Page 12 of Catch Me (Townsend Legacy #4)

I vy

An hour later, I’m sitting in the passenger seat of Andreas’ Jaguar SUV headed toward the new vintage clothing store on the other side of town.

“You know, you could just drop me off at home and I can drive to the store on my own. I’m sure you have something else you could be doing today.”

My belly does a flipflop when he turns to me, a smirk playing on those pink lips of his. His green eyes are covered by a pair of gold-rimmed sunglasses, which only enhances his sexiness.

All of a sudden it’s hot in this damn car although he has the air conditioner on.

“There’s nothing else I need to do today,” he says, looking directly at me as if he expects me to challenge him.

I force myself to look away, out of the window, but I still manage to tell him, “It’s probably not a good thing for us to be seen together.”

“What would make you believe that?”

My eyes bulge. “Oh, I don’t know because you’re you and I am not Amber Jones. You know, the woman most people would expect to be on your arm.”

“Look at me.”

The underlying steel in his voice has my heart rate increasing. My head turns as if following his command.

“I don’t give a damn what other people expect of me. Not when it comes to my private life. I’ve already dispelled my manager’s mistaken opinion that I need to fake a relationship for the public. Do I need to remind you as well?”

I shake my head.

“What you do in your private life is your business,” I tell him. “But you are a public figure, and that means that any woman you’re seen out with could lead to rumors that you’re dating.”

“Is that why you all of a sudden chose to order our breakfast as takeout instead of sitting in the café?”

Clearing my throat, I avert my gaze. Andreas had asked where Mya and I typically eat breakfast after our hike. Since he insisted that I needed to eat after the hike, I told him but said I would make the order.

I did it for take out instead of reserving a table for the two of us. And yes, not wanting to be seen in public was the exact reason.

“Yes,” I admit.

“What’s the matter? Afraid to be seen with me?” he asks, the half grin giving away that he’s joking.

“Of course not.” I smooth the sides of my ponytail with my hand. Today I’ve opted to let my hair breathe instead of wearing the wigs I’ve worn throughout the week to work.

“There’s no need for the extra complication for either one of us,” I tell him, stopping short of explaining that not only is my boss opposed to any interaction between Andreas and me, but being in the public spotlight is the last thing I need.

“That’s all I am to you? A complication?” he repeats in a high-pitched voice with an offended hand pressed to his chest.

Despite myself, that makes me laugh. Without thinking, I swat at his arm, but he catches my hand and intertwines his fingers with mine.

My body instantly buzzes with an energy that wasn’t present just a moment ago.

“The store isn’t in an area of the city known that celebs frequent. And it’s still relatively early. No one will even pay us any attention.”

He squeezes my hand reassuringly, and my heart melts.

“I’ll wear my hat if that makes you feel better.”

When he turns onto the street where the new vintage store is located, I watch the people on the sidewalks as we drive past. He’s right. Compared to the middle of the day, there’s not a lot of people out and about.

And it’s not like there’re paparazzi or anything like that in the area.

“I just don’t like being on camera,” I admit in a low voice.

He parks in one of the spaces in front of the store. “That’s a shame.” He tugs my hand still in his grasp, encouraging me to look over at him. “Your face was made to be on camera.”

His tone is so full of sweetness and sincerity, that I don’t bother to explain to him my feelings aren’t a result of believing I’m ugly or anything like that.

“I prefer to be the one helping you guys look your best while in front of the camera,” I say, injecting cheer into my voice. “Or, more accurately, telling the story you want to tell while on camera.”

He gives me a curious look, and my heart twists. Every expression on this man is freaking adorable.

“We should go inside.”

I don’t wait for him as I open the passenger side door, pull my hand from his, and hop out of the SUV.

Andreas glares at me as he rounds the front of the car to my side. “What are you doing?”

Frowning, I look around, confused.

“You’re supposed to wait until I open the door for you.”

“I am?”

He nods. “I should make you get back in the car to wait until I open the door.”

“That’s ridiculous. We’re both already out of the car. How about we go inside?”

He narrows his eyes, his jaw flexing slightly. I have to ignore that expression because of the tingling I start to feel in my nipples. The last thing I need is for him to see them peeking through the sports bra I have on.

I sidestep Andreas and head for the store’s entrance, but he uses his long legs to keep up with my stride and is the one to pull the door open for me. I shake my head when the idea of getting used to having someone open doors comes to mind.

Surely this isn’t a long-term serious thing for him. In fact, I don’t know what this is for him. Nor do I plan on asking either.

“Welcome, how can I— Oh my god!” the young woman who works at the store suddenly screeches, her eyes ballooning. “Are you … Are you Andreas Knight?”

I give him a sideways look. So much for not being recognized.

Andreas gives her an easy smile. “That is a compliment of the highest order,” he says easily. “I hear he’s kind of a big deal around here.”

The woman looks mortified for a second before she realizes he’s joking. Then she lets out a laugh and snort that’s actually adorable.

“Is there anything I can help you with?” she asks, looking between the both of us.

“Well, my?—”

“Stylist,” I quickly say and ignore Andreas’ look my way. “Assistant to the stylist, actually,” I clarify. “We’re looking for a couple of pieces for some upcoming, uh, shoots.”

“Oh, that shouldn’t be a problem. What’s the look you’re going for? I didn’t realize the stars themselves actually come in to browse with the stylists.”

“Assistant to the stylist,” I correct. “And we’ll just look around for a while, if that’s okay.”

“Sure.” She points toward the back of the store. “The men’s section is back there, shoes over in that direction, and belts and accessories over here by the window.”

“Perfect.” I turn to Andreas. “I’m going to check out the accessories. You should look over the shoes.”

He cocks his head sideways, giving me an ‘ Are we really doing this?’ expression. I worry my bottom lip, feeling tense when the bell at the top of the door rings as more customers enter the store.

Eventually, he nods and gives me one last look before going toward the men’s section. A relieved breath passes through my lips, and I go over to look at the accessories.

There isn’t anything in particular that I’m looking for in this store, but I’d heard it recently opened, and Mya agreed to go with me.

Speaking of, I pull out my cell phone and go to the ‘Besties’ group chat.

Me:

I’m going to kill you for leaving me, Mya!

I stuff my phone back into the pocket of my leggings and continue scouring the accessories section. There’s a pair of gold, dangly earrings that look cute, but when I hold them up to my ears I decide I don’t like them.

However, before putting them back I decide they would look good on Mya, so I hold onto them.

As I continue browsing, I end up coming to a stop in front of a magazine rack. Vintage magazines. Directly in front of me is an actual copy of Ebony magazine’s July 1962 cover with Diahann Carroll on the cover.

I raise my hand to lift the magazine from the rack but stop just short of touching it as memory of my mother snatching this very magazine out of my hand and telling me what a waste of my time and energy it was.

“Fashion won’t get you anywhere in life! Just look at your aunt. A grown woman who had to live with roommates to survive. She died penniless with no husband. We had to take her in when she got sick. Is that what you want for your life? To waste it on some silly dream of clothes and fashion?”

She screamed those words as she tore up my fashion magazine collection, a few of which had been left to me by my aunt.

My vision becomes blurry as that day passes through my mind.

No, I’m no longer that teenage girl who lived and died on the words my mother spewed at me, but I lower my hand, all the same.

I give one final look at Diahann Carroll beautifully modeling pastel colors in one of the images.

“Isn’t she just stunning?” my aunt had asked when she first showed me the magazine.

I clear my throat and walk away from the rack, suddenly not feeling the energy to do much shopping. Instead, I head to the counter to purchase the earrings for Mya. While I do so, I console myself on the fact that I’m here in L.A.

Despite my parents’ objections, I’ve come out here to pursue the career I want, to pursue my passions for the first time in my life.

That should be enough for me.

“Did you find anything good?”

Andreas’ voice behind me startles me. I quickly blink away the tears in my eyes before turning to face him.

“These earrings. I think they would look great on Mya. You?” I infuse my voice with enthusiasm that I no longer feel.

He eyes me for a beat too long. My skin tingles underneath the weight of his attention and I look away.

“Not much, but isn’t it up to my stylist to choose the clothing for me?”

When I look back at him, he has an eyebrow lifted. I glance over to see the sales associate eyeing us, eagerly ready to assist.

“Right,” I say, getting back into half-truth. “You know, we might have to come back to this one.”

Andreas nods and looks over at the clerk. “Maybe next time.”

I head for the door, not waiting behind, but Andreas stops. “Just need to make a quick run to the restroom. One sec.”

“I’ll wait outside,” I mumble before heading out of the door without a second look back.

Minutes later, we’re on the road back to my apartment.

On the way, Andreas tells me about a few shops around the city that he frequents.

“I get a lot of my secondhand books from that one," he says. “It’s been great for finding books for my book club.”

“You’re in a book club?” The surprise must be evident in my tone.

He raises his eyebrows.

“You just seem too cool for book clubs.”

He tuts. “Most of the smartest, coolest people I’ve ever met are part of book clubs. Oprah Winfrey, Reese Witherspoon, my mom.”

I cover my mouth when a guffaw interrupts him.

“What?”

“You just sounded so … cute when you said that.” My heart melts a little more.

“Cute?” he grumbles but takes my hand into his.

I watch as he brings my hand to his lips, kissing my knuckle. “You’re the only person I’ll allow to call me cute from here on out.”

I want to respond but can’t due to the tremors cascading through my body from having his lips on my skin.

“Cute is a compliment,” I finally manage to say. “How long have you been a part of this book club?”

He goes on to tell me that he and another actor-friend of his started the group about five years ago. They don’t limit themselves to a particular genre, which I find interesting. When it comes to fashion I’ve never thought of limiting what I liked to just one style or period in time.

Fashion is too diverse to be limited.

Which is why I personally love costume design over personal styling.

“Tell me more,” Andreas encourages when I tell him as much.

“As a costume designer, or assistant to the assistant costume designer,” I correct, “I get the opportunity to work on diverse sets. While Late Nights is my first movie set, before filming started, I did help with a few of the studio’s other projects.

“I enjoy how one week I may be helping with the costumes of a show set in the early twentieth century, and the next working on a film set in a different galaxy a hundred years in the future.”

The space between his brows wrinkles. “What’s the movie set in the future?”

I shake my head. “That one hasn’t happened yet. I was just making up an example. But it could. And thinking of the types of designs that setting would need as opposed to a film like Late Nights is exciting.”

“Do you regret working on Late Nights?”

I have no idea where that question comes from.

“It’s not very high fashion,” he says, explaining.

“Not at all. Not every costume has to be high fashion to be meaningful. That’s the beauty of fashion. The clothes are supposed to reveal more about the character or the person wearing them, not about the fabric.”

He gives me a sideways smile, and it takes me far too long to peel my gaze away from those lips.

Before I realize it, we’re turning into the parking lot of my apartment.

“Tomorrow, I have a few appearances and interviews,” he says once he pulls into an empty spot, directly in front of the door.

Is that regret I hear in his voice?

“Thank you for breakfast and the trip to the vintage store.”

“You mean for commandeering your Saturday morning?”

“Yeah, that.”

“I don’t regret it.”

Is his voice always so damn low and sexy?

“I’ll see you on the set on Monday.”

“I’ll be there,” I reply.

He leans across the console, his free hand moving to cup my face. Before I know it, his lips cover mine again. His kiss is teasing at first, exploring like he’s acquainting himself with the feel of my mouth.

It sets my body on fire.

He pulls back too soon for my liking, but holds my face in his hands, watching me.

“Don’t move.”

Andreas climbs out of his car and moves to my side to hold the passenger door open.

“Thank you,” I say.

“This is for you.” He hands me a bag with a logo and name of the store we just left.

I’d noticed the bag before but didn’t ask what was inside. I figured he’d found something he liked after all and purchased it.

“What’s this?” I ask.

“Take it.”

I take the bag and open it to pull out the July 1962 Ebony magazine with Diahann Carroll on the cover. My gaze shoots up to Andreas.

“You were staring at it like it meant something to you,” he says in a low voice.

“It does,” I whisper.

“I figured.” He traces his thumb along my jawline, sending chills down my spine. I hold my breath as he leans in to kiss my cheek. “Enjoy it.”

Words are hard to come by. I realize a sixty-year-old-plus magazine shouldn’t make me this speechless, but the lump in my throat says otherwise.

“I’ll see you on Monday morning,” Andreas says. “Now go inside, before I don’t let you walk away.”

I nod, wordlessly, thankful that he doesn’t ask why this magazine has me so emotional right now.

“Thank you,” I finally whisper, before saying, “I’m going in.”

Without looking back, I know Andreas stands there, watching me until I disappear behind the doors.

As I hug the magazine to my chest, confusion, gratitude, and an unhealthy dose of panic lance through my chest.