But I also can’t fail in the challenge. I never do.
“Right,” I say. “So I’m not hitting on you.”
“I got that.” Aaron looks a little insulted now.
“I just like to know about my assistants’ lives, you know? Get to know who they really are. And their girlfriend—or boyfriend, or spouse, whatever—is part of that.”
“Okay,” Aaron says slowly. “I don’t have any of those right now.”
Well, that’s one question answered. No current relationship.
“Right now,” I say. “But you did?”
“Um, yeah. I’ve had girlfriends.” He blinks. “Are you wanting to find someone to talk to about Blake? Because I’m not really a relationship expert or anything, and I’m not sure I—”
“No,” I say quickly. “No, nothing like that.” God, I need to be done with this conversation. And pray Aaron doesn’t report to some tabloid what a nutcase Kim Watterson is. From now on, I will be the picture of professionalism as far as my assistant is concerned. “Never mind.Thanks for the work on my schedule. And with Costanza. I’d like him to get some extra time at that dog park this afternoon, if possible.”
“Yeah, sure,” Aaron says. “Of course.”
I turn and walk back to Blake, shaking my head at the wide grin he’s giving me.
“How’d it go?” he asks, all too casually.
I punch him in the shoulder, and he winces. “That good, huh?” he asks.
“I, being me, managed to accidentally hit on him, then reject him, then—Ithink—imply that maybe he’s never been in a relationship.”
Blake fights valiantly to hold in a laugh and fails.The sound of it makes my embarrassment worth it—pretty much exactly like he said about his Hug Connection.
“But,” I say with a smile, “I found out that he is not gay, and he doesn’t have a girlfriend or wife. So I got the information, anyway.”
Blake slings his arm around my waist and pulls me up against him. “That’s my Kim.”
I could hear him say those words forever.
Fifteen
Blake
My assistant Cassie spent most of a day finding us a therapist in the Miami area who is trustworthy enough to handle celebrity clients, doesn’t balk at the idea of handling paparazzi, and can see us on short notice. I gather we’re paying through the nose for all the hassle this is creating for the therapist, but she still found a highly recommended marriage counselor who’s willing to meet with us the next evening in his basement office at his home in a gated community. It sounds like an excellent setup—private, secluded, and most importantly, immediate.
All the way there, Kim jitters her leg up and down, looking nervously out the window. I stretch an arm around her and pull her closer—at least as far as the seatbelts will allow. “What’s wrong?” I ask.
She shrugs, then sighs. “I’m afraid the therapist will say we’re all wrong for each other.That we shouldn’t be getting back together at all, let alone this quickly.”
“If he says that, then we find another therapist.”
Kim seems to shrink beneath my arm. “But what if he’s right?”
I know it’s mostly fear talking, but it still stings to hear that she thinks this is possible. “Do you want to be with me?”
Kim nods. “So much.”
I never get tired of hearing her say that. “Then I don’t care if we’re right for each other. I want to be with you, and I’m going to do everything I can to make it work.”
Kim still doesn’t seem sure, and it terrifies me.
The driver enters the code to the gated community and pulls through, and the gate swings closed behind us. I can see a couple of cars parking on the street behind us—paparazzi who followed us from the hotel. Another benefit of meeting in a residential neighborhood is that it’ll take longer for them to figure out that we’re seeing a therapist, if they figure it out at all. I’m not concerned about news of this being public—getting help is a good thing, and I wish we’d done it a long time ago—but I know it’ll bother Kim if it hits the gossip sites.
