Page 22 of Come Apart
I raise a brow at that.
"And where was I in all this?"
"You were going to pick me up and take me far, far away. To somewhere with no TV."
I kneel next to the bed and take her hands. "Why? You worked so hard on that show. Aren't you proud of your accomplishment?"
Her eyes are on the bare, white wall. "It's too nerve-wracking. People are going to have opinions. I know it's cable, but I'm going to be recognizable soon." She shakes her head. "Let's talk about something else."
"Are you sure?"
Her brow furrows, her forehead scrunching. Somehow, she even makes stress look adorable.
"Positive." She squeezes my hands. "How was work?"
"You're telling me you want to talk about Ryan instead?" I ask incredulously.
She shrugs as if it's no big deal, though I know it's not true. It's far from ideal that I still work with her ex-fiancé. The subject change definitely has more to do with her aversion for talking about the premiere more than anything. "Sure."
I move closer, until her legs are at my hips and my head is at her chest. "Fine. Except for the part about Ryan being there."
She runs her hands through my hair. It's sweet and affectionate, the change of subject releasing a lot of her stress. "Why don't you sell?"
Tension knots my shoulders. "I have a dozen clients in some stage of a divorce. If I leave them, Ryan will botch their settlements."
She brings her hands to my shoulders, frowning. "Can't you sell then finish up with your clients?" "He won't accept anything other than my immediate resignation." I look at Alyssa, into her clear, blue eyes. Some of my tension eases. "This is how he gets his revenge. The fucker."
She arches a brow.
"You did steal his girl."
"Please. You wanted to be stolen."
And I don't regret taking her up on it.
"I wanted to be with you." She runs her hands over my suit jacket. "You were working late." She's concerned.
But Alyssa doesn't need to worry about me. I can handle it.
"How about we don't talk about work at all?" I suggest. Feels like we're just going from one hard topic to another in that lane.
She nods, dragging her fingertips across my cheek. They stop at my lips. "I have to ask you something."
"Shoot."
She bites her lip.
She's even more nervous about this than she was about the party.
"It's not a big deal."
"Nothing is a big deal to you. You have no awareness of what is or isn't a big deal," I tease.
Her smile is brief, but genuine.
"This isn't a big deal."
"Alright. What is it?"
