help me.” I stop, cringing inwardly when one of Timothy’s perfectly groomed brows lifts.
He snaps his compact closed and tucks it away. “Since you’re open to touchy subjects today, I’ve been meaning to talk to you about how we’re handling these next few months.”
I sit back in my chair, flexing my stiff wrist. It’s mostly healed, but signing isn’t doing it any favors. “What do you mean, ‘handle’?”
“You were run off the road by a fanatic, Saint.”
“I am aware.”
“There’s speculation about whether you’re affected by this.”
My pulse thrums in my temple as I gesture to my body. “Obviously I’m affected. What did people expect?”
His gaze is placid in the face of my growing agitation. “I meant mentally.”
Of course he did. I glance away.
Timothy sighs. “How could you not be? It would have freaked me the fuck out. But you don’t want them to see that.” His voice takes on a note of unwelcome sympathy. “You need to get out there more often. Let them see you strong and unbroken.”
A harsh laugh breaks free. “I am not fucking broken, Tim.”
“Bad choice of words.” He reaches out as if to pat me, then obviously thinks better of that bad move. “Look, we got great feedback after the luncheon. People want to see you living your life. The industry wants to see you. So let them see you.”
“Fine, I’ll go out more,” I mutter.
He bites the corner of his lip, and I know I’m not going to be happy. “Thing is, Saint, it would look better if you were seen being happy.”
“Happy?” I run a hand over my hair. “Okay, I’ll bite. How exactly am I supposed to be happy?”
“I think you should go on a date.”
“A date.” Oh, fuck no.
He scoots forward. “Now, don’t give me that look. Let me explain first.”
“Then hurry up and explain.”
“Going out on a date brings speculation away from the accident and focuses it on your love life.”
“Seeing as I don’t want anyone focusing on my love life, that’s hardly an inducement.”
Timothy sucks the inside of his cheek as if he’s trying to hold back a retort. “Anya Sorenson. Do you know her?”
The question catches me off guard. “Yeah, sure. She’s doing great work on Gauntlet.”
“Yes. But she’s new. She needs some good press.”
“And you think being seen on a date with me will give her that.” I snort. “Come on. Really?”
“Yes, really.” He smacks my forearm. “Stop being obtuse. You’re hot right now. Could be hotter. But you’re still one of entertainment’s most desirable single actors.”
I roll my eyes.
“So if you go out with Anya, it will both help her with a PR boost and get people talking about you in a new, upbeat way. Come on; she’s great and a huge fan of yours. Her publicist says they’d really appreciate the help.”
I hate that he makes sense. And that he’s set me up to feel guilty if I turn Anya down. There’s only one problem. “Man . . .” I rub my tired eyes. “I don’t think I’m up for dating.”
“I get it. But it isn’t dating. It’s a date. Basically an acting job, if you think about it. You’ve done it plenty of times.”
I have. Numerous fake dates set up by my publicist. All to create an image I’m not sure I like anymore. It would be a lie to say I didn’t enjoy some of the dates. Truth is, I enjoyed the fringe benefits of them a bit too much. Oftentimes, they started as an arrangement, but both of us had been more than willing to end the night with casual sex. A nice release from all the pressure with someone who knew exactly how the system worked.
I have to force myself not to look toward the kitchen doorway that leads to the hall and, beyond that, Delilah’s room. Going on a date with Anya shouldn’t feel like a betrayal. I’m not cheating. Delilah and I have only just called a truce. Hell, she’s my employee. The fact that I can’t stop thinking about her doesn’t matter. Nothing can come of this . . . whatever it is, anyway. So why not go out, get on with my life? Get her out of my head.
“All right. I’ll do it.”
“Great,” Timothy all but squeals. Thankfully, he keeps it to a minimum before picking up his phone. “How about tonight?”
I choke out a laugh, the pressure of an unwanted emotion sitting heavy on my chest. “Don’t waste time, do you?”