him. “I’ve been watching you. It’s like the second there are cameras around, you morph into this egotistical guy with a chip on his shoulder. I don’t get it. What are you trying to prove?”
“It’s getting dark,” he said with a nod at the sky. “Shall I walk you home?”
I followed his gaze and saw the most brilliant sunset lighting up the sky, hues of pink and mauve painting the horizon like a canvas. Until then, I’d been oblivious. We’d been enjoying our time together in the park so much that I don’t think either one of us had realized how late it was.
“Okay,” I agreed, “but it’s a long walk and you’ve already seen how stubborn I am. I’m not going to stop pestering you until you give me some answers.” My tone was playful but I found myself genuinely curious and almost a little nervous about what secrets Gavin might be keeping.
I knew all too well that men who keep secrets are usually bad news.
Chapter 11
“Do you remember when you asked me why I keep doing TV shows when I hate Hollywood?” Gavin and I were walking slowly down a quiet residential street, our steps synchronized and our fingertips not quite brushing. When he asked the question, I felt my whole body tense.
“Yes.”
“And do you remember my answer?”
“Spite,” I replied at once. It had been such an unusual and vague explanation that it was impossible to forget. I’d wanted to know more but he’d cautioned me it was better I didn’t. Maybe that was back before he realized how relentless I could be about getting answers.
Gavin sighed. “Yes, spite. What do you know about me?”
“What do you mean?”
“My life,” Gavin clarified. “What do you know about my life?”
“Not a lot,” I admitted. “You have a cooking show that shot to fame a few years ago. You’re possibly even more famous for your reputation. But everyone knows that.”
“What’s my reputation?” he asked curiously.
“You know,” I replied, wondering why he was goading me into saying it. After all, it wasn’t exactly flattering. “You’re a womanizer and a pain in the ass to work with. You throw lavish parties just because you can and you sleep around with models and actresses.”
“No.”
“No?”
“Well maybe that’s my reputation,” Gavin conceded, “but none of it is true…except for the pain in the ass bit. That part might be true. In fact, that part is true, but it’s only because the phoniness of Hollywood grates on my nerves.”
“I’m not an idiot, you know.”
“I never said you were.”
I stopped walking then and positioned myself in front of Gavin so he had to stop too. With my hands planted firmly on my hips, I informed him, “I’ve seen the photos on the covers of the tabloids. I’ve seen you on yachts with the rich and famous, guzzling champagne with women whose bikinis are the size of postage stamps. Why deny it?”
“Oh I’m not denying that,” Gavin responded at once. “That much is true. But I don’t sleep around. I pose for photos with the models and actresses. I make sure to give the paparazzi exactly what they’re after. But I’m not the man-whore you make me out to be. In fact, ‘womanizer’ is the last word I’d ever used to describe myself.”
“I don’t believe you.”
“Why’s that? I have no reason to lie to you.”
“But what about Bitchy?” I demanded, thinking of the skanky bottle blonde server at Palate whose only redeeming qualities were being tall, leggy and tanned. She was good for providing eye candy and snootiness but not much else.
“Uh…pardon?”
“You hired me and Amanda to help us out,” I pointed out. “But Bitchy – uh, I mean Trisha – I’m pretty sure she’s just a conceited aspiring wannabe actress who came to Hollywood to try to make it big, no?”
Girls like her were a dime a dozen in this city. I could spot them from a mile away.
“She
“It’s getting dark,” he said with a nod at the sky. “Shall I walk you home?”
I followed his gaze and saw the most brilliant sunset lighting up the sky, hues of pink and mauve painting the horizon like a canvas. Until then, I’d been oblivious. We’d been enjoying our time together in the park so much that I don’t think either one of us had realized how late it was.
“Okay,” I agreed, “but it’s a long walk and you’ve already seen how stubborn I am. I’m not going to stop pestering you until you give me some answers.” My tone was playful but I found myself genuinely curious and almost a little nervous about what secrets Gavin might be keeping.
I knew all too well that men who keep secrets are usually bad news.
Chapter 11
“Do you remember when you asked me why I keep doing TV shows when I hate Hollywood?” Gavin and I were walking slowly down a quiet residential street, our steps synchronized and our fingertips not quite brushing. When he asked the question, I felt my whole body tense.
“Yes.”
“And do you remember my answer?”
“Spite,” I replied at once. It had been such an unusual and vague explanation that it was impossible to forget. I’d wanted to know more but he’d cautioned me it was better I didn’t. Maybe that was back before he realized how relentless I could be about getting answers.
Gavin sighed. “Yes, spite. What do you know about me?”
“What do you mean?”
“My life,” Gavin clarified. “What do you know about my life?”
“Not a lot,” I admitted. “You have a cooking show that shot to fame a few years ago. You’re possibly even more famous for your reputation. But everyone knows that.”
“What’s my reputation?” he asked curiously.
“You know,” I replied, wondering why he was goading me into saying it. After all, it wasn’t exactly flattering. “You’re a womanizer and a pain in the ass to work with. You throw lavish parties just because you can and you sleep around with models and actresses.”
“No.”
“No?”
“Well maybe that’s my reputation,” Gavin conceded, “but none of it is true…except for the pain in the ass bit. That part might be true. In fact, that part is true, but it’s only because the phoniness of Hollywood grates on my nerves.”
“I’m not an idiot, you know.”
“I never said you were.”
I stopped walking then and positioned myself in front of Gavin so he had to stop too. With my hands planted firmly on my hips, I informed him, “I’ve seen the photos on the covers of the tabloids. I’ve seen you on yachts with the rich and famous, guzzling champagne with women whose bikinis are the size of postage stamps. Why deny it?”
“Oh I’m not denying that,” Gavin responded at once. “That much is true. But I don’t sleep around. I pose for photos with the models and actresses. I make sure to give the paparazzi exactly what they’re after. But I’m not the man-whore you make me out to be. In fact, ‘womanizer’ is the last word I’d ever used to describe myself.”
“I don’t believe you.”
“Why’s that? I have no reason to lie to you.”
“But what about Bitchy?” I demanded, thinking of the skanky bottle blonde server at Palate whose only redeeming qualities were being tall, leggy and tanned. She was good for providing eye candy and snootiness but not much else.
“Uh…pardon?”
“You hired me and Amanda to help us out,” I pointed out. “But Bitchy – uh, I mean Trisha – I’m pretty sure she’s just a conceited aspiring wannabe actress who came to Hollywood to try to make it big, no?”
Girls like her were a dime a dozen in this city. I could spot them from a mile away.
“She
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