The car slid a little, bringing me back to my frightening reality. It also made me squeal like a piglet—okay, make that a big mama sow.
“Don’t worry. I’ve got this under control,” Drake said, harried, not giving me much confidence.
“You really know how to drive in the snow? In the mountains?” I probably should have verified this sooner.
“I grew up on a farm in Idaho, actually,” he mumbled, as if that embarrassed him.
“Really? I thought you grew up in Seattle.” That’s what his bio said, and he loved to extol the wonders of the Emerald City.
“I moved there with my mom when I was seventeen, after my parents got divorced.”
“That must have been hard.” I knew it was, as he rarely talked about his family, except for his brother, Jameson—well, technically his half-brother, but Drake always said there was nothing half about their relationship, so he never referred to him that way—who passed away only last year. I had been fortunate enough to meet him a few times. Those had been some rough weeks. Weeks of just Drake and I holed up in his mansion eating junk food while I listened to him tell stories about the older brother he idolized. The man who put him through school and was his first manager. I never said much, just listened and wrapped my arms around him when he needed it.
He shrugged. “It was for the best.”
“Are you sure?”
His tone wasn’t giving me I’ve-made-peace-with-it vibes.
“I know what you’re doing,” he sighed. “You’re trying to work your magic on me, and I won’t have it.”
I tilted my head. “What magic is that?”
“The one where I allow you into my head and you make me feel human and vulnerable.”
I bit my lip. “You feel vulnerable around me?” This was possibly the best news ever.
The corners of his lips lifted as if he might really smile and show the sparkly white teeth he religiously brushed four times a day. “I feel more than I should around you.”
There went my endocrine system again. Throw in my reproductive system while we’re at it. At twenty-nine, my body was giving me hints that I might want to start thinking about procreation. And let me tell you, Drake’s genes would do a body good.
“Would you like to name those feelings?” I asked, way too breathily.
It was another big fat mistake, but he had been awfully flirty with me in Wyoming, and he never did ask out Simone Hawthorne, the film’s leading lady. My heart was swelling with hope, or maybe indigestion. Traipsing through this winter wonderhell wasn’t giving me any warm and fuzzy feelings.
“Charlotte,” he crooned my name, making me feel all sorts of swoony and toasty warm. “Please don’t tempt me. I have done very few things right in my life, and you are the last person I want to do wrong by.”
“Oh.” I adjusted my knitted beanie, wishing I could pull it over my entire head. I was such an idiot. I knew that was his way of letting me down easy. I was his perky, cute assistant. Everywhere we went people would say, “Oh, that Charlotte, she’s just so perky and cute. Even her last name is adorable: Valentine.” I can’t tell you how many times I had been patted on the head like I was a puppy. Not sure if it was my big blue eyes, or the messy buns I always wore, or perhaps it was my small frame, usually dressed in overalls. All I know is I am no Hollywood siren. I am barely a whistle, comparatively.
My only consolation is that I am a fabulous assistant. I can plan a party like no one’s business and deal with the snootiest people on the planet all with a smile. Don’t even get me started about the all-nighters I’ve pulled, dealing with anything from a PR crisis to running lines with Drake to satisfying his need for some homemade pistachio oat bars. He’s lucky that I’m a fabulous baker, if I do say so myself. And his schedule was always meticulously organized.
I just needed to focus on my job and quit pretending that one day Drake would come to his senses and see that I was the woman for him. The woman, like he said, for whom he could be vulnerable and human. He could continue to be his godlike self with women who cared nothing for him, other than walking the red carpet on his arm and capitalizing on his ability to catapult their own careers. They didn’t know the real him like I did. The man who at times could be insecure and had a sweet tooth. The man who had cried like a baby in my arms after his brother had died. Not only that, but we were both suckers for old movies like An Affair to Remember. I had to face it; I would never be the Deborah Kerr to his Cary Grant.