Page 36 of Just for the Cameras
I freaking got him.
He thought he could mess with me?
Ohhhh no.
He has no idea who he’s—
“Are you fucking coming?” he asks, pulling me out of my thoughts.
“Oh, yeah, sorry.” I tuck away my smile and follow the grumbling giant next to me as he leads me to our dinner location.
It took him a second to find a place, mumbling the entire time about wanting a sandwich, but I didn’t give in. I said Italian, and we’re getting Italian.
God, it’s so freeing, knowing that I beat him at his own game, and in all honesty, I wouldn’t have had to go to such lengths if he didn’t act like what we had to talk about wasn’t important. Because it is.
I’m a planner. I like to know what’s going on. I don’t think it was asking too much to have him figure out a quick plan with me, but he refused, and that meant I had to take matters into my own hands.
At first, the plan was to follow him and sit on him until he listened to me, but that turned into a free meal, which, I mean, don’t mind if I do.
He turns right down a block, then stops in front of a red storefront and pulls open a door to a quaint restaurant. A matching red awning hangs over a three-table seating area outside with wrought-iron bistro tables. When I step inside, I’m immediately assaulted by the smell of garlic and tomatoes just as a hostess greets us with a charming smile.
“Two?” she asks, her eyes fully taking in the height of Graydon.
I don’t blame her. Even if he wasn’t famous, it would be hard not to glance his way.
A single one of his pecs is the size of my head, he towers over everyone, and I’m fairly certain, every hour, on the hour, he swallows at least four eggs whole, shell and all.
“Yes,” he says in a gruff voice.
“Would you like to sit outside?”
I’m about to say how lovely that would be since it’s a nice day out and it’s not foggy or raining, but Graydon quickly says, “Your most private table, please.”
Okay, I know he’s saying that because he doesn’t want people listening in on our conversation, but for some reason, the rasp of his voice when he says “private” sends a shiver down my spine.
Sounds so…naughty.
Like something scandalous will happen in the privacy of said table while consuming an immaculate plate of eggplant parm.
But you and I both know that’s not the case. Nope. The only thing scandalous between me and Graydon will be the sharing of calendar details and going over the ground rules of our new social media endeavor. And correct me if I’m wrong, but there is nothing scandalous about that, other than the possibility of revealing an appointment he doesn’t want me to see. Like…laser hair removal.
“Of course,” the hostess says as she leads us to the back of the restaurant, where the sound of a small voice pulls me from my thoughts.
“Graydon. Graydon, I love you.”
I glance to the right where a little girl with curly hair is bouncing up and down in her booth, waving dramatically for Graydon’s attention.
I wince, gearing up for the kid to get the cold shoulder, but to my surprise, Graydon’s shoulders visibly relax as he heads over to the girl’s booth and then squats next to her.
Holy. Shit. He knows how to be nice?
“What’s up, little lady?” Graydon asks, giving the girl a ruffle on the top of the head. “Can I get my picture taken with you?”
Stunned, the girl just nods, unable to form words.
Graydon slips his arm over the girl’s shoulder and then faces her parents, who are both in awe as well. They take a picture of the two of them before Graydon turns back to the girl and grips her shoulder.
He picks up the girl’s fork and taps her uneaten broccoli.
