hours. And we just stared, edged, hedged, waited, wondered, wanted.
And then the moment the scales tipped and he moved forward—as if he was actually going to do it, actually going to cross that divide—I jolted out of that awareness. I shoved him back away from me.
“Fuck, Court,” I cried.
His eyes rounded as if he couldn’t believe for a second that the playboy prince had misread the signs. Then he returned to careful neutrality. Born out of boredom and masks and societal pressure.
“Are you done?” he asked.
“Yes. I’m fucking done. I’m going back to LA.”
“What?” His eyebrows rose.
“Don’t get too excited. Just for a few days to handle some business. I don’t want you to fucking leave this apartment until I get back. Are we clear?”
“I am not on lockdown again.”
“Yes, you are. Because I can’t trust you not to do something that will land you in the papers.”
He glared at me. Any warmth we’d been mustering evaporated. “Whatever.”
“Be a good boy,” I said, patting his cheek twice.
He looked like he might bite me for the insult, but I was already storming toward the elevator to leave this hellhole. He muttered something under his breath, but I didn’t catch it. I assumed he’d called me a bitch.
But as soon as the elevator doors closed, I leaned back heavily. God, maybe I should get some sleep. What the fuck had I been thinking?
I had only one rule: don’t get involved with clients.
I’d never broken it.
And I had just almost kissed Court Kensington.
2
English
I couldn’t get what had almost happened out of my mind.
Court Kensington was objectively the worst client I’d ever had. Not because he was particularly difficult to work with or because he was a drug addict or a sex fiend or any number of other impossible things I’d dealt with. It was because he didn’t want me. He didn’t feel like he needed a publicist. That I just got in his way.
And even though, over the last couple weeks, he had started to listen to my advice, he still didn’t want my help. Everyone else came to me. They needed someone to cover up a sex scandal. They needed me to hide an affair from their wife. They wanted someone who could get their career back on track after the stint in rehab. On and on and on.
Court wanted nothing to do with it.
He was the worst, and he made my job hell.
Still, I’d been an inch away from kissing him.
And I didn’t even like him. Or want to kiss him.
I sighed as I parked my Mercedes in front of my dad’s house in the Valley. I knew why I was obsessed over this. It was easier to think about a stupid almost-kiss with Court than it was to deal with Josh. Or the fact that he was still in London, shooting the final Bourne movie with his costar Celeste. Or that I’d just cleared out my belongings from his house and had them shipped back to New York. Or that I was going to have to file divorce papers.
End the perfect marriage.
I closed my eyes and choked back that thought. I didn’t want to divorce Josh. I’d thought we were forever. But I wasn’t a pushover. I wouldn’t be used. And there was no fucking way that I would ever forgive what he’d done to me.
I still didn’t want to do it.
Nor did I want to walk inside and face my dad, stepmom, and half-sister, Taylor. But I couldn’t come back to the city and not see them. So…here I was.
Swallowing my frustration, I pushed my shoulders back and stepped out of the car. It looked so out of place out here. I looked out of place.
My dad worked a camera for a local news network. He made okay money, but Ashley didn’t work, except to sell some direct sales products. It changed every time I was here. Last time, it had been something to do with her nails; the time before that, she’d had a collection of super-soft clothes. And I was pretty sure she’d done a bender on essential oils. She meant well, but I didn’t think she’d had any real success with it.
I stepped up to the front door and knocked. I impatiently checked my phone, tapping my high-heeled foot like a bad habit, and brushed a speck of dust off of my white jeans. Why the hell had I worn them here?
When I’d gone to the house I’d shared with Josh the last three years, I’d