Chapter Nine
Beverly losther smile the second she stepped into the elevator, her cheeks screaming with relief. She’d been on for the last two hours, moving from conference room to conference room as she either spoke to large groups of media reps or did one-on-one interviews with the journalists whom the studio considered influencers.
At this point, all she wanted to do was go into the room, fall face down on the bed, and pass out.
Or, better, strip naked and let Griffin massage her back. She’d learned just how talented his hands were the other night, and she was craving his touch. So much that she’d actually zoned out in one of the interviews, only to be brought back to the present when her co-star had gently kicked her shin under the table.
Now, thank goodness, she had a full fifteen minutes of downtime before the dress would arrive along with the hair dresser and the makeup artist. Somedays, the hoopla that surrounded Beverly The Actress made her feel like a princess. Other days, it exhausted her.
Today, she wished it would all go away so she could veg on the couch with Griffin, watch any movie that she wasn’t in, then make love slowly by candlelight.
A nice fantasy, but not one that would happen tonight. Instead, she’d be going stag to her own movie premiere.
She told herself she understood, and she did.
But understanding didn’t erase the disappointment. And, yes, the fear. After all, she’d been in the front row as she watched the drama of her parents’ marriage disintegrating, torn apart by the distance—both emotional and physical—between them.
Her father had been a long haul pilot, her mother a stay at home mom. Her mother drank too much, and in later years Beverly realized that she drank to forget, or at least to dull the pain of her cheating husband, who, as the cliché went, had a woman in every port.
After her parents’ divorce, Beverly’s mother had told her that no man was worth losing your heart over. Beverly didn’t know if that was true or not, but where Griffin was concerned, she didn’t have a choice. She’d fallen so damn hard for him, and she believed that he’d fallen equally hard for her.
According to her mother, though, she and Beverly’s father had been head-over-heels when they’d first started out, too. But like erosion, time and distance had chipped away at the foundation of their marriage until it had no choice but to topple and break into a million pieces, too shattered to even try to repair.
Was that what she had to look forward to with Griffin?
No.
It was completely different. He was there for her. Hell, he was just a few floors up. So what if he wasn’t coming to the premiere, he was still there. Still ready to hold her afterwards, still willing to hear her stories.
But still…
It mattered. She didn’t want to tell him the stories, she wanted to live them with him. And yet she couldn’t beg. She could only be grateful for what he was able to give. He’d come all the way to LA with her, after all. And that was a lot.
Her thoughts in a jumble, she left the elevator and hurried to the room, hoping for at least a few minutes with him before the insanity of prep began. She slid her key over the magnetic lock, pushed open the heavy door, then stepped inside the well-appointed foyer.
“Bev?”
“It’s me,” she called. “Are you—”
The question caught in her throat as he stepped into the hallway, and her hand flew to her mouth as she took in what he wore. “Griffin?”
“Does your offer to go with me still stand?”
“Always, but—”
His mouth twitched as he fought a smile. “I couldn’t just wear my hoodie. I thought this might do. What do you think?” He turned in a circle, fashion show style, and she felt tears prick her eyes. He’d done this for her. Created an outfit suitable to hide his scars so that she’d have a date for her premiere.
He finished his turn and stood facing her. She studied the elegant silk suit, the raised collar of the suit coat, the black glove that concealed his right hand. She noticed the wig he wore so that it appeared that his hair brushed his shoulders, the right side hanging like a curtain to hide his scars. And the dark gray fedora, the brim tilted to provide additional coverage, along with the dark glasses.
He looked like a character in one of his stories, a wounded vigilante out to save the world. He looked a little ridiculous with the wig and the upturned collar. Mostly, though, he looked amazing. He looked like a man she could love.
“You did this for me?” Her throat was thick with tears.
“For us. It’s a little odd, I know. You okay being seen with me?”
She was too overcome to speak, but she nodded, tears staining her cheeks. She brushed them away, laughing as she sniffled. “Good thing someone’s coming to do my makeup. You’re sure?”
“Unless you’ve lined up another date.”