Some of the worry lines disappeared from Patrick’sforehead. ‘I know this is your first time on set. It can be pretty overwhelming with all the lights, and noise, and everything else going on.’ He leaned towards me, his cologne and something deeper – muskier – flooding my nose. Heat seeped deep into me, at every place our bodies met – his shoulders, arms and thighs all leaving invisible brands on me. I struggled to focus on his words.
‘If it gets too much, just throw me a signal or a look. I’ll get you out of there, Derek be damned.’
Where was the arsehole? What the hell was going on?
‘Who are you and what have you done with my Patrick?’ The possessive pronoun slipped out before I could catch it. I could feel myself flush.
Patrick chuckled – a deep, low thing – before continuing. ‘I know what it’s like feeling like you don’t belong here. I’ve been in the limelight for years now and I still don’t enjoy this shit. Probably never will.’
Huh. Well, that matched up with everything I had learnt about him so far – not that he’d given me much.
‘I imagine you’ve already had to give up so much because of me. I … I don’t want you to have to be any more uncomfortable than you already are.’ His voice was soft, softer than I had heard it before.
This. This was the Patrick I’d imagined when I first met him. This was the guy I’d been secretly longing to appear since that first fake date.
And now I had him, I didn’t know what to do with him.
A loud knock interrupted us. I swivelled my head to see clipboard guy peeking in. ‘We really need to get you mic’d up, Mr Tetlow, and we’ve got a seat for you at the front of the audience, Ms Donovan.’
Patrick took in a long, slow breath. Then the smile I knew so well – the smile I now knew was fake – appeared as he held out his hand. ‘Let’s go make Derek happy and get this over with.’
I looked up at him and placed my hands in his softly. His grip tightened and energy crackled between us, just for a second, before he turned and led us out the door.
My hand stayed in his all the way to set.
NINE
I’m watching from the sidelines of my own mind, and surprise, surprise, it’s a disaster …
–from ‘Observer’, by These Exiles
I WAS TRYING. I really was trying to be better. But I had told Derek I didn’t want to wear a suit.
I hate formalwear.
‘It’s the dress code, Patrick, what do you want me to say?’ Derek’s voice rang through on loudspeaker. ‘Just wear it. You look great in suits, and we need to get some good shots of you tonight.’
I’d be more inclined to believe him if it wasn’t his job to keep me sweet.
My eyes flicked over the outfit. It was … fashionable. Probably hot off some runway. As I picked the jacket up, I wondered what Jessy would think about it.
Damnit. I was doing that a lot recently. Wondering about Jessy – what she thought of me.
Stupid.
‘You don’t want to embarrass Jessy, do you?’ Derek’s voice said slyly. Like he knew something I didn’t.
My jaw tightened. ‘I don’t know what you mean.’
‘Word on the street is that the two of you were getting pretty cosy on that chat show.’ I could hear the glee dripping from his voice.
Cosy. That was one word for it.
Yeah, I’d checked in on Jessy throughout the ad breaks, and someone in the audience must have snapped some photos of us, because pictures had been circling the internet since. The shots painted a certain narrative – one that Derek and the label were all too happy about.
What Jessy thought about it, I didn’t know. I hadn’t asked.
‘No one says “word on the street” any more, Derek,’ I replied smartly. I was not going to be discussing whatever pseudo-truce Jessy and I had fallen into with my publicist. It would just encourage him to trot us out in front of the world some more.
