Work In Progress (Red Lipstick Coalition #3) - Staci Hart Page 0,35
my head, still trying to make sure I was in fact awake and not dreaming.
“I know it’s…extreme—”
A laugh shot out of me, unbidden.
A smile brushed his ridiculous lips. “But this way, everyone wins. I give you my story. Janessa gets you a job. And more than that, you want to be able to speak to strangers? Well, I’ve got the most intense exposure therapy known to man—the public eye. But you won’t be alone. You’ll have me.”
I must have looked skeptical. I felt like I was maybe having an aneurism.
“I can show you how to be brave. To be confident. I’ll cannonball into the deep end with you and show you how to swim. You won’t be afraid to speak in public once I’m through with you. You won’t be afraid of anything.”
Somehow, I doubted that promise. But the allure was alive and well, glimmering in my future.
“And I can offer you my story. Janessa has been angling for it for years. Reporters have done their damnedest to worm their way into my life for the sake of finding out. If you give her the story, I know she can help you get the job you want.”
My heart ached, not only at his rightness, but at the implication that he’d been deceived, misled. Cheated.
And then another thought crossed my mind. “You would trust me with this?”
At that, he smiled. “I do trust you. Call it a hunch.”
I shook my head, glancing down at my dead mannequin hands. “This is the most insane thing to ever happen to me. I don’t think…I mean, I don’t know if I can—”
Theo cleared his throat. “Before you say no, just consider it. Hear Tommy out, okay?”
I took a deep breath in an attempt to steel myself. Calm myself. Get some footing.
It didn’t work.
Theo didn’t wait for an answer, only nodded once, shared a look with his brother, and excused himself.
The door clicked closed, and Tommy and I were alone.
He took a seat on the coffee table, his shoulders low and brow drawn. His mask slipped, revealing a glimpse of the worried, beaten man who rested beneath. And as my heart broke for him, he took my hands.
Awareness zinged through me, and those previously wooden hands were a wonderland of feeling. The heat of his skin. The curves of his palms. The length of his fingers as they closed around mine.
“Amelia,” he started, his voice low and his eyes on our hands, “I realize what I’m asking of you, and I’m sorry. But this is the simplest, fastest way to save my career. I’ve done it before. Did you know?”
He was so warm, his hands like a furnace. Sweat blossomed in my palms.
“D-done what?”
“Dated women for publicity. Models mostly. Marley Monroe. Everyone I’ve ever been seen with in public has been for show.”
My lungs pinched painfully. “No. Really?” I breathed.
He nodded. “I…I don’t trust many people. I’ll give them a show, dance around, give them something to talk about. But that’s not real. That’s why it’s easy to lie. This, with you and me, is a business deal. An exchange. You’ve already offered to help me with the story, and for that, I’m indebted to you. But that won’t matter if I have no job. I’m behind by half a year—which wouldn’t have been so bad had I not already been in the doghouse—and in order for me to keep this contract, the book has to be turned in four weeks from today. Four weeks. And you’ve read what I have, which is fuckall.”
The tiniest laugh huffed out of my nose ignoring the sting of rejection that I wasn’t the kind of girl who could ever be with a man like Thomas Bane. This was merely a business deal and a proposition of friendship, nothing more.
“I need your help. And not just me.” He swallowed, inspecting my hand in his, his thumb shifting absently against my knuckles, as if he were mapping their topography. “My…my mom has Parkinson’s, and I take care of her. Part of my story is her story.” His voice grew gravelly, breaking off at the end. He wouldn’t meet my eyes. “You asked me yesterday what I was afraid of. This—this is what I’m afraid of. I’m afraid of what will happen to her. I’m afraid I’ll lose my career. I’m afraid I’ll lose it all. And where will that leave her?”
“I…I didn’t know, Tommy. I’m so sorry.” The words were almost a whisper, spoken against the ache in my chest.