“How do you know how to play the piano?” Ronnie asked.
“He used to sing and play before he became the next big thing in Hollywood,” Andie said. “In fact, there was a time he wasn’t sure if he wanted to pursue acting or music.”
This was why hanging around people you’d known forever was such a bad idea. They had no problem bringing up shit you’d long thought buried.
“Really?” Ronnie lifted an eyebrow his way.
“Yes.” Andie nodded and then turned to him. “Think about it. You’re a big-time celebrity. And you can play the piano. It would be so wonderful, and you’d be such a draw for the fundraiser.”
Fulton placed his hand over hers on the table. “It would be really great, love, but if he hasn’t played in…” He looked at Terrence.
“Fifteen years.”
Even Andie winced at that.
Fulton continued. “It’s going to be hard for him to pick it back up like nothing’s changed.”
“I don’t see why,” Ronnie said, shooting him a sly grin. “I mean, seriously, what else does he have to do here all day other than practice? Read manuscripts? Play in the dungeon with employees under the guise of doingresearchfor Lennox MacLure?”
Terrence picked his jaw up off the floor. “What about you, princess? Didn’t your well-bred and respectable Southern upbringing include piano lessons?”
That sly grin didn’t leave her face. “Only until I was six and attempted to tune it myself. With kitchen shears.”
“Holy fuck,” Fulton mumbled.
“Yeah, that pretty much ended my piano-playing days.” Ronnie shrugged. “That leaves you, Hollywood.”
She said it was like a challenge. Like she was throwing down a gauntlet.
Damn it all.
“You don’t think I can do it,” Terrence said.
“I’m just saying you’ve always been so vocal about protecting your image and being seen in the best possible light, but yet I’ve never heard of you doing any charity work,” Ronnie replied, and fuck it, shewaschallenging him.
“That’s because I don’t advertise the charity work I do.” Terrence told himself not to take her statement personally. He’d made a conscious decision to keep his charitable work private.
“So you say,” she replied. “Or it could just as easily mean there isn’t anything to advertise. It doesn’t make any sense for you to keep quiet about how you help others.”
“Maybe I don’t like the idea of using the hardships of others to further my career.”
“Bravo.” Ronnie slow clapped. “I see now why you picked acting over singing. You spoke that line so passionately I almost believed you.”
It was at that second he realized that Ronnie really didn’t like him at all. Was it possible he’d only dreamed she’d ogled him in the dungeon earlier or that he’d misread her interest in the scene?
“I can vouch for him,” Andie said, and Terrence nearly jumped at the sound of her voice, having somehow forgotten that he and Ronnie weren’t alone. “Terrence started an organization named Pets for Vets that pairs rescue dogs with retired veterans.”
Terrence was getting ready to tell her to knock it off, but then Ronnie’s head whipped toward him.
“I’ve heard of that organization,” Ronnie said, her eyes wide. “That’s you?”
He couldn’t say why or what, but something about her question or her obvious amazement struck him the wrong way. “Yes, that’s me. It’s the least I can do since the assholes in DC, like your dad, don’t give a shit about helping those who served our country.”
“If you think you’re going to be able to get some sort of reaction out of me by saying things about my dad, let me tell you right from the start that I don’t give a flying fig what you think about him. Nor will I ever attempt to stand up for him. Understand, Hollywood?”
It really shouldn’t turn him on the way she called him Hollywood. More than likely, she thought the nickname would somehow bother him. The joke was on her because it didn’t. Not one bit.
Okay. So maybe it was the first time or two she used it, but that was only until he realized she did so as a way to keep him at arm’s length. Maybe in her mind, if she didn’t use his name, she could convince herself she was talking with anyone. Or perhaps her intention was to make him feel inferior or unimportant. To give the impression he was so unworthy she couldn’t even be bothered to remember his name.