Page 23 of Beyond the Spotlight Discreet Version
“Let me help,Savvy.”
I narrow my eyes at him, and we face off in a game of chicken. Who will back down first?
Both of us have lived lives where we’ve been independent, taking care of others before ourselves. He wants to help me, but he’sbeenhelping. Too much. I can’t even breathe without him asking if I need more oxygen pumped into my body.
I poke my finger into his muscle-bound chest, attempting to push him back. “I can get my luggage myself.”
He smirks, amused at this little spat we’re having, and gently wraps his long fingers around my wrist to stop me from poking him. “Stop being stubborn and just let someone take care of you for once.”
I scoff and rip my arm out of his grip. “Or you could stop being an overbearing asshole.”
He sucks in a breath and clamps his mouth shut. I immediately regret calling him an asshole. He’s not an asshole. The opposite. And he’s right. I’m being stubborn. I don’t mean to be, but I’ve never needed to rely on anyone, so I’m struggling to hand all this control over to him.
“Mister Michaelson, if you’d just point the way...” Peter says, standing like a deer caught in headlights.
“Right,” Reynold says and finally breaks eye contact with me.
“Reynold,” I whisper, but he’s already stalking away, with Peter following.
By the time I force myself to walk to the room where I’ll be staying, Peter has unloaded my luggage and is rolling the cart past me to head back down to the lobby. He nods and I offer him a weak smile.
I lean my shoulder on the door frame and watch Reynold try to balance my bags next to the dresser, then give up and lay them down. When he turns to leave, he spots me and freezes.
“If there’s anything else you need...”
“Reynold... I’m sorry—”
“It’s fine, Savannah.”
“No. It’s not fine. You’re not an asshole. I’m the asshole.”
“What about overbearing?”
“Oh, no, you’re definitely overbearing,” I say with a smile, and he barks out a laugh, which has my cheeks warming with a blush. “It’s just... you’ve done too much for me already, and I’m literally here to helpyou.”
He doesn’t respond right away, but he swallows hard, and I watch his Adam’s apple bob in his throat.
“I know,” he says quietly.
I walk into the room, closing the distance between us. The need to touch him, to place my palm over his heart again and feel it thundering underneath my hand like it did a week ago, is nearly debilitating. Still, I stop myself before reaching out.
“Can you promise me something?”
He holds his breath and nods.
“Promise you’ll stop worrying about me.”
His shoulders sag, and I can see the argument on the tip of his tongue, ready to burst free. He keeps the fighting words to himself.
“I’ll let you know the minute I need help. Okay?”
He searches my eyes for the longest time, going through some sort of inner battle.
“Okay. I promise.”
AfterReynoldleaves,Iunpack. It doesn’t take long since I don’t have many belongings. I place my three pairs of shoes in the built-in cubbyholes in the walk-in closet that’s big enough to fit a full-size bed inside, then hang my skirts, dresses, and shirts. I’d have to hang up a hundred more outfits just to fill this thing up. My underwear, tights, and pants all went into the white wooden dresser that I’m guessing is an antique.
As expected, Reynold painted the room a beautiful teal: my favorite color. The green sheets and comforter on the queen-sized bed explain why he asked if I had any other favorite colors.
