‘You know we’ve got that awards ceremony two days before Christmas,’ she reminds me, curling a finger through her professionally blow-dried hair.
Hollywood’s Annual Christmas Awards Night, a celebration of all that’s occurred during the year and the opportunity to raise millions for charity.
Shit.
Not only have I been nominated for America’s Sexiest Actor (utterly cringeworthy), and Superlative Stunt of The Year (in fairness, scaling the side of New York’s tallest building was pretty cool even with all the harnesses), Celeste and I are up for “Celebrity Couple of the Year award.”
Ha. It just goes to show, nobody really knows what goes on behind closed doors. We might complement each other aesthetically, but that’s about the height of it.
‘Obviously we’ll pull out.’ Half of Tinseltown is talking about Spike and her, anyway.
‘We can’t.’ Black pupils widen. ‘You’re nominated in three categories. If you win them all, the entire evening’s proceeds go to the charity of your choice. Remember?’
How could I forget?
There is one charity that’s close to my heart. Not that Celeste gives a fuck about the American Addicts Support Society. She simply wants to attend the party. Brush shoulders with Hollywood’s most elite. And I’m her ticket in.
‘We aren’t a couple anymore, Celeste. The whole of Hollywood knows you’re sleeping with Spike,’ I remind her.
‘Nobody knows that for sure. It’s not like Spike and I made an official announcement yet.’ She pats down the virgin-white dress she’s wearing across her flat stomach. ‘You know as well as I do, the world speculates about every man and woman cast as lovers on screen.’
‘Yeah, and this time their speculations are bang on.’
‘Do it for the charity,’ she urges, catching her lower lip between her veneers.
It’s a low blow.
The woman has a heart of steel.
‘We can break up after Christmas officially.’ Cat-like eyes methodically stalk over my body.
She’s unbelievable. ‘You can see yourself out.’
She continues packing one more ridiculous outfit after another. ‘See you next month, sweetie.’
A snort bursts from my nose. No, you won’t,sweetie.
At least our time together has taught me something. No, it’s taught me everything. Everything I don’t want in a woman. Though it’s not like I didn’t already know that I’ve been dating the wrong ones deliberately. Dating the ones who don’t possess the potential to hurt me.
I’m not emotionally stunted.
I’m emotionally cautious. It’s different.
My feet pad across the thick, plush carpet of the wide, winding staircase to the bright, spacious hallway below. As I stride through to the glass-fronted lounge area overlooking the glistening infinity pool and glinting granite paving, I’m still shaking my head at the one-trick pony comment.
It hit a nerve. Seeped into my skin. Ignited my own secret suspicions that I’m hired for the way I look, and not because I’m particularly talented.
The urge to prove Celeste, and even myself, wrong sparks like a live wire inside my chest.
A crystal decanter calls to me from the glass minibar I had installed when I moved in. I no longer take drugs, but I am partial to the odd Middleton Rare. I pour myself a good measure and take my glass across the enormous sitting room, flopping into a leather recliner that cost more than most people earn in a year.
I’m not most folk, though. I’m a one-trick pony. A walking, talking, breathing, living action man.
Apparently.
Swirling the whisky around the crystal tumbler, I contemplate my next move. The paps will go wild when Celeste and Spike officially announce their romance. I’d rather not be anywhere near it, but if I flee, it’ll look like I care.
What I need is a valid reason. Maybe a vacation. Christmas is coming, though it’s a holiday I’m not a huge fan of. Not anymore, anyway.
