Silence. And then a seagull screams in the distance.
“No,” I say instinctively. “No way.”
13
Spencer
“D
ude,that’swhatshesaid when she saw me too.” One of the men laughs and I do a double take when I see Ashton Carrington is here.
There’s a lot more than just Ashton, but right now the seven she came in with are flanking Lyra like she’s their prized possession, one they don’t want to share.
“Lyra, please? I just need a minute.” I hate the note of pleading in my voice, but I should have expected it. Lyra will not make this easy for me.
She might make me beg.
Am I prepared for that? How far am I willing to go?
“Lyra, Spencer approached us about joining the show.” Grayson Grant is going to need the talents of a very expensive mediation lawyer if he wants to get this on camera. Which I know he does—The other producer—Rue or Prue—practically jumped up and down when I got there and they started planning our “reunion.”
“I realize this is unconventional,” he continues, “but because of your history with him, we made an exception. Won’t you listen to what he has to say?”
Lyrasnarlsat Grayson. “He has a girlfriend.”
“Not anymore,” I say quickly. “Abigail and I—”
“Didyoubreak up with her?”
“Can I talk to you alone for a minute?” I plead.
“There is no alone here.”
“Well, away from your…”Guardsis what I want to say because I think the huge guy behind Lyra is growling at me. “From your friends. For just a minute. Please, Lyra.”
At least Grayson is on my side, because none of the pack is. The host inclines his head, and with a frown reminiscent of seven-year-old Lyra, she stomps over to one of the pillars.
A cameraman follows her. I guess that’s what she meant about never being alone.
I signed up for this—better get used to it.
“Guess she didn’t like the surprise,” I say lamely, as I head over to her.
“None of us likes this surprise,” one of the men snaps. I don’t bother to look back to see who it was because now I’m standing in front of Lyra, and she’s all I can see.
Lyra, who has her hands on her slim hips, and an expression that would evoke fear in the bravest of men.
It’s not the first time I’ve seen it. “Talk,” she orders.
She looks… she looks amazing. Reddish hair swept up into a ponytail, a scatter of freckles across her nose from being out in the sun. Her white tank top hugs her curves, the pink strap of her bikini slipping down her shoulder.
I’ve argued cases in courts of law. I’ve given interviews on camera. I’ve made speeches, introduced each of the princes at events at one time or another, as well as the king. I’m articulate. I’m a good speaker.
Then why can’t I get the words out? Why is it so hard to tell Lyra how I feel? How I’ve always felt. “I thought we could … try.”
Her blue eyes narrow. “Try what?”
“Try to be together. As more than friends.”
