“Like TNT? USA?” I asked.
“Like HBO.” He grinned widely.
“Holy shit,” I breathed.
“And, of course, the kicker is . . . they want you too, Grace.”
So, my life was about to become unreal.
I spent Christmas in L.A. with Holly, while Jack flew home to London. He needed to spend some time with his family, and after the Premiere Implosion, it wasn’t really the best time for me to come along. There would be plenty of time for that, and I wanted him to have some time with them by himself.
So after Christmas, I flew across the Atlantic and met up with him in Paris. We spent almost an entire twenty-four hours flying in progressively smaller planes—not to mention watching three movies, rehashing the holidays, and talking about all kinds of things—until we were finally over the Indian Ocean.
As the archipelago began to appear, and tiny islands and atolls began to dot the water, I clutched Jack’s hand in excitement, startling him out of his novel. He was interested in producing one day and was cramming in a last little bit of work by reading books he was considering optioning. He promised to be in full relaxation mode by the time we landed at our destination, though. We were both exhausted but ready for a vacation.
We changed planes one last time, picking up a puddle jumper for our last island hop. When we landed at the tiny airport, Jack had arranged for a car to pick us up. Even though we were excited, we were positively dragging by this point. The early-evening sun was just beginning to dip as we drove along the quiet roads. The island Jack had chosen was almost uninhabited—just a few vacation homes, one small store, and miles and miles of peace.
When we pulled up to the house, we both gasped. He’d seen pictures but apparently they didn’t do it justice, because we both stood there, mouths agape.
It was huge and secluded and private and gorgeous.
As we explored, we found the caretaker had already brought in a supply of food, wine, beer, and everything we would need. As we walked through the house, the ocean breeze billowed through the gauzy white curtains at every window. The back of the house opened completely onto a huge deck, and there was the ocean. In our backyard.
Too exhausted to do anything, we’d snuggled into the giant bed, pulled up the covers, turned out the lights, and let the ocean lull us to sleep.
Jack nudged me now, and I snapped out of my reverie. We’d been here for three days, with almost another two weeks to go. I was turning a pleasant shade of tan. Jack had burned a little, but was now bronzing and becoming even more beautiful.
So while I sunned my buns in the middle of the ocean, Michael was hard at work in L.A., writing the pilot. We were due to begin shooting in March.
How the hell was this my life?
New Year’s Eve we sat on our deck, sipping wine and watching the fireworks someone was setting off on the other side of the island. It really doesn’t get better than that.
And my other present? I smiled as I sipped my beer, feeling Jack’s hand gently rubbing my back. I’d been wearing nothing but a sarong and bikini top (sometimes not even that much) for the last few days, plus my new piece of jewelry.
Before I opened the box from Harry Winston, the thought naturally flitted through my mind that it was . . . well . . . a ring. But he was twenty-four, and neither of us was in any position to get married. We’d barely been together six months, and it was way too early to be thinking marriage. We hadn’t even managed to move all his stuff into my house yet. Would I like to get married someday? Yep, absolutely. And hopefully to this man. But we both had some growing up to do, and things were pretty freaking awesome the way they were.
So a ring? Nope.
His gift was so much better.
In the box was proof not only that Jack loved me but that he got me. He got me and understood everything I needed.
On a platinum chain was a thin circular platinum charm a little bigger than a dime. Engraved on the side that faced my heart were the words George Loves Gracie. And on the side that faced the world?
Schmaltz.
No one would understand it, which was what made it perfect. It was just about him and me—our own little private joke.
I felt the weight of it against my skin, and my fingers slipped up toward my collarbone, coming to rest against the charm. I could feel the engraving, and I rubbed it constantly. Each time Jack saw me do it, he grinned.
As we sat and watched the end of another day, I snuggled deeper into his side. Here we were just another couple relaxing on the beach.
“You getting hungry, Nuts Girl?” he asked, kissing the top of my head.
“Yeah, a little. We still have some of the shrimp from last night. You okay with that?”
“Sounds good to me,” he replied, standing and draining the last of his beer. He shuffled around in the sand a little, not really walking away, just dragging his feet.
I watched the last of the sun as it dropped below the horizon, making everything glow yellow and red and orange. The lights from the house cast an inviting warmth behind me, and I stood slowly, tying my bikini top back on.
He frowned as I covered up the girls, but took my hand when I extended it to him. As we walked back to the house, he tugged my arm, turning me back around. His eyes were twinkling mischievously.
“What’s up, George?” I asked, smiling back at him.
He nodded back toward the beach.
There, in the sand, he had written me a little message with his feet:
GRAND GESTURE
“What the hell?” I asked, laughing.
“I know you don’t like big grand gestures, but I thought that one was perfectly sized.” He chuckled as he kissed on my neck.
“You know me way too well, Hamilton. It’s a little frightening sometimes.” I squealed as his kisses became more and more persistent, managed to get out of his grasp, and dashed toward the steps. I got halfway up before I felt his hands grab my waist and begin to undo the knot in my sarong.
From People magazine, press date December thirty-first:
Rumors continue to swirl regarding the whereabouts of popular Time actor Jack Hamilton. Last seen in London’s Heathrow Airport just before the holidays, he has since fallen completely off the radar. Fans want to know where he is—and they’re getting desperate.
Stories have been percolating since late summer about the possibility of Jack being involved with an older woman—a redhead he was spotted with in L.A. on numerous occasions. This woman, eventually revealed to be stage actress Grace Sheridan, 33, shares Jack’s manager, Holly Newman. Although the entire management team has denied claims that Jack is romantically linked to her, the Internet has been flooded with pictures of them together. After Sheridan attended the Time premiere in Los Angeles, the rumor resurfaced, along with pictures of the pair in New York City, where the two looked cozy as they walked in Central Park.
When asked for comment, Newman said, “They’re great friends. They met at a party I hosted for several of my clients months ago. They’re thrown together a lot. They’re not a couple.”
Nevertheless, for many fans, whether he’s disappeared with Grace or not, the question still remains: Where have you gone, Jack Hamilton?
This book is dedicated to Professor Jim Miller, who taught me that it can never be too big, it can never be too splashy, and that life is infinitely better with a tap-dancing chorus. Thank you for being the first adult to see my funny, and give me a home and a stage to let my funny fly.
acknowledgments
The family that helped to bring the Redhead series is large, loyal, and amazing in their dedication. Not only to me and my craziness as I finished this book but in their dedication to you, the fantastic Redhead Reader. Everyone that helped put this book together always kept you in their mind, and in their hearts, while working to make sure that Grace and Jack got to tell their story, their way.
Thank you to Micki Nuding, the most amazing editor and superhero. This is the first book we got to work on t
ogether, and I’m blessed beyond measure to have someone like her at the beginning of my career. Thank you for believing in me and making this my new life.
Thank you to the entire team at Simon & Schuster/Gallery Books, the coolest group of ladies I’ve ever had the privilege of working with. To know that I have your support and your backing means the world.
Thank you to my agent Karen Solem for being as patient and as kind as you have been to a newbie like me. It means so much to have someone like you alongside for this journey.
Thank you to Lauren, Deb, and Sarah for reading patiently and persistently, letting me send you pages at 2 a.m. and then giving me notes, sometimes within twenty minutes. I literally could not have finished this book without you and I’m grateful beyond words to have you all as my sounding board.
Thank you to Jessica, for being my friend since 4th grade and taking this crazy trip with me, for never failing to support and challenge me, and making my new career a dream come true.
Thank you to Nina, one of the best friends and biggest cheerleaders a girl could ask for. When I say this would not have been possible without you, I ain’t just whistling “Dixie.” Even though I can’t whistle . . .
Thank you to my bestie since college and the voice of the Redhead series audiobooks, Keili Lefkovitz. When I found out there was going to be an audio version of these books, I knew immediately that I had to have my girl do the narration. For any of you who love the character of Holly, then you will love Keili’s.
Thank you to my family. To my mom, who knew this was going to happen way before it did, and to my dad, who still can’t believe this has happened but is pleased as punch that it did. To my sister, who bought as many copies of my books as she could and then pimped me to her friends like it was her job.
Thank you to the bloggers, the incredible women who do this because you love it and because you feel the way I do when I read a book I love, that we must tell everyone about it! Thank you for supporting me when no one knew who Jack and Grace were, and made it your business to tell the world.
Thank you to the Nuts Girls, to the readers who have been there since this was one chapter, one idea, one weird take on a giant phenomenon, and have let me be true to my own inner Nuts Girl.
And as always, thank you to Peter, who I’ve been in love with since I was sixteen years old. Thank you for always telling me how cute I am, and for being the only person on the planet who could possibly take me on and live to tell about it. I adore you.
Jack Hamilton was spotted today shopping at a vintage furniture store on La Brea, pausing over shower fixtures and an antique coffeepot. With the sales of Time cementing him as a leading man in Hollywood and the offers pouring in, we think he can afford some new appliances.
Superstar Jack Hamilton seen having dinner at Chin Chin on Sunset Boulevard with the now-identified redhead Grace Sheridan. The two continue to say nothing about their relationship, with their manager affirming again, “They’re friends. That’s all.” Someone should tell them friends don’t usually feed each other pot stickers, do they?
Production begins next month on the new dramedy Mabel’s Unstable? by writer-creator Michael O’Connell. Directed by David Lancaster, this marks the first show of the kind to premiere on Venue. Leading the cast is actress Grace Sheridan, who is perhaps best known as the other half of the are-they-or-aren’t-they couple with actor Jack Hamilton. Grace, 33, originated the role of Mabel in New York in a staged workshop production. Billed as a cross between a comedy, drama, and variety/reality show, the series is likely slated for a fall premiere.
one
No, I can’t do this.”
“You have to do this. You promised you’d try.”
“I know what I said, but now that it’s time, I’m too nervous.”
“A promise is a promise.”
“You can’t make me do something I don’t want to, you know . . .”
“Okay, we’re going to try this again . . . We can go as slow as you need. Ready, love?”
“Jesus, I guess . . . I still can’t believe I agreed to this . . . This hurts so much.”
“You’ll feel better once we get going, I promise.”
I closed my eyes, took a breath, opened them once more, and nodded. His eyes met mine in the mirror, and he grinned that grin he knew always won me over.
I dug my hands into his hair, running my fingers through the silky curls and scratching at his scalp. I blinked back tears. I lifted a chunk straight up, picked up the scissors . . . and cut.
And cut.
And cut.
And cut some more.
He kept encouraging me because he wanted it short.
When he’d first asked me to cut his hair, I’d refused. I told him no way. He reminded me that if he got this done at a salon, it would be on Twitter within minutes, and the paparazzi would surround the place.
“But I love your curls. I need your curls! Please don’t make me cut it. I-I-I’ll do anything!” I begged, kneeling at his feet dramatically. We may have been in the shower at the time.
“Would you not make such a big deal about this? But as long as you’re down there . . .” He grinned, and I stood up immediately.
“Hell no. You cut that hair, and you can wave good-bye to any kind of oral action. Your Mr. Hamilton will not be very happy about that,” I threatened, picking up the shower gel. The scent of coconuts filled the air.
“Bollocks, I can play that game too. You want to go without? I can remove certain things from the menu as well.”
You can’t let him take that off the menu . . .
Dammit. He had me. A day without oral is simply a day not worth living.
So here we were, in the guest bathroom, inches and inches of glorious shaggy blond hair on the floor around us, as his grin got bigger and bigger.
And my frown got, well, frownier and frownier.
By the time he felt I had butchered it successfully, I was almost in a full-on meltdown.
“Jesus, George, I ruined it!”
It was sticking up in places, flat in others, and just generally a disaster area. It looked like a five-year-old had cut it.
“Hmm, it does have a sort of whacked look to it, doesn’t it, love?” He laughed, running his hands through it, throwing an errant curl to the floor.
“I may vomit,” I whined, setting down the scissors.
“Come on, Crazy, finish it.” He pressed the clippers into my hand.
Clippers? “Finish it?”
“How many grunts do you know without a buzz cut?” he asked, trying on his new southern accent. Alabama by way of London, interesting combo.
“When you said you needed to get ready for this movie, I had no idea I was going to have to bear the brunt of it.” I sighed and picked up the clippers after he adjusted the setting. He’d dialed it way down. This was gonna be short.
“How exactly are you bearing the brunt of this?” he asked, pulling me between his legs as I stood before him.
“I’m the one who has to look at you, Sweet Nuts.” I winked.
“Buzz me,” he commanded, eyes twinkling.
I buzzed away. As the hair continued to fall, we talked about our schedules, all the changes that were to come.
Jack’s name was on every woman’s lips across the world, in every woman’s dreams, and on every casting director’s hot list. Holly, my best friend and Jack’s agent as well as mine, had been flooded with offers. Directors, producers, talk-show hosts—everyone wanted a piece of him.
And I had a piece of him. Frequently.
Before the success of Time, a movie based on a series of popular erotic short stories that had been released this past fall, Jack Hamilton had been your average, ordinary British-guy-about-Hollywood. At only twenty-four, he had been in a few small, independent films and acted a bit in repertory theater, but once he was cast as Joshua, the Super Sexy Scientist Guy who traveled through time, seducing women across the centuries, his life changed. He was now one of the hottest young a
ctors in Hollywood, and Holly was determined that he would not just be another flash in the pan.
Holly Newman was a great friend and a great agent. She had a killer instinct and was known for finding new talent. She had carefully crafted the careers of several of the most respected actors currently working, and she was poised to do the same for Jack. Declining several big-budget action films, she now guided Jack to a smaller film: a gritty, documentary-style picture about soldiers in Afghanistan. Jack could easily have headlined a huge summer blockbuster, but instead he chose to work in an ensemble cast, where the story was important.
And what was really important right now was shaving his head. He was a young soldier from Alabama, and he needed to look the part. Sigh.
“Did you just sigh, Grace?”
“I did.” I took one last pass with the clippers and smoothed my hand over his shorn scalp.
“Is it really that bad?” he asked, nerves flitting over his face.
I smiled and scratched at his head. He leaned into it, just as he always had, and I looked carefully at him. The green eyes were the same, beginning to darken just the tiniest bit as my hand stroked the back of his neck. His hands tightened on my hips, drawing me close again. His hair was gone, but the heat was still there. In fact, his features seemed even stronger now. Cheekbones, jaw, everything even more chiseled, and his two days’ worth of scruff even sexier than usual. His tongue dipped out of his mouth just so, teeth then nibbling on that lower lip in the way he knew would evoke a response.
“I have to admit, now that I can truly appreciate it, it’s kind of . . . hmmm,” I ventured.
“Kind of . . .”
“Sexy?”
“Sexy. Really?” His thumbs traced a tiny pattern along the skin just above my drawstring. Which he was now tugging on.
“Yes, yes, it’s true. Even with my butchering your hair, you’re still the sexiest man in America.” I sighed again, this time in a different way, as his thumbs fumbled apart the buttons on my shirt.
The Redhead Series Page 50