Hot Nights in Morocco

by Catherine Wiltcher

  Seriously?

  I start twirling my silver teaspoon around my fingers like a marching band’s baton. In my opinion, Max is the opposite. He’s far too attainable. It would be the holding onto him afterward that would cause the real heartache.

  “Not that Jake would ever be interested,” I hear her say. “He’s my boss, and anyway, he’s far too hooked on Cassie. But you probably guessed that already.”

  I stop twirling immediately. I drop the teaspoon and hide my shaking hands under the table. “But I thought they ended months ago?”

  “This time, perhaps. It’s been hot and cold for years.”

  As if on cue, my cell phone beeps.

  Jake: Time to put all your Fifty Shades fantasies into practice.

  Not when the revelations about you are coming thick and fast.

  “Who was that?” asks Rachel.

  “My mother,” I lie.

  My phone beeps again and she raises her eyebrows at me.

  I shrug. “What can I say? She’s persistent.” I turn my phone face down on the table.

  Rachel nods in sympathy. “Kinda like mine, then. Do you think there’s some secret prenatal training school we don’t know about? Maybe it’s a two-for-one deal? You get knocked up and learn how to be super oppressive all at the same time…”

  “If so, then my mom graduated with honors. Are you sure about Jake?” I’m displaying a persistence of my own now. “He and Cassie seem so…incompatible?” Is there a pattern emerging here?

  “Wow, you really don’t follow celebrity gossip, do you?” There’s no judgment in Rachel’s eyes, just a mild interest in how someone’s got so far in life without binging on Hollywood exclusives. “Jake and Cassie are fuck-buddy boomerangs. They can’t leave each other alone for longer than a few weeks. They mess around in-between, but it’s all meaningless.” She’s mistaking my stunned silence for rabid curiosity. “Why do you think he okayed her for this movie? They could have easily spent the last month on separate continents.”

  My phone beeps once more, making us both jump.

  “Is that your mother again?”

  “I’ll call her back later.”

  She studies me for a moment. “Are you feeling okay? You look kinda green.”

  “Bad indigestion.” Another lie. “How long have they, err, been carrying on like this?”

  “Three years. They have quite the backlist. I wouldn’t be surprised if he’s with her right now.”

  Oh. Shit.

  Rachel takes another sip of her tea. “I know this celeb stuff is all new to you, Charlie, but you must have felt the chemistry between them. Cassie’s a pain in the butt, but she’s skinny and beautiful. And as for Jake… Well, Jake’s Jake, I guess.” She shrugs, silently acknowledging his physical perfection. “I’m amazed he hasn’t asked me to ditch her hotel booking yet. Why pay for two expensive suites when only one bed is being used?”

  The pain I feel takes my breath away. I knew they were unfinished business from the moment I first saw them together. I’m Jake’s consolation prize until they can finally figure things out again.

  This is a perfect excuse to end it, so why are my fingers suddenly allergic to my phone?

  “Tell me about their father,” I say, rushing to change the subject before Rachel gets wind of my emotional turbulence. “I read somewhere that he died not so long ago.”

  “Robert Dalton. Self-made billionaire.” Rachel slides her empty cup into the middle of the table. “He took over Global Studios for next to nothing during the industry recession in the sixties and made a killing in the seventies. The guy was a movie virtuoso.”

  I stare at her with renewed respect. “How do you know all this stuff?”

  She flicks a strand of blond hair away from her face again. “Max told me.”

  Max seems to confide in her an awful lot.

  “Was Jake close to him?”

  “Before their mother walked out on the family, yes. Jake was only about ten at the time. Robert was obsessed with his studio. I guess she got fed up. It must’ve been terribly boring sitting alone in an empty mansion all day.” Rachel sighs, and shakes her head at the idiosyncrasies of the superrich. “Robert fell apart after she left. He was forced to hand over the running of Global to his VP, Walt Wilson, until Jake was old enough to take on the business. But Jake never wanted it. Not until now.”

  I have an image of a brown-eyed boy. One who is fighting to keep his mother and father together as his whole world is falling apart.

  “I had no idea about any of this,” I whisper.

  “Why would you?” says Rachel, looking at me oddly. “Even the press doesn’t have the full story. I got all this from Max.”

  “Why didn’t Jake want Global until now?” My inner monologue is spewing out across the table again.

  “Perhaps he didn’t want to be a businessman?” She signals for the bill. “Jake loves producing movies. He’s so good at it, too. He’s going through hell at the thought of giving it all up after this shoot. I swear that’s why he’s so moody all the time.”

  That, and a barrage of hostility from me.

  “Do you think Jake blames Global for his mother leaving?” I ask her.

  Rachel considers my question. “You mean as a fallout from Robert’s obsession? Maybe. Jake and his father ended up having a huge fight about it a few years ago. It destroyed their relationship. They weren’t even on speaking terms when Robert died.”

  “And now Jake’s being dragged back to L.A. by invisible chains.”

  “Chains that bind him tighter than you or I could ever imagine.” Rachel looks up as the bill arrives. “Ah, thanks. By the way, I don’t recommend you ask Jake about any of this. He fired a cameraman last year for doing that.” She rakes her eyes over the scrappy piece of paper. “Hey, you don’t have change for twenty dirhams, do you?”

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  It’s midnight by the time we arrive back at the hotel. I still haven’t phoned Jake back. He’s probably tearing the place apart looking for me, and I’m exhausted just thinking about the confrontation that’s heading our way.

  “Bedtime,” declares Rachel, touching my arm as we enter the lobby together.

  “Thanks again for tonight.” I lean in to give her a quick hug. She’s been up since five a.m. and her blue eyes are opaque with tiredness. Jake is as unforgiving a boss as he is a lover.

  “Sure, it was fun. I still don’t know jack shit about you, though.” Laughing, she disappears into the elevator as I hover by the front desk debating my next move. I don’t want to go upstairs and lie in a darkened room obsessing over Jake and Cassie all night, so I head for the hotel bar instead.

  What a difference twelve hours can make. The place is packed. All around me British and American accents are jostling for volume control, a thick fog of cigarette smoke hanging in silver curls above each table. I scan the crowds of sweaty, self-confident bodies for a glimpse of tall, dark, and stupidly handsome, but he’s not here.

  Max is, though.

  “Hey, Charlie!” he shouts, homing in on me straightaway.

  Heads swivel as he rises up from a table in the corner and makes his way over.

  “Is this my chance?” His face stretches into a grin as he approaches. “I haven’t forgotten what you said this morning. All that crap about needing romance to sweep you off your feet? I can do that, you know.” He leans across the bar and calls out to the bartender. “We need a bottle of champagne, Omar, and none of that cheap shit, either.”

  “Give it up, Max,” I say with a smile, shaking my head at him. “You and I are never going to happen.”

  “Bullshit. You can’t refuse me now. Not when you’ve seen me naked, or nearabouts. Did that GQ interview get firmed up okay? One drink, that’s all. Just don’t tell any of my girlfriends. Deal?”

  “Okay, deal.�
� Reluctantly, I park my ass on a red barstool next to him. It’s impossible to say no to Max sometimes. “And yes to the GQ interview. They’re flying out next Tuesday. What’s my silence worth, by the way?”

  “A bottle of Bollinger.”

  “I thought you said one drink only.”

  “One very long drink.” His brown eyes are sparkling with triumph as he leans over to chat to the barman again. I study his profile as he does. With all those laughter lines he looks like a younger, lascivious version of his brother. There’s no darkness and intensity about Max, just sin and mischief and the promise of a good time. For a fleeting moment I wonder what happened to make Jake so different. Was it his mother leaving, his father’s breakdown, or something else entirely?

  “You’re not a bit like your brother,” I blurt out, accepting a champagne flute. “Personality-wise I mean.”

  “Thank God for that. I like to smile and have fun once in a while. Besides, I’m not into monogamous screwing. He’s a strictly one-in-one-out kinda guy. Variety is the spice of my life.”

  “Do you like Cassie?” I ask idly, hating myself for it.

  “What made you think I was referring to her?” He chuckles when he sees my reaction. “Relax, Charlie, you look like you’re about to faint. Mind you, I tend to have that effect on women.”

  I’m not listening anymore. My heart just detonated in my chest. If he’s guessed, then who else has, too? “I don’t know what you think you know, Max—”

  “So, you’re not sleeping with my brother?”

  I stare at him openmouthed, winded by his bluntness.

  “It’s not a crime,” he says, gently chucking my chin. “And no, I don’t think any less of you. I’m just pissed he got to you first. I’ve been trying for weeks to get you into bed.”

  My mouth snaps back together. I watch in a daze as he raises his glass to his lips. “How did you find out? Did he tell you?”

  Max starts choking on his drink. “Not exactly,” he says, wiping his face with the back of his hand. “I can’t get a Christmas list out of Jake, let alone the names of the women he’s screwing. I mean woman,” he corrects hastily, seeing my expression.

  “You had it right the first time,” I say, staring down at my flute. “Rachel seems to think that he and Cassie are back together.”

  “I’d be surprised. She crossed a line with him, and Jake’s not one for forgiveness.”

  “Like the line I’m crossing?” I return my untouched flute to the counter. “C’mon Max, he’s the producer of the movie I’m working on. I’m more an industry cliché than your model assistant.”

  “God no, she’s much worse.” Max’s jaw clenches and I see a brief flash of Jake behind his eyes. Perhaps they’re more alike than I thought.

  I wonder what Cassie did that was so bad…?

  “If you must know, it was obvious this morning.”

  My head jerks up in surprise.

  “You and Jake,” says Max patiently. “You asked how I found out. I’ve never seen him that possessive over a woman before. Or, maybe I did once, a long time ago.”

  “What was her name?” I ask quietly.

  “Is this an attempt at self-sabotage? It didn’t end well, if that’s what you’re worried about.” Something over my shoulder catches his eye. “Ah, shit. If you’ll excuse me, honey, our script supervisor would like to give me another bollocking for screwing up her continuity today.” He kisses me lightly on the cheek. “Thank you for finally accepting my offer of a drink. You’re such a good little assistant and your ass is so hot. My life would be a total mess without you. And best of luck with my brother. I fear you might need it.”

  “How strange,” I say frowning up at him. “I met someone in L.A. who said something similar to me.”

  “Oh? Who was that?”

  “Brad Wilson.”

  Max grimaces. “Yes, well he would. Don’t take much notice of him, angel. Brad and Jake have a very long, dark, and twisted history. Here, have the rest on me.” He hands me the Bollinger and kisses me good night all over again.

  I’m stalling for time, so I finish off the entire bottle before heading upstairs. It’s not the smartest thing to do, but I’m the queen of avoidance tonight. Despite Max’s reassurances, Jake still lied to me about the extent of his and Cassie’s relationship. All I want to do is pull the bed sheets over my head and live in blissful ignorance for a while longer before any more skeletons come tumbling out of his closet.

  Picking my way across the hotel courtyard, I crack a smile at the porter who is busy scooping up dead bugs and leaves from the swimming pool. He returns it with a brief wave and bids me good night. It may be night, but there’s nothing good about it. Five minutes later, I’m slipping into my room.

  “Where the hell have you been?” growls a voice from the darkness.

  “Holy shit!” I smack my hand against the light switch and illuminate myself to my fate. A fate who is currently sitting on the edge of my bed looking like the model depiction of anger and resentment, with his hands grasped together in front of him and his eyes as cold as flint.

  My gaze darts to the nightstand where a bottle of champagne and two glasses have been placed in anticipation. Judging from the rivulets of condensation leaking down the sides, Jake’s been waiting a long time. He’s been thumbing through my treasured copy of Great Expectations, as well. That’s not good. He doesn’t need any pointers on how to hold a grudge.

  “I asked you where you’ve been,” he says, tossing the book to one side. There’s a subtle warning in this act of carelessness. My heart is about to receive the same treatment.

  “Having a drink with your brother,” I say defiantly, shutting the door behind me. I hate him when he’s like this. He’s so damn intimidating.

  “Had a taste for him, have you? One Dalton isn’t enough anymore?” He slowly rises to his feet. He’s wearing black again. There’s the faintest trace of sweat on his torso and it’s molded his T-shirt to his body, defining the hard ridge of muscle that I love so much.

  “Rather two Daltons than half of Hollywood like you,” I say, stung by his words. “Why do you always assume the worst about me?”

  Because we don’t know how to act any differently.

  The sex may be earth-shattering, but there’s a fundamental flaw in our extended one-night stand. Neither of us brings any real trust to the table.

  “I don’t expect the woman I’m fucking to bend over for my brother, as well,” he says roughly. “You should know by now that I don’t like to—”

  “Share? Yes I heard you the first, second, and numerous other times. Shame, really,” I say, walking over to the closet and kicking off my Chucks. “I was looking forward to a Dalton threesome. You know, a chance to get some real experience under my belt.”

  Boom.

  The look of rage that crosses his face is terrifying. “Don’t push me, Books. I’m warning you.”

  “You’re such a hypocrite, Jake,” I say, losing my temper. “There’s no way I’m going to act like a nun while you go around screwing your lead actress and every Lydia or Gemma who calls you up on an hourly basis.” I don’t care what Max said. My self-doubt can’t ignore the blitz of beautiful women that keep banging down his door every day.

  End it.

  The words are right there on the tip of my tongue again.

  “I’m not going to dignify that—”

  “Then get out. I can’t be bothered to decipher your bullshit answers anymore.”

  We glare at one another, both emanating righteous indignation.

  “This is one of the fucking reasons I don’t do relationships,” he says, storming for the door. “I should have just fucked you out of my system in L.A. as I’d planned.”

  He had a plan?

  I forget what insult I was lining up to use next.

  He brushes past
me and I catch a trace of his aftershave. I fight back the tears as it conjures up images of my safe place, of us lying naked in bed together with his strong arms wrapped tightly around me.

  I inhale sharply, drinking him all in, and when the door finally slams shut behind him, I sink to my knees in despair.

  This is for the best, I tell myself.

  So why does it feel so wrong?

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  The next day I don’t leave the production office, and Jake refuses to leave the set. I know it’s because we’re avoiding one another.

  “Cassie’s refusing to wear any of her costumes,” whispers Rachel, chucking a biscuit at my head to try and rouse me out of my black mood. “Jake’s been in her trailer for the last three hours trying to talk her round. We’re never going to finish on time.”

  I know she’s only trying to cheer me up, but Rachel’s words plunge me into an even deeper despair. Jake is making me question myself, over and over. One minute he’s practically screwing me against the wall of the hotel bar. The next, he’s calling me a lapse in judgment and refusing to speak to me.

  We’re done. Finito. My secrets will continue to stay buried beneath years of deliberate neglect. So, why do I find myself Googling “Jake Dalton and Cassie Lee” for the hundredth time today?

  Reluctantly, I click off the entertainment website that Rachel seems to mainline like celebrity crack. Sweeping a thin film of dust off my laptop screen, I cast my eyes over the first item on Max’s To Do list:

  1. Call George Clooney’s agent and set up a meeting with him and his management team.

  Is he serious?

  There’s no way I can track down anyone out here, not when all I have is a dodgy phone line, poor cell reception, and an internet connection as capricious as the man currently responsible for my state of mind. Damn that family. Not content with tormenting my heart, they’re now tormenting my brain, as well.

  Swatting the flies off my face, I tuck my bangs behind my ears and wipe the sweat off my forehead. I’m just reaching for another water bottle when my phone starts ringing.