Page 9 of Yours, Always
Greyson tried to keep things from moving too fast—after all, they hadn’t agreed on anything and he didn’t know what he was going to do next. He thought of her comments at the restaurant, how she’d been so insistent that she come to Amber Falls to scout out locations.
“We’ll have to wait until we get specifics, and that can take a long time. There’s nothing to do, no places to see. We have to wait, I’ll let Nadia know when I’m ready.” Greyson hoped he was being clear enough.
Samantha waved her hand. “Oh, don’t worry about any of that. Leave it to me. In the meantime”—she leaned over and kissed Greyson lightly on the lips—“we can focus on more…fun activities.” She put her arms around Greyson’s neck and pulled him close.
He sat in shock until it registered to him that Samantha was trying to straddle his lap. “Listen, Samantha”—he reached up and pried her hands away from him, moving her back to the seat—“I don’t know how I can be more clear.Thisis not happening,weare not happening,” he said, gesturing between the two of them.
“But Nadia—” Samantha started.
“She has no bearing on any of my decisions regarding this. I’m going home alone tonight, but I will read the script when I get it because I said I would.”
Samantha stared at him for a long moment. “I didn’t want to wrinkle my dress anyways.”
She sat back and pulled her phone out, effectively dismissing him.
The rest of the night was a blur. Samantha was a knock-out in her vintage Versace Atelier dress, but he had no second thoughts about shutting her down earlier. Still, getting rid of her at the after-party wasn’t easy, and he didn’t have to guess anymore what Nadia had promised her in exchange for being his date that evening.
Greyson left the party earlier than usual, despite his win and the barrage of female attention. On the limo ride home, he wondered what had happened to that old Hollywood charm, when it had been more about the art you were creating, than the money you were making. He was seeing more and more directors that couldn’t direct, and producers working skeleton crews to inflate their bottom line. ‘It girls’ had slowly become more looks over substance, and he’d stopped paying attention to who those girls were supposed to be. He’d asked one girl who her favorite Beatle was, and she’d responded “Ew, gross, I do not like bugs.”
After the limo had dropped him off, he slowly walked into his home, turning the kitchen lights on and setting his swag bags on the counter. As he cracked a Budweiser his phone rang, a smile crossed his face when he saw Prudence on the screen, swiping up to answer.
“Samantha Crane? Why didn’t you tell me you were taking Samantha Crane?” Prudence’s voice came through the phone with a deafening indifference.
“I swear I mentioned her to you, Pru,” Greyson fibbed, knowing he’d done no such thing, still unsure why he felt he couldn’t tell her.
“You did no such thing, Greyson Walter Atwood!” She waited expectantly. “We literally talked this morning, and you only said Janice couldn’t come.” She stopped, waiting for him to provide an explanation, but he had none to give. None, at least, that wouldn’t betray his feelings. Silence seemed wrong, though. He saw the hurt in her eyes and he was on the verge of making up some lie to save face when she spoke again.
“Oh!” Prudence said, deftly pivoting the subject with the shake of her head, sensing he had no answer or, more aptly, that he wasn’t going to answer. “What did you get in the swag bags? I need a new watch.”
Greyson smiled slowly, recognizing the wine blush on her cheeks. “Prudence dear, have you been drinking?”
“Maybe a little, but that is beside the point.”
“And not a ‘congratulations for winning Best Actor’?”
“Well done there, Grey, but I knew you’d win.” With only a moment’s pause she asked, “Did you get any candles?”
Leave it to Prudence to not care about Greyson’s fame. The fact that he’d just won a coveted award made no difference to her. His childhood group of friends supported him in his choice of profession, but in no way let the fact that he was a Hollywood actor change the way they treated him. Except for the swag. “No candles this time, but I did get a cool vintage necklace.”
“Annabelle will love that.”
Greyson sat in his favorite worn-leather chair in the living room, setting his Budweiser on the end table, and sighed. “I almost cried on stage, Pru. I mean, like, bawled like an action star never should. There was no one there I cared about.”
“Greyson, I’m sorry none of us could make it, but we’ve been with you to almost all your red-carpet events. You were the one that wanted us to take a break from them after last time. You know, when Annabelle tripped over that lady’s dress.”
“That lady? You mean Dame Judi Dench. And I didn’t want you to take a break, you guys didn’t get invited back after tripping over that dress. That’s a red-carpet rule.”
“Okay, okay! I get it. But really, what was different this time?”
“I don’t know. Maybe because it’s always better when you’re on my arm.”
Prudence started to blush again, a slight flush rising in her cheeks. “You almost took out that poor girl ushering you trying to get off the stage.”
Greyson grimaced. “That’s one of a hundred things I’m sure will be on the gossip sites by morning.”
“I saw that attempted kiss.” Prudence managed to get out while laughing.
“It was so bad. She’s a nice enough person, but we’d just had lunch that one time—”