Party Girl_ A Novel - Anna David [33]
“You know, you’re one of those girls that gets more beautiful the more I look at you,” he says, just after I’ve asked him if he ever speaks to either of his parents anymore.
I put the tape recorder down. “Thank you. That’s very sweet,” I say, silently begging my ego not to take over and start gunning for more. “But I’m curious…when was the last time you talked to them?”
Kane smiles at me, somewhat dreamily, moving so close that his face is right next to mine. “I’m serious, Sweetheart. Some girls look spectacular at first but then their features start to look rather plain after you’ve gazed at them for a while. Yours are the opposite. You look more stunning every second.”
I glance down, officially distracted now, and the next thing I know, Kane’s big, wet lips are brushing up against mine. I look up, shocked, even though I’ve been half expecting this the whole time.
“Kane!” I say, moving away from him. It’s the only word I can think of.
He reaches out to massage my shoulder. “I’m sorry, darling. It was terribly rude to do that without asking. I simply couldn’t help myself.”
“Look,” I say, shifting uncomfortably so that I can take a swig of cold tea for placebo-like liquid courage. “I’m attracted to you, but I also have a story to do, and I really need to deal with the former before I can even address the latter.” I like the way that comes out. Official, yet alluring.
Maybe at another time, or with another guy, I could toss the tape recorder to the ground, not caring if it busted wide open, and let him seduce me right there on this very couch, but my desire to really turn things around for myself at work is looming so heavily on my mind and I know I can’t afford to fuck this up.
Whether or not I’m actually attracted to Kane isn’t something I’ve examined much. He’s bright and shiny, like all celebrities, and so I can’t quite be myself—whoever that is—in front of him. I feel the same way I did when I met Oliver Anderson at a party and then drove to another one with him, making out in his Porsche at every red light: I could basically hear myself talking, like I was an invisible person in the car who was listening to the interaction and quite impressed with how Amelia Stone managed to attract the attention of someone so sought after while simultaneously concerned that she was going to say something any moment to screw it up and make him realize that inviting her into his orb was a mistake.
Kane seems satisfied with what I’ve said and pats my hand platonically, almost condescendingly. But he’s still smiling. Then he glances at the clock and mentions that it’s getting late.
“I should probably be going,” I say.
He nods, stands up, and walks me out of the house, onto the front porch, past the still-tuning Greg who doesn’t bother to say good-bye and to my car that’s parked at the curb outside his front door. Giving me a kiss on each cheek, he smiles.
“Good night, darling,” he says. “Drive safe.”
I smile back. “So I’ll call tomorrow to get those numbers from you?” I say, more as a question than a statement.
He takes a step back and it’s so dark that I can barely see him anymore. “Yes, darling,” he says. “Good night now.”
Linda Lewis’s publicist calls me on my cell the next morning and asks if I can do the interview that day at noon. Since she lives near me and the office is across town, I call Brian to let him know that I’m going to prep for my interview at home and come into the office later.
“That’s fine,” he says, sounding completely distracted.
“I did my follow-up with Kane,” I say, wondering why I’m bringing up something I don’t even want to talk about.
“Good, good,” he says, and I can tell there’s someone in his office that he wants to talk to more than he wants to chat with me.
I don’t want to let him go without some guarantee that he’s back on my side again. “By the way, I ran into Tim Bromley yesterday,” I say.
This fails to captivate Brian. “Did you? Tell him hello,” he says. Bastard’s not even listening to me.
I decide to give him a test to see if he’s paying