you.”

His words knock the grimace off my face. Unsure of the sincerity, I wait for the other shoe to drop.

“The way I handled that whole situation was out of line and hostile. I shouldn’t have ever said what I said to you, and I’m truly sorry.”

“You’re sorry?” I ask, seeing if he is going to take it back.

“I’m very sorry. More than I can possibly express in words alone, which is why I brought you this.” Leaning down, he pulls up a box that I didn’t notice until now.

Reaching across the space to take it from him, I flip it over to read the label.

It’s Dior, and based on the shape of the box, it’s either shoes or a really nice purse. I open it and see it’s the latter. A small handheld with pink knitted leather and gold accents. Dangling from one of the strap hoops are my initials. It’s exactly something I would choose for myself, only adding tothe thoughtfulness of it. The expensive gift warms my cold indifference enough that I open up to hear him out.

“Thank you.” I put it down next to me, my hands reluctantly letting it go.

“I don’t know what came over me. I’m not usually like this, but you—” He stops, rubbing his hands up and down his face.

“I what?”

“You didn’t deserve that.” I have a sinking feeling that’s not what he was going to say, but I let it go, not willing to reignite our beef by hearing what I do to him.

“About the script—” he starts.

“I didn’t make the change.” Determined to clear my name, my voice is surer than it was that night.

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