Page 71 of Well, Actually
And then he starts tickling my foot. I scream and flail as I try to twist away, but he holds me tight.
“I’m sorry to have to resort to brute force,” Rylie says, not sounding sorry at all as he continues the onslaught. “But reasoning with you has done me no good.”
I start screaming and cursing and flopping about like a fish on land, and Rylie’s deep laugh echoes mine. I finally manage to unhook my leg from his grip, and “accidentally” clip his shoulder in a swinging kick. Rylie takes the blow with as much drama as possible, latching me to him as he rolls us off the side of the bed into the fallen pillows and sheets. Giddiness floodsthrough me, and I scramble for the upper hand, returning the torture tenfold as my fingers dance down his chin, in his armpits, across his stomach.
Then one of Rylie’s hands is cradling the back of my skull, pulling me toward him, the other at my heartbeat, and he’s kissing me in a way that makes all laughter stop and I’m no longer tickling him but gripping him closer, palms skimming across the warm expanse of skin at his chest.
“You’re the one who’s precious, Eva,” Rylie says, voice rough and quick as a matchstick against a striker. His hands tangle in my hair, my vision blurring as a sharp, aching want builds in me.
“You didn’t answer my question from earlier,” he whispers in my ear before biting the lobe. I give him a dopey series of blinks. He clears his throat, pink creeping across his cheeks. “Will you go to the fundraiser with me? As my, um, date?”
The question makes me pause, the blatant vulnerability in his voice over such an unserious question cinching like a lasso around my rapidly beating heart. He asked me like he needs me to say yes. I don’t think anyone’s ever acted like they needed me before.
“If you say yes, I’ll make it worth your while in the morning,” he coaxes, mistaking my shock for hesitation. I catch the thread of insecurity in his voice.
“How’s that?” I burrow against his neck, trying to keep from floating away from all the feelings bubbling through me.
“I call it bottomless brunch, but it’s actually where we lie in bed naked all morning and sip champagne straight from the bottle.”
I laugh, then release a weary sigh. “I suppose I can pencil it in.”
I feel Rylie’s heart skip against my cheek, and he hugs me tightly. “I appreciate the sacrifice.”
Anything for you, I whisper imperceptibly against his skin, not quite brave enough to let him know how deeply I mean it.
Chapter 17
“I was really dreading this, but it wasn’t nearly as bad as I expected. I actually had some fun,” Rhys Stillwell, a fallen-from-grace childhood actor, says to me as we film with our room-temperature hot dogs. He’s apparently launching a redemption arc on his ruined image, so, naturally, eating dogs with me was the best place to start.
“So much fun you’ll be leaving with your own footlong?” I ask in the bland voice for theSausage Talkschtick. Rhys chokes on the innuendo.
“You’re quite the little perv,” he says through a laugh, as if this man doesn’t have a reputation for sleeping through all of Hollywood and most of Broadway.
We wrap up from there, Rhys being whisked off by his handlers and saving me any sleazy post-filming flirting.
I collapse into my chair and scroll through my phone, smiling at a text from Rylie.
Have a great day, kitten <3
I snort as I type back:Don’t tell me what to do <3
He sends a wall of eye-rolling emojis then one blowing me a kiss. I’m not sure how I managed to get so lucky.
“Excellent interview, Eva.” William’s voice over my shoulder startles me so badly, I jump out of my chair, sending my phone flying into my makeup kit.
“William. Hi,” I say, clutching my chest and trying to ignore the surge of panic that follows the tail-end of the shock. “What are you doing here?”
He gives me a cool, appraising look, then sweeps it around the room. “That’s what happens when you run things, Eva,” he says, fixing his stare back on me. “You keep a close eye on everything.”
I nod, fighting the urge to squirm. “Of course. Yeah. And clearly you’re very good at that,” I say, trying to kiss as much ass as humanly possible.
His expression doesn’t change. “Yes, I am.”
We stand there in silence for a moment, and I pray he doesn’t notice the growing rings of sweat under my arms.
I tried to implement some of Rylie’s advice in my response to Landry, letting her know how seriously I take my job and listing out new initiatives and ideas I’d been pursuing, putting my efforts there to stay ahead of the curve. She never responded but I also wasn’t fired on Monday so I’ve been cautiously optimistic I played it right.
“I got your email,” William says at last, swooping into myspace to take my vacated seat. That was the second part of my good graces plan—reaching out to William directly, cc’ing Landry and Aida of course, to blame the lack of content on Rylie.
