Awkward in Print (Awkward #1)

by Rachel Rhodes

  “I’m joking! But still, no. Thanks, Jojo, but I’d rather go on my own.”

  “Oh, come on! You and CeeCee get on fine. She’s gorgeous, and I know she finds you attractive. You deserve a night of guilt-free, meaningless sex.”

  “Oh really? And what would you know about that?” He’s teasing, but I blush to the roots of my hair. I’ve never actually told Jude the truth, but he figured it out anyway. At least, I think he did. It’s hard to say for sure.

  “Cat got your tongue, Jojo?”

  “No. I’m trying to formulate an argument.”

  “Ah,” he nods his head gravely. “Not so easy to do when you’re tanked.”

  “True. I still think you should go with CeeCee.”

  “So I can have guilt-free, meaningless sex?”

  “Yes!”

  “You’re adorable when you’re shit-faced.”

  5

  I stay with Jude until I’m sober enough to navigate the sidewalk without an escort.

  “Home, Miss Hudson?” Phillip asks.

  “Yes, please.”

  I rest my head against the window, the cool glass heaven against my flaming cheeks. Jude’s right, CeeCee is a terrible influence. We take a left turn, and I watch the people waiting for the light. A streak of dark-blond hair, and then we’re passed. I whip my head around, but it’s impossible to see anything through the crowd gathered on the sidewalk.

  “Are you alright, Miss Hudson?” Phillip asks, more amused than concerned.

  “I think I’m seeing things,” I mutter, and then, before he can ask me what, I quickly add, “I may have had a bit too much champagne at breakfast.”

  “That’s nothing two Tylenol, a big glass of water, and an hour-long nap can’t cure,” Phillip replies helpfully.

  I decide to take his advice. Fenn doesn’t bat an eyelid when I tell her I’m not feeling well and that I’m going to lie down for an hour. Noodle is less impressed, especially when I lock her out of the bedroom.

  “I’ll take her for a walk when I take my lunch,” Fenn promises.

  “Thanks, Fenn.”

  I lie on my bed and close my eyes, willing sleep to come. Sleep does no such thing. Instead, I replay the two sightings of the blond man over and over in my head, trying to recall if at any point I got a clear view of his face. No, I scold myself. You didn’t. You’re just thinking of him because the book is about to launch. Go to sleep.

  “Jojo?”

  I jerk awake with a start.

  “Sorry!” Fenn apologizes sheepishly. She’s poked her head around my bedroom door. “I just thought I should let you know I’m headed out.” I glance at my watch. It’s after three. I slept the entire afternoon.

  “Are you feeling okay?” Fenn asks.

  “Yes, I’m fine. I took some pills, they must have knocked me out.”

  “Okay, well I took Noodle for a walk. Ursula is still here, so I’ve left her in the kitchen. She’s cooking something which smells heavenly. Do you need me to get you anything before I go?”

  “No, I’m fine. I’m up.”

  “Then I’ll see you tomorrow.”

  “Hey, you didn’t tell me about your date.”

  “It was dreamy. No proposal, thank God, but the dress was a hit.”

  “I’m glad to hear it.”

  She flashes me a grin. “Enjoy your evening.”

  “You too.”

  I hear the receding click of her high heels on the tiled floor, and I slump back onto my pillows. I start filming the week after next. It’s exactly the distraction I need. I just need to get through the launch first.

  “Oh my God, Jojo, it’s even better than I expected!” George booms in my ear. It’s incredible how, when one is dreading something, time seems to fast-forward. The week leading up to the launch was a blur, and now, here I am, in a stunning black Vera Wang dress, my heart in my throat. George and I are crushed together in a sea of bodies, under an ambient light that makes everyone beautiful. “Everybody is here,” George continues as a waiter struggling to hold a silver tray aloft squeezes past. George helps himself to a crab cake with one hand, while the other caresses the red satin of Sally’s ample behind.

  “Where is Susan?” I ask pointedly, trying not to look.

  “She’s here somewhere,” George replies airily. “No doubt checking that the caterers haven’t run out of crab.”

  “Isn’t that your job?” I ask Sally. She gives me a look that could melt metal, but I hold her gaze defiantly. I’m an A-list Hollywood actress. She hasn’t a hope in hell.

  “Don’t give Sal a hard time,” George whines as Sally stalks off to stuff her face with buffalo wings.

  “George, I love you, but I swear to God if you don’t at least try to be discreet, I’m going to fire you as an agent. Susan is a saint.”

  “I never said she wasn’t.” He’s so remarkably unapologetic and so naturally charming, it’s impossible to stay mad at him.

  I roll my eyes. “I don’t know how she puts up with you.”

  “I’m incredibly well-hung. Now you better get your sweet ass over to the signing table, the queue is already halfway across the room.”

  “You’ve left grease stains all over Sally’s ass,” I say as I march off.

  “You look like a woman on a mission.” I raise my head at the sound of Jude’s voice.

  “I wondered where you were!”

  “Did you think I was going to chicken out?”

  I shake my head. “Never.”

  He holds up a copy of my book. “Can I get your autograph?”

  “I was actually on my way to the signing table, but I suppose I could save you the wait.”

  He laughs as I scrawl across the title page. Jude takes it back and looks down at what I’ve written. He smiles when he sees I’ve signed it, With Love, Josie instead of Jojo.

  “I like it,” he says.

  “Are you going to be around for a while?”

  He looks over his shoulder at the length of the line. “You’re going to be at it for hours. I’m probably going to head out.”

  “But you just got here! We haven’t even had a minute to chat!”

  “We can do that this week. You’ve got a busy night ahead.”

  “Fine,” I grumble. “I am glad you came, though.”

  “I told you I wouldn’t miss it.” He kisses my temple and disappears into the throng.

  I take my seat at the massive table and pick up the Waterman pen George gave me especially for tonight, my name engraved in the silver. George is a shit, but he’s the best agent in the business, and I trust him. He gives his clients all the respect and attention he fails to give his wife.

  “Jojo, look this way, please!” a reporter calls and then I’m off, posing for photographs and signing books until my wrists cramp. The line is never-ending.

  “You look like you could use a break.”

  I look up to find Alex standing before me, a proud smile on his face, a copy of the book in his hand.

  “You bought it?” I laugh. “I have a dozen copies at home!”

  “I’m supporting my girl.” He holds up the book. “And I want it signed, this is going to be worth a lot of money one day.”

  I take it and scrawl in the title page, covering my words with my free hand so he can’t read them.

  “Alex, Jojo!” A photographer calls. “This way, please!” Alex leans toward me, and the man gets his frontpage photograph.

  “How much longer do you think I’ll have to do this?” I ask.

  Alex looks over his shoulder. “You’re just about done. I’ll buy you a drink after.” A wink and a flash of white teeth and he’s gone.

  The line is definitely coming to an end, but if I never sign my name again, it’ll be too soon. I barely look up as the next person in line steps forward.

  “Could you personalize it?”

  My head snaps up. All the air is driven from my lungs and my smile, which has never faltered in all my years in front of the camera, dies on
my lips.

  “Ace.” It’s a whisper, but he hears me.

  “It’s nice to see you again, Josie.”

  Oh God, that voice. That deep, husky, sex-is-mandatory voice. His face hasn’t changed much. His blond hair is shorter, cropped close to his head, and a few lines crease the skin around his eyes when he smiles, but he is still staggering. His arms are broader, more tanned, and the blue silk shirt he’s wearing is a perfect match for his eyes.

  “You’ll sign it, won’t you?” I’m staring. I drop my gaze, cheeks flaming to find his hand on the table before me. He’s holding my book. Holy fucking hell.

  6

  “Ace, what are you doing here?”

  The book is still in his hands. I don’t want to touch it.

  “What, I can’t support an old friend?” His eyes dance with amusement. He’s enjoying the fact that he still makes me nervous. Bastard.

  “I wouldn’t exactly call us old friends.”

  “Then what would you call us, Josie?” It’s a challenge, laid down bold and bare.

  “Acquaintances. At best.”

  “Everything okay here?” George appears as if by magic and manages to smile at Ace and frown at me at the same time. “There are still a few people waiting, Jojo.”

  “We’re almost done,” I tell him. Satisfied, George wanders off in the direction of the food table.

  I snatch the book from Ace’s hands. My fingers brush against his, and I swear I feel sparks fly where our skin touches.

  “You can’t have this,” I tell him firmly.

  “And why is that?”

  “I…” I lick my lips and stumble for an excuse. “I just don’t want you to have it.”

  “I’ve paid for it.”

  “I’ll reimburse you.”

  “Excuse me, is this going to take long?” A raven-haired woman leans around Ace to ask. Then she catches sight of his face. A red-taloned finger comes to rest on his shoulder. “Sorry,” she purrs, “I don’t mean to rush you.”

  Ace shrugs. “That’s okay.” He yanks the book out of my hands. “I’ll wait until you’re done.”

  The rest of the signing is a blur. All I am conscious of is the fact that Ace has moved to the back of the line and every autograph brings him closer to the table. My pen tears through paper as the raven-haired woman saunters to his side and engages him in conversation. Her lipstick is the same color as Sally’s dress.

  “I’m so sorry,” I tell the person whose book I just ruined. I pull another from the display pile at the edge of the table and sign it. “Here you go.”

  “I can’t wait to read it,” the next person in line tells me. “I’m such a fan!”

  “Thank you so much. I hope you enjoy it.”

  “Could you possibly sign it to Tiffany?”

  “Sure.” I scrawl her name in the top right corner. Red lips is smiling up at Ace, her body arched toward him.

  Sign. I’ve lost sight of them.

  Sign. He’s smiling back.

  “Who is Josie?” a man in a grey pinstripe suit frowns down at his signed copy.

  “Sorry!” I snatch it back and pull another copy from the decorative pile. “Here you go.”

  Finally, there’s no one left.

  “Let’s try this again,” Ace asks, stepping up to the table. The woman stands just behind him, waiting for him to finish. Ace turns to her, and I catch a whiff of his cologne.

  “Sweetheart,” he drawls lazily, “why don’t you go and get yourself a glass of champagne. I’ll meet you at the bar.”

  I swear if a lioness looked at a stag the way she’s looking at him right now, it would die a blissful, pain-free death of testosterone overload. She sashays off in the direction of the bar.

  “Give it back,” I snap, refusing to look at him.

  His voice is nothing like it was when speaking to the lioness, all trace of charm gone. “Why don’t you want me to read it?”

  “I just don’t.” I feel pricks of shame in the corners of my eyes, and I swat them away.

  Ace braces his hands on the edge of the table and leans forward, so close that our noses are almost touching. “Does it have anything to do with chapter twenty-seven, Josie?” he asks.

  I can’t breathe. I jerk away from him, my back slamming into the back of my chair.

  “Jojo?”

  Oh God, oh God. Alex. Alex is here. He’s standing next to Ace, a concerned expression on his beautifully familiar face.

  I try to sound normal. “Hi.”

  Wrong. He knows me too well. Alex is sizing Ace up, and Ace hasn’t moved. He’s still crouched over me, his hands splayed on the table. No wedding ring.

  “I’m almost done,” I say, giving Alex a reassuring smile. He hesitates, torn between his need to protect me and making a scene in front of the entire Hollywood press.

  “I think George wants you to start the interviews,” he tells me. “I’ll wait right over here.” He moves away, but not far enough that he can’t keep an eye on me.

  Ace still hasn’t moved.

  “Please,” I whisper. I don’t know what I’m asking.

  “We’re not done,” he replies. “Meet me tomorrow at Gerard’s. I’ll be there at eleven.”

  He takes his unsigned book with him.

  7

  By ten thirty the following morning I’m a bundle of nerves. My deepest darkest fear has literally become a reality. I take a cab to Gerard’s, rather than let Phillip drive me. The subterfuge makes me feel even worse. The inside of the diner hasn’t changed. I haven’t been here in years, but it’s still a popular college hangout, judging by the patrons. I slip into the red leather booth at the very end. I make sure to sit facing the wall, but I still tug at my beanie.

  A frazzled waitress sidles over. “What can I get you?”

  “Coffee, please. Black, no sugar.”

  “Anything to eat?”

  “No, thanks.”

  My untouched coffee grows cold on the table. I check my watch. It’s 10:56.

  “You want another?” the waitress asks, looking at my full cup with a puzzled expression.

  “I’m okay for now, thank you. I’m actually meeting someone, so I’ll order another when he arrives.”

  She gives me a knowing look. “Got it. Just call me if you need anything.”

  The bell above the door jangles.

  “Hey stranger!” the waitress calls. “Where have you been?”

  “Would you believe it if I told you I’d gone off coffee?” I’d know that voice anywhere.

  “Not in a million years,” the waitress laughs. “She yours?”

  I cringe, imagining Ace looking at the back of my head.

  “Sure is,” he replies easily. “Could you bring us two coffees, please, Marla?”

  He’s getting nearer, I can sense him, and then a denim-clad leg appears beside me.

  “Hello Josie,” his voice is softer than it was last night, more coaxing. He drops into the seat opposite me, larger than life. He’s wearing a black sweater, V-necked and form-fitted. I’ve never seen a simple sweater look that good.

  “Why am I here?” I ask. I’d already decided the best defense is a good offense, especially where Ace is concerned.

  He frowns at me. “You’re not going to ask me how I’ve been? What I’ve been up to these past six years?”

  “I don’t care.”

  A cup thumps onto the table before me. Perfect timing that Marla should arrive just in time to hear me say that. I keep my eyes lowered, terrified she’ll recognize me if I look up.

  “Here you go,” she says, setting Ace’s cup down far more gently. “You want anything to eat, John?”

  John. It was so easy to forget his real name. Ace had started the first week of college. There were three Johns in our class. Usually, the lecturers would simply call them by the last names, but in this case, King and Jackman had been too good an opportunity to pass up. Ace’s last name is Logan, but he’d become Ace. Ace, King and Jack. The joke had led to th
e three becoming friends, and they were seldom seen apart for the remaining three years at Julliard.

  “I wouldn’t mind a big plate of French fries. You want anything, Josie?”

  “No, I’m good.”

  “Just the fries, then.”

  As soon as she’s out of earshot, I try again. “What do you want, Ace?”

  He takes a swig of his coffee. “Hardly anyone calls me that anymore.”

  “You must be devastated.”

  He stares at me over the rim of his cup. “When did you become so bitter?”

  “Bitter? I’m not bitter, Ace. You ambushed me at my book launch, threatened me, and now I’m here, with no clue why. Forgive me if I’m not thrilled about it.”

  “If you’re not thrilled now, wait until I tell you why you’re here.” It’s a threat – implied, but a threat nonetheless.

  “You read my book.”

  “I did. Last week actually.” I don’t bother asking how he got his hands on a copy when the book was under a worldwide embargo until last night. What would be the point? I can hardly file a lawsuit against the person who leaked it, not without revealing how I know and the reason I care. “It was good,” Ace continues, “you’re a good writer. A better actress, and an even better pianist, but the writing was solid.” I don’t have anything to say to that, so I keep quiet. When he speaks again, his voice is like silk. “Chapter twenty-seven, Josie?”

  “My name is Jojo.”

  “You’re deflecting.”

  I slam my hands down on the table. “What do you want me to say?”

  “I want you to tell me why you lied.”

  “That’s none of your business.”

  “I think it’s very much my business.”

  “Why?” I sneer, anger radiating off me in waves. “Because you screwed me once, six years ago, and now you want to cash in?”

  He settles back in his seat, completely unperturbed by my outburst. A flash of pity and then he smiles. “Actually, that’s exactly what I want to do.”

  I should have expected it, but I’m still stunned when I hear the words. Furious, I snatch up my purse.

  “Fine,” I say, rooting around for my checkbook. “Name your price. If it’s money you’re after, just tell me how much so I can get on with my life.”