Page 60 of Love on the Byline
“Bran has always looked out for me,” Ollie said as theystarted walking again. “It’s rare to find a friend like that, and I like tothink I’m that friend for him.”
“He certainly trusts you.”
His smile was one of pride. “He does.”
“I’m curious about your duties, as they pertain to your position,”Blake said, switching gears. “I haven’t met many celebrity assistants, but itseems like you do everything but chew Bran’s food for him.”
He maneuvered the cart down another aisle, stopping to graba bag of jasmine rice. “From the outside, it probably seems absurd,” he began.“Hell, it’s absurd from the inside, too. The whole lifestyle is ludicrous. Theamount of money people spend on stupid shit, the waste, the sense of entitlement.It’s all deeply disturbing.”
“Then why be a part of it?”
Ollie met her gaze, his own filled with a grippingdetermination. “I love Bran like a brother, and my brother decided he wanted topursue a career that puts him in the spotlight, not to mention the crosshairsof ex-lovers, disgruntled colleagues, tabloid reporters, and Internet trolls.He needed someone by his side, someone not tied to any of this. Who hasn’t soldtheir soul for any of it.”
“And that’s you?”
“Who else would it be?” He steered them towards the checkoutlines. “It’s what you do for the people you love.”
“It’s a privilege to be loved like that. I envy him,” Blakeadmitted, surprising herself.
Ollie’s pale blue-grey eyes lowered as he spoke, his toneteasing. “There’s plenty to go around.”
It took a moment for Blake’s brain to command her legs tomove again.
13
Blake returned early the next morning. After stashing herthings in the pool house, her home for at least a few days, she strolled up ontothe terrace in a pair of sunglasses rimmed in rhinestones, an orange bikini topunder a billowy white shirt, and the tiniest pair of cut off shorts Ollie hadever seen. He stared at her, the script on the table in front of him completelyforgotten.
Twice in his lifetime, he had come in contact with someonewho had instantly felt like a thread in the tapestry of his life. Like missingpuzzle pieces, they’d just fit. The first time, he had avoided him. Bran. A toobright, too loud, too present being for the quiet dark of Ollie’s world. Uglycircumstances had brought them together, their friendship forged in a crucibleof violence and an all too common (for Bran) act of casual heroism. Ollie hadno choice but to love him.
The second time someone crashed through his barriers, therehad been no threat. No stress. Only a thirst for knowledge and a search for herplace in the world. Blake had sat next to him one Thursday afternoon, and he’dforgotten how to read words. The characters on the pages of the book he’d beenstudying fluttered like leaves whenever he’d tried to concentrate.
Unlike Bran, Blake was oblivious to her power over thepeople she caught in her orbit.
“What’re you reading?” She took the seat next to his, and hebit back a smile. It was Thursday.
“It’s a script for an upcoming project Bran is considering.”
She pulled a pen and notebook from her bag before hanging iton the back of her chair. “Is that something you do for him? Part of yourduties as his executive assistant?”
He flipped the script over on the table to keep his place.“It’s atypical, I think, of the position but he values my opinion.”
“On the writing?”
“Ols looks for red flags,” Bran said from a lounger by thepool. “I want a role I can sink my teeth into. If it were up to my agent, everyfilm would be a big budget banger, summer blockbuster sort of thing.”
“And that’s a bad thing?” She scribbled in her book.
“It’s not bad, per se,” Bran replied, stretchinghis long, muscular frame as he stood. “Damn, girl!” He lowered his shades andgave her a once-over. “Nice to see you getting into the spirit.”
“When in La Jolla.” She set her notepad on the table and satback, crossing her long legs. Ollie wasn’t mad about being with such prettypeople on a gorgeous day in Southern California.
“I swear, the sun is stronger down here than back inPasadena.”
“Is that where you live?” he asked.
“I rent a room in a house in South Pasadena. May I?” Herhand hovered by the bottle of prosecco chilling on the table. When he nodded,she poured some into a flute. “I can see the appeal of this lifestyle.Sparkling wine on a random weekday, renting a multi-million dollar house forthe hell of it.”
“There’s nothing wrong with enjoying the finer things,” Bransaid as he walked over. He plucked a strawberry out of a bowl, all of themperfectly red and ripe, and popped it into his mouth. “We only get one life,why not splurge on a few little things?”