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Peter,I thought to myself,what is going on with you?And why wouldn’t he open up to me? I was his oldest friend. Putting the flirting aside this time, when I took Peter’s hand in mine, I needed him to know he still had me in his corner.
He shot me a smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes. My heart squeezed hard at the faint underlying sorrow I sensed in him.
Wendy flipped through her folder, agitation in every stiff line of her body. She slapped article after article on the table and flipped through photos of Peter online. Everyone talked about Peter’s decline and how it affected his sales and that his concerts, while well attended, had hit a rough patch recently.
“You call this fine?” Wendy shot back.
Peter winked at her, his mask slipping back into place. “If you just wanted more time alone with me we don’t need these charity events as an excuse.”
“Mr. Young—” Wendy shot him a look of disbelief.
Part of me wanted to laugh at him, and the other wanted to shake him. Even underneath all this, I could see his attraction towards Wendy. That wasn’t fake, even if he was being a jerk right now.
“Peter. Call me Peter,” he said, smoothly suddenly taking over this conversation.
He turned towards Wendy, close, but not too close to make her feel uncomfortable. His hand shifted towards her, my breath caught in my throat when it looked like he might caress her arm. Instead he swiped along her tablet’s screen, shutting off the pictures she’d been showing us.
I noticed two things: Wendy grew tense, and as her gaze followed Peter’s hand, she quickly moved to hide her disappointment.
She pushed his hand away from her tablet, jolting at the touch, her eyes seeking him instinctively. The two stared ateach other briefly, their gazes charged with something I was too chicken to name.
I cleared my throat, annoyed by all of this and how it was affecting my ‘win Peter’ campaign.
Wendy blinked a few times and then continued on as though nothing had happened. “I have a whole social media strategy, carefully orchestrated paparazzi shots to show off these changes in you. Maybe even a potential reality show at one point.”
Peter turned to me, lines bracketing his eyes, his anger dulled. “What do you think, Tris?” He put his hand over mine where it still lay on his arm. His thumb traced circles against the back of my hand, causing me to shiver.
I forced myself to stay calm, even as my heart raced. “I think you need to consider it.”
Peter slid a glance Wendy’s way before focusing fully on me. “I couldn’t do it without you. Maybe you can help me practice by being my good influence. We could run scenario’s back at my place where we’d have privacy to explore all the ways I could … ”
Wendy’s knuckles whitened around her tablet. And suddenly, it clicked for me. Was he trying to make Wendy jealous?Using meand my affection as his weapon? Peter wasn’t used to women not falling at his feet. And while this wasn’t the outrageous flirting he usually engaged in, there were subtle clues he was baiting Wendy.
My heart thudded to the floor. He should just stomp on it and get it over with. If he was using me as a pawn in his game, then?—
Did he even want to try and change, or was it all lip service with no follow-through? And why was I going to all the trouble to make him see me?
When the meeting wrapped up, I made my excuses and left quickly. There was so much to think about and I needed more time to plan.
Peter Young might be the boy who never grew up, but I was done playing his games.
Chapter Sixteen
KILLIAN
Ipaced the plush carpet in my penthouse living room as the western sun painted it in hues of orange and gold. Another day passed without any progress. I’d strummed my guitar for hours, failing to come up with a song catchy enough. I was close, but every time I thought I had it, I lost it. Notes or words teased the edge of my mind and then flitter away like fairies at dusk.
It had been like this all day. I wanted to bash my guitar. The only thing stopping me was that this one had been signed by my favorite musician, and up until now had felt like magic in my hands.
Suddenly, the “Beverly Hills Cop” instrumental soundtrack blared from my phone speaker.
Judd.
“Killian,” he said, his voice low, not the usual upbeat shit I was used to with him.
“Bad news?”
He sighed. “Everything is working out with the men we arrested. But the boss you met with is in the wind.”