Zahara's smile was warm and real as she nodded. “He definitely got one. They are fantastic together. Really complete each other.”
Giselle chewed her lip as she nodded. She had to ask. She couldn't let it go. She just had to know. Not knowing was fine when the information was out of reach, but it would kill her not to know when the answer was potentially so close. “Do you happen to know a friend of-”
“Excuse me.” A female voice drew Giselle out of the conversation. Gloria stood beside them with an apologetic smile. “I'm sorry to interrupt, but I'm going to be leaving soon, and I really just need five minutes with you.”
“Not a problem.” Zahara gave Giselle's arm a squeeze. “I'll be here awhile.”
She smiled. “It was great to meet you.” Giselle turned to Gloria. “I know you're frustrated with Chad-”
“I'm not going to waste my time talking about him, other than to ask if he told you about the offer from L'Oréal.”
Giselle frowned, her mouth hanging open. “L- No. I haven't heard anything about L'Oréal.”
Gloria exhaled and looked at the floor.
“Gloria?”
She lifted her gaze, her wide, dark brown eyes flashing with anger. “I'm digging deep for some professionalism here, Giselle, but, honestly, I'm coming up short. What direction you and Chad decide to take with your career is up to you. But you can't make the best decision unless you're getting all the information.
“L'Oréal would like your gorgeous face to represent their brand next year. They believe, based on how your career is growing, it will also be the year you break out big. I happen to agree with them and have been able to negotiate a substantial contract. And having your face all over their product line will certainly help your name-face-brand recognition.
“Since the copy of the contract I gave Chad seems to have evaporated, I'll send over another one directly to you by courier in the morning.”
“Yes. Absolutely. Thank you.” She reached for Gloria's arm. “I'm so sorry. I'll talk to Chad. And for the foreseeable future, let's agree that you'll let me know personally about any offer you extend to Chad. That way I'll know what's getting through and what's not.”
“Agreed.” She gave Giselle a quick hug. “Now get some rest, sweetheart. That man has you working your tail off. When you get tired of that, you let me know. There are all sorts of other ways to leverage the success you've already made. A hundred different directions to go with your career. Touring is lucrative, don't get me wrong, but it's not the only way.”
Giselle nodded and forced a smile. But as Gloria breezed her way from the banquet room, Giselle's heart felt as heavy as a stone.
She glanced toward the bar and found Brook laughing with the stunt crew. The sight made longing stir.
She was about to turn that direction and join them, when someone touched her arm and a familiar voice said, “You finally have a free minute.”
Chad.
With a ready smile, she faced him. But he wasn't alone. He stood beside Patrick Scott, one of the top acquisitions managers for Goldstone Productions. Which meant that instead of laughing with Brook and finding some lighthearted conversation, she was going to talk business yet again with a man who was eying her like she was on the dessert menu.
Troy paused outside the concierge room and pulled his phone from his blazer jacket. At the balcony railing, he hit the speed dial for Ryker, gripped the metal with his free hand and closed his eyes. “Come on, come on, come on, Ry,” he muttered. “Pick up.”
The last thing he wanted to do tonight was walk in that room and shock the hell out of Giselle when she was surrounded by people. He wasn't particularly interested in getting his heart yanked out of his throat again either. But there was no good time to do this unless he could get her number and set up a private meeting.
“You've reached Ryker-” The voice mail spoke in Troy's ear.
“Fuck.” He disconnected, then took a moment to settle into his conviction. He just couldn't hold on to this guilt anymore.
Face her. Be honest. Take the hit. Walk away.
Maybe then he could let go.
Really let go. And get on with his life.
Opening his eyes, resolved to the fate he'd created for himself, he squared his shoulders and stepped into the room. He'd been in a lot of rooms at a lot of the Vegas hotels, but never here. The space was elegant and intimate. It was also filled with guests in fancy dresses and smart suits.
“Your name, sir?” the man at the door asked.
“Troy Jacobs. I'm part of the crew.”
He slid his finger down the list and nodded. “Enjoy your night.”