“What was that all about?” Jeffrey asks loudly.
“Shh! They may hear you.”
“Well?” His voice is urgent but softer.
My chest tightens. Brandon’s eyes are back on me. I give Jeffrey an affectionate kiss on the cheek. “Just keep acting like we’re madly in love.”
“Are you trying to make Brandon Taylor jealous?”
“Snuggle with me and wrap an arm around me. Then, smack another kiss on my lips. By the way, you’re an excellent kisser.”
“Thanks, but after that, no more mouth kisses.”
“Deal.”
Jeffrey does as bid. I keep one eye on Brandon. Ooh! He’s jealous alright. His brows furrow deep enough to make a crease while Katrina, oblivious, drinks champagne. I’m loving every minute of this charade.
Jeffrey digs into a piece of the sushi as do I. My appetite’s suddenly come back with a vengeance.
“He’s staring at you,” Jeffrey says after swallowing a mouthful of the tender fish.
I make eyes at Brandon. My actions only taunt him more. His nostrils flare.
“Feed me a piece of sushi. Then I’ll do the same. Keep smiling.”
With his chopsticks, Jeffrey picks up another bite-sized sushi roll. I do the same. We exchange rolls. Nothing says love like a couple feeding each other.
Jeffrey puts his chopsticks down. “Is there something going on between the two of you? I think he likes you.”
My heart skips a beat and I swallow hard. “What do you mean?”
“He’s attracted to you. I can tell by the way he looked at you. He’s still staring at you.”
I meet Brandon’s smoldering gaze and my heart races. The memory of our shower rushes back into my head. My skin prickles. I can hardly breathe. Any hope that Jeffrey might be right comes to an abrupt halt when Brandon lets Katrina take a hand to her mouth. My stomach churns watching her suck on his fingers.
Jeffrey’s voice cuts into my misery. “Are you attracted to him?”
“Every woman in the world is attracted to Brandon Taylor,” I answer defensively and then inwardly sigh. Part with relief that I’ve come up with a good line and part with remorse that Brandon can never be mine. Even if Katrina didn’t exist, I don’t belong in his world of glamour and glitz.
My intuitive brother, who’s inherited Pops’s sixth sense for bullshit detection, rolls his long-lashed eyes. The no-nonsense straight shooter goes right for the zing. “Zoey Hart. You better level with me. You’re in love with him.”
It’s more of a statement than a question. He’s right. Is it that obvious?
“No,” I counter, my voice thin and unconvincing. “Honestly, it’s just a stupid schoolgirl crush.”
“Come on, Zoester. You can’t fool me for a second. I’m going to tell Chaz.”
“No, please don’t!” My panic only underscores the truth. I shrug in defeat. “Jeffrey, sweetie, I don’t want to talk about Brandon anymore.”
My beloved brother looks at me with warmth in his caramel eyes. “Just know, Zoester, I’m always here for you.”
“Thanks,” I say, clasping his hands. “I know that.”
My voice trails off. Trying to stave off a wave of sadness, I absently play with my chopsticks. My eyes stay riveted on Brandon. I watch as he stands up and rounds his table to help Katrina out of her seat. With her heels on, they’re almost the same height. He tilts her head back with a thumb and plants a kiss on her lips.
Jealousy spreads through me like a raging wildfire. Every organ inside me is burning to a crisp. Katrina saunters away—she must be going to the restroom. I wish she was going to burn in hell.
Brandon buries his face back in his menu and completely ignores me. My heart sinks like the Titanic. Game over.
Jeffrey, who’s witnessed the kiss, reads me like a magazine. “You’re too good for him.”
I twitch a small, woeful smile. No, he’s too good for me. He’s way out of my league.
Jeffrey reads my mind. “C’mon. Let’s get the check and get out of here.”
Despondently, I ask him if I can sleep at his place.
“Sure, honey.” He squeezes my hand and right now, that’s just what I need.
Brandon
I have a restless night’s sleep. No matter how much I try, I can’t get Zoey’s boyfriend out of my mind. The prick is movie star handsome and a damn good dresser. That slick suit he was wearing was no off-the-rack rag. It easily cost a couple thousand bucks. And he was really into her. I had to mentally chain myself to my chair when he kissed her. I wanted to take him by his collar and throw him out the front door. And make it loud and clear to him to never touch my property again. That’s right, dickwad. I own Zoey Hart. She’s my paid assistant. Hands off!
And as if having to put up with their lovey-dovey shenanigans wasn’t bad enough, Katrina and I had a huge fight. Over dinner, I told her that she and her mother were spending way too much money on the wedding. Seriously… five hundred thousand dollars—and that’s just in deposits. And that doesn’t include Katrina’s hundred thousand dollar gown. I asked her—is it studded in diamonds?
Some kind of exorbitant crystals with a name I can’t remember. But that’s not what made me almost spit up my meal. The real clinker was she told me she bought a dog. Using my credit card! And not just any dog. Some designer mutt—a Maltipoo—that cost ten thousand dollars. A bargain next to the twenty-five grand Paris Hilton plunked down on two teacup Pomeranians. She’s already told the press the pup is a pre-nuptial present from me. By the time I dropped her off at her condo, it was all over the Internet¸ Instagram, and Twitter. The dog’s name is Gucci. Gucci the poochie. America’s “It Dog.” I need a fucking dog like I need another hole in the head.
And it gets worse. When I got home, I had a splitting headache. Just my luck, I was out of Advil. So I texted Zoey to run out to the all-night Rite Aid and pick me up a bottle of the painkillers. She immediately texted me back.
Can’t. At my boyfriend’s. Downtown. Plus don’t have my car.
Simmering mad, I texted her back.
Borrow his car.
And she replied.
Can’t. We’re busy right now.
Doing what?
Use ur imagination.
Ending the conversation, I almost threw my phone across my bedroom. And then I wanked off…well, tried. Zoey’s damn boyfriend got in the way of my imagination. I couldn’t stop thinking of him ravaging her. The asshole stole my fantasy!
So given my night, it’s not surprising I feel like shit this morning. It’s the butt crack of dawn. My head still hurts. My cock aches. And I’m full of piss. Stark naked, I roll out of bed and, after my bathroom routine, stagger into my walk-in closet. I yank one of my dozens of swim briefs off the built-in shelves, trying to push the events of last night out of my mind. Today’s my first day back on the set. I need to get it together. Maybe a couple of extra laps in the pool will help.
The swim is just what I need. It clears my head and releases my stress. Revitalized, I hoist myself out of the pool and as I get to my feet, a beaming Zoey appears. Barefoot, she’s wearing the same outfit she wore last night—a clingy little black mini dress—and her wild chestnut hair has that bedhead look going on. My stomach muscles tighten. I can feel it in my gut. Oh, yeah. She got laid. Big time.
“Hi,” she says brightly, heading my way with a Starbucks bag in her hand. “I had my boyfriend stop at Starbucks and picked up your coffee.” She sets it on a table while I towel dry myself.
“You’re welcome,” she chirps.
I hate when she does that. She never gives me a chance to say thank you. It’s not like those two words don’t exist in my vocabulary.
She takes my coffee out of the bag. Surprisingly, there isn’t one for her. Hmm. Maybe she already had one with Jeffrey. Though he looks like the British tea-drinker type.