“No,” Troy answered.
Elle pressed her hands against his shoulders, pushing him away from her. “No?”
“I think we should say good night.”
“You can’t be serious.” Elle’s vision became clouded, and her throat ran dry.
“I think we should take things slow.”
“You call this slow?” She could feel her pulse pounding in her ears. She planted her feet in a wide stance, crossing her arms in front of her chest. “What’s going on, Troy? Are you still pissed off? Is this all a game to you?”
Troy ran his fingers through his hair. “No, of course not. You know me better than that.”
“Maybe not.” Her fingers fumbled to button her blouse. She felt ridiculous, foolish, like Troy was playing with her emotions. Turning her on only to walk away from her. She’d felt that ten years ago; she didn’t want to feel it again.
Troy pushed her bangs from her eyes. “Don’t say that. I promise you, I’m not playing games. I’m just trying to be respectful . . . and I want to be sure before anything . . . happens.”
They locked eyes and Elle knew exactly what Troy was trying to say. He didn’t want to sleep with her only to realize he could never truly forgive what happened in Las Vegas. He didn’t want to lead her on.
“But I want to see you again.” He pressed his forehead to hers and sighed. “God, I want to see you again.”
Troy’s lips pressed gently to hers and she relaxed, hoping to God he wasn’t leading her on. She wanted to trust him so badly, yet wanted to run far, far away from the utter confusion only Troy could bring.
“When?” she asked, glaring at him with daggers in her eyes, still questioning his intentions.
“Saturday night.”
“What about the restaurant?”
“I’ll make it work.”
“Okay, fine. Saturday.”
They walked in silence to Elle’s car. The only sounds were the cars whizzing by and the clicking of her heels against the pavement. With a chaste kiss, they said good night, and Elle drove home more confused than ever.
Why did things have to be so damn complicated?
Elle was running late. She was needed on set, but was having trouble getting her things together. Her mind was jumbled—a mess. She couldn’t focus and she was pretty sure she knew why.
Today was the day they would shoot Luke and Gina’s first love scene. Their characters had shared a couple of kisses, enticing the audience with their chemistry and banter. But now, it was time for the story to take their relationship to the next level. Elle had written the scene, but hadn’t thought about how it would feel to shoot it. She contemplated skipping the shoot. After all, Rob was the director and could handle it. But she’d never missed a shoot. Not ever. And she wasn’t about to begin now. Yes, her feelings for Luke were strong—stronger than she expected when they first got involved. But her show . . . her show had always been, and would continue to be, her first priority. She was needed on set, and so that was where she’d be.
Her cell phone buzzed as she parked her car in the studio lot.
Troy.
His voice was soft when she answered the phone. “I hate to do this, but I have to postpone our dinner.”
Although Elle was disappointed, she didn’t want to convey it. “Everything okay?”
“Yeah, it’s just . . . Payton’s mom needs to switch weekends, so I have her Saturday.”
A smile crossed her face and for just a moment she allowed herself to get excited about the potential for meeting Troy’s daughter. “No need to cancel, I’d love to meet her. We can go to dinner, or maybe a movie? They’re adapting another YA book into a movie, maybe we could—”
“I don’t think that’s the best idea, Rigby.”
“Oh.”
“I don’t introduce Payton until I’m involved in something serious. In almost nine years, she’s met only two women.” When Elle said nothing, Troy sighed. “It’s just . . . it’s too soon. I hope you understand.”
Elle knew it was too soon, and she knew Troy was being logical and protective over his daughter, but she couldn’t help feeling disappointed and rejected. It seemed that, more and more, she could hear the distrust in his voice. He could deny his anger to her, but part of her wasn’t sure he could ever really forgive her. She brushed that feeling off, knowing she was not a parent, and that an entirely new set of rules appeared when one took on that role.
“Of course.” Her stomach clenched. “We’ll reschedule for another time.”
“I’m really sorry,” he added. “I was looking forward to it.”
“I was too.” Elle cleared her throat, ignoring the tightening in her chest. “Well, you have a good weekend with Payton and we’ll connect sometime next week.”
“Thanks for being cool with this. I was nervous to call.”
“Don’t be silly. You’re a dad first—I get that. We’ll reschedule, it’s no problem.”
She hung up the phone, placed it in her purse, and entered the studio, determined to push Troy from her mind. The moment she saw Gina, she was reminded of the scene they were about to shoot. Gina was dressed in nothing but a strapless bra and panties, a sheet wrapped around her as she strutted across the set. The makeup team had done a hell of a job, bringing out the best in her features. Her dark eyes were doe-like, giving her a soft yet sexy appearance that would translate to viewers at home. A knot formed in Elle’s stomach as Gina approached.
“Have you seen Luke?”
Elle clenched her jaw at the question, not wanting to think about them lying together on the set, going through the motions of an intimate encounter. Yes, there were half a dozen cameras taping their every move, their every embrace, their every kiss to make sure the lighting was perfect and that the feel of the scene was appropriate. It was far from romantic. But that didn’t make it any less concerning to Elle.
“No, sorry. I just got in.”
“Well, if you see him, tell him I’m looking for him. I want to show him my outfit.” Gina flipped her hair and gave Elle a devious wink before walking away. Just before she was out of earshot, Gina yelled back to her, “Oh, and tell him it’s time to decide. My publicist needs an answer.”
Elle stared back at Gina with confusion, but rather than chase after the actress (which was exactly what Gina wanted) she pulled herself together, smoothed down her clothing, and joined Rob at the craft services table. Knowing she had no candy in her purse, she grabbed a doughnut and a napkin and plopped down in her chair.
“Morning.” Rob tipped his baseball cap to Elle before taking a bite of his cherry Danish. “Rough day? You look—”
“—like hell.” Elle heard the unmistakably blunt voice of Whitney.
“Well, good morning to you, too.” Elle took a bite of the buttermilk doughnut, allowing the ridiculously sweet pastry to soothe her distressed mind. She took another, and then another, oblivious to the crumbs accumulating on her chest.
“With the way you’re going to town on that doughnut, I’d say something is definitely wrong.”
Elle polished off the doughnut, brushing the crumbs from her top before hopping from her chair to grab another. Whitney’s mouth was agape when Elle returned to her chair.
“This must be serious.”
The slightly acerbic tone of Whitney’s observations annoyed Elle. She didn’t need sarcasm. She needed to be left alone to do her job. If she needed to run on her treadmill that night to make up for the pastries, she would. She didn’t need Whitney giving her a hard time.