“You slept with someone who listens to country music!”
She licked her lips. “It stopped him from reporting me to the police. And I fixed his sound system afterwards.”
My friend was a legend amongst weird people. “Was he attractive?”
“So hot. He’s a cop, and he’s from Texas.” She grinned wickedly. “He’s staying with his college friend who’s some big businessman, only his friend’s away in Europe. He could be feeding me a load of shit, who knows?” She shrugged. “I don’t care. He had no idea who I was and he fucked like a champ. And, even better, the country music’s stopped.”
I laughed. With Lila there wasn’t much else you could do.
My busy schedule was my saving grace. I didn’t have time to think about Ryan or over-analyse the conversation we’d had yesterday. I found fifteen minutes to change the bed, putting the used linen in the wash and ridding the bed of Ryan’s scent. If I got into those sheets tonight, I didn’t see myself getting out of them in the morning.
My phone was put on silent and I left it at the bottom of my bag, checking it only between meetings, and not staring at the screen when I knew Ryan would still be in the air.
I smiled my way through the interview, answering vaguely when they asked about my love life, and redirecting the conversation back to my upcoming release and the series. My agent was too focused on the scripts I’d been sent, one of which was particularly golden. She wasn’t interested in my love life; she never had been. She’d been an agent for the last forty years, mainly to actresses, and she had always said to never let my career be defined by a man.
Dinner with the owner of the cosmetics company I was linking with, and his entourage was distracting. The owner was effervescent to say the least, dramatic in the best possible way and exactly what I’d hoped he would be after speaking to him once on the phone. He was actually English, from Birmingham, although he did what he could to disguise his accent.
“Aren’t you seeing that tasty morsel of a footballer?” he asked as he topped up my champagne. “Or am I being personal?”
“We’re kind of still seeing each other.” I held back my words, an avalanche of them ready to pour even though this man was almost a stranger.
He nodded. “Enjoy every moment, darling. Even the difficult ones, because they just make the sunny ones brighter. Waiter! Could we have a dozen shots?”
I had the sense to avoid the shots. A hangover tomorrow wasn’t something I had time for, and a lot of alcohol would only make me morose and likely to send text messages that I’d regret in the morning.
I left my new friend to his soiree, taking a taxi back and wondering how much of my next paycheck I’d be spending on cabs while I was in New York. As soon as I got back to my apartment, I allowed myself to check my phone.
There was a message. From Ryan.
Got home safely. Speak soon x
And that was when I cried.
CHAPTER19
Ryan
The apartment was empty.
Since July, I’d contended with Rowan’s stuff popping up. He wasn’t the untidiest of housemates, in fact, he was pretty okay, but I’d become used to his opened and unfinished food in the fridge, the pile of shoes that accumulated near the door and the collection of games controllers, most needing fixing, because Rowan did not like losing.
At some point, I’d fix them. Some point when I was trying not to think about Otter and what she was doing. At some point when I was trying not to search her name on the internet and read every interview she’d done in the last week.
Which was exactly what I was doing now.
Since I’d got back from New York we’d texted. It wasn’t quite the same as it was before – the distance wasn’t just physical; there was more than the Atlantic between us now. Even though we hadn’t spent a lot of time together, I missed her.
At the same time, I had things to do. Stuff to tidy. The farmhouse had completed, and I’d managed to get the builders to start earlier than planned, mainly because someone else’s project had fallen through.
My hamstring had improved, making both coach and Amber pleased. I took on Amber’s advice, building up more strength in my legs to try to stop it from becoming a weakness, and watching film of how I moved to see if I could change my technique. I wanted another three seasons of playing, then I'd seriously look at retiring.
What I was looking at now was an interview with Otter that had just been published. Her film had done well, both in box office takings and critical acclaim, and she was widely tipped to be an Oscar nominee. She’d actually sent me a screenshot from a reviewer where it predicted that she could win the Best Supporting Actress category, followed by a text through which I could hear her excitement.
I started to read through the interview, some of it her standard comments about making movies and the TV series that she’d worked on. It was well-written, the text interspersed with photos from a shoot where she’d been styled in as different characters from major films, including The Princess Bride, where she was wearing a wedding dress.
My eyes lingered on that longer than any other photo.
I’d read a few comments in the media that linked her to co-stars or other actors, and I’d dismissed them, because like Otter had said, it was publicity fodder. One of the men she was linked with I knew would not have been interested in her as she didn’t have the parts he’d find important.
