The muscles in his jaw tense. “Of course you didn’t. That makes sense.” He lets out a bitter laugh and rubs the back of his neck. “If you’d known, you wouldn’t have taken it, would you?”
I try to find a nice way of saying it, but there really isn’t one. “No.”
He nods. I’d say he looks hurt, but why would he? He’s been living the Hollywood high life without any contact from me. I doubt he’s even spared me two thoughts over the past six years.
“Well, however you got here, I’m grateful.” He looks down at his hands. “I’ve missed you. More than you know.”
I almost laugh. Of course you have. In between making megabuck movies, earning millions of dollars, and banging one of the most desired women on the planet, you’ve had plenty of time to pine for the short, cheese-obsessed stage manager you once had a thing for. That makes perfect sense.
He reads something on my face and frowns. “What’s that look?”
“Nothing.”
“You don’t believe me?”
I shrug. “I wouldn’t dare question you, Mr. Quinn. That would be very unprofessional.”
There’s that look again. Hurt or disappointment—I can’t decide which. “I guess I haven’t given you much reason to have faith in what I say, have I? Just one more thing I regret about us.” There’s laughter out in the hallway, and he looks over his shoulder before coming back to me. “Speaking of us, does anyone here know about our . . . history?”
“No.”
“Not even Josh?”
“He knows we’ve been . . . intimate. That’s it.”
“Intimate.” He says it like it’s funny. “Doesn’t really do justice to what we had, does it?”
This conversation is veering off into uncomfortable areas. “Mr. Quinn—”
“Mr. Quinn is my father.”
“Your agent requested we address both yourself and Miss Bell in a formal way.”
“My agent likes to make people think we’re more important than we are. That’s his job. Don’t listen to him about anything. Especially not about me and Angel.”
God, just hearing him say that phrase ties my stomach in knots. “Me and Angel.”
“Liss, about Angel—”
“If you’re concerned that our past will cause you any discomfort, in either a professional or personal capacity, I’d like to assure you that I’m going to do everything in my power to make this experience as stress-free as possible. For both you and your . . . fiancée.”
I nearly choke on the word. Finding out he was engaged didn’t snuff out the tiny flame of hope that we’d somehow be together one day. It just stifled it, in the most painful way. “I realize this situation isn’t ideal,” I continue. “And if you tell me your concerns, I’ll be sure to address them.”
“Jesus Christ.” He rakes his fingers through his hair. “Could you please stop talking to me like you’re my bank manager? Like we don’t even know each other?”
“I don’t know you anymore.”
“You’re the only one who’s ever known me. Fuck, Liss—”
“I’d rather you call me Elissa.” He’s the only person in the world who calls me Liss, and it feels way too intimate for our current situation.
He walks forward, and I have no room left to retreat. He stands so close, I can smell him. The entire space fills with an intense energy that makes my heart pound erratically against my rib cage.
“Elissa, I’m sorry. That day . . . the last time I saw you. I hurt you, and I hate that.”
I can’t cope with him being so close, but I clench my jaw and force myself to sound calmer than I feel. “There were faults on both sides. We weren’t even in a relationship.”
“We both know that’s not true. What we shared—”
“Was a long time ago. We were young and stupid. Everything seems epic at that age, and we got carried away. I knew it at the time, and I know it now. I’m over it.”
His eyes bore into me. “It?”
I straighten my spine. “You.” He blinks a few times, and I ignore his conflicted expression. “Now you’re engaged to one of the most beautiful women in the world, and I . . .” Come on, Elissa, say it. Even if you don’t mean it. “I couldn’t be happier for you.”
If I were Pinocchio, my nose would be poking his eye out right about now. Well, okay, I’m too short for the eye, but his chest would be getting a bruising. “No matter how it happened, I’m glad you two found each other. It’s obvious you love her.” I risk looking at his face. “Right?”
As soon as the words leave my mouth, I regret them. Do I seriously expect him to say “no” and take me in his arms? As usual, my unrealistic romantic expectations are way off.
“Yes, I love her,” he says quietly. “I’m lucky to be marrying my best friend. Not everyone gets that chance.”
A knot of tension coils in my stomach. I really wasn’t prepared for how much those words would hurt.
“And what about you?” he asks, his voice quiet. “Are you . . . with anyone?”