Page 57 of Act Like You Don't Care
I didn’t remember falling asleep, but when I woke up, the room was dark and he was gone, except for a note.Call me if you need anything.
What I needed was him. But right after I read his note, an email from Elijah reminded me that this was a contract and I needed to plan my breakup, sooner than later, because now that Joshua was in jail I didn’t need a personal bodyguard anymore.
I couldn’t keep him. Even though I wanted to.
Tam
It was a week before I could work up the courage.
Time for our break up.
It sounded corny, but there we were. They’d caught my stalker, I was safe, there was no earthly reason for me and Miles to keep seeing each other.
Except I liked him. I’d thought maybe he’d liked me a little more than professionally, but a conversation with Elijah had killed that faint hope right after I’d gotten back to filming.
“They’re very good, aren’t they?” he’d said during a discussion of the incident. “They do a lot of training for these undercover jobs so they can make everything look real. Apparently they get an acting coach in every once in a while to fine-tune their performances.”
“Yes, they’re very good,” I’d parroted automatically, and watched my already faint hopes fade away.
Miles and I were going out to a movie premiere tonight. A chance to shine with the big stars and my first public appearance since winning the starring role in Wirechild. I glanced at him out of the corner of my eye as he finished buttoning his shirt. It was irresponsible of me to wish we could keep doing this. He looked so good, though, standing in front of my bedroom mirror as he tied his tie and then swore under his breath because the cat had gotten hair on the legs of his suit.
“Here, let me get that,” I offered and dug out the lint roller I always kept in the top drawer of my dresser. “Hold still.” My heart rate picked up as I ran the stick’s cylinder over his legs, remembering what was under that fine wool, and for a moment I almost backed out of tonight’s drama.
But no. The contract was over. We were over. Not that we’d ever been. I’d thought through it all while I worked up my courage to make this break. He’d never actually done anything that couldn’t have been explained away as good customer service, hadn’t made a move, or even mentioned getting a drink after everything was all said and done. Really, we’d only actually had a budding friendship, if you wanted to be generous. Even the sex could have just been… sex. After all, it was Hollywood and I was a willing omega, with my unromantic reputation.
We’d been friends with benefits. And now, we weren’t.
At least he was being gentle about it.
“Thank you,” he said. “I don’t know how you manage not to get covered with it.”
I shrugged and bit my tongue. I’d been about to say, “Not as attractive as you,” but it felt sour in my mouth and my brain was feeling a little numb. Maybe I’d go dancing tonight.
After.
It would certainly be in character. “I’m ready.” I was wearing a dark red suit with a navy blue shirt, which I’d left open down to the third button because we were going to the opening night of the newest film produced by Margaret Grant. It was part mystery, part romance, and part just that indefinable thing that was a Margaret Grant film. With the contract signed now for Wirechild, I was eager to show myself to the public and let them talk about my part in the upcoming film.
Why did I have to spoil tonight by breaking up with him?
Miles nodded and let me lead the way out of the building.
I didn’t have any trouble being petty with him that night. I was snappish getting in the car, snappish getting out of the car. When he suggested something on the restaurant’s menu he thought I might like, I told him off and chose the exact opposite kind of food. And then didn’t eat it because it was disgusting. So disgusting I couldn’t stomach my wine either and ended up leaving it at the table when we left for the premier. Miles had played his part perfectly—a little perplexed, a little irritated. A lot annoyed by the end of it.
The premier gave us a break from the act-that-wasn’t-an-act. I’d wrangled an invitation before all this stuff with my stalker had started and I had, until tonight, been looking forward to it. Now, all I could think about was how this was my last night out with Miles and I had to spend it fighting with him.
Halfway through, I glanced over at him, but he had his phone out, down behind the seat with the light turned down, tapping away to someone. Maybe his real boyfriend. Or girlfriend. It hit me then that I’d never asked if he’d been seeing anyone while we were performing our little dance for my stalker. A wave of guilt washed over me and I wanted to call the whole break-up off, or at least delay it for a while. Long enough for me to make it up to him, that I hadn’t cared enough to realize that he had a life outside of looking after me.
Yeah, it needed to be tonight.
We made it back out of the theater with only a few stops to answer questions. I’d been invited to two different parties—neither one Margaret’s, damn it—but I’d been noncommittal about both of them. I needed to pick my place to have this breakup and I wanted it to be soon. Early enough that he could go home and spend time with someone who meant something to him.
Miles put a hand in the small of my back as we edged away from the photographers and I twitched myself out of his hold, turning the corners of my mouth down in fake annoyance and shooting him a glare before pasting my public smile firmly in place for a few more pictures. Then I strode off into the relative darkness beyond the theater entrance, leaving Miles behind me.
He caught up to me a moment later. “Nicely done,” he murmured and reached for my arm. I pulled away again and stormed off, trying to figure out which of the dozen black SUVs parked along the street was his. Where the hell was it? They all looked exactly the same and I was on the point of just walking home when I heard Miles behind me.
“Tam?” he called.
I turned around to see him standing next to one of the SUVs. He hit the button on his keyfob with an ironic snap of his fingers and the car beeped, lights flashing snottily off the identical ones parked in front and behind it. For a moment, I just stared at him, then reluctantly I came back and let him help me into the passenger seat.
