Page 15 of Yorkie to My Heart (Friends of Gaynor Beach Animal Rescue #6)

Jeremy

“Can you repeat that? Super slow. Like I’m an idiot.” I didn’t like using that word, but sometimes Andreas needed me to use language he understood.

“I just got in a bar fight.” The six-foot-five brunet god hunched over his iced tea as we sat in the back of a seedy bar in West Hollywood.

Personally, I would’ve chosen a nice patio with a breeze off the ocean.

My client’s face, however, would’ve garnered way too much attention. So much for brazening this out.

“And why were you in a bar fight?”

“Because a guy called me a?—”

I held up my hand. “Moving on.” Whether the aggrieved party had used a derogatory term toward homosexuals wasn’t the point. That Andreas had felt the need to retaliate with his fists was.

He huffed.

“So the guy’s not pressing charges.”

“Because he’s a pussy.”

“Jesus, Andreas. He’s not pressing charges. That makes him your best friend. And don’t use that fucking word—with me or anyone else. It’s misogynistic and trust me, you don’t need that biting you in the ass as well.” I pointed to his forehead. “You swear that cut is the only injury.”

He rolled his eyes. Then winced.

“Right. And the black eye. That’s a given.” The forehead we might’ve been able to explain. A shiner had many fewer options. “And this guy says he’s not going to the tabloids?”

Andreas shrugged. “The cop said the guy swears he’s not. Something about not wanting his wife to know where he was.” He shifted his gaze around the bar as if worried we’d be overheard. Not likely, but I didn’t mind the prudence.

“The bruised knuckles aren’t going to clue her in?” I rubbed my face. “Okay, we’ll work off the assumption he knows it’s not really in his best interests to share his exploits with the tabloids.”

“Because I’ll tell them he called me?—”

“Shut the fuck up, Andreas. I swear to God.”

“No one’s here.”

He wasn’t wrong. We were tucked into a booth by the johns and, at this hour, the place didn’t even have a server. Just a six-foot-two stone-faced bartender who had showed precisely zero interest in us. Frankly, she scared me.

“So you’re supposed to be at the charity gala tomorrow night.”

This time, his wince appeared sincere—the first chink in his armor. “Yeah, I’m supposed to be escorting Norah.”

“Well, that’s completely out.”

“Makeup—”

“Bullshit. I mean, I know pancake can work wonders, but your eye’s bloodshot as well.”

“That might clear up?—”

“What did the doctor say?” I put just enough sarcasm in my tone that he shut his jaw.

“That it won’t. Broken blood vessel. Will take time to heal.”

“All right. We need an excuse why you can’t make the gala. Something covering all contingencies but that doesn’t sound implausible. How about a bad case of influenza?”

“It’s summer.” He frowned. “Even I know flu is like, generally, a winter disease.”

God save me… now he chooses to use that big brain of his.

My only A-list client who was also MENSA.

Personally, I would’ve loved to see him pursue some kind of academic endeavor.

But nope. When he injured himself, he’d lost his football scholarship.

He’d nearly had to return home, but he’d been spotted on the street.

Scouted on the spot. So first, he’d tried modeling.

Which had, unsurprisingly, become acting.

The twenty-eight-year-old already had an impressive résumé.

Last year, he’d been up for a Golden Globe.

Yet here we were.

“Herpes?”

He groaned. “That’s not funny.”

“Well, it would keep people away from you. Seems to me that should be the goal.”

“Filming for the movie starts in a month. Norah’s my costar. I don’t want her to think I have a communicable disease.”

I frowned. “Right.” I wracked my brain. “Pneumonia? You can get that year-round, right?”

“Mainly in the winter when people are crammed together in small spaces.”

“Fuck.” I probably knew that, but my brain was short circuiting. “Pink eye? Highly communicable, would explain any lingering eye damage and…” I waved my hand in the air.

He squinted. “That might work. But I could still show up and?—”

“No.” I tapped the table. “Not only could people see the shiner, but I want this to be a lesson to you.”

“Makeup would work just fine, you know.” He crossed his arms in the universal I’m pissed pose. “You’re not my agent.”

“Makeup can do amazing things. But, again, the eye. And yes, it’s true I’m just your publicist. But Shayna and I are in complete agreement.

You need to face some consequences. Now, I’m glad that’s not in the form of the guy suing you or pressing charges.

” Shayna was one of the best agents on the West Coast, and this guy was damn lucky to have her.

Fucking that up by not listening to her advice could easily get him tossed from her roster.

Andreas pointed to his eye.

“You hit first,” I countered. “And if you hadn’t been drunk, you might’ve had better aim.”

He eyed his hand. “Yeah, that was a miss.”

What he’d succeeded in doing was barely grazing the guy’s cheek.

And yes, my client could’ve pressed charges himself. Thank God, once he’d sobered up, he’d realized that option had most definitely not been in his best interest.

“You’re sure there aren’t any pictures?” He might’ve assured me about a dozen times, but I didn’t want them showing up on TMZ or some other place.

He crossed his heart with his hand.

Quaint. And twenty-four hours too fucking late .

“We were the only two in the bathroom. The server found us brawling and called the cops. We, uh, waited…”

“Like two little saints?”

“Well…” He winced again. “The bouncer might’ve threatened us within an inch of our lives.”

“And you finally decided to heed to sense?”

“Yeah. And the cops took pity on us and took us out the back.”

“That was magnanimous of them.”

“The one guy asked for an autograph for his university-age daughter.”

Of course he did .

“His partner, the lady? She yelled at him. Well, told him off anyway. Said we should’ve been paraded out so we could be embarrassed.” Andreas leaned in. “I told her I was already plenty embarrassed. She huffed and said she hoped so.”

“Did you give the autograph?”

“Yeah, when the lady cop left the room. I signed his notebook.”

Of course he did .

“When are you scheduled to fly to Vancouver to start rehearsals?”

“The studio booked a plane for me, Norah, and a couple of other actors. We leave two weeks from tomorrow.”

Filming for the movie was scheduled in Vancouver, Canada.

Closest the producers could get to the vibe of Seattle without actually filming in the States.

Then the production was heading up to the Yukon—which was supposed to be Alaska.

The difference between Canadian and American dollars these days made shooting in Canada much cheaper.

Helped the talent was second-to-none up there—production and acting.

“So you’ve got two weeks to put your house in order—so to speak. Talk to your therapist. Talk to your best friend. Figure your shit out. Otherwise this is going to happen again. I’m surprised the LA cops were so forgiving—Canadian cops sure as hell won’t be.”

He turned his face to give me his chiseled profile. “You think they won’t swoon for this?”

They just might, but I’m not saying that to you. “I think you need to get your act together, Andreas. You got fucking lucky. And you know it. Things could’ve gone in a very different direction. Derailed a potentially promising career. You need to prove that nomination last year wasn’t a fluke.”

“It wasn’t.”

“I know that. Shayna knows that. Valentino Langston knows that.” Val was the producer up in Vancouver who’d specifically sought Andreas out.

I’d enjoyed writing that press release.

“But you’re not making our jobs easier. Smooth sailing, right? That’s what we talked about.” Most of what I did was issue press releases and put out little fires. This clusterfuck was the biggest I’d dealt with in a long time. Almost made me wish I was still based in LA.

Almost .

But when I thought of my cute house, my cuter neighbor, and the most adorable Yorkie ever, I had zero regrets.

Just have to convince Phillip to give me another chance .

“You think this will blow over?”

I checked my notes. “This guy who you nearly hit?—”

“And who hit me.”

“Focus.” I glared. “This guy you nearly hit. He’s the CEO of a fast-food chain of restaurants.”

“Yes.”

“A family friendly chain?” Andreas refused to give me either the guy’s name or the name of the restaurant. Which had me worried. Does he not trust me, or is he not telling me the entire truth? I couldn’t be certain, and I didn’t like it.

“I’m telling you that he’s not going to be a problem. I can guarantee it.”

Which scared me as much as anything else in this mess.

“And I don’t have a therapist.”

I blinked.

“You told me to talk to my therapist—I don’t have one. That is such a California thing.”

“Do you have a priest?”

“Fuck no.”

“Well…who do you confess to? Share your deepest and darkest secrets with?”

“I don’t have any.” He jutted his chin.

I arched an eyebrow.

“You.” He sipped his diet cola for the first time. “Honest to God, Jeremy. I’m just a regular guy trying to live my dream.”

I held my silence.

“Okay, like, a Nebraska farm boy who wanted out, okay? I thought Stanford was my ticket. Then the injury…” His face fell.

“I thought my world ended. I couldn’t afford to keep up my studies.

And I’d been that mythical player who actually went to classes and studied.

” He held up his hands. “I wasn’t the only one.

But I didn’t want the NFL. I wanted a career in mathematics. Like teaching or something.”

“You could always go back to college. Doesn’t have to be Stanford?—”

“And quit acting?” He scratched his stubbled jaw.

His beard grew fast with the dark-brown matching his head.

His eyes were the defining feature for him—a stunning light-blue that appeared otherworldly.

Like he came from a different time or place.

Or that he had a bit of magic running through him.

Which was all fantastical thinking—but those thoughts were also what propelled him into stardom.

If he can just keep his nose clean .

“I’m sorry you feel you can’t quit acting. Can you take some online courses? Everything’s online these days. You have enough money to pay for tuition?—”

“Where would I find the time?”

“Maybe go out less to bars? Sitting at home studying calculus means less time to get up to mischief.”

He rolled his eyes.

And winced.

“Look, Shayna will be here any moment.”

He frowned.

“You think I wasn’t going to loop your agent in? Or ask us to meet here? She agreed to let me have a one-on-one conversation with you first. So you could say all the stupid shit and she won’t have to knock you upside the head.”

He winced.

Yes, we know how you can be . For a man so intensely brilliant and so phenomenally talented, sometimes he could be just downright out of touch.

Clueless. Adorable, but wandering around in a daze.

I wondered if there might be some kind of clinical diagnosis that might help him, but I didn’t know how to broach the subject.

Or if that was even my place. I was his publicist—not his therapist or his parent.

Maybe he did need a therapist. Well, I’d tried. That had to count for something.

Even as I had the thought, the front door at the far end of the bar opened.

I waved my hand.

Shayna waved back. The woman rivaled Andreas in the stunningly good looks department.

But where he had dark, shiny hair, hers was platinum-blond.

They shared the same ice-blue eyes, though.

While his carried humor—most of the time—hers carried an air of sharpness.

She was all angles. She was also the most-ruthless agent I knew in LA.

Which was saying something. I pitied anyone who pissed her off.

I worked very hard to never be that person.

Likely knowing she’d never get table service, she stopped at the bar to get her drink.

Both Andreas and I moved closer to the wall on our respective benches.

Letting Shayna know she could sit wherever she wanted.

She laid her drink on the end of the table, snagged a chair from another table, turned it around, then straddled it—her long legs impressively made longer by spiked stiletto heels. Her soft-gray pantsuit didn’t fool me for a moment. Nothing about her was ever soft.

Which was why I respected her so much.

“All right, fuckwit. Tell me everything from the beginning.” She eyed me before settling her gaze on Andreas. “And don’t leave anything out.”

Oh man, it’s going to be a long evening .