Page 83 of Almost Perfect
I’d been on the phone all but the first few minutes of the drive. Kristoffer had arranged the interview, for hair and makeup before, and a hundred other small things. He was working on finding my stylist Gareth and probably twenty other tasks. I made a mental note to review his salary because whatever I was paying him was unlikely to be anywhere near enough.
But as for whatWyattcould do?
My heart whispered a hundred responses.Come with me. Hold me again. Tell me it’ll be okay. Tell me this is more than just a fling. Don’t go inside my little cottage and be horrified by the mess while I’m gone. Don’t go on any of your stupid dates while I’m away. Don’t be nice to me, or I’ll lose it.
“Uh, I’m not sure. I guess the most important thing would be please don’t talk to the press. If someone approaches you, just give them the old ‘no comment’ and move on. You can remind Warrick of the same.”
“Okay. Done.”
“And, uh—” my stupid traitor voice broke. I cleared my throat. “Just… don’t hate me?”
“Calla, what could make me do that?” He gathered up my hands and held them tight. “I couldn’t hate you.”
I laughed. “You did.”
He shook his head. “No. I never hated you. Not ever.”
My raised brow had him smiling as he answered.
“I swear it. I never did—I could never have hated you. May have tried disliking you there for a while but couldn’t do it.”
His blue eyes spelled those earnest words right into my mind. “I guess that’s good.”
“Yeah, it’s good. So don’t talk to creep reporters, don’t hate you… anything else?”
He made it all sound so small and easy. But when he saw the interview, which I knew he’d watch, his good opinion of me might die out. Hearing the gritty details of my life would throw hownotlike his usual women I was. How public and messy my life was. And I didn’t relish the idea of him having to fight off that feeling that we were too different all over again, if he’d ever stopped.
“Just be in touch, okay? Just because I’m not here doesn’t mean I’m gone.” It sounded stupid, but I hoped he believed it. I was trying to convince myself of the same.
I could step outside this dreamy little bubble of beautiful snowy mountains and gorgeous cowboy gentlemen, do what I had to do, and make my way back here. Make my wayhomewithout becoming tarnished and worn like I already felt justthinkingabout returning.
“Of course.” He dropped his forehead to mine and rocked it back and forth like he was trying to nudge his assurance into my skull.
I smiled and gritted my teeth against the tears that jumped to my eyes at his sweet, odd move.I love this man. My heart nearly broke over the confession, the nth one today, but I wouldn’t tell him.
Not now, certainly. But maybe if we could weather this storm together like we had the last actual one, if we could stay close and he didn’t get pulled into the quagmire of rotten failures and rumors that was my life, maybe we could actually have something.
Something more like what he’d always dreamed of and I’d never dared to. Something powerful and lasting and real.
“I’ve got to go,” I said when Julian Grenier’s stern face peeked out the door of the terminal.
“Come back when you can,” he said, then pressed an achingly sweet kiss to my lips.
I hugged him one last time after he handed my bag to Julian, who definitely wasn’t used to being a bag boy, but he didn’t balk. I hoped Wyatt could feel my care for him and how much I didn’t want to leave him. Not today. Not after the night we’d spent together, and certainly not to go back to California and deal with the mess waiting for me there.
We parted, both of us trying to smile but, at least for me, hiding so many fears and worries. I’d never had something like this before, and as the plane took off for LA, I realized with a dawning horror just how much, how desperately, I wanted it.
THIRTY-SIX
Wyatt
She’d been gone less than an hour when I received a call from Kristoffer.
“How can I help?” I’d hated saying goodbye to Calla but understood she had to go. Since I was only ten minutes from downtown, I’d made the short trip and slipped into the library and read the papers and magazines, searching for mention of her. None of it seemed eventful, just more of the same.
Mayhem on the Run.
Mayhem Seeks Solace in the Mountains.
