“I do want us to at least be friends,” he continues. “Right now I don’t like who we are. Sniping at each other. The arguing and antagonism. It isn’t us. I think we just need to go our separate ways and let things even out, so down the road, we can be friends again.”
“So you just ruin a great partnership?” I shake my head and snatch my hand away, refusing to believe this is his solution. “When we talk to Rhyson about this—”
“He already knows.”
“He knows?” Betrayal chokes my words. “You talked to him about this already? You decided this without talking to me first?”
“It isn’t a decision we’re making together,” Grip says. “I decide who manages me, and it just can’t be you right now.”
I’m done with this shit. I shove my helmet back on and take my spot on the back of the ATV, waiting for him to get on.
“Bristol, let’s talk about this.”
“Oh, now you want to talk?” I snap. “After you’ve gone to my brother and gotten me fired?”
“Fired?” He frowns. “Come on. It isn’t like that. You have plenty of other artists you’re managing.”
He doesn’t get it. Of course I have plenty to do. Between Kilimanjaro, Luke, Kai, Rhyson, and Jimmi, I could have two more assistants and still need help with everything I do for all of them. But if Grip and I aren’t lovers, and we’re not working together, and we can’t even be friends, then we’re nothing. I haven’t been “nothing” to Grip since the day we met.
“Take me back to the hotel,” I say woodenly. “Bris.”
I pour my anger into the look I level on him. “Right. Now.”
He probes my eyes, and I make sure all he sees is anger. I stuff the hurt, bury the pain, keeping an impenetrable shield over my face, over my heart. He finally climbs onto the quad and starts the engine.
As we ride back, I resist the forces, physical and otherwise, that would slot our bodies together. He doesn’t encourage me to hold him any tighter. He doesn’t urge me to relax, to hold on, now that he’s letting go. Maybe he senses that anything he said would bounce off me like a coin from a sheet drawn taut. I just want to get through this ride and back to the States. The glamour that shrouded these ruby- tinged dunes on our ride here lifts, leaving stark reality. What I thought was peace is actually the loneliness of an arid land. The Bedouin prince doesn’t want me anymore, and all that’s left is this dry, barren desert.
It’s nothing but dust and sand.
Chapter 19
BRISTOL
HELL HATH WINGS.
This airplane is pretty much airborne hell. If I’d thought the flight to Dubai was torture, the flight home would give Dante new inspiration.
“Grip, what’s wrong, baby?” Qwest asks . . . you guessed it . . . sitting on his la
p.
“Nothing.” He sits with his hands on the armrest while she snuggles into the nook of his arm and shoulder. “I’m good.”
“You sure?” She squeezes his shoulder. “You’re so tight.”
“Just a long few weeks.” His head drops back against the seat. “I’ll be glad to get home.”
“I know how to loosen you up.” She inches closer and whispers in his ear, a husky laugh invading the space where Will and I sit across from them. Grip’s eyes open to clash with mine. Despite my best efforts, I can’t look away. I can’t help but remember what he said to me that night on the roof. That I can’t keep my eyes off him. It’s true, but it shouldn’t be an issue any more since he won’t have me around. I deliberately look away and down to the phone in my lap.
“Great idea,” Grip says.
They stand and walk to the back where there is a bed. I don’t look up even at the sound of the lock turning. I guess it’s the Mile High Club for them. My jaw clenches. My lips tighten, but otherwise I show no sign that it bothers me.
“What’s wrong with you?” Will asks from beside me.
Okay. Maybe I’m not hiding it as well as I thought.
I convinced Meryl that Will and I needed to discuss a few things, so she should probably sit with the photographer. Looks like I won’t fare much better with Will.