Page 32 of Play the Part

I find Gael standing near the box office, holding a giant bouquet of roses.

Oh jeez.

Gael and I have been casually hooking up over the holidays, but nothing about our situation should have warranted him showing up like this on my first day at the Remington—withflowersno less.

I barely remember even telling him about it.

To my dismay, some of the renovation crew is also in the lobby fixing some lights and signage, Huxley included. I want to crawl into a hole and die.

“Gael,” I squeak, walking up to him. “What are you doing here?” My tone is friendly, but inside, I’m peeved at his presence here.

“I thought I’d come by and congratulate you on your first day,” he answers, beaming and clearly unaware of how weird it is for him to be here in the first place.

“Oh, well, uh — thank you,” I say, awkwardly taking the roses from him while dodging his kiss.

Gael’s back is to Huxley, who’s up on a ladder near the front doors. Unfortunately, he has a front-row seat to our interaction, and I can feel Huxley staring at me without having to even look.

“I’m really busy today, though,” I mutter with a thin-lipped smile, taking a step back while clutching the bouquet. “I need to go back to the office.”

Gael smiles back, still not picking up on my body language.

Ignorance is bliss, I guess. Must be nice.

“No problem,” he says with a wink as he slips his headphones on his head. “I was heading to the gym anyway.” He bumps my chin with his fingers and winks. “Talk to you later, babe.”

Oh my god, kill me.

I nod and smile, mentally pushing him outside the theatre myself. I watch the door close before I start back to life and bolt backstage, ignoring Huxley’s prying eyes.

I’ve made it to the corridor outside my office when I realize I hear footsteps behind me. I let out a small yip, my heart flying into my throat when a strong hand grabs me by the arm and swivels me around. I come face to face with icy green eyes, narrowed and prying.

“Huxley! The hell are you doing?”

His hard stare is startling, his full lips pressed together in what I can only guess is disdain. He stays silent for a few seconds, the tension palpable, then cocks his head to the side.

“What is this?” he asks flatly, plucking a petal from the bouquet, keeping it trapped between two fingers.

I step backwards, keeping my chin high.

Something about his attitude is pissing me off.

“None of your fucking business,” I reply, my tone dripping with annoyance.

I try to move away, but Huxley steps in front of me, not letting me pass.

I scoff. “Are you being serious right now? Are you trying to intimidate me or something?”

He chuckles wryly, his eyes so cold they burn. “Why so jumpy?”

He crowds me, and I take another step back, but I hit the wall behind me. The bouquet’s plastic wrapping crinkles between our bodies, and my heart rate doubles. I can’t tell what I’m feeling, all I know is that a confusing part of me is enjoying whatever is happening right now.

“Don’t tell me you’re dating that chump?” he says mockingly while plucking another petal from the bouquet, this time flicking it to the ground.

The need to rile him up gets the best of me. “If you call fucking,dating, then yes, I guess we are.”

I watch his jaw clench, my heart slamming in my chest, my back still pressed against the wall. His expression shutters, and I feel the energy suddenly shift between us.

His voice is a lot softer when he speaks again. “So any loser will do, right?” His words sting, but his next sentence hurts even worse. “You fuckedme, so I guess that checks out.”

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