Chapter Eight
For the next week, I was consumed with reading scripts and wondering which one would be best to audition for. It was the greatest of distractions, and I couldn’t be more grateful for it.
Parker and I seemed to have a silent agreement not to press the tense underlying current between us. We simply carried on as if we were perfectly fine, and for the time being, it suited me well. Now he was coming over tonight, and I was making dinner. This would be the first time I had seen him in a week since he had a tight schedule. He was set to leave for New York in two days.
I made Ina Garten’s penne alla vecchia bettola with a simple garden salad and filet mignon medallions. It wasn’t difficult to follow through, and it was one of my favorite go-to menus for guests. This was also my first time cooking for Parker, and I was a little hyped to hear his feedback. He was a major foodie and loved to dine at Michelin star restaurants. God knew mine couldn’t compare but it was still beyond delicious. I just hoped he saw the effort I put into it.
He arrived on my doorstep at exactly six-thirty with a bottle of wine in hand.
“What’s for dinner?” He took a whiff before he beamed and wrapped his arms around my waist. “You cooked? Oh, baby, that’s amazing of you.” Kissing my cheek, he then spun me around to face him. “I’m sure you already know I’m a picky eater, so don’t get too offended if I don’t like something,” he warned before leaving a chaste kiss on my lips.
His facial expression had gone from soft to a cocky smirk, which irritated the hell out of me. The idiot couldn’t simply enjoy the fact that I had painstakingly catered to him.
“Gee, thanks for the heads-up.” Why did I even bother? Regardless, it was too late to shove this idea down.
“All I did was warn you. I don’t want to end our night arguing again, so don’t get annoyed with me, Cara.”
If only I was annoyed. I was something all right, but annoyance wasn’t it. And for fuck’s sake, couldn’t we just enjoy something without him dampening our time together with some unruly comment? I got it that he was high maintenance; there was no arguing about that.
Instead of focusing on the negative vibe he gave off, I tried my damnedest to concentrate on making the table and placing the food in their serving dishes.
“So, any news on the auditions front? Liked, any scripts?” Parker tried small talk, to which I replied a curt “some” and carried on with setting the table while he busied himself by opening the bottle of Malbec he brought.
We dined in uncomfortable ambiance. Every topic he dwelled on were mostly about him, and I needed not bother replying. It was one of those moments when he got so enthralled talking about himself that it was to the point of nausea. He wasn’t normally so self-absorbed, but when he did, it could go on for quite a while.
“This is surprisingly good,” he paid me a compliment, half an hour too late.
“I’m flattered,” I commented sarcastically.
He made a shocking statement after he had criticized that I didn’t use organic ingredients. God help the normal folks who didn’t shop at Whole Foods. It was an appalling crime apparently, according to Mister Hollywood here.
“I have to get up early to meet my trainer at Runyon Canyon tomorrow for a hike. I had to book months ahead, but he’s the best, so I can’t complain. Why don’t you join me?” He offered an olive branch. “With your healthy appetite, you need to keep it in check. They look at your figure, too, when you audition. Keep that in mind.”
And he just had to keep yapping. Typical Parker.
Keep my figure in check, he said? No, fuck you very much. I wasn’t fat, though I wasn’t claiming to be in the greatest shape of my life, and I definitely didn’t need those derogatory words.
“I’m fine,” I bitingly snapped back. “Enjoy your hike.” Taking a hard stance, I had another helping of pasta.
“Don’t take offense. I’m only concerned for you because, if you don’t watch out, your thighs will get bigger the more waffles you shove in your mouth. Let’s be honest, you eat those bastards on a weekly basis.”
He shouldn’t be provoking me when I was holding a steak knife.
“Back off, asshat. You sure aren’t Jenny Craig, so shut it or I’ll stab you with a fork.” I was never a violent person, but seriously, Parker had the tendency to bring this side of me out. It was frightening. However, not only did he just insult my body, he had hijacked my appetite, too. Damn him.
Unceremoniously getting up from my chair, I plucked my wine glass from the table and strode over to my balcony, hoping to God that watching the sunset would calm me. At this point, I was ready to call it quits. Maybe it was for the best. I barely knew the man, so it wasn’t my fault when he turned out to be Mister Asshat.
“Relax, okay. Sheesh, it’s not that serious. I’m sorry you didn’t like me prying in your business. I just want you to be in the best shape of your life. I meant well, babes.”
I was beyond persuasion.
“Whatever,” I muttered without looking back at him.
This was my home. My safe haven, and he just managed to taint that. Maybe it seemed like a minor thing, and I might be overreacting, but his insults went deeper. It scraped into those scarred tissues that had healed, but those I had never emotionally recovered from. So no, he would never understand how one reckless comment could affect me.
“So, I guess sex is out of the question tonight?” he begrudgingly asked, evidently exasperated.
That made me see red.