NA meeting
Oh. See you then.
I can’t get back there fast enough.
CHAPTER 27
Josh
Ifeel ten feet tall as I make my way to her suite, just down the corridor from mine. Ellery Hart has invited me to spend time with her out of hours, and as far as I know, no one’s twisted her arm to do it. If she can tolerate me in her private space, even after the stunt I pulled this morning, then maybe she’s thawing.
I knock, and she opens the door immediately, standing back to let me through. She’s barefoot, in yoga pants and a soft-looking sweater. Her hair is damp and her face is bare. She looks tired, and fragile, and stunningly beautiful.
‘Hey.’ I sidle past her, sticking my hands in my pockets so I won’t try to touch her. I look around the suite’s living area. ‘So this is more like it. Remember that shitty room they gave you in Cannes?’
For a second I wonder if it’ll piss her off, my bringing up the room where we spent so much time fucking, but she gives a little smile.
‘Yeah, it’s nice. It’s definitely a perk of being at this level in my career.’
It’s a gorgeous room. One whole end is a semi-circle, withhuge floor-to-ceiling sash windows. The drapes are open, but all I can see is the reflection of the room.
‘Does that look out onto the gardens?’
‘Yep.’
‘Sweet. This is fancier than mine. And bigger.’ I hold my hands up. ‘But that’s no surprise; I definitely got second billing on this show. You’re the star.’ It’s true. My girl is fucking huge now. And I’m nowhere.
I’m so proud of her.
And pumped to be in her orbit.
Even if it’s only her professional one.
She smirks. ‘You do okay for yourself.’
‘Not really. I’m surprised you invited me up to your room.’
‘I’m assuming you can behave yourself and stick to the sofa. Have a seat.’
She points to the couch. Through the double doors, I see her bed. I swallow. Couch. Sofa, whatever. Got it.
‘Really, though.’ I sit. ‘I appreciate it.’
‘You softened me up with your apology on WhatsApp. It’s amazing how much nicer people are when you apologise for doing bad things to them,Josh. Do you want some camomile tea?’
She purses her lips together and sits down, leaving as much space between us as the couch allows. Her tone just now was passive-aggressive enough to suggest maybe she was bringing up my break-up tweet. I eye her nervously. I’m not sure where to go with this, not sure what will get me in trouble here.
‘Step Nine, right? Yes please to tea.’ She’s still drinking that stuff. She drank gallons of it when we were together.
There’s a tray on the coffee table in front of us with a china teapot and cups. She sets to work, resting the silver strainer on the rim of one of the cups before pouring.
‘Step Nine of what?’ She doesn’t look at me.
‘Of NA. And AA, too. Step Nine is making amends to all the people you’ve injured along the way.’
I watch carefully for a reaction, for a glimmer of encouragement that she might want that. She doesn’t say anything for a second, but the hand holding the teapot shakes and a little liquid splashes on the saucer.
‘Fuck. What if people don’t want your shitty attempt at making amends?’ She’s still not looking at me.
