Page 114 of Rule 2: Never Join a Christmas Dating Show
No, that wasn’t Luke.
No wonder he is our most wooden Mr. Right. He’s the first one with no interest in performing.
He is so famous now.
“But you agreed to do it.”
“Someone convinced my agent it would be awesome.”
Guilt floods my cells. I can only imagine what the conversation between Nate and him was. But suddenly all of Luke’s sulking when I first met him makes so much more sense. “I’m so sorry. That’s—that’s terrible.”
He shrugs. “And I didn’t want to get the people in question in trouble—”
“Let me guess. Your teammates?”
“It’s totally cool,” Luke says, though given his discomfort with the cameras and the whole filming process, he’s being too generous. And God, he told me multiple times he didn’t want to do the show.
I didn’t listen. I pressured him too.
Regret moves through me.
I sigh. “On behalf of Falcon Productions, I apologize. And on a personal level, I am very sorry.”
“It’s not all bad. I got to spend time with you.”
“So, I guess Troy wants you to date someone?”
He frowns. “I guess so.” His forehead crinkles, and he has an odd look on his face.
It suddenly occurs to me that Troy might come back. I rise. “Thank you for the food. It was delicious.”
“You’re going already?”
“I have a townhouse of women to get to.”
“Right.”
“I’ll see you in Ashcove,” I say.
“Okay. Tell me if you want me to say anything to—”
“I’ll avoid him. Thanks for the head’s up.”
Luke gives an uncertain nod. “Let me get some things for you.”
“You don’t have to do that.”
“I want to take care of you,” he says, fussing around the kitchen.
I stare wide-eyed. No one has said those words to me before.
People avoided me before, and after I got money and the fame, they wanted those things. I’ve had boyfriends who enjoyed the luxurious side of life, who were with me while they built their acting careers but abandoned me after. And it was cool because I was never into them either. I was relieved I had someone to be on my arm at parties, and equally relieved when I no longer had to spend time with them.
“I’ll get my things,” I say, and he nods. I take my various camera equipment and set them beside the door. Luke meets me at the entrance and hands me a Tupperware container of some baked goods.
“Thank you.”
He slides the container into my leather bag, then fetches my coat. He zippers me up slowly, unconcerned that Troy might reappear.
