Slower Page 6

  We found my parents in the lobby and a car waiting for us at the valet. When we got home, Louana’s spread made me cringe with guilt. Fern and Archie joined us, a happy distraction from the anger fuming under my girlfriend’s pleasant hostess façade. As further proof—not that I needed it—I found two cigarette butts in our trash when I scraped a plate into it.

  Louana came into the kitchen with more dishes in her hands, and I heard my dad talking to my brother about the measurements for the entertainment cabinet I’d told them about. My mom was outside with Fern and the dog, so I took the opportunity to apologize again.

  “Baby, look. I’m sorry. I swear I slept in Simon’s room. Other than being late, I don’t see what you have to be pissed at.”

  “Putain, t’es gonflé.” Her nostrils flared, and she turned back to the living room where she offered my dad another cup of coffee in a cheery voice that sent chills up my spine. I hadn’t seen her this pissed since… well, ever really.

  I leaned against the counter and waited for her to come back. When she did, she focused on the task of making coffee.

  “Swearing at me in French isn’t the same as talking to me.”

  She spun around and if her eyes weren’t screaming “fuck you,” it was definitely the same thing in a different language. “I’m not doing this right now.”

  Holding dad’s coffee in one hand, she flipped me off with the other. That gorgeous little French-uttering brunette actually flipped me off. A laugh escaped before I could beat it down. But the laser beam from her eyes shut me right up.

  Kudos to Louana; in front of my family, she hid it all. They didn’t know her well enough to see through the charade. The only hint came when my mom hugged her goodbye and asked what she was up to for the rest of the afternoon.

  “I’ll probably finish off Fern’s sangria to erase all the memories of the fans throwing themselves at your gorgeous son,” she said.

  So that was it. Jealousy wasn’t an emotion I associated with Louana, but it’s true there had been a lot of famous people backstage the night before. And there was that redhead who wouldn’t leave me alone. It was also possible I’d been showing off to Simon. And I had probably acted like a total ass.

  I drove my family to LAX and said goodbye. On the way home, I wondered if Louana getting tipsy with Fern would at least get her to talk to me. Maybe it was a good thing.

  Wrong.

  I was very wrong.

  Throwing booze on my mad little girlfriend made her spew insults at me and my family in French and English.

  “You’re drunk,” I said after she called my mom a “meddlesome magnet.”

  “You’re a hypocrite.” She wobbled after me from the bedroom to the kitchen, drink still in her hand.

  “I’m done with this conversation until you’re sober.”

  “Oooo, look who doesn’t want to talk now.” The red liquid swished in one of Fern’s plastic wine glasses.

  “Stop.” I clenched my jaw. Jesus, she was a horrible drunk.

  “No. I made this whole fucking meal for your family and you didn’t even come home last night.” She took a drink and wiped her mouth with the back of her hand, swinging her dark hair to the side as she did it.

  I opened the fridge and found a bottle of water. I nabbed the tired, fruity wine and replaced it with a liquid she would thank me for later. Sangria was a bitch of a hangover. Especially Fern’s potent mix.

  “That’s what this is about? Me not coming home? Where is this coming from?”

  She babbled again in French, and while this was a tiny bit of progress, we weren’t getting anywhere. Defusing the situation was my only chance. “I assume you’re bad-mouthing me.”

  “Oui.” She drank the water and stared me down.

  “Still sexy as hell.” I winked.

  “Ta gueule.”

  “If you weren’t drunk, this fight would be history by now.” I walked over to the couch and switched on the TV.

  Sauced-up Louana banged around in the closet and eventually petered out like a tired toddler on the bed. I undressed her and tucked her in, even kissed her tan forehead. If she’d gone to all the trouble to get drunk, yell at me in her native tongue, and smoke cigarettes, she was madder than I could imagine.

  I didn’t hear her leave in the morning, but I knew if I didn’t resolve our fight it would linger into the following weekend. I also knew it was possible she would be even more pissed at me for showing up at her work, but her ignoring my calls would have been too easy.

  I snuck past the receptionist like I was headed to my friend Steven’s office and found Louana behind her boss Bob’s desk, on the phone and laughing. Her face dropped when she saw me, and I stood waiting for her to finish.

  But instead of rushing, she took her time. I grabbed the chair from her desk and wheeled it in front of her. I sat, let my foot bob to the rhythm of a song I was working on, crossed my arms, and stared directly at her.

  Finally, after she’d scheduled a lunch with whomever was on the other end of that annoying phone call, she hung up. She stood and walked around the desk and for a second, I thought she was going to kiss me hello, but instead she closed the door.

  She sat back down, folded her hands together on the desk and said, “Let me guess. You’re pissed because I’m pissed.”

  “Wrong. I came here to figure out why you’re pissed.”

  She looked away. “Your lifestyle is overwhelming. You are overwhelming.” Louana’s mouth pursed, and she looked down her nose at me.

  I uncrossed my legs and sat back in my chair. Where the fuck had that come from?

  “What are you saying? I thought you were fine with all the shit around me. You even said your ‘famous ex-boyfriend’ had prepared you for it.”

  Her mouth twisted. “Any chance to throw his name into the ring—you take it.”

  Ruh-roh. I didn’t remember inviting the jealous jackass inside me to this party.

  Her gaze stayed fixed. “You’re still pissed about him?”

  “No. I was hurt. There’s a difference. I came to find out what else is eating you.”

  She shook her head. “And yet throwing what Dimitri means to me in my face is how you do it.”

  “Means to you? As in present tense?” There must have been a parable or legend about poking a sleeping baby or dog or jealous ogre that I should have been thinking about instead of focusing on her rolling her eyes at me. But all I could think was that she still had feelings for her ex.

  “How did this go from me being reasonably pissed about you ignoring me and not even acknowledging the extent of the work I put into a brunch for your family to a conversation about Dimitri?” Louana dropped her head into her hands and tapped the base of her palms into her forehead.

  “Because it all swirls around the fact that you don’t talk to me.”

  Her head rose slowly, and in an eerily calm voice she said, “When, exactly, was I supposed to do that? In front of your fans, band, or family? And, by the way, the fact that I haven’t thrown you out of my office like I want to qualifies as a step in my book.”

  “That’s a pretty small fucking step.” I dug my fingers into my bicep.

  She forced a sigh. “You’re still here. We’re still talking.”

  “Fine. You know what? You’re right. I don’t want to hear about him. But I do expect the common courtesy of knowing the woman I love still has feelings for her ex. Call me fucking crazy.”

  “I don’t love him. But I can’t erase him from my life. I know I handled that situation poorly. But what was I supposed to do? Do you have any idea how fucking jealous you are?”

  Louana’s phone rang, and she picked up the receiver. “Send it to voicemail, please.” She hung up and groaned. At least I’d gotten her full attention during working hours.

  I uncrossed my arms and scratched my head. “Can we go back to the bit about you being overwhelmed? Because I thought we were past that and I’m not sure we’re ever going to see eye to eye about your ex. H
e heard you had a boyfriend and he showed up on your doorstep. He has a power over you that I never will.”

  She tapped her fingers several times on the wooden desk and chewed her lip. I could almost see the ticker tape running through her mind but had no idea what it said.

  Finally, she spoke. “I love you, Jake. I really do. I love who we are when no one sees us. I made a decision to try my best at this relationship and I am. I fuck up and so do you. Getting past the fuckups is how we build our future.”

  “So tell me what’s eating you.”

  Louana’s chest rose and fell several times before she said, “The redhead. You’re a fucking hypocrite.”

  I chewed my thumbnail. Give and take. Push and pull. While I didn’t think for one second that an actress I barely knew held the power of the soccer asshat, I had to give in. If anyone had been flirting with her the way the actress had with me, I would have blown a fucking gasket.

  “You’re right. I’m sorry. Please forgive me.” I sent her the come-hither sign with my finger and she smiled. A real smile. Not the bullshit act in front of my parents; not the tight-lipped angry smile followed by a middle finger or a string of French swear words. A real smile. One I knew she only gave me.

  She walked around the desk and climbed into my lap. Her fingers brushed the scruff on my chin. “Thank you for forcing me to talk.”

  I inhaled her calm, sweet scent. We were back. I was home.

  “I’m sorry my life is crazy. The truth is I get fucking scared that if I don’t have you, the insanity will suck me in and ruin me.” I tucked a strand of hair behind her adorably weird-shaped ear that folded in on itself. “I need you so much it hurts my soul to think of you anywhere else but with me.”

  “Me too.” Her head fell into my shoulder, and I pulled her in tighter. “Me too,” she repeated.

  7

  LOUANA

  * * *

  Vincent Renier smoothed his dark hair across from me at a small French restaurant in Beverly Hills. Thus far, the small talk of the dinner had been polite, and I had a sliver of hope that I was doing some damage control for The Drifting.

  After I signed the check and shot him a contented smile, he asked, “Why would you chose a musician over Dimitri Le Clerc?”

  “Pardon?” How the hell was my personal life any concern of his?

  His shoulder lifted, and he frowned in such a typical French manner I almost laughed. “It’s just that you and Dimitri are practically royalty in Marseille; why would you settle for such a California bum?”

  Wow. Vincent obviously saved his punches to the gut for when your stomach was full to create the maximum amount of displeasure possible. I remembered something Bob had said to me the first time I’d met Vincent: He’s a dramatic director. He likes drama.

  Vincent tapped his index finger slowly on the table.

  “Did Dimitri tell you to say that?” I knew their friendship had kicked off thanks to me, and considering all the things they had in common, I wouldn’t have been surprised if it had blossomed.

  “No. But I want what’s best for my country.”

  Please, God, keep my eyes from rolling.

  He continued, “We need to keep our national treasures in the same museum, so to speak.”

  His French pride wanted me to dump my boyfriend? He was out of his artistic mind. And Vincent could deny it all he wanted; this stank of Dimitri.

  I stood and reached for my small clutch on the edge of the round, linen-covered table. “Thank you for a lovely dinner.” I turned but stopped at his next words.

  “I’ll see you tomorrow. In a dress.”

  I couldn’t resist it. Originally, I’d thought he was attracted to me and wanted me to show some skin but based on the last five minutes, I was less sure. “What is it with you and my clothes?”

  His arms opened, and his palms turned to the sky. “You are a beautiful French woman, Louana. Is it so wrong for me to want you to reach your highest potential?”

  I tilted my head, and my nostrils flared. “I’d say it was rather presumptuous of you to imagine that I haven’t. And disgusting that you think a dress would help.”

  His mouth opened, and his jaw shifted. “That was unwise.”

  “We’ll see.” The calm of my voice belied the shaking of my hands. As I drove home, Vincent’s words ate at something deeper inside me. He wasn’t all that different from my grandmother. Well, he was a misogynistic prick who liked to get people under his thumb for fun, which Stella had never done to me. But there were certain traditional standards he expected—black ties, knowing more than one language, an appreciation for fine arts.

  Jake Riley had none of those things, and I feared her expectations would never be met. Vincent had plucked the one chord that hurt the most. God, I would have rather he’d wanted to sleep with me. His desire to control me, my future, my decisions‚ as if I was a small pawn in his game of life. It was insulting.

  It was also fucking horrible. And could cost me the one thing I was sure I was good at: my job.

  The next morning, I stood in my closet and stared blankly at every dress I owned. It would be easy to just put one of the damn things on. And I bet that twisted meddler would reward me with praise on Mario’s score.

  But then what? If I gave in, Vincent was the type of man who would ask for more. I’d already seen it in the way he dealt with Mario. I didn’t want to lose my job and I couldn’t let him have the upper hand.

  “You gonna stand there all day in your underwear?”

  I startled at the sound of Jake’s voice. In his black boxer briefs, with his trim waist and perfect amount of chest hair, the sight of him was almost enough to shake me from my funk.

  He moved closer and swung an arm around my hips. A gentle but brisk tug connected my back to his warm chest. “’Cuz I can stay home today and worship every square inch of your delicious little body.”

  My head met his shoulder and he brushed away my long hair before kissing my neck. Losing myself in him sounded like a pretty great avoidance tactic for my sure-to-be shit day.

  “That sounds amazing.” I rolled my shoulder into his torso and looked up at him.

  His brow crinkled. “You okay?”

  I closed my eyes and ran my fingers up his back. Talk. I knew he wanted me to talk. But he would be capricious. And the root of the issue involved Dimitri. It wasn’t a road I wanted to go down, especially before the battle I was going to be dealing with at work.

  “Hey.” He reached for my hands behind him and brought my knuckles to his mouth. “Tell me.”

  His chocolate eyes melted into mine with so much concern that my chest tightened. Truth be told, I was dying to say the words out loud. I’d thought about stopping at Fern’s, but I didn’t want to bother her with my problems. Casey worked for Vincent, and while I was sure we loved each other as friends, his taking my side could also cost him his career. It was all a bit too heavy for Gina, and my mom hated confrontation more than I did, so she would have been at a loss. I’d picked up the phone to call my other boss, Bob, so many times—each effort ending with me giving up. Bob’s wife was dying. I should have been able to deal with an annoying and inappropriate client. I was a big girl.

  I looked deeper into Jake’s warm eyes. “If I tell you something, do you promise me you will do absolutely nothing about it? You won’t make phone calls or try and solve my problem?”

  He tucked his chin and squinted, adding overly pouty lips for the full effect.

  I continued, “I mean it. And you won’t fly off the handle and brood?”

  He stepped back. “I don’t brood.”

  The fact that I didn’t laugh must have told him my story would be more than he’d bargained for. The back of his hand brushed over my cheekbone. “I promise. I will listen to you and that’s it. Tell me what’s going on. You’re kinda freaking me out.”

  The rise and fall of his chest matched my own, reminding me that we were in this together now. I had to stop being afraid of his reaction
and start trusting him to be better. I spun the ring around my finger a few times and after closing my eyes, said, “Last night I had dinner with Vincent. Just the two of us.”

  I peeked up at Jake and found him hollowing his cheeks, the tension in his jaw and shoulders practically visible.

  “It didn’t go very well. I ended up calling him presumptuous and disgusting.” I cringed.

  “You said that to Mario’s number one client?” He ran a hand through his bedhead. “Pfff …”

  I bit my bottom lip and nodded. God, it sounded way worse when I said it out loud. Talking sucked.

  “Bigger question,” Jake said in a tone that was neither freaking out nor brooding. Okay, he was being mature. I could do it too. “What did he do or say that lead you and your etiquette-plagued body to insult him? He had to have crossed a line.”

  Talking absolutely sucked. I spun the ring again, and Jake caught the action.

  “You don’t have to be nervous, baby. You have my word.”

  I let out a breath that pierced my chest. “He said I was too good for you.”

  Jake scoffed. “Well, that’s the truth. I mean, I’ve never spoken to him, and he doesn’t know jack shit about me, but he’s not wrong.” The thick air of anxiety thinned with his shrug. “That explains the presumption. What led to the disgust?”

  “He told me I needed to wear more dresses.” I twisted my mouth.

  “You wear tons of dresses. Nice dresses. Hot dresses. Wait …” Jake looked down at the dry cleaning bag on the floor of the closet next to my overflowing boxes of shoes. “When’s the last time you wore a dress to work?” He propped his hands on his hips.

  “The last time I was sure Vincent wasn’t coming in.” I checked my watch. “I’m already late. I am so going to get fired.” I dropped my head back and reached for black pants.