She looked like his girlfriend or his lover, bossing everyone around and protectively fetching him water while still nagging him about this and that.
He liked that idea way too much.
But only because it was the perfect cover. No other options there.
If she didn’t watch it, the story the reporters took away would be that Liam had dumped Simone and caused her to turn addict...so that he could shack up with the golden vixen managing his suite and tending to his needs while his assistants stood by and looked at her balefully. Yep, it all but screamed The Other Woman.
She escorted the fourth crew back and came back to him, alone as she did every time. “How are you? Do you need a break before the next?”
“I do. I need to use the...facilities.” He gestured. “And I won’t ask you to stick around there, but someone to lean on would be appreciated.”
“Just a second. I have crutches with me.”
“You brought them anyway? How?”
She dug into the big duffel and started pulling out parts. Somehow, in that big bag of supplies, she’d managed to break down and stash a set of crutches. She flipped metal bits this way and that, pressed buttons, and adjusted the height. “Don’t worry, when you’re seated again, I’ll stash them under the sofa so no one can see them. I just want you using them anytime you’re not in front of the public. I’m serious, Liam. You are damaging that further every time you put your weight on it, and there is a window where you can get away with it, but past that it’s going to heal wrong and you’ll sprain it again. You’d be surprised by how little pressure a weakened ankle can withstand before it rolls out of the socket. Pain is a signal. It’s supposed to dissuade you from acting like a he-man.”
Arguing was futile.
“Fine. Give them to me. It might shock you to hear this, but I don’t want to do more damage than I have to. I’ve rated it as high as I can beneath the top priorities.”
She helped him get the crutches positioned right, and walked beside him toward the bathroom.
“What do you think you’re going to have to give up by bowing out of these premieres and interviews?”
“It wouldn’t take much to wreck the momentum my career has gained in the past two years. You know how the gossip is. You don’t have to make huge scandalous mistakes for the climate to turn. People are already mad at me about Simone, and that’s all speculation. I could keep making a series of small mistakes or demonstrations of bad judgment and the tide would still turn, just not as sharp a turn as if I went around punching people and biting the heads off live kittens.”
He felt it before he even looked down and saw the face she pulled while walking beside him. She turned her lips in and bit them, the way she’d liked to do to hide smiles, or keep from saying something she shouldn’t. Simone. She wanted to ask about Simone, how could she not?
No way. He wasn’t up for talking about his ex with the woman he’d spent years comparing all his former girlfriends to.
“I know that’s a silly example. What I want you to know is that I need to make the most of it while I’m in the position I’ve managed to reach. Do the most work I can, bank it for the inevitable downturn. And in the meanwhile get the best parts and stretch myself—increase the work that people think I’m capable of.” He swung into the bathroom and turned to try and drill the importance of his words into her. “The next project is a really good one. It’s also the kind of work that will keep me from being stuck in either the rom-com hero or action hero typecasts when I get too old for those kinds of parts.”
She opened the bathroom door and waited for him to enter. “I’ll wait out here.”
It closed with a click and Liam shook his head. No comment on what he’d said. She thought he was being unreasonable just out of stubbornness. Or, worse, she thought it was ego. That his pride would sacrifice his leg if it meant the chance to prowl the carpet and be told how awesome he was.
He caught his reflection in the mirror as he passed it, scowling so deeply that he had to pause. Even speculating that she held him in anything but high esteem made him feel fifty pounds heavier, and it showed on his face.
Afterward, while avoiding looking into the mirror, he washed his hands and grabbed the crutches again.
“Door.” He’d let her wait on him if she wanted to take it this far. “You think I’m being ridiculous.”
“I think that you think you’re invincible. I remember feeling that way myself, but when it goes? It’s a really rude awakening.”
“Liam?” Miles called from the door. “The media are getting restless.”
“Right. Let me get settled and then bring in the next person. Wait at least ninety seconds.” The crutches were awkward at first, but he’d played parts where they were needed in the past. His body remembered the way of it soon enough. He picked up speed to his seat, sat, and thrust them at Grace. “I’ll take care of settling my foot with the ice on it.”
His group were competent and cautious people and he even fully trusted two of the three of them, but having Grace take care of things felt the most secure.
When this was over, he’d have to make sure she knew how much this meant to him. Maybe she’d stop looking at him that way then. Maybe he’d stop looking at himself that way.
He should probably also give his group bonuses. He’d seen Miles—his longest-employed assistant—giving Grace the stink-eye at least twice today.
With a quick bend and tuck, she stashed the crutches beneath the sofa and out of sight. Liam made a point of not watching her bend over.
Twenty minutes and another trip to the lavatory later, she was helping him back to the chair and paused to have a look at his foot before putting the ice back on it. “It’s working. At least we have that. If the swelling keeps going down, your insane plan might actually work. Providing you can stand the pain. How’s it doing right now, on a scale of one to ten?”
He could lie—and the professional side of his personality almost demanded it. If he told her that it was a solid four even when he was sitting still, and that it shot up to seven or seventy-five when he walked...
“It’s pretty sore,” he said, shaking his head. “And it is worse when I walk on it. The crutches are helping, but I’m only using them here.”
“We’ve been over that,” Grace said, heading toward the couch with the crutches. “But you didn’t say a number.”
“Three when I’m sitting.” It wasn’t really a lie. All these numbers were subjective. It just felt like a lie.
“And when you’re on it?”
“I don’t know. Six.”
She straightened with a grimace and a shake of her head. “Before you go, if you insist on going, I’ll give you a staggered dose of painkillers to help a little more. But you remember this tomorrow when sitting is a six and walking is a ten.”
* * *
With the new rules limiting the number of questions they could ask, and doubling up on crews,
