Page 8 of Catch Me (Townsend Legacy #4)

I vy

“Looks like it’s just me and you tonight,” I tell Ms. Shelby as I finish cleaning up the kitchen after dinner.

Her meow urges me to pick her up and stroke underneath her chin, making her purr in delight. I carry her over to my desk and settle in to log in for at least two hours at Style Box .

Once I receive my first paycheck from my full-time job, and the extra income from my part-time role, I’ll have enough to put a little bit of money in savings after my monthly expenses, which unfortunately include a sizable student loan payment.

A loan for the degree I never got the chance to complete.

The thought about the sad state of my finances pushes a sigh through my lips. “It could be worse, right?” I ask Ms. Shelby, petting the top of her head.

Her mewling sounds are the reassurance I need.

Indeed it could be worse. The student loans I have are only from the two-year degree I attempted to get. The degree in fashion design I never finished, and not the five-year undergraduate and MBA that I managed to complete.

My parents covered the cost of those degrees.

“You’re such a disappointment.”

The shocked meowing from my lap snatches me out of my thoughts and back into the present.

I must’ve squeezed her too tight while recalling the way my mother lashed out at me when she found out I dared defy her and pursue the degree that actually interested me.

“Sorry,” I mumble to Ms. Shelby before putting her down.

I refocus on my laptop and begin working to build a winning new wardrobe for my next client.

As a design associate who’s a contract worker, we’re not always privy to the clients’ details, but on occasion we’ll get someone who adds additional information like why they’re looking for a wardrobe upgrade.

That’s the case tonight, and I become enraptured in reading Gabrielle’s story of being a recent divorcée and mom of two teenagers. She’s looking to get back into dating after sixteen years of marriage.

The attached picture of herself gives me a number of ideas of what colors and cuts would look great on her.

I fall into the task of sorting through a range of dresses and skirts that would show off her legs in the tasteful way she’s looking for.

It takes about an hour to put together three complete outfits that she can also mix and match to make at least three more outfits that are perfect for a range of outings.

Satisfaction washes over me when I hit send for Gabrielle’s box to be created.

I start to open a new profile to complete at least one more order before logging out for the night, but my phone buzzes.

Rose:

Mom says you haven’t called her in months.

My stomach drops from my older sister’s text. Not even a hello or how are you doing. Just straight to the point.

I stop to ask myself if I have the energy to remind my sister that I’ve told our parents it’s best that I remain low contact with them for the time being.

And yes, that does mean I’ve ignored the last few text messages and phone calls from my mother over the past few months.

I decide I have just enough energy to respond to my sister.

Me:

I’ve been busy. I will reach out to her and Dad soon.

Rose:

Did you get a job?

Another flip of my belly. The problem is I know she isn’t really interested in whether I’m working or how I’m faring here in L.A. She’s interested in whether or not I’m living up to the Sterling name. If I’m living in accordance with their definition of success.

Me:

Yes.

I opt to keep my responses short and sweet.

Rose:

Not that pitiful part-time job where you pick clothes and have them sent to women who can’t even choose a pair of jeans for themselves, is it?

God, she becomes more and more like our mother with each passing year. Rose is older than me by five years and we’ve never been particularly close, but our relationship has only deteriorated in the past two years.

Ever since I made the family look bad by having a very public meltdown.

Me:

No. A different job. I have to go. I’ll reach out to Mom and Dad soon.

I sit back in my seat and lift my hands over my head to stretch after sitting in front of a computer screen for the past hour.

My phone buzzes again.

This time it’s a call instead of a text.

“Rose, I said I’ll call you guys when I have time.”

There’s a beat of silence on the other end. Then an unexpected voice breaks through.

“You didn’t wait for me.”

I pull the phone from my ear and stare at the unknown number. “Andreas?” I blurt out.

A deep, satisfied chuckle echoes through the phone. “You finally used my name for the first time. I like it.”

My body warms.

“Is this really you?” It’s a silly question because there’s no mistaking that deep, smoky voice. Still, I can’t fully wrap my head around it.

“The one and only. Were you in a rush to get home to someone?”

I blink, trying to get a grasp on the question and this entire conversation.

“You didn’t wait for me,” he continues, since I haven’t replied. “And it occurred to me that the reason may be because you already had someone at home waiting for you.”

Ms. Shelby decides to purr and walks between my legs, rubbing her body against my ankle as she passes.

“The only person waiting for me was Ms. Shelby.”

He repeats her name in a question.

“My adopted cat. She gets pissed when I keep her waiting too long for her dinner.”

“That’s a relief. Not the part about Ms. Shelby being hungry. I’ve been known to get hangry myself.”

“With the long hours you work on set, I can imagine.”

He makes a sound of agreement. “You worked a long day, too. And went home to a part-time job.”

It’s surprising that he even remembers that I mentioned my part-time job earlier.

“Did you have dinner?”

Is that real concern in his voice?

My gaze goes to the clean kitchen. “My roommate left some takeout in the fridge for me when I got home. She knows I don’t like cooking if it’s just for me. I would’ve made a peanut butter and jelly sandwich if it hadn't been for her.”

“What did you have?” he asks as if he cares.

“Pho from a local Vietnamese place.”

After I log out of my Style Box account, I move to the couch in the living room and settle in, making myself comfortable. Ms. Shelby doesn’t hesitate to jump up onto the couch and then curl up in my lap.

“Then it’s true work and traffic were the only reasons you didn’t stay to wait for me,” Andreas says. There’s no accusation in his voice. More like disappointment?

“And Ms. Shelby.”

“The cat, too,” he confirms. “Are you still working?”

“I’ve logged out for the night.”

“What is it that you do?”

I give him a quick run down of my part-time job, somehow falling into an easy conversation. Over the phone it’s like I’m talking to a normal guy. Not just a normal guy, but one who’s actually good at upholding his end of a conversation.

That’s something of a rarity in my dating experiences.

“So, you spend all day with clothes.”

My cheeks warm, embarrassment overcoming me. “Clothes are important. They tell a story whether we intend for them to or not.”

There’s silence on the other end, and I realize my words came out way more defensive than I intended.

“Was there someone who discouraged your love of fashion?”

Only my entire immediate family.

The thought rushes across my mind and almost makes it out of my mouth before I can bite it back. Luckily, I manage to keep that answer to myself. This A-list Hollywood star doesn’t want to hear about my Mommy and Daddy issues.

“Today’s filming seemed to go well. Not that I got a chance to see much of it.” I hold my breath, waiting for his response, hoping that he doesn’t press me on the fact that I changed the subject.

“First days often set the tone for the rest of filming,” he replies, and I exhale. “Today was a good day.”

“I re-read the script over the weekend.”

“What did you think of it?”

“Honestly, I was intrigued. On the surface it’s a story about a guy who falls from grace, but that fall actually happens off screen. The movie is about the turnaround. It’s inspiring and?—”

I cut myself off.

“And not what you expected someone like me to play?”

He forms it as a question, which makes it less accusatory.

I hesitate because while that’s exactly what I was thinking, I don’t want to be insulting either.

I don’t doubt that if Andreas Knight has the power to go above Rebecca to allow me to keep my job, he also has the power to be the cause for why I lose my job, too.

“You can be honest. Your job is safe.”

How did he know what I was thinking?

“No,” I say. “It’s not a role I pegged you for but I’m not a casting director. My opinion doesn’t matter.”

“Don’t do that.” His tone is sharp. “Don’t downplay your opinion as if it doesn’t matter. It does matter. What you think is important. I want to hear it.”

Something inside of my chest blooms. Literally, it’s as if my heart is opening up to the rays of sunlight that are his words. He’s not the first person to tell me my opinion matters. Mya, Ari, and Dr. King have all more or less told me the same thing in recent months.

However, the conviction in Andreas’ voice as he says it makes me not want to question the validity of his words.

My opinion matters.

“I only watched a few episodes of Heartbreak Academy ,” I tell him. “I’ve seen the two romantic comedies you were in, which were funny, by the way. Late Nights is much heavier than any of your previous work.”

“Which is why I chose it,” he says. “At the beginning of last year, I sat down with my manager and agent and told them the direction I want my career to go in. It’s time for me to take on the hard-hitting roles I’ve craved for a few years now.

A couple of months later, Michael reached out to my team with the script for Late Nights . ”

The confidence in his voice strikes me the most. It’s like he didn’t even doubt that he was ready for something this emotionally gripping.

“Just like that?” I ask.

“Just like what?”

“You decide you want something and then go after it?”

“Is there any other way to get what you want?”

A lump forms in my throat.

“What if it doesn’t turn out the way you want or you …” Or you fail? I don’t let the last part of the question pass my lips.

Andreas doesn’t respond at first, making me think I’ve said too much. I’ve inadvertently shared my own deepest insecurities.

No, not just insecurities, but my truths. Because that’s been the case for me.

Whenever I reached for something I desperately wanted, it always ended up in some sort of loss for me. Which is why it took me so long to make the decision to come out here to L.A. to begin with. Even after months of being miserable, living back in Michigan.

“There’s always something else,” he eventually answers. “Failure just isn’t an option.”

I press my hand against my stomach as something inside of it starts fluttering around. The confidence in his voice belongs to that of a man twenty years older than his twenty-six.

“That’s beautiful,” I say before a sudden yawn interrupts my follow-up question. “I’m sorry, it’s been a long day.”

I glance at the clock on the wall and am embarrassed that it’s barely ten o’clock.

Have we been talking for almost thirty minutes? When did that happen?

“I should let you go,” he says with regret weaving its way into his tone. “I’ll see you on set tomorrow.”

His words are a promise more than a question.

“I’ll save you a plate for lunch.”

My eyebrows furrow in confusion. “Lunch?”

“Since you stood me up for dinner tonight, the least you could do is have lunch with me.”

Rebecca immediately comes to mind. More so, her warning to stay away from the actors.

“See you tomorrow, Ivy,” Andreas says before disconnecting our call.

Another yawn breaks my concentration, and I decide to give up on overthinking. Though I said I was done, I force myself to log into Style Box for another hour to earn a little more money before taking a shower and heading to bed.

The last thoughts I have in my mind are of Andreas’ smooth, deep voice in my ear as I drift off to sleep.