Page 5 of The Twelve Days of Christian
“I can’t tell you anything,” I add, before she asks. “They slapped a ten page NDA on top of the original contract. Made me sign it before they’d let me leave. For the next twelve days, no one can know where I am. I had no choice. It was either that or the bastards really did abandon me in the wild. And then I’d have no chance to fix this.”
“So,” she says slowly, “what’s going to happen when it airs? When it’s Episode 6 and you’re not there?”
I close my eyes and sigh. I’m dreading to find out what nefarious plan those fuckers will hatch to explain my departure. Scandal isgood for ratings. Who the hell knows what they’ll cobble together? Whatever it is, I know it will make me look bad. Nice guys who make a stand on principles don’t make for good television.
“They’ll have some plan. Stitch together footage. Tell the story whatever way they choose. And I’ll have to live with the fallout.” I grimace at the thought. It’s happening again. “It’s okay, I’ll survive. I’ve made a career out of weathering shit storms from the lies other people spin.”
I have a desperate need for her to know I’m not the guy the newspapers and entertainment channels say I am, and the click-bait headlines that inevitably accompany my name are untrue. I want her to understand I’m the sort of guy who has a line he won’t cross. But all she’s got is my word for it. I’m praying she’ll take it, even if she’s not totally convinced. On the strength of my friendship with her brother, I’m hoping she’ll believe me.
She pinches at her forehead, eyes half-closed, and the gesture is so damn cute. Even in the middle of this uncertain conversation, her every look, every movement, enchants me. Even though she’s standing there wearing an ugly Christmas jumper with a giant gingerbread man dancing across her delicious breasts. Even though her sleek dark hair is swept up in a ragged bun, with wisps falling across her face and sticking out at odd angles above her ears.
I remember the smell of her hair, so fresh and clean, when I inhaled a sneaky whiff as she offered a consoling hug on that last night ofStar Power. Of course, the hug didn’t mean anything. Not to her. Everyone was hugging everybody as Ollie and I faced the fact we weren’t coming back for another night. But it meant something to me. I took my last chance to be near her, to imprint the softwarmth of her in my arms and imagine just for a moment what it would be like to have someone like her as mine.
I didn’t know that night it wouldn’t be the last time; that Ollie and I would put a band together, and because of it, she’d weave in and out of my life again and again over the next few years, each encounter only fanning the little ember of wanting in me. Wanting to know her more, to spend time with her; to let her get to know me. Now, just my luck, when the universe has delivered the opportunity to be with her in the most unexpected way, there’s a high chance she’s going to hate me.
“So, I still don’t understand—why did you comehere?” A little frown line creases between the downward slanting brows. She’s still not convinced. “The middle of London isn’t where I’d choose if I wanted to lie low. I would have thought Ollie’s Somerset house would be the perfect place to hide out.”
She really doesn’t want me here. I can see that. Why would she wantmearriving unannounced on her doorstep, a blot on her happy Christmas-soaked Saturday, asking to spoil her life for twelve days? But I need her to let me.
“Apparently not. There’s some Christmas fundraiser thing going on? People paying to visit the house?”
“Oh, yeah. I forgot,” she sighs. “It starts today.”
“And although he swears his staff down there wouldn’t breathe a word, they can’t exactly help me either. That’s really why he sent me here.” I raise my eyes to hers, making a silent plea. “Because he knew you’d take care of the things I can’t do for myself.”
I hold my breath, those green eyes studying me. Either she’ll accept my explanation and agree to take on this unwelcome task. Or insist I call a cab and force me to trust my luck elsewhere.
Haley gives a little nod.
A rush of air hisses between my teeth and I relax a little for the first time in two days. She’s going to help me. It’s not only food and a hot shower at stake here. If I have any chance to fight back against those pricks at Unscripted Productions, I need an ally who can move outside in the real world, as well as let me loose on her laptop. I might be out, but I’m not down, and I’m going to fight for what I know is right. At this moment, I need to start by simply getting Haley to let me stay.
It seems I’ve won the first round. She turns and pads down the passage, dainty feet encased in the most ridiculous fluffy socks. The ring of reindeer heads around the edge of each sock bobs in time to the movement, fortunately distracting my eyes away from the sight of her neat little arse in a pair of candy-cane covered pyjama bottoms.
She returns, arms loaded with a stack of fluffy white towels. Is this a hint? I know I reek.
“Guest room is made up. The first on the left. You know where the bathroom is. Don’t hog it. I want a shower sometime today too,” she says.
So we’re sharing a bathroom? I thought she’d be upstairs. There have to be at least three bedrooms up there besides Ollie’s. She notices my raised brow.
“Yeah, I moved my room down here. With two dogs, running up and down the stairs to let them out in the back garden isn’t my idea of fun. Not when you’ve got oldies who can’t hang on all night like they used to.”
“Oh, yeah, right,” I say. “Makes sense.”
She sure is devoted to these dogs. I like that. Dogs have always been an important part of my life, fromthe time I was a little kid. It’s the memories of my childhood canine companion that got me to agree to this stupid reality TV show in the first place; and also what got me kicked off it.
“Thanks Haley,” I mumble, standing to take the towels from her. My hands brush hers and they’re so damn smooth; tiny and delicate. What I’d give for one of those hands to rest on my head as they do when offering an affectionate pat to the big pointy-eared dog. Or to run down my body, like when she slides one finger along the sleek length of the orange dog’s spine. If my brain keeps on this track, I might need that shower on cold. I grab my bag and get the hell out of there before she notices the prominent lump straining at my pants.
The shower not only removes two days of filth but induces a dragging tiredness. Once dried off, I don’t bother to dress, but fasten the towel around my hips and head straight for the bedroom. I fall naked but clean between crisp sheets and into a deep dreamless sleep, where not even thoughts of my delicious new roommate can intrude.
When I wake, a couple of hours later, it’s to the pleasant everyday sounds of the household. Even the muffled music playing—although it’s still recognisable as damn Christmas songs—is soothing. Hearing Haley moving around—it sounds like she’s in the kitchen—life feels normal. Realisingthisis what a normal life would be like, there’s a pang of regret. Fame and money have given me a lot of things, but perhaps not the very simple ones I truly want; the things I really need.
I tug on my one set of clean clothes and wander back down to the lounge. It’s like a Christmas volcano has erupted. Every surface is slathered with decorations: wreaths, garlands, door hangers. And then there’s that tree, the most-overdressed I’ve ever seen. Itwouldn’t look out of place at Harrods. Its fresh outdoor tang blends with a sweet, spicy smell drifting from the kitchen. My stomach twists in an angry growl. I can’t remember when I last ate.
The dogs, now both in matching Christmas jumpers, are curled on the sofa, sleeping. Two tails thump in greeting as I sit between them. One raises a head, while the other welcomes me with an enthusiastic bark. I breathe in their smell, slightly pungent but warmly familiar. They both wiggle their soft bodies closer so we’re touching, and I revel in the contact. I’ve missed the easy companionship of dogs. I give each a scratch, my nails massaging their spines, and they whine with pleasure. When I stop, the noise escalates as they beg for more.
This summons Haley, who leans in the doorframe. She’s still dressed for the season, but this time in a more subdued snowflake jumper, the green of the background highlighting her emerald eyes. A pair of dark jeans hug her slender form and she’s replaced the silly reindeer socks with slouchy black suede boots.
My breath catches at the sight of her, and my body twitches with desire. I swallow hard, grateful for the dog now draped across my knees, its large body covering my inconvenient erection. It’s shaping up to be a very long twelve days.
