“You want something.” Garth pinned him with a steely glare that had intimidated many of the best lawyers in the country. “Let’s not pretend otherwise.”
“Nice to see you too, Dad.”
Rory took a slug of beer to swallow the bitterness of being viewed as some usurper when he’d never asked his father for anything. He’d learned in his teens that anything his dad gave came at a price, and he didn’t want to pay it anymore.
“If you want to get into the economics field, I have connections—”
“I’m happy . . . doing what I’m . . . doing.”
Rory paused between the difficult D words because he’d be damned if he stuttered in front of his father. He’d tolerated a lifetime of pitying stares or worse, having Garth finish his sentences for him. He particularly hated that, like his father didn’t have the time to hear him out.
“I’ll never understand how throwing away your degree to tumble around a movie set like some circus clown makes you happy, but each to their own.”
For the first time since he’d set foot in his father’s multimillion-dollar mansion in upscale Brighton, Rory felt some of his tension dissipate.
He’d heard that same spiel from his father countless times over the last five years since he’d eschewed his economics degree in favor of acting. Even though Amelia had made it more than clear to Garth that the deep breathing, repetition, and practice involved in acting could only help his stutter, his father had scoffed. Besides, how could working as a stuntman improve his speech when he never talked on camera?
Deep down, he knew his father’s disdain and lack of faith in him was a major driving force to win the role of hosting Renegades. It was why he’d come, when visiting his father never ended well. He may need the money desperately to fund the start-up foundation for those migrant and refugee kids, but a small part of him couldn’t wait to wipe the smirk off his father’s face.
“And I’ll never understand how you can stand up in court every day defending a bunch of lying criminals, but hey, we do what we have to do.”
Rory drained the rest of his beer and placed the empty bottle on a nearby mosaic-encrusted table. “Thanks for the beer, Dad.”
His mock salute earned a frown. “It would be nice to see you around here more often.”
“And it would be nice to have a father who actually respected my choices and supported me, but we don’t always get what we want, do we, Dad?”
As the deep groove of disapproval slashing his father’s brow deepened, Rory strolled down the steps without looking back.
Yeah, visiting dear old Dad had achieved what he’d set out to do.
Given him a swift kick in the head as a reminder of why he had to nail the Renegades audition.
Because no way in hell he’d ask his judgmental, narrow-minded, emotionless drone of a father for money.
Ever.
Twelve
Rory had to admit the coaching sessions with Pia were working. His confidence increased every time he conquered one of the vocal exercises she gave him, and he’d put in a lot of extra hours practicing at home. Between training his diaphragm and working out at the gym, he’d been suitably distracted.
Because every time he entered the posh health center for an appointment with Pia, he hoped he’d run into Samira.
She hadn’t called like he’d hoped—he’d seen his referral from Chris, and it had his cell number on there, which meant she could get it if she wanted—so rather than lament it, he’d focused on the task at hand.
But after a particularly grueling session with Pia where he’d ended up stumbling over his words more than usual, he needed a distraction of a different kind. It had been a week and a half since he’d hooked up with Samira, and while he’d mentally chastised himself the last ten days—he had to focus and not allow a sensational one-night stand to derail his focus—he’d worked hard and could do with a little relief from the frustrations of screwing up his session with Pia.
Not that he expected to have sex per se, but he remembered how hanging out with Samira for that one night had taken his mind off the stress of the Renegades audition, and he could do with that same feeling now.
Before he could second-guess his impulsivity, he strode down the corridor toward her office. The lights in the foyer had been dimmed, and the closed sign had been flipped on the glass doors out the front, which meant he was probably the last client in the building. Surely she wouldn’t be consulting at six if the rest of the center had closed?
Mentally rehearsing what he’d say to her so he wouldn’t stumble over his words, he stopped outside her office and knocked on the door.
He’d keep his greeting light and breezy, and try not to remember the last time he’d been in her office, when he’d kissed her in the hope she’d want to do a lot more of it. They shared a real spark, and he wondered what would’ve happened if he’d left his number the morning after their hookup. Would she have taken it as a sign he was keen for more and contacted him? Or would she have chalked up their raunchy night to a one-off and not bothered regardless?
The fact she hadn’t called pointed toward the latter, and while he’d initially taken their meeting again here as a sign, maybe he should just quit while he was behind.
Besides, he didn’t date. Dating set up expectations and soon led to a relationship, and he’d deliberately shied away from emotional involvements for the simple fact the closer he got to a person, the more relaxed he became in their company, the more he had to talk, and the more he stuttered.
A stupid reason for not getting involved; he knew it. But he’d never met anyone who he’d been willing to take the risk for. He’d gone out with a woman once for three dates in a week, his record. He’d thought they had a spark, but when she’d pushed him for details of his family history and his job and a myriad of other things, he realized how relationships involved a hell of a lot of talking and he’d ended it.
He wasn’t a man whore, but having a string of brief sexual encounters with women who knew the score suited him much better; encounters like he’d had with Samira.
So why was he really here, pushing his luck, hoping to hook up with her again?
The door opened as he half turned away, and in that moment when their eyes connected and he glimpsed genuine happiness in her eyes, he knew he’d made the right decision in chasing her up tonight.
“Hey.”
Not quite the scintillating greeting he’d hoped for, but at least he didn’t stutter. Because there was a high chance of that, considering his excitement level shot into the stratosphere the moment he saw her.
Samira was even more stunning than he remembered. Her eyes were truly beautiful, their unique hazel sparking green and gold as she stared at him, one eyebrow arched. Her skin glowed like she’d just finished a workout, and his mind immediately stumbled into the gutter as he imagined the kind of workout he’d like to have with her.