Page 55 of Forever Never
Suddenly weary, she stalked to the opposite end of the couch and sat. Pulling her legs up to her chest, she rested her chin on her knees. She couldn’t afford to tell him the truth. But he wasn’t going to leave this alone. So she had to find another solution.
“Talk to me,” he pressed.
She stared at the flames as they flickered in the fireplace. “Why?”
“Because as much as you don’t believe me, I care.”
“Why?” she asked again.
He rubbed his palms over his thighs. “We’re practically family.”
She shook her head. “Is that how you really feel? That we’re family? That you’re some big brother figure to me?”
He hesitated, and the silence filled every corner of the room. Tension built.
“Yes,” he said, his voice hoarse.
She stared him down. “You want me to be honest with you. Yet you’re willing to sit there and tell me you think of me as a little sister?” she challenged. The man was either lying to her or to himself.
“This isn’t about me,” he began.
“Do youseewhy I don’t feel like showering you with honesty? You can’t even be honest about that. Something we both know is true, and you still can’t admit it.”
Her phone rang from the pocket of her hoodie, and she yanked it out. It wasn’t a number she recognized, but the area code was Chicago.
Without an explanation, she bolted from the room.
“Hello?” she breathed, hurrying into the kitchen.
“You want to explain to me why my top client isn’t returning any of my calls?” Rajesh Thakur, her annoyingly needy agent demanded.
Remi’s shoulders sagged, and the hope that had built inside her deflated like a punctured bounce house.
“Why are you calling me from some random number?”
“Bigger question. Why is Alessandra Ballard answering some random number instead of the last eleven calls from her agent?”
“Did it ever occur to you that I don’t want to talk to you?” she hissed, peering over her shoulder to make sure she was still alone.
“Bro, did it occur toyouthat I don’t care?” Raj, as he was known in the art crowd, was immune to digs and insults. He dressed like a mob boss, spoke like a recently graduated fraternity brother, and demanded VIP service everywhere he went. As long as he was negotiating his clients’ fat commissions, he didn’t care what anyone had to say about him.
Brick appeared in the doorway and strolled over to the refrigerator. He leaned against it, arms crossed, and watched her, openly eavesdropping. She would have stepped outside, but it was fucking dark out there.
“What do you want?” she asked Raj.
“To tell you to snap out of this little meltdown funk and get your ass back here. We should be plastering your face all over the blogs.”
“I’ve seen what they’re writing. There will be no face plastering,” Remi said, glaring at Brick.
He raised an inquisitive eyebrow. She returned it with a middle finger.
“Negative attention is still attention,” Raj insisted in her ear. “And in this case, it’s paying off big. Ask me how.”
She blew out a breath through gritted teeth. “You’re the worst. How?”
“First, tell me I’m the world’s greatest agent, and you want to up my commission to twenty percent.”
“No.” As a baby, untested artist, she’d surprised Raj by battling him down from his standard twenty percent to a more palatable fifteen. He secretly respected her for it.
