“Pretty dress,” she said, as if she hadn’t already seen it, hadn’t already unzipped it once and watched the silk puddle around Poppy’s feet before she took Poppy apart with her mouth right in the fitting room. “You clean up nice.”
“This week on National Geographic Television, Los Angles Edition,”Cash said in a shitty Australian accent,“we explore the courting and mating habits of—ow,babe!” His lower lip jutted out as he rubbed his chest, soothing the nipple Lyric had just tweaked through his lace shirt. “That hurt.”
Poppy glared at him.
One thing. She’d asked him foronedamn thing.
“From what Lyric’s told me, you’re into that kind of thing.” Rosaline flashed him a wicked grin. “Let’s not get into a pissing contest, Curran. I will always win.”
His jaw dropped and a vivid flush crept from his chest up to his eyebrows. Beside him, Lyric clapped a hand over her mouth, muffling a snort.
“What the fuck, babe?” Cash turned to her in horror.
Things she did not need to know for one thousand, Alex.
“It’s not like I go into specifics,” Lyric argued, stroking his cheek with the backs of her fingers.
He leaned into her touch, a little like a great big puppy looking for pets. Which—no, her brain was not going there. “Wait. Did you tell her about the thing with—”
“Okaaay,” Rosaline interrupted, sparing Poppy from either having to plug her ears or experience the horror of learning more about Cash’s apparently not-so-vanilla sex life. What she’d heard was already enough. “Here’s how tonight’s going to work.” She paused, turning to look at Poppy. “Actually, why don’t you take point?”
She cleared her throat. “Sure. I’ll keep it brief—”
“You better, because I can see the theater across the street, Pop-Tart.” Cash craned his neck, peering through the tinted window.
She scowled at him. “IsaidI’ll keep it brief. And please don’t call me that right now.” He’d temporarily lost the privilege of using her nickname for his blatant disregard of her one request. “You said it before; you’re my boss, remember? We’re working tonight.”
Cash’s smile fell. “Pop—”
“A few reminders.” His hangdog expression wasn’t going to work on her, not now. “Lyric, this is far from your first rodeo, so I’m sure you already know this. Feel free to ignore me. The show starts at five, we’re arriving at, um—”
She reached for her clutch, needing her phone to check the exact time.
“Just after four thirty,” Rosaline said, phone already in hand, beating her to the punch.
Poppy shot her a grateful, albeit tight smile. “Thanks. We’ll pass through the security tent, Rosaline and I will pick up our publicity credentials, and we’ll hit the carpet. You’re not doing the press line, but there will be a designated area for photos. Atthis point, you hardly need an introduction, but I’ll be escorting you. We want to move it along. Um.” Outside, the limo neared the theater, slowing behind a few other cars, and she paused, stealing a breath, heart racing, mind going a mile a minute. This was fine. She was fine. She could do this. “Even though we aren’t doing the press line, we’ll be passing through and media will likely try to persuade you, probably through Rosaline and me, for thirty seconds. It’s a no. No exceptions. You have one exclusive withOutmagazine, Cash. I’ll stop you when we reach them. Then there will be escorts when we reach the doors to the theater. Rosaline and I have all our tickets so you don’t have to worry about that; we’ll hand you yours when we reach the doors. After the show, you’ll follow an escort to the back where security will have coordinated with the driver to take you to the after-party.”
She exhaled shakily. Had she missed anything? Press, photos, exclusive... no. She hadn’t and if she had—a possibility—Rosaline was here. No way would she let anything slip through the cracks.
Lyric reached across the back seat, setting a hand on Poppy’s knee. “Thank you.”
“Yeah. Thanks, P—” Cash let out a shuddering breath, dug a knuckle into his right eye. “Thank you.”
Her heart crashed into her stomach, breath escaping in a punched-out whoosh that had Rosaline swiveling and studying her with sharp eyes that had her shrinking in her seat.
Poppy had one job tonight—make sure things went off without a hitch. It was ajob,one that she’d only recently convinced Rosaline she wasn’t a total hack at. What they were doing off the clock was meant to alleviate the stress of the job, not add to it. In trying to be professional, Poppy had overcorrected and now Cash was upset and he couldn’t go out on the carpet all gloomand doom because the gossip blogs would smell blood in the water and spin a story about how his relationship with Lyric was on the rocks and—
“Curran,” Rosaline didn’t quite snap, but her tone was demanding enough to make Cash sit up straighter, looking at her with wide eyes. “Apologize to your best friend.”
What. “Rosaline, we don’t need to—”
Rosaline’s hand was on her wrist, just resting there, but the touch was unexpected, making the words dry up in her throat.
“Just do it,” Rosaline said in that same take-no-prisoners tone. “Tell Poppy you’re sorry for upsetting her.” One of her brows rose. “Mean it.”
Cash wiped his palms on his thighs and blew out a breath, eyes lifting and meeting hers, stare beseeching. She fidgeted, the fingers of the hand not snared by Rosaline tapping tunelessly against the leather seat. “I’m sorry for not listening to you and for saying what I said when you told me not to talk about it,” he said, eyes flickering briefly to Rosaline before returning to hers. “I was a dick for—I was a dick. No excuses.”
Tears welled up behind her eyes, which she blinked back as fast as she could, refusing to let them fall and ruin her makeup moments before she stepped out onto the red carpet and into a sea of celebrities and photographers. “Apology accepted. And I’m sorry for being a neurotic hard-ass.” She offered him a shaky smile. “It’s only because I care.”
