Page 56 of Angel
Her smile is a broad one.
“You could use some company. It must be lonely living on your own.”
“It is.”
She sighs, “Sometimes I wish I lived alone. I mean, don’t get me wrong, I love my kids, but my work really begins the moment I step foot inside that door. Meals, homework, washing, screaming at them to do their chores and then begging them to go to bed so I get thirty minutes with a glass of wine before I turn in for the night.”
“It sounds like heaven.”
She angles her head to one side. “I can’t imagine your life being so mundane — ever.”
“I’m a person, Brandy. No different to you, and well, your life sounds like a dream to me.”
I’m aware that Brandy’s husband works nights and they rarely get a minute to themselves, and yet it works for them. He is around during the day, and she picks up when she gets home at night. When their schedules clash, her mom, and his mom take up the slack. It’s a challenging way to live a life, but she does it well.
I’m happy for her kids. They have a family life that I never really had. My adoptive parents were and are great people, but in the back of my mind, I longed for a normal upbringing with loving parents just like Brandy and Logan.
She turns to clearing the room, and I say brightly, “Night, Brandy. See you tomorrow.”
“Goodnight, Sophie, have a good one.”
As I step outside and make the short walk to where my car is waiting, I answer many such comments as I pass. I love the team I’m working with. It’s the best part of what I do. Interacting with normal people who treat me like one of them, admittedly a little in awe but for the most part one of them. I protect it fiercely, and if anyone treats me as if I’m some kind of god, I make a point of putting them at ease. I am Sophie Clere the person here, not the Hollywood icon.
“Miss Clere.”
A shiver runs down my spine as Sam Goodman heads my way, closely followed by his personal assistant.
“I’m glad I caught you before you left for the day. Walk with me.”
Sam is a big shot at the studio, and refusing would be career suicide. As I fall into step beside him, he smiles. “I hope you haven’t forgotten about the party this Saturday. I’m looking forward to showing you around my new pride and joy.”
My mind scrambles for excuses, and his pompous expression tells me he knows that.
“It’s an intimate gathering. Only close friends and acquaintances. Remember to bring your overnight bag; we don’t return until Sunday evening.”
Out of sheer desperation, I mumble, “I wonder if I may bring a guest, Sam?”
“A guest?” He raises his eyes, obviously unhappy about my request.
“Yes, my, um, well, friend is with me this weekend and it would be rude not to spend it with them.”
“A friend?” He shrugs. “I don’t suppose it would matter. Tyrone will send you the details. Until Saturday, Sophie. I’ll look forward to it.”
He waves at the director of the movie, and his attention is diverted so I slip away before he can say anything else. I wish Frankie wasn’t in Bali. He would make my excuses and figure out a way for it not to be career suicide. Fuck my life sometimes. I bet Brandy isn’t hit on by sleazy executives. Then again, I wouldn’t put it past any of them not to do the same to any young woman working here.
Once I am safely inside my car, the nerves return when I face a different journey home this evening. It was agreed that I would return to Jason’s penthouse, having arranged for my possessions to be packed and waiting when I got there. Maria will have spent the day arranging that, and part of me is sad that I won’t be at home as usual. It’s weird going to a stranger’s house, even though that stranger is rather hot and a very unexpected pleasure.
Jason Prince intrigues me. He is like a closed book that you have yet to read. Secretive, emotionless, and yet reveals flashes of care and consideration when demanded. I wonder what living with him will be like. I know so little about him because his history is kept like a well-guarded secret on the internet. An apparent recluse, no scandal attached to his name, no past girlfriends, or proclivities plastered online. A private man in a world where privacy is ripped apart at the touch of a keyboard. It’s to be admired, he is to be admired and part of me is very interested in the AI super king.
The doorman greets me with a respectful smile when I arrive and says formally, “Welcome to Park Tower, Miss Clere. Mr. Prince is expecting you.”
He escorts me to the private elevator, and as I step inside, the nerves flutter inside me like a kaleidoscope of butterflies.
When the door opens into his penthouse, I step out, unsure what to do next, and then my heart flutters when the man himself says, “Sophie.”
He heads toward me, dressed casually in black sweatshorts and a tight vest. His black hair, still wet from the shower it seems, judging by the strong aroma of aftershave that lingers in the air.
His muscles press against the thin fabric of his t-shirt, and his legs are strong and tanned as he heads my way, barefoot with a casual vibe that sets my heart racing.
