Dark Wild Night (Wild Seasons #3)(37)
Author: Christina Lauren

There’s a knock at my door and I stumble up, pulling on a robe. Outside in the hall, Oliver looks rumpled, a little nervous.

I immediately see it on his face—a soft, vulnerable happiness that flashes in the tilt of his mouth, in the narrowing of his eyes—for only a breath before he can carefully tuck it away.

Even though I was just with him last night, it feels like it’s been a week, and he looks different somehow. Less like this wonderful face of a friend, and more like this man in front of me who has a body under his clothes that I’m growing desperate to see again and even more desperate to touch.

Neither of us has spoken, and I’m afraid last night changed everything. I don’t want things to be awkward between us.

“How’s my favorite comic book store owner named Oliver Lore?”

He smiles, wide enough that it shifts his glasses and I can see his eyes crinkling fully at the corners. “I wish I could answer in emoji. I’d just say the fried egg icon out loud.”

Okay, so that was sort of perfect.

“Do you want to grab breakfast?” I ask. “Or . . . order room service?”

This option feels decidedly more intimate, and Oliver seems to agree.

“Nah,” he says. “Let’s hit the restaurant downstairs. They have a buffet. I think I’ll eat it all.”

“Come on in,” I tell him, running over to my overnight bag and grabbing my clothes. “Give me five. I’ve got to call Benny real quick.”

Oliver walks into my room, and I notice when he gives a lingering glance to my clothes from last night, so neatly placed on the chair. I wonder if he’s thinking what I’m thinking, that if he’d been in here with me, those leather pants might have been sacrificed to the sex gods.

“Lola!” Benny answer-yells through the speakerphone, and I cringe, staring at the screen as if it burned me. It’s not even nine in the morning; how is he so chipper?

“Hey, Benny.”

“I bet I know why you’re calling,” he sings. “People magazine’s Sexiest Man Alive is playing Razor and you want to come up to Hollywood to celebrate tonight.”

Oliver turns to look at me, eyes wide. I hold up a finger, indicating I’ll update him in a second.

“I’m already up in Hollywood,” I say. “But I’m headed home. Austin didn’t mention the script last night when I saw him.”

“Probably because he knew you’d ask to read it on the spot, and then would request edits before it went out, but it was already out.”

I chew my lip, suppressing a grin. “What happens now?”

“I release a statement on your behalf,” he says. “How’s this? ‘Management has confirmed Lorelei Castle is absolutely delighted with the casting news.’ ”

I wait for the rest of it and realize that’s all there is. Across the room, Oliver seems to go through the same process before tilting his head like, Eh, not so bad. It accurately shows my level of engagement on the media side.

“That’s perfect, actually,” I say. “I am delighted with the news. I also don’t really think I need to be interviewed. But Benny, can you really push for them to send me the script today? If they want my polish on it—and I hope that’s code for letting me at it with a scalpel—then I should see it sooner rather than later. I have other things due and will need to get my time organized.”

“I’m already on it. Go do your thing. You’ll be mobbed at your signings from here on out, and all I ask is that you kick ass when you’re expected to.”

I thank him, blow a kiss through the phone, and set it down on the bed. My hand is shaking. “I wasn’t sure I loved Benny,” I tell him. “But I do. I don’t know what I would do without him right now.”

“They cast it?” Oliver asks. “And Austin didn’t mention anything last night?”

When Oliver and I left the party, we mostly left the subject of the movie behind. “Austin mentioned they were talking to people. Langdon said he’s tinkering with a draft. I guess when these conversations happen, things move quickly. Or,” I add, thinking on it some more, “they never really gave me the full story to begin with.” I lift my hands in front of my face and watch them, still shaking like leaves. It feels like my brain needs a moment to catch up.

“Come on,” he says with a calming smile. “Get dressed and let’s talk about this downstairs. I’m starving.”

I grab my clothes from my overnight bag and slip into the bathroom, pulling my hair up in a bun, dressing simply in jeans and a white T-shirt.