Page 16 of Crossing the Line
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Waverly usually avoided showering at the gym. At this particular gym, the member fees were high enough to dissuade most from taking and selling pictures of other members, but one could never be certain. However, with the tight schedule, it was necessary today. She left Xavier outside the women’s locker room and pushed through the frosted glass door.
She paid a hefty monthly fee, which gave her access to the well-equipped locker room decorated in stainless steel and purple finishes complete with attractive mood lighting. It may have housed multi-jetted showers and a state-of-the-art steam room, but no amount of money could rid the space of the smell of sweaty feet.
She spotted actress Zoey Grace, her mother’s version of her competition, lacing up gold, limited edition high-tops on one of the benches. Zoey was a painfully thin typical Hollywood girl—too much partying, not enough food—and Waverly had to resist the urge to shove a protein bar in the girl’s bag. She settled for waving a greeting instead.
She grabbed her bag and took it into the shower’s dressing room with her. Waverly remembered the first time a studio suggested she drop some weight for a role. She’d very politely told them that, if they wanted someone smaller for the part, they could go hire someone and walked away from contract negotiations. She’d ignored their calls and apology gifts for a week before directing Phil to accept the hefty salary increase they offered.
Hollywood, she thought, stepping under the jets of water,could either destroy a girl or make her stronger. And by the time her career was done, she would be invincible.
She showered and changed in record time, pulling her still damp hair back into a sleek braid. She kept it casual with a simple V-neck t-shirt and distressed jeans that cuffed stylishly above caramel leather sandals.
It was just a dinner meeting with Phil. One that she’d put off for a few weeks now.
She slicked a taupey rose over her eyelids and applied a quick coat of mascara to her lashes. She knew exactly what Phil—coached by her mother—was going to say.
You need to pick a new project before the world forgets about you.
Well, she already had a new project in mind, but it wasn’t one her agent or mother would approve of. And now was not a good time to show her hand. Not with Sylvia already toying with changing the terms of her trust. No, tonight she’d play along with Phil.
Playing along was what she did. But soon, in just a handful of months, she’d be able to play by her own rules, set her own goals, live her own life. She shoved everything into her gym bag and hustled through the locker room door.
She was so busy fishing her sunglasses out of her bag that she didn’t see the wall of muscle until she’d walked smack into it. Strong hands gripped her shoulders. “Your attentiveness astounds me.” Sarcasm designed specifically to piss her off resounded in Xavier’s tone, but it came a distant second to the sudden rush of awareness that flooded her system.
His chest was as broad as it was solid. The heat pumped off of him through the crisp checked button down he wore under his jacket into her palms splayed across his chest. In her flat sandals, she had to tilt her head back to look him in his eyes. “Jesus, I wasn’t expecting you to be lurking outside the locker room like a creep,” she retorted. Her gym bag slid off her shoulder and smacked him in the shin. He shifted, pushing her against the wall as someone moved past them.
He was too close, and she didn’t like it. It made her jumpy and anxious. She felt trapped. His grip on her radiated heat as did his honey-colored gaze and frowning mouth.
“When you want to yell, you get this little line right here,” Waverly said, tracing the mark between his eyebrows.
“I don’t want to yell,” he argued.
“Your forehead wrinkles suggest otherwise.” She brushed his forehead again. His grip on her arms tightened, and she felt an unwelcome rush of excitement.
“Behave yourself,” Xavier ordered, his voice tight and rough.
It thrilled her to know that she’d pushed him off center. She liked having that ability, that power. She grinned up at him, “Come on, X. Let’s go to dinner. You’re probably just hangry. It means you get angry when you’re hungry.”
“I know what it means, and I’m not hangry,” he grumbled, giving her a helpful shove toward the door. “I’m trying to keep you from walking into the arms of a serial killer and offering to drive to the kill site. It’s exhausting.”
Waverly laughed. “See? Hangry,” she told him, savoring her victory.
“Just shut up and get in the car.”
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Phil chose a hot sushi place guaranteed for some pictures on the gossip sites. It was easier to get inside than usual with Xavier there. He guided her through the crowd at the door with one hand on the small of her back. Waverly kept her sunglasses on and her face Victoria Beckham-neutral for the photographers, but on the inside, her pulse was jumping.
She hated crowds, and adding to the anxiety was the heavy awareness of Xavier’s warm, firm hand on her. She didn’t want to be attracted to him, but her body seemed to have other ideas. He sent her heart rate skittering every time they touched, yet she felt oddly safe with him there frowning away the crowd. Inside, the restaurant was crowded, its red walls glowing, its chocolate brown booths and tables full. She nodded at a few executives she knew and posed for two selfies, one with a fan and one with a socialite who looked vaguely familiar, before they finally made it to the table.
Phil was already there. He’d reserved a table in the back room that was sectioned off but not quite private thanks to a handful of clever screens and a transparent wall of live bamboo. He made a show of greeting her with a hug and offered Xavier a hearty handshake. What was left of his silvery mane was combed back into a fluffy cloud. He wore a navy pinstripe suit and flashed a Rolex Yachtmaster on his wrist. When Xavier made a move to leave them, Waverly insisted he stay. She’d only been half kidding about the hangry. The man hadn’t eaten all day that she’d seen, and, attractive pain in the ass or not, he deserved dinner.
The evening went exactly as Waverly had predicted. Phil tried to play it as a friendly catch-up, but she knew better. Her guard was always up when it came to Phil.
“I’m glad to see you two are getting along,” Phil said, taking an enthusiastic slurp of his miso soup.
“Oh, yeah,” Waverly agreed with just a hint of sarcasm. “Just like synchronized swimmers.”
