Page 21 of Beyond the Spotlight Discreet Version
Hot British Guy
Don’t forget. The car will be there at 3. The driver will help bring down your belongings
Me
I won’t forget. And I don’t need help. I got the bags up the stairs and inside the Airbnb all by myself. I’m perfectly capable of bringing them back down. Stop. Worrying.
Another eye roll emoji.
Hot British Guy
Just trying to help
It’s been like this all week. I’d respond to his text messages, adding silly emojis, and he’d send back the eye roll one. I tried sending a GIF once, and he reacted to it with a ‘thumbs down.’
Filming for Reynold’s new movie begins in a week, but he has a final table read scheduled for tomorrow morning. He also has fight training sessions and other movie-related errands to take care of. He has a busy week ahead, and he didn’t want to ask his house manager, Brenda, or Eloise and Kelly to watch Adeline. They’ve been helping him out enough.
He officially hired me after running the background check, which found all the arrests I informed him about. He’d called to tell me that his lawyers and public relations team didnotlike that I had a record. They urged him to find someone else, but he refused.
Since I start tomorrow, that means I’m moving in today. He wanted me to move in last week, but that was not happening. I needed to distance myself from the man after our tension packed ‘moments.’ I’m hoping with him being on set for hours upon end, we’ll rarely cross paths. It’s for the best because I just know I’m not strong enough to control myself around him.
Reynold also suggested I quit the French bistro job, and he’d cover whatever I would have made this past week. As tempting as that offer was, my pride wouldn’t allow it. I’m about to enter his rich world where he’s literally paying for everything, including my six-figure salary (I almost fainted when I read $150,000/year on the contract), my food, and my transportation. And apparently my freaking wardrobe. I needed this week to mentally prepare for all that.
Reynold is giving me this opportunity of a better life after years of struggle and it’s going to take some time to get used to. I’m also struggling to get used to the way he cares. I feel pampered. Spoiled. Never in my life has anyone treated me like he does. While I enjoy messing with him over the text messages, he’s doing everything in his power to make sure I’m comfortable in his home. A part of me feels it should be the other way around. But then I remember this man is rich as fuck, and he can afford to buy all these things.
After my thirty-minute break, I serve my last two tables. By two p.m., I’m walking out the door and hopping on the 1 train back to my Hamilton Heights rental. I packed everything up last night, so five minutes before the car arrives, I lug my suitcases down the three flights of stairs.
An SUV pulls up to the curb as I’m exiting the building, struggling to keep both roller bags upright. Next thing I know, a tall, skinny man with deep brown skin is grabbing my luggage and carrying it for me.
“I’m George,” the man says, loading my two suitcases into the back and taking my shoulder bag to add to the stack. “I’ve been driving for Mister Michaelson for the past five years. It’s very nice to meet you, Savannah.”
“Please, call me Savvy.”
“Of course,” he says and offers me a kind smile, causing wrinkles around his brown eyes.
He opens the back door for me, and I duck my head to get in. Holy crap. This is nice. It has seat warmers, small TV screens in the headrests, and a mini fridge stored in between the driver and passenger seats.
“This is so weird,” I mumble.
George chuckles as he merges into traffic. “Give it a week, Sunshine, and you’ll think nothin’ of it.”
His deep voice and adorable New York accent calm my nerves. Not only am I anxious about entering this world of fame and money, but I’m also scared to see Reynold again. It’s been a week and I couldn’t stop thinking about him… and how badly I want to kiss him (even though I punched him when he tried). His intoxicating woody and spicy scent mixed with whatever body wash and shampoo he uses when he caged me between his arms. His warm breath that smelled like coffee and maple syrup from the waffles he ate that morning.
I spend the entire commute daydreaming about doing naughty things with my new boss, and suddenly we’re pulling up to the front of Reynold’s building. The beautiful limestone façade almost seems magical. Is this real? Certainly, I'll wake up from whatever fever dream I'm having.
George opens my door, pulling me from my thoughts. I attempt to retrieve my luggage from the back, but he shoos me away.
The building’s doorman walks out with a cart and stops in front of me. He’s a short white man, big like me, wearing a suit, hat, and white gloves. Sweat lines his head below the brim of the hat.
“This must be Savannah Monroe. I’m Peter.” He also has a New York accent, but it’s not deep like George’s. It’s a bit nasally and reminds me of the characters fromThe Sopranos,which Brad used to make me watch. I suppose, to me, everyone from New York sounds like the characters from that show.
Peter hands me a card.
“This is the key to the elevator that gives you access to the Penthouse.” He chuckles. “Don’t look so scared. Mister Michaelson is the nicest tenant we have in this building.”
Peter walks on, rolling the luggage cart to the SUV. George, who I didn’t realize was still standing next to me, pats my shoulder. “Go on in and we’ll bring your bags up. Don’t you worry, Sunshine.”
That’s the second time he’s called me Sunshine, which is also my dad’s nickname for me because of my blonde hair. I miss my parents. It’s almost been a year since I’ve seen them. I really need to plan a trip to visit. George’s nickname is like having a little piece of home here with me. Despite my anxiety about this... strange new life of mine, I smile, letting a wave of calm wash over me.
