Page 106 of Santa's Baby
I watch the simultaneous clash of her relief and horror as she braces herself on the breakfast bar.
“That’s, um, cool, I guess. Thank you. For saving my career.”
If only she knew how hard I’d had to fight for it. Plead for it. Take all of the blame on my shoulders.
“It’s cool, is it?”
“Yeah. I really appreciate it. I thought me and Creamgirl were done. Jesus Christ.” She slaps a hand on her chest. “Fucking hell, Reuben, I owe you the world. I really thought Cream was a goner. I thought I’d be spat out like a piece of shit.”
“You want to go back to being Creamgirl, then?” I take out my phone and place it on the countertop between us. “I can let Orla know and she’ll press the button.”
Her eyes dig into mine.
“What choice do I have? I’ve lost you, so at least I get to keep her. Thank you. Honestly.” Another lip tremble. “I’m sure you’ve had way more of a bollocking than I’ll get. It’s all come crashing down over a stupid snow globe, but it was going to happen at some point. I broke the rules, and now I have to pay for it. We both do.”
She’s still blaming herself. I see the wounds under her brash exterior, so raw.
“There is a choice,” I say. “You can either take your position back at the Agency and never see me again, or you can resign from your role.”
“Resign from my role and what? Move away?” She scoffs. “Fancy living in a beach hut with me? We can elope together.”
“It’s your choice, Tiff. Creamgirl with the conditions attached, or resignation.”
“And what about you? You just go on with the Agency regardless? Don’t worry, you can always pretend it’s me under the hood, even if they don’t have the ass for it.”
I grit my teeth at that. Her brashness trying to play things down.
“I don’t want Ella under a hood, and I don’t want Harlot under a hood. I don’t want any of the entertainers under a hood, actually. Not anymore. What I do want, is you.” My eyes pierce hers. “If I didn’t, we wouldn’t be in this situation, and you wouldn’t have such a choice to make right now. But the choice won’t be there long, Tiffany. Orla is expecting a yes or a no within the hour.”
Tiff looks confused. “You’ve got conditions too, I guess. You aren’t allowed to see me?”
“Founders aren’t allowed to engage personally with entertainers, no. That’s a fundamental rule.”
“Yeah, so we’re fucked anyway, if you’re not allowed toengagewith me. I may as well be Creamgirl.”
“May as well be, or want to be?”
“Does it make any difference?”
My stare doesn’t break. “Yes, it does. Because if either of us stay at the Agency, our encounters will be forbidden. Hence, I’m asking you, do you want to continue being Creamgirl?”
Her eyes narrow.
“Wait a minute. I’ve got to choose between my career and you? Is that what you’re saying?”
“Yes, it is.”
She twists on her stool. “And what happens to you? You have to choose between the Agency and me?”
“Indeed.”
She gives another scoff. “Fucking hell, Reuben. That’s a done deal, then. That’s got to be worth fucking millions. MILLIONS. And the associations. And everything along with it. Don’t worry, I’ll stay away and carry on being Creamgirl. You don’t need to feel guilty about it.”
My emotions want to burst out of my chest, and it’s so at odds with the man I’ve been for years. I love power. Self-restraint. The safety of being in control. But this woman in front of me has taken so much of it away from me. She’s stolen my heart and my sanity.
“This has nothing to do with guilt,” I say. “Do you want to carry on being Creamgirl, or do you want to let her go?”
It feels as though we are at a poker table, hedging the bets.