His shoulders sagged in relief and Lyric, who’d been watching the whole scene play out with big, sad eyes, ran a hand soothingly up the middle of his back. “Don’t worry. Cash knows he needs a firm hand sometimes.”
Lyric’s lips curved impishly and the tension in the limo broke.
“Ugh.” Poppy tipped her head back and groaned. “Brain bleach. I need brain bleachimmediately.”
“Not that this conversation isn’t riveting,” Rosaline cut in dryly, fingers stroking the fragile, sensitive skin of Poppy’s wrist, making her shiver. “But we’re here.”
Cash clapped his hands together. “Game time, babe.”
Lyric booped him on the nose. “I think you meanshowtime, baby.”
“Open the door before I throw up all over my suit. It’s dry-clean only,” Rosaline demanded, voice strained, sounding as nauseated as Poppy felt.
Cash stepped out of the limo first and immediately turned, offering his hand to Lyric, who beamed up at him as she took it, her smile as bright as the cameras that immediately flashed.
Poppy was closest to the door, logically she should’ve stepped out next, but she didn’t, couldn’t. Not until she did something first.
As if sensing her hesitation, Rosaline looked at her curiously. “Poppy?”
“Thank you,” she said. “For doing what you did. I know I messed up...”
Rosaline’s fingers banded around her wrist, her grip gentle but firm. Just right. “You think Lyric and I don’t fight sometimes?” She’d also worn her hair down tonight and it fell in perfect, Old Hollywood–style waves around her shoulders, swaying when she shook her head. “Of course we fight. Let me tell you, back when we lived together?” Her lips drew to one side, quirking in a rueful little smile. “But we always get over it. Because we love each other. Cash was going to come to you, with his tail between his legs, and apologize eventually. I just nudged the inevitable along.”
“Sure, but the way he felt was written all over his face as clearly as a billboard. He was going to step out on that carpet, and everyone was going to assume there was some sort of trouble brewing in paradise.”
Peoplelovedto assume. Especially if those assumptions made for a good story. Even more so if they made them money.
Rosaline nodded emphatically. “You’re right. They absolutely would have.” She nudged her knee against Poppy’s and smiled. “Which is why part of our job is crisis management. And it’s always better to—”
“Prevent fires than have to put them out.” Poppy shut her eyes. “Iknowthat. Like I said, I—”
“If the next words out of your mouth are some variation ofmessed up,Curran’s not going to be the only one in need of a firm hand,” Rosaline warned, slightly tightening her grip on Poppy’s wrist.
Her breath caught and beneath Rosaline’s fingers, her pulse sped.
“Or maybe you’d like that.” Heat pooled low in her gut at the scorching look Rosaline sent her, low lids and a smile that promised Poppy would love and hate what Rosaline did to her in equal measure.
She had to swallow before she could speak and even then, her voice still came out strangled, high and thready. “Maybe I would.”
Rosaline exhaled sharply, seemingly as affected by the promises she was making as Poppy was. She gave Poppy’s wrist another squeeze. “You’re the one who helped me realize that we should be working together. You drop a ball, I pick it up. And it goes both ways. Not that I believe you dropped a ball. I think—” She paused, pressing her lips together like she was choosing her nextwords carefully. “Your feelings on the matter are valid. If you don’t want—”
“Um.” Cash ducked his head into the limo and Rosaline instantly let go of Poppy’s wrist. Poppy tried not to let the snub sting and failed. Miserably. “Not to interrupt what looked like a”—he threw Rosaline a cheeky smile—“rivetingconversation, but are you two going to, you know, do your jobs?”
Chapter Twelve
“Lyric!”
“Ms. Adair!”
“Cash! Cash!”
“Over here!”
“This way! Lyric!”
“Can we get a photo of you two together?”
“You’re stunning!”
