It's a perfectly executed landing. Hell, a little too perfect - as I start to sit up, stunned and thrilled that I managed to pull this off, I realize that my left hand is right on Dante's crotch.I freeze. Dante Fontaine's cock is right beneath my hand. Dante Fontaine's cock. This is... This is... terrifying. Thrilling. Insanely awkward. Absolutely amazing.And I have no idea what the heck I should do.I'm definitely touching it. Oh, God - it's right beneath my fingers. If I try to get up, I'll be pressing against it. If I move my hand at all, even to pull away, my hand will brush right over it. He'll think I'm trying to feel him up. I'm already feeling him up, even though it's an accident. And now I've been frozen for an ungodly long amount of time and he probably thinks I'm some sort of freak.There are hands on my arms. Dante Fontaine's hands. He's trying to help me up, trying to get me back on my feet."I - I'm so sorry," I say quickly. "I'm so sorry." God, his hands are so...
Hope rises in my chest as I turn around. My heart is skipping.Dante is bent over, scooping something up off the ground. In my mad rush to get back up, I must have missed something. I smile as I step forward, already imagining how I might brush my fingers against his as he hands it back to me, but then my eyes fall to the object in his hand.Shit.It's my press badge. My fucking press badge. With "Celebrity Spark" printed in clear letters right on the front.There's a frown on his face now."You're a reporter?" He looks up at me.Oh, shit. Just... shit. I've blown it yet again. But there's no lying. No escaping the truth."I... Yes," I say, shuffling forward and continuing to curse silently at myself. "But obviously not a very good one."Before he can reply - oh, God, I don't want to hear his reply - I snatch my badge out of his grip and turn and run into the bathroom.For the second time in a handful of days, I lock myself in a bathroom stall. I'm shaking, but I can't even bl
I don't know what's gotten into Roman, but I don't like it. He seems angry with me, but I have no idea what I've done. He was the one who dragged me here and told me to flirt with Dante Fontaine. He was the one who, just moments ago, was telling me the whole incident went better than I thought.If there's one thing these last few days have taught me, it's that I really, really don't understand men. And I'm not sure I ever will.Those thoughts circle through my mind as I make one last attempt to fix my hair. When I've finally gotten myself under control, I turn and walk back out into the restaurant.I have to walk right past Dante Fontaine if I want to leave. For a moment, that thought freezes me in my tracks, but then I shake my head and force myself to move. There's no escaping it, and I might as well get it over with. It's not like I can climb out the bathroom window or anything, not with these hips.I walk quickly around his table. Don't look at him, don't look at him, don't loo
I've been at work for six hours and twenty-seven minutes, and Roman hasn't said a word to me.Counting the minutes is a little obsessive, I know. But I sent off the final version of my Emilia interview this morning, and I've had a hard time concentrating on my work ever since. I know we didn't exactly end things on a good foot yesterday, but there's no reason for him to ignore me now. He's walked past my cubicle half a dozen times today - not that I've counted - and he hasn't even acknowledged me.I lean and look around the edge of my cubicle. I can just make him out through the blinds on the conference room window. He's bent over his laptop, and he's got a headset in his ear. He appears to be on a call. After a couple of minutes, he starts shaking his head violently, as if arguing with the person on the other end of the line. He says something to his assistant, and the young man jumps up and dashes out.Maybe it's for the best that he's ignoring me. It doesn't look like he's in a p
The absolute last thing in the world I want to do is drag Roman around with me as I try on a bunch of dresses."I... I was just going to order a couple of options online and return the one I didn't like," I tell him.He frowns. "Felicia, Hollywood Saves! is less than a week away.""And we live in a world where one-day shipping exists.""Do you really want to represent yourself and this magazine in something you ordered off of some discount site?"I know I shouldn't be getting prickly over this, but I can't help myself."Not all of us are billionaires," I hiss, praying my few remaining coworkers around here aren't listening in. "Some of us aren't even sure if we'll have a job next week, and we can't afford to blow our entire savings on a dress. Not if we want to make sure we can eat next month."For a second - a split second - he looks properly admonished. Or maybe that's just my overly optimistic imagination, because just as quickly, his expression is as controlled as it ever wa
Ouch. That was blunt. I want to assure Roman that I wasn't suggesting he should treat me like a girlfriend, but I'm having trouble moving my tongue right now. So I keep moving through the dresses, still refusing to look him in the eyes. Roman, however, isn't finished."We live in a town and work in an industry where appearances matter," he says. "And I don't just mean attractiveness. I mean that simple things - like what color you wear - can make a huge difference in how people see you. A man is perceived differently depending on whether he walks into a business meeting in a blue shirt or a red shirt. A pop star is perceived differently if she arrives at an awards show in an orange dress than if she arrives in a white dress. Different colors suggest different things to our subconscious minds. A smart person uses that knowledge to her advantage."I've found another black dress that I think is lovely, but I don't bother asking him what he thinks. He's right - I can't blend in. Not on S
I undress quickly, trying to suppress my annoyance and embarrassment. Roman's words echo in my mind, and though the truth is hard to accept, I know I can't hide forever. I need to grow a thicker skin. I need to allow myself to be vulnerable.My hands are still shaking as I fold my work clothes and set them aside. When I'm down to my underwear, I finally turn and look at the mirror.I don't dislike what I see. I might not look like the actresses and models that the Fontaine boys normally date - I could stand to lose some weight, get a better haircut, and learn how to apply makeup like an adult - but I'm not hopeless. At least I don't think I am - and judging by some of the things he's said over the past few days, Roman doesn't seem to either.But he also thinks I'm afraid of my sexuality, so I'm not sure what to believe right now.Might as well try on some of these gowns.I almost go for the black one, just out of stubbornness, but I find myself reaching for the gold dress first. M
Roman is still standing in front of me. Still silent. What could he possibly have to say to me that he couldn't say in front of the clerk? Whatever it is, he doesn't seem to be in a hurry to share."Don't you like it?" I ask, my voice little more than a whisper. I want to shout at him, I don't care if you don't! I love it!. I never want to take it off again! But I want to hear his honest thoughts first. Besides, he's the one with the Celebrity Spark credit card. What I think doesn't really matter in the end."Come," he says after a moment. "Let's look in the mirror." He takes my arm and guides me over to a large three-way mirror just past the room where I was changing. His hands brush against my bare arms as he positions me in front of it, and then he takes a step back."What do you see?" he asks."I've already looked at myself," I say, confused. "I want to know what you think."He steps forward again, and now he's standing right behind me, looking over my shoulder at the mirror,