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The moment is too charged.
My heart is about to slam a hole in my ribs but, thankfully, Sullivan’s attention is called away.
It’s time for our interview.
Heat is running through every one of my veins and I’m sure my skin is smoking when I step on stage.
“You look nervous,” Patel signs as he sits in the chair across from me.
I give him a tight-lipped smile. “It’s my first time on network television.”
That’s a big fatlie.
I have no problems being in front of the camera, whether it’s for a photoshoot, commercial work or an interview. The lights and the attention have never scared me.
No, my racing pulse haseverythingto do with the man sitting calmly beside me on the giant purple couch, phone screen tilted my way so only I can see the question mark typed there.
He’s still waiting for consent.
I take the phone from him and type:
Go for it.
He looks at me and smiles dangerously.
Uh-oh. What did I just agree to?
Sullivan is close. Too close.
His knee is pressing into mine and, since I’m wearing a short skirt, there’s only one layer of fabric between his skin and mine.
Focus, Yaya.
To give my brain something else to gnaw on, I make eye contact with the hosts. There’s a blonde woman wearing red lipstick and a dark-skinned man with the shoulders of a pro football player. They introduce themselves through Patel and their smiles are kind.
This will be a pleasant interview.
The cameras start rolling and the hosts turn ‘on’. I observe their overly wide smiles, rigid backs, and the little vein in their neck that pops out as they speak. Whatever they’re saying and however they’re saying it, isn’t natural. But I’m sure that’s show business.
The camera swings to me and Sullivan. I focus on what Patel signs and realize that Dare is taking the lead on the questions about our relationship. I’m glad because it gives me time to get myself together.
“So, Yaya,” Patel signs, and I divert my attention between him and the female host in as natural a way as possible, “how does it feel to have snatched a man like Richard Sullivan off the market?”
I laugh, giving myself time to come up with an answer.
Patel signs, “Oh trust me. She’s the catch.”
I look over at Sullivan and he winks. Calm, in control. He makes this farce of a relationship seem so effortless.
Not to be outdone, I sign with an adoring smile in his direction, “I’d say we complement each other well. I’m the more high-strung one. I always need to know what’s going on. He’s the one who takes care of things in the background and tells me to relax. He makes me feel like it’s all going to be okay.”
Sullivan slides a hand over my shoulder, his thumb grazing the curve of my sleeve. His touch chases away what was left of my nerves but leaves behind something equally hot and perplexing.
We hold eye contact for too long because he eventually jerks his attention away from me and laughs with a hint of sheepishness. The host says something and he laughs again. This time, his hand lands on my thigh.
My eyes flicker to his pale fingers wrapping possessively around my leg and I can’t bring myself to hate it. In fact, I… theoppositeof hateit.
Ithe opposite of hateit a lot.