“Then what’s going on, Veronica? I know for a fact that this is one of the few interviews you were looking forward to—you’ve been wanting to meet Ian Sharpe for months. So what’s changed? Did he hit on you? Did he—”
“I don’t like him,” I interrupt before he can list any other suggestions and maybe, God forbid, hit on exactly what did happen. “We’ve met twice and neither time has been exactly pleasant. I know he doesn’t have all the information he needs but he can either write the article with the info he does have or Vanity Fair can scrap the article. At this point I don’t really care which. But I will not meet with him again. Do you understand?”
Again there’s a shocked silence from Cole’s end of the phone and if I wasn’t so freaked out about seeing Ian again, I’d probably relent. But there’s no way I’m letting him poke around in my head again, no way I’m giving him a chance to ask more of his deep, probing questions—especially considering all the new ammunition I gave him today. No way in hell.
I’m the biggest sex symbol in Hollywood right now and with that status comes full diva privileges. Just because I’ve never used them before doesn’t mean I don’t know how. I learned from the best, after all.
“Call his people, tell them I’m sick. Tell them I’m busy. Tell them I’d rather go parachuting in hell before meeting with him again—I don’t care what you tell him. But I’m done, and so is his interview with me. Understand?”
“I do. Absolutely. And I’ll take care of it.” Cole clears his throat and I can all but see the wheels turning in his head. “Are you sure you’re all right? Did something happen…did he…”
“I’m fine, Cole.” Even I can hear how short and off I sound. I take a moment to breathe, then deliberately soften my voice. “Honest, I am. I just need to never have to see Ian Sharpe again.”
Chapter 9
“Are you kidding me?” I shove off the bed where I was working before my agent called and start pacing back and forth across the red-and-gold carpeting of my hotel suite. “Veronica Romero has blackballed me?”
“She hasn’t blackballed you,” he answers soothingly. “She just doesn’t have time for another meeting, so she’s hopeful you got everything you needed in the first two.”
“Yeah, well, hope springs eternal, doesn’t it?” I shove a hand through my hair, frustrated beyond belief that she’s pulling this. I’m not surprised, necessarily, just frustrated. And furious. “How the hell could I have gotten what I needed, Mitch, when she totally stonewalled me at our first meeting?”
“You didn’t tell me that.”
I snort. “What exactly was I supposed to say? That she went all diva on me the second I asked a question deeper than who her favorite designer is?”
There’s a long pause. Then, “Were you pushing her? Because maybe—”
“I wasn’t pushing her. I hadn’t even brought him up. I was asking questions for the article—not even hard questions, if I’m being honest—and she totally shut down. It’s the same thing she’s doing now and I’m not putting up with it.”
“What about yesterday? You were at her house all day, right? Surely you got something you can use.”
“She was doing a photo shoot all day. I got no time with her at all until the very end of the day.”
“Okay.” Mitch draws the word out, and the fact that his South Carolina accent has become pronounced says everything about how confused—and concerned—he is by my reaction. “So what happened then?”
Images of Veronica flash through my mind at the question.
Stripping down.
Spread-eagled on the table, hands pinned above her head.
On her knees, pushing her ass against my cock as she begs me to fuck her.
Crying out as she comes around my dick…then kicking me out of her house twenty minutes later.
And now, apparently, being completely unprofessional and refusing to see me again. Seems like she really meant it when she said she doesn’t go back for seconds.
“Ian?” Mitch prompts. “Is there something you’re not telling me?”
Oh, about a million or two things at this point. But what am I supposed to say to him? That Veronica let me fuck her brains out on her kitchen table? That it was darker and more intense than either of us had anticipated? That it shook me up, so it probably shook her up, too? And that now she’s screwing me over in order to take back the control she feels like she lost when we were together?