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Desmond seemed oblivious of the guy's impending doom, holding out his arm like we were about to step out on the dance floor.
I took it, shaking my head, not being able to resist making a tiny dig. "I'm not sure who that dude was more afraid of, you or Kara."
"If you met Kara," Desmond snickered. "You'd know the answer to that question."
When I'd snuck on set, everything from the trailers to the swarm of dark hoodies and gray bags under everyone's eyes created this ominous atmosphere. Now, the sun peeked through the lazy clouds. Hoods had been pushed back, ponytails were high and efficient. We even passed a couple of smiling huddles. When eyes locked on me and Desmond, hand in hand, the smiles wavered and the eyes glinted with curiosity. When I came face to face with the brunette who pointed me in the direction of Desmond's trailer, it was pretty clear her eyes glinted with jealousy before she tossed a scowl at me and crossed her arms angrily.
And then I saw a woman in a fluorescent, highlighter yellow dress. She wore a tie dye beanie, tuffs of blue hair sticking out. There was no jealousy or curiosity to be found on her face.
She was enraged.
She stopped directly in front of us, putting both hands on her hips like she was a guard and we were going no further.
"Just where do you think you're going?" she snapped at Desmond.
There was clearly only one right answer and I swore that Desmond was practically giddy about giving her the wrong one. "Home. Didn't you get the message?" His smile stretched from ear to ear. "I'm ill."
The blue haired woman grabbed both sides of her head, covering her ears like she couldn't stand to hear one more word. "Ill?" Her volume ratcheted up to full on screech. "Ill?!"
I almost plugged my ears to keep her from shattering my eardrums. Desmond was completely immune to her. He leaned in and pressed a kiss against my cheek.
"Where are my manners, Kara, I'd like you to meet the love of my life, Sophia."
Love of his life?!
I was too busy swooning, staring deep into his eyes to realize that Kara was definitely not pleased to meet me. A few of her words cut through the bliss on cloud nine. Words like 'schedule' and 'insane' and 'are you kidding me'. I cast a sympathetic glance at her as Desmond guided me away from her and toward the exit. The guard shack had struck such fear in my heart when I first arrived on set, but this time, Frank waved as we passed through the exit.
I slipped into the passenger side of Desmond’s BMW, leaning back into the leather seat. Once we'd pulled away from the studio lot, I wouldn't let myself relax. I didn't drink in the way the leather seat attempted to massage away my kinks and nerves. I didn't grip his hand as tight as I wanted when he reached for me at red lights.
I gasped when he pulled to the most elite stretch of properties in the city. Sky rises that I'd only seen through the eyes of photographers were spitting distance. It was still too early for the socialites to be doing their thing, strutting down the sidewalk in couture and heels, but the businessmen were out in full effect. How much money hung so casually, so effortlessly on their bodies? Hell, how much money was swaddled around the babies that the moms pushed down the street in their coordinated, expensive yoga outfits?
And I was sitting beside a man that was worth billions. That called me the love of his life.
Was I dreaming?
I had to be dreaming.
There was no way I was in some top-of-the-line luxury car, pulling to the curb of The Paragon LA, where the valets snapped to attention immediately and smiled like they meant it. A place where residents like Desmond handed them a couple of twenty dollar bills as a tip while the rest of us scrambled to find a single dollar to tip the barista at Starbucks.
It made sense that the lobby for his apartment building sparkled and gleamed and that my sneakers squeaked on the polished marbled floor. I couldn’t help but compare every shiny square inch to the broken tile and scuff marks at my own apartment building. The chandeliers, that’s right, plural, glittered, the crystal casting rainbows all over the room. It was a far cry from the dull fluorescent lamps that cast a yellow glow over peeling mailboxes.
As soon as we walked through the door, there was a massive desk with signage indicating that the concierge was available 24/7, along with signs pointing towards a mail room, a theater, and elevators that I bet didn’t break down or require a prayer that you’d safely reach your destination.
Desmond powered ahead of me, but I hesitated in the center of the lobby, an intricate compass etched into the ground beneath my feet along with a quote about home and following your dreams in gold, embossed letters. And even the concierge snapped to attention, probably ready to get me some water with cucumber in it, or arrange for medical assistance or a buff, muscled man to sweep me up to my high rise apartment. The house man-servant wasn’t required because Desmond had noticed that I was no longer following close behind and making his way back to me, but I was still in some form of shock, nonetheless.
He was like some magazine spread, clad in a dark jacket, hypnotizing green eyes, a light dusting of scruff on his jaw, and lips that I wanted all over my body. A half hour ago, I was ready to jump his bones, but being here, being in his world, just reminded me that I didn’t belong in his world at all.
“I’d ask if you were okay,” his deep voice caressed me while his fingers swept through my hair, tugging at my dark strands. “But I hate that question,” he continued. “It’s passive aggressive.”
When I tried to look back down at the floor, retreating into myself, he clutched my chin and forced my eyes upward.
“And generally, when people ask that question, it’s because they’re not okay,” he finished. “So instead, I’m gonna say that if something’s wrong, and you want to talk about it, I’m a pretty good listener.”
I chewed on my bottom lip, almost wishing everything wasn’t so perfect. Everyone knew who Desmond was and I clearly wasn’t a fellow celebrity, so something juicy was going down in the lobby at The Paragon LA. But the concierge kept her eyes on her computer screen, not intruding, not snooping, though I had a feeling that she was essentially a fly on the wall and saw all manners of scandal and intrigue on a daily basis.
“This is just all-”
“Too much?” he offered, jaw clenching tight. “Too fast?”
