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Tate’s charm slips a little, his brow furrowing as if deep in thought. My heart skips when he raises his arm and fiddles with his watch. “I’m not alone.”
But he is. He looks lonely, even with the throng of celebrities behind him, as they all smile and wave for the cameras. I haven’t followed his career, needing to protect my heart and mental health, but this isn’t the famous Tate Brooks I expected to see.
Maybe it was an off day.
Lord knows I’m having one of those today.
I close the video, my vision blurry. I’ve been in here for hours, and when I check the time, it’s almost the end of the day.
Needing to pee and eat, I drag myself from the pod, smiling at my coworkers as I head toward reception.
The moment Olivia spots me, she flies around her desk and pounces on me.
“Is it true?” she hisses, not so quietly, drawing the attention of the office to where she has me pinned to the wall.
“Jesus.” I try to shimmy out of her grip, but she’s strong. “Is what true?”
Her eyes dart around the reception area before she leans forward. “That you’re Tate Brooks’s wife?”
I forget Olivia joined the firm in the winter and wasn’t around to watch the downfall of my relationship. She’s a sweetheart, and I’d be curious too if one of my coworkers was involved with a celebrity.
“Short answer: yes.” I glance at my watch. “Long answer: it’s complicated.”
Her eyes grow bigger, making her look like a goldfish. “Oh. My. God. Why doesn’t anyone talk about it?” She gasps dramatically. “Will you go to the Grammy Awards with him next year? Ah! Do you think he’ll come visit you here?”
Oh, look at that, a migraine is brewing.
Grimacing, I pat her hand. “Tate Brooks has much better things to do than visit our offices.”
“He doesn’t, actually.”
My eyes close. Will I ever know peace again?
I turn toward the smooth voice, a smile plastered tightly on my face. “Um, hi. Why are you here?”
“Cheese and rice. You’re Tate Brooks,” Olivia whispers dreamily. I ignore her.
“Howdy, darlin’.”
She releases a squeak when he winks at her. Wonderful, our receptionist is now a puddle.
“Would you mind if I stole my wife away? She didn’t kiss me goodbye this morning and I’m craving my daily fix.”
The phone rings.
“Ah, that is so sweet!” Olivia smashes her cheeks together.
“Olivia. The phone?”
“Oh. Oh. Yes!” She fumbles with her headset. “Good morning, Baker and Foley Associates. How may I help you?”
I smack a hand to my forehead. It’s the afternoon. With her distracted—maybe a little too much—I drop the nice act and drag Tate toward the boardroom before slamming the door shut and closing the shades. He’s too close, and I stumble backward a few steps to distance myself. “You’re supposed to be resting.”
His lips corkscrew. “I’m feeling rested and ready to take you out for date number one.”
“Date?” I throw my hands out. “If you can’t see, I’m working. I don’t have time for a date today.” Or ever. Why did I agree to this? “Have you also forgotten you’re in the middle of a PR crisis?”
He drops his chin while taking a step closer. I back up. “If I wait for you to find the time in your busy schedule, we’ll be celebrating a new millennium. So I made the time for you.”
