Page 132 of The Hopelessly Bromantic Duet
She draped an arm around me, squeezing my shoulder. “Then, don’t you think he was as hurt as you were?”
She had a point, but I’d felt so foolish the morning we fought. Seeing thatHollywood Scooparticle, learning about how he met the exec at my play, reading the news in the trades rather than hearing it from him. All of that stung like ten thousand jellyfish stings.
Olivia was persistent. When we met Holly for martinis that night, Olivia straight up asked my agent if she thought that TJ’s agent had stolen the deal out from under me. Olivia didn’t mention TJ and I had been involved.
I was on the edge of the barstool, eager for Holly’s take since she knew the players.
Holly tutted, then said, “From what I’ve been able to glean, this deal was simply one of those whirlwind romances. No one planned it. No one was sneaking around. It was bloody kismet, and that happens. Webflix wanted TJ’s book, plain and simple. That was the prize, and when a company that big wants something, it gets it.”
Olivia turned to me, a satisfied look in her eyes. “There you go.”
The women in my life knocked sense into me over gin and olives. I’d been outrageous. I’d been hurt. I’d been completely insecure.
On the one hand, I felt better. I hadn’t been used. But on the other hand, I felt nauseated. I’d completely fucked up. I was desperate to leave the bar and try to salvage things. The second I walked into the cottage in Venice, I grabbed my phone, clicked on TJ’s name, and called.
Silently, I begged for him to pick up.
He declined the call on the third ring. I texted him too, asking if he could talk.
Like a dog waiting at the door, I stared at my phone for what felt like days, my stomach twisting with each passing hour.
No reply came. He froze me out.
Seems I was right, and Olivia was wrong. He came for sex and got it, and then when the going got tough, he was gone.
For the second time in my life, I deleted his number.
When fate split us apart in London, I knew two things—I was crazy for him, and I missed him desperately.
This time around, I knew something else: I tried, and he didn’t.
Now, we’re in the CTM conference room with our agents and crisis management, and I know one more thing. The ice age is still on.
TJ’s arctic.
The intros fly so fast, I barely have a second to rehearse what I’ll say once we’re alone or to register details beyond the fact that his hair’s a little longer, his beard is a touch thicker, and his arms have officially reached throw-a-man-down-on-the-bed levels.
But I’m not going to joke that he’s probably the only writer who has tickets to the gun show. That’s too personal. Too friendly. Toowho we used to be.
I have to be someone else with him. When Holly introduces me, I offer my hand to shake as if meeting for the first time.
“I’d always hoped to land a part in a bring-a-nice-guy-home-for-the-holiday rom-com, so this’ll be fun, TJ,” I say, flashing my best smile his way, so he won’t know how much this ruse stings.
He blinks, a good sign I’ve surprised him. Brilliant. I’d like to keep him off-balance. But he recovers quickly, his eyes icy again. “And just think, now I’ll have first-hand experience I can use to write afakeromance,” he says.
Ouch. That’s a low blow.
But he still doesn’t let go of my hand. He lingers in the handshake. I glance at his fingers, which have mapped my entire body.
Inconveniently, my skin heats up from the memories.
I let go, dropping his palm. It’s good for me to be the one ending things, even a handshake. “Ah, I thought you’d done it before. My bad,” I say.
“But there’s a first time for everything,” he says bitterly.
Holly clears her throat. “And there’s a time, too, to get everything sorted. That time is now, gentlemen.” She nods to the door. “Mason and I will go fetch Slade.”
Once our agents leave, it’s just TJ and me in the sleek meeting room outfitted with a pair of long blue couches and a table. I wish I weren’t still attracted to TJ. Being alone with him feels like a cruel sort of joke.