Crossfire
Chapter 63 : "Got a job?" I asked after he'd hung up. "Yeah. A model showed up f

"Got a job?" I asked after he'd hung up.

"Yeah. A model showed up for a night shoot so trashed he's worthless." He studied me. "You wanna come?"

I stretched my legs out on the couch. "Nope. I'm good right here."

"You sure you're okay?"

"All I need is mindless entertainment. Just the thought of getting dressed again exhausts me." I'd be happy wearing my flannel pajama bottoms and holey old tank top all weekend. As much as I hurt inside, total comfort outside seemed like a necessity. "Don't worry about me. I know I've been a mess lately, but I'll get it together. Go on and enjoy yourself."

After Cary rushed out, I paused the movie and went to the kitchen for some wine. I stopped by the breakfast bar, my fingertips gliding over the roses Gideon had sent me the previous weekend. Petals fell to the countertop like tears. I thought about cutting the stems and using the flower food packet that came with the bouquet, but it was pointless hanging on to them. I'd throw the arrangement away tomorrow, the last reminder of my equally doomed relations.h.i.+p.

I'd gotten farther with Gideon in one week than I had with other relations.h.i.+ps that lasted two years. I would always love him for that. Maybe I'd always love him, period.

And one day, that might not hurt so badly.

"Rise and s.h.i.+ne, sleepyhead," Cary singsonged as he yanked the comforter off of me.

"Ugh. Go away."

"You've got five minutes to get your a.s.s up and in the shower, or the shower's coming to you."

Opening one eye, I peeked at him. He was s.h.i.+rtless and wearing baggy pants that barely clung to his hips. As far as wake-up calls went, he was prime. "Why do I have to get up?"

"Because when you're flat on your back you're not on your feet."

"Wow. That was deep, Cary Taylor."

He crossed his arms and shot me an arch look. "We need to go shopping."

I buried my face in the pillow. "No."

"Yes. I seem to remember you saying this was a 'Sunday garden party' and 'rock star gathering' in the same sentence. What the h.e.l.l do I wear to something like that?"

"Ah, well. Good point."

"What are you wearing?"

"I...I don't know. I was leaning toward the 'English tea with hat' look, but now I'm not so sure."

He gave a brisk nod. "Right. Let's. .h.i.t the shops and find something s.e.xy, cla.s.sy, and cool."

Growling a token protest, I rolled out of bed and padded over to the bathroom. It was impossible to shower without thinking of Gideon, without picturing his perfect body and remembering the desperate sounds he made when he came in my mouth. Everywhere I looked, Gideon was there. I'd even started hallucinating black Bentley SUVs all around town. I thought I spotted one d.a.m.n near everywhere I went.

Cary and I had lunch; then we bounced all over the city, hitting the best of the Upper East Side thrift stores and Madison Avenue boutiques before taking a taxi downtown to SoHo. Along the way, Cary had two teenage girls ask for his autograph, which tickled me more than him, I think.

"Told you," he crowed.

"Told me what?"

"They recognized me from an entertainment news blog. One of the posts about you and Cross."

I snorted. "Glad my love life is working out for someone."

He was due at another job around three and I went with him, spending a few hours in the studio of a loud and brash photographer. Remembering it was Sat.u.r.day, I slipped into a far corner and made my weekly call to my dad.

"You still happy in New York?" he asked me above the background noise of dispatch talking over the radio in his cruiser.

"So far so good." A lie, but the truth helped no one.

His partner said something I didn't catch. My dad snorted and said, "Hey, Chris insists he saw you on television the other day. Some cable channel, celebrity gossip thing. The guys won't leave me alone about it."

I sighed. "Tell them watching those shows is bad for their brain cells."

"So you're not dating one of the richest men in America?"

"No. What about your love life?" I asked, quickly diverting. "Are you seeing anyone?"

"Nothing serious. Hang on." He responded to a call on the radio, then said, "Sorry, sweetheart. I have to run. I love you. Miss you like crazy."

"I miss you, too, Daddy. Be careful."

"Always. Bye."

I killed the call and went back to my former spot to wait for Cary to wrap things up. In the lull, my mind tormented me. Where was Gideon now? What was he doing?

Would Monday bring me an inbox full of photos of him with another woman?

Sunday afternoon I borrowed Clancy and one of Stanton's town cars for the drive out to the Vidal estate in Dutchess County. Leaning back in the seat, I looked out the window, absently admiring the serene vista of rolling meadows and green woodlands that stretched to the distant horizon. I realized I was working on Day 4 After Gideon. The pain I'd felt the first few days had turned into a dull throbbing that felt almost like the flu. Every part of my body ached, as if I was going through some sort of physical withdrawal and my throat burned with unshed tears.

"Are you nervous?" Cary asked me.

I glanced at him. "Not really. Gideon won't be there."

"You're sure about that?"

"I wouldn't be going if I thought otherwise. I do have some pride you know." I watched him drum his fingers on the armrest between our two seats. For all the shopping we'd done yesterday, he'd made only one purchase: a black leather tie. I'd teased him mercilessly about it, he of the perfect fas.h.i.+on sense going with something like that.