Dawson.Yep, I’m ready.
Perry:You’re helpless is what you are. I hope Brinley cares about you enough to say no.
He dares to say that he hopes Brinley says no? Traitor.
Dawson:Go pester someone else. I’m in bed and you’re keeping me up.It’s a lie, but Iamthinking about it. In fact, if I weren’t waiting for Marsha to get back to me, I’d have hit the sack by now.
Perry:Fine. Get your beauty sleep. You’re going to need it if you get on that show. I’ll leave you with two words: fluorescent lighting.
I sigh and glance about the space once more. I should call it a night. It’s getting late. Even if Marshadoeshear back from Brinley tonight, she’ll probably wait until tomorrow to forward the news. A stone—as cold and heavy as the marble steps I contemplate treading—sinks straight to my gut.Brinley’s going to say no, and not because she’s trying to protect my career. I had my chance with her, and I blew it.
I climb off the barstool. “Albert,” I call to my artificial intelligence assistant. “Switch tonightmode.”
“Switching the house lights to night mode, Dawson,” the AI voice says with his British accent. “Sleep tight.”
“Thanks,” I mumble. “You too.” The overhead lights fade as the nightlights slowly glow to life. Now the staircase really looks like it’s floating, the underside of each step lined with a cool strip of blue.
Once I make it to the owner’s suite, my phone starts to buzz. I swipe the screen to answer, seeing that it is, in fact, Marsha Langston herself.
“Tell me she said yes,” I breathe, skipping over the small talk.
“It’s not what we hoped. I’m sorry.”
I suck in a breath like I’ve been punched in the gut, but the pain is beyond physical. “Did she give you a reason?”
Marsha cracks out a humorless laugh. “She gave me more than justareason. She shot off an entire list of reasons. She’s a private person. She has no desire to be in the spotlight. She owns a business. She doesn’t want to risk soiling her reputation.”
“But nothing aboutme?”I can’t help but blurt.
“Oh, she said stuff about you. Let’s see…you’re evenmoreinto yourself than you were back then…”
“Not true,” I counter as Marsha lists the next.
“You just want what you can’t have, and…oh—you can’t stand the fact that someone out there isn’t inlovewith you like the rest of the universe.”
That one’s going to leave a scar.
“She says this is just another way to gain more fans,” Marsha adds.
That last one is ridiculous. “No way. She thinks I need morepublicity,is she kidding? My PR thinks this is social suicide, could we mention that?” My volume has raised, so I do my best to calm myself by pacing the dark room.
“This is a grand gesture, you know? Like in all the romcoms out there. I specifically agreed to do a reality TV show because Brinley used to give me crap for dissing them.” I stop there, realizing that I’m talking to the literal queen of reality TV herself. “No offense,” I add.
“None taken,” she assures. “Therewasone last thing. I gave her the dates for the show, and she noted that we’d finish filming on the day of the Emmys. She said that was…what were her exact words…incredibly convenient.”
Ouch. I thought it was convenient too, but it wasn’t by design. Yet this final tidbit reveals something. “That means she knows about the docuseries,” I say. “Otherwise, how would she know the Emmys are even relevant to me? The rest of my work is on the big screen.”
“I think it’s fair to say it’d be hardernotto know what Dawson Cain is up to these days. She probably knows more than she wants to.”
I’m conflicted. If Brinley would just sit down and watch the docuseries I not only hosted but co-produced, she’d have a better understanding of why I’m the way I am. Beyond that, she’d see the massive progress I’ve made since the breakup. “So, you don’t think she actually watched it?”
“Your guess is as good as mine,” Marsha says.
Irritation burns in my gut. “She hasn’t seen it,” I grumble. “The fact that she thinks I haven’t changed says it all.” Only I don’t feel so sure. “And you know what?” I add, “If shehaswatched it, and she somehowdoesstill feel that way about me—there isnohope for us. None.”
My body aches, like a literal gut-punch sort of pain, with longing. A longing to see Brinley. A longing for her to see me for who I really am. Maybe then she’ll change her mind about me.
A glimmer of hope flitters through me so fast, that I’m not even sure where it comes from.
