Almost as if to make a point, Clover glares at me while she signs away on the paper, only looking down to find the next spot to sign. The little brat isn’t even reading any of it.
When it’s done, Mahdi grabs the sheet. “Excellent–” he’s interrupted by the door banging open, and my father storming into the room.
This day just got a hell of a lot worse.Fuck.
Chapter Twelve
CLOVER
My attention is pulled toward the other side of the room, where a man in a crisply starched suit looks at his watch pointedly. His lips are down-turned, and he’s older. He might have been handsome once, but based on the set of his expression, I imagine that years of scowling have stolen away any beauty that may have once been there. The man’s frown deepens, and he pulls out his phone, clearly annoyed at something. Is it us? He made such a big entrance to end up just looming nearby.
Across from me, I’m aware of Roman’s body tensing up. He moves out of his reclined position, and his arms tighten. His hands on his biceps clutch so hard I can see the strain on his knuckles. Roman’s own face adopts a frown, and I’m stricken in that moment with the realization of who this man must be.
Based on the resemblance, and his presence here, it must be Deacon Everett. The head of Starlight Studios, no less. I suppress the urge to panic and pray that I don’t have a single hair out of line. I don’t know much about him, but what I doknow is that he’s a tough man to please, and he runs a tight ship. His demeanor so far is enough to confirm that.
I sit up a little straighter in silent response, hoping to have made a decent impression so far. Roman clocks the movement and looks down at me. He says nothing, but his eyes rake over me, taking in details I’m sure I don’t mean to share with him.
“Well?” Deacon asks the room.
I’m not sure what response he’s looking for, or who he wants it from. The silence hangs awkwardly for a few seconds.
“Is it done?” he bites out at the studio lawyer, tone sharp and unforgiving. I have to tamp down a flinch.
“Yes, Mr. Everett, of course. All documented here,” the man responds, looking like he’d be a gold medalist if ass-kissing were a sport.
Deacon gives another heavy, rude sigh, and makes his way toward the door. As I watch him go, Roman’s body language thaws once more. Interesting. I wonder what that’s all about. Without so much as a goodbye, Deacon leaves, and it feels like the temperature rises a few degrees when he does.
Clearly unable to read the room, Roman’s annoyingly peppy publicist Janine steamrolls right ahead like that wasn’t the most uncomfortable interruption ever. She beams as she looks between us.
“Alright, you two, I have so many ideas for what we can do to put your relationship on the map. To start, we should have you two–” she’s practically frantic. Something tells me I’m not going to like any of her suggestions.
Shit, I should’ve looked closer at the relationship contract to see what I actually agreed to do with Roman, but I was so busy trying to stare a hole through the asshat himself that I didn’t actually read it. Not that it really matters anyway, I’m kind of at the mercy of doing whatever the studio wants so that I can keep this role. It makes sense that fake dates are apart of this whole charade. I just hadn’t thought about the specifics until now.
“And then of course a trip to the Los Angeles Lawn Bowling Club, which would be a great–”
“Thanks, Janine, but that won’t be necessary,” Roman cuts in. “Clover and I will figure it out from here.” He looks over at me and puts me out of my thought-spiral. “Let’s go.” He gets up and walks around to my side of the table before holding out his hand. “Come on.”
I scowl at it as if it might bite me.
“I’ll give you a studio tour,” he placates before taking his hand back with an eye roll.
“Fine.”
“You and I have some things we need to talk about, anyway,” he adds before heading out into the hallway.
Chapter Thirteen
CLOVER
We’re silent as we make our way through the building. The hallways are lined with posters from Starlight Studios films throughout the years. Framed pictures of some of Hollywood’s most famous celebrities at various red carpet events also cover the walls, a reminder to anyone who walks here that Starlight Studios is one of the top players in the industry.
I’d expected Roman to say something as we started our walk, but apparently, despite the fact that he’s a prolific shit-talker, he’s clearly run out of things to say. The silence stretches awkwardly between us. When I realize I can hear myself breathing, I resign myself to needing to be the one to initiate a conversation. As much as I dislike Roman, I dislike silence even more.
We walk past a framed photo of Deacon Everett shaking hands with a former president. I gesture to the picture.
“So... Deacon seems... intense.” Perhaps not my most eloquent moment, but maybe it’ll get the conversation flowing.
Roman gives a noise of disapproval and nothing else.
