Page 13

I cleared my throat, trying to contain the flood of emotions threatening to drown me. “Poet’s soul,” I murmured to myself.

Saint looked at me quizzically.

“That’s what you told me the night we met,” I reminded her. “You’ve got a poet’s soul.”

“You remember that?” she breathed.

“Yeah,” I admitted. “I remember everything.”

“Then why...” Her words trailed off as if the question suddenly became too hard to ask.

“Why what?” I prompted.

Her deep sigh was audible, and I watched, fascinated, as once again she blanked her expression. “Nothing.” She stood from the sun lounger. “Are you hungry?”

I checked my watch, realizing I hadn’t eaten for hours. It was nine P.M. in DC but only six P.M. here. “Starving.”

She gestured toward the kitchen. “I’ll show you where everything is.

I have a housekeeper who comes in three times a week, so she’ll keep on top of your laundry and take your dry cleaning to be done with mine.

I also have a chef bring meals in, so there’s a freezer full of high-protein dinners and lunches you can help yourself to.

If there’s anything in particular you want, write it down, and I’ll ask Catalina to pick it up. ”

Draining my drink, I stood and followed Saint into her huge, white kitchen. I took in the sleek lines and clean appliances, noting how it still felt homely even though it probably cost more than most people earned in a year.

Saint walked to an integrated tall freezer and opened the door wide. “You’ve got mainly chicken and salmon meals. But if you dig deep in the pantry, you’ll find some pasta somewhere.”

I walked toward her and picked up a few of the containers, frowning at how light they weighed. “Probably need six of these and a plate of potatoes to fill me up, babe,” I muttered.

“I’ll ask Cat to grab some on her way here in the morning. Do you want steak too?”

“Yeah, and bacon, sausage links, pancakes, fresh bread, not the packet shit, proper bread from a bakery, and real dairy butter.” I went to her fridge and checked inside to see mostly fruit, veggies, and drinks. “Eggs, milk—the real stuff, not diet shit—and caramel creamer.”

“I'd better add coffee to the list in that case,” she muttered.

My eyes widened. “You don’t have coffee? You love coffee.”

“Yeah, with cream and sugar,” she bandied back. “That’s why I don’t drink it anymore.”

My head reared back. “Please don’t tell me you’re on a diet.”

“My entire life is one big diet,” she stated. “Luckily the Ozempic stops me from being hungry.”

I felt a muscle twitch in my jaw. “What the fuck you on that stuff for? You’re not fat. ”

“No, I’m not,” she agreed. “Because I take Ozempic. You’re in Hollywood now, Jake. It’s the staple diet in these parts.”

My jaw dropped at how blasé she was about it. Weight-loss medication had its place for sure, but she didn’t need it. I tried to wrap my head around the fact that somebody so beautiful and so perfect could be made to feel like she needed to take such extreme measures.

Fuck Hollywood and its unattainable standards.

I shook my head, not wanting to accept her explanation. “You’re perfect now, but I also thought you were perfect with more curves. You shouldn’t have to change yourself to make other people happy.”

Saint let out a brittle laugh. “Thanks. I actually agree with you. I never concerned myself with a number on the scales, and when I walk away from all this, the first thing I’ll do is eat a cheeseburger.

But trust me, Jake. If you lived here long enough and moved in my circles, you’d understand why people resort to extreme measures.

I have a lot of people relying on me to maintain a certain image.

Then there’s social media, the showbiz magazines, and the trolls who comment on every extra pound.

It’s bullshit, but it’s also part of the job. ”

A sudden surge of protectiveness rose up along with the fierce need to shield her from the vultures who preyed on women’s insecurities.

My jaw clenched so hard that I thought I’d crack a tooth.

I’d never been a fan of skinny women, and honestly, most of the men I knew didn’t give a fuck about it either.

In fact, the majority of my buddies loved curves, tits, and ass.

There was nothing better than cuddling up to something soft and sweet at the end of the day, so the thought of somebody as beautiful and talented as Saint allowing assholes to dictate what she ate made my blood heat in my veins.

It was fake bullshit.

I needed to change the subject before I got an ass hair to hunt down the doctor who’d prescribed weight-loss meds to a perfectly healthy woman who clearly didn’t fucking need them.

“What time do you wanna go to rehearsal tomorrow?” I asked.

Saint picked a meal from the freezer and walked over to the microwave.

“About ten, if that’s okay? The boys usually roll in about lunchtime, but I like to arrive early to get in the zone.

I also need to speak to our producer about an arrangement that’s bugging me.

” She popped the container in the microwave and pressed some buttons to start it.

“That’s cool,” I assured her. “Is there anywhere I can work out?”

“I have a small gym upstairs. Just weights, a treadmill, bicycle. A punching bag and rowing machine, but it should do the job. Also got a sauna out back. If you want a more professional setup, there’s a gym about a mile away.

I used to go there, but when the album blew up, people started to take my picture without me knowing and sold them to the tabloids, so that put an end to that.

” She shrugged. “Shame really. I always loved going.”

“Got a boxing gym close by?” I asked.

“No idea. Maybe if you go further into the city, you’ll find something.”

“I’ll Google it,” I declared, watching her stop the microwave to give her food a stir and pop it back in again to finish heating. “Come with me. I’ll make sure nobody bothers you. It’s what I’m here for.”

She stilled before slowly turning her head toward me and whispering, “Thanks. I’d like that.”

Fuck .

She spoke like I’d offered her the world.

“It’s just a gym trip, babe,” I told her gruffly. “Not Disneyland.”

She turned and leaned her back against the counter. “I don’t get to do normal stuff anymore. I miss the gym, grocery shopping, walking on the beach, coffee shops, and honkytonk bars.” Her eyes took on a faraway look. “More than anything, I miss having a dog.”

Without a thought, I reached out and rested my hand on her shoulder. “Why can’t you have a dog?”

She smiled sadly. “I travel too much, and I can’t leave the house to walk it. I’m in rehearsals or the studio, and on tour, or doing publicity. It’s hard to devote the time to anything else.”

“Bit dramatic,” I muttered.

She laughed. “Maybe. But walk in my shoes for a few days, and you’ll see.”

“If you want it, make it work,” I told her. “Stop making excuses. No reason you can’t take a dog with you to the studio and places. You’re a fuckin’ rock star. You can do what you want.”

A slow smile spread across her face. “True. But can you imagine the headlines? Diva Saint McClure makes outlandish demands about her dog.”

“Meh.” I shrugged. “You’d be a legend amongst other dog owners, and it’s way more interesting than the headlines calling you a diva for making your assistant pick out all the red M&Ms.”

She let out another soft laugh. “Thanks, Jacob. You’re good at putting things into perspective.

Sometimes, I get caught up in it all too much, and I need somebody to bring me back down to Earth.

The gifts and photographs haven’t helped.

” Her eyes drifted to mine, and my heart clenched at the emptiness in them.

“I’m starting to wonder if it’s all worth it. ”

“Aren’t you happy?” I asked .

She frowned. “I haven’t been truly happy since.

..” Her voice trailed off, her eyes still locked with mine, and for the third time that day, I watched her shoulders straighten as she mentally pulled herself together.

“Anyway. You don’t want to hear me whine.

There’s nothing worse than some spoiled, rich rock star who has it all complaining about her amazing life. ”

The pressures she faced didn’t sit right with me. The entertainment industry had toxic expectations, and Saint seemed to be struggling with them. But she showed grace and humility, even self-deprecation, so the girl I met two years before was still in there.

Still, the world-weary look behind her eyes made me yearn to reach out, take her hand, pull her close, and soothe the tension away. I wanted more than anything to be that for her, but after ghosting me, it was clear she didn’t.

That was why I watched her take her ridiculously minuscule portion of bland chicken and vegetables from the microwave and dump it on a plate. It was also why I kept my hands glued to my sides as she grabbed a fork and then turned her back on me as she walked into another room to eat.

And lastly, it was why I sighed and pulled my cell back out to look at the DoorDash app so I could order some real fucking food, all the while thinking how much I fucking hated this town.

All that glittered certainly wasn’t goddamned gold.