by Elle Rush
After a final circuit around the court and surrounding area, Sydney dragged herself up the rows of the bleachers and took a seat beside the last remaining onlooker. They sat in silence, staring at the ocean and the late afternoon sun hovering above the horizon.
Sunrise to sunset. That was the deal. Sydney looked at Chris. This was good-bye.
Chapter 19
“Thank you,” Chris said. Sydney stared at the shore, tension draining from her shoulders as the waves rolled in and lost their fury as they died on the sand. He stared at her and found the same sense of peace. He hated to break their comfortable silence, but he had fifteen minutes left before sundown, and he didn’t want to waste a second of it.
“For what?”
For everything. For the coffee run and Odin and Gary Dobson. For the photo shoot and Robert Clancy and the sunset. “For this,” he said simply.
“You’re welcome.”
She didn’t get it.
Chris never had to work at this part. Getting the girl was easy. They played hard to get, but they were plenty easy to catch. Sydney didn’t play that game. Maybe it had taken him too long to realize it, but he got it now.
“Was today successful?” he asked.
She laughed. “By whose definition?” He thought he heard a hint of bitter in the response, but then she went on. “Curse the Darkness did great. Much better than I hoped with baskets and stuff. Plus, the volleyball challenge was an extra two thousand out of nowhere. Thank you for that.”
“It was only fair. I got exactly what I wanted and then some,” Chris told her. “The role was never a sure thing. And I got to spend the day with you.”
This time there was no question about the bitter. “You can stop now, Chris.”
“Why do you find it so hard to believe?” He looked down at his hands and had to unclench his fists to pull the nails out of his palms. Christ, he knew she was worth it, but she gave stubborn a run for its money.
“In case you missed it in the seventeen million things we did today, there’s not a person out there who would consider me Hollywood material.”
“I do,” Chris argued. “You are not your scars, Sydney. I didn’t have the whole picture for most of the day. But now I understand why your grandmother moving the fire extinguisher freaked you out so badly. Why you didn’t want to try on a toga.” He was sitting right next to her and noticed she’d chosen the side that would put her bad shoulder away from him. He didn’t know if she realized what she’d done.
He leaned back and propped his elbows on the bench behind him. Now he could see the scars. They were still bad; she’d never be able to pretend they weren’t, but they weren’t the worst he’d seen. How could he convince her of that? “Can you tell me about your back? I want to know.”
He had her attention. She studied him like an ant under a magnifying glass. It took everything he had not to twitch. She needed to give him a hard look. His words weren’t meshing with his earlier actions. Chris was prepared to give her the time she needed.
Sydney closed her eyes and tilted her face into the fading sunlight. “About a year ago there was a car crash.”
He waited for more, but nothing else was forthcoming. “Syd, please.”
“Okay. Sixteen and a half months ago we—the girls and I—went out to celebrate Vanessa’s birthday,” she elaborated. “We were having a fun time. Good food. Better ouzo shots. Vanessa and Ashleigh went to the bathroom. Caitlin went to talk to the waiter about bringing out the cake we ordered. I was alone at the table, my back to the window. All of a sudden people were pointing at me, screaming at me. I never had a chance to turn around.”
Her eyes were still closed. Chris couldn’t tell if she didn’t want to look at him as she recounted her story or if she didn’t want to risk seeing the scene she was describing if she opened them.
“They say the driver didn’t slow down, didn’t even tap the brakes before slamming into the building. I was caught in the wreckage when the fire started. Nobody tried to get near me. The flames were too high. The fire department got me out eventually. Weeks in the hospital. Months in therapy. That’s where I met most of the guys. I decided that if I survived, I was going to do something with my life. Helping people like me seemed the best way to do that.”
“Jesus,” he breathed. He wrapped his hand around her nape and squeezed gently.
Sydney pulled away and stared straight out onto the beach. “And that’s my tragic tale.”
Chris stared into the sun with her. That was…so much worse than anything he’d imagined. Then a thought that made him shiver crossed his mind. “Was Layla at the restaurant? Was she one of the people who didn’t help you? Is that how you know her?”
That got her to meet his gaze. “Chris, Layla was the driver.”
He was almost on his feet before she yanked him back down. “Fucking bitch! What else did she do to you?” he demanded.
“That was enough, don’t you think?”
“Tell me.”
“I can’t.”
“Sydney!” And he’d thrown the two of them together twice this afternoon. God!
“I can’t. Legally. I can’t say anything else. It was part of the settlement that paid my medical bills.”
“I hate her,” Chris spat.
Sydney elbowed him gently in the ribs. “Me, too. Although I did win twenty bucks because of her this afternoon. Pay up.”
Chris was sitting on the bleachers with a beautiful woman. His blood pressure was rising and breath was coming faster, and it was all for the wrong reasons.
She nudged him again. “It’s done. I’m here. Let it go. You can’t let it poison you. Trust me, I know.”
Sydney obviously didn’t want to discuss it anymore. She was giving him the same look he’d seen others give her that afternoon on the volleyball court. Sympathy. He wasn’t the one she should be feeling sorry for, but she obviously wasn’t going to feel it for herself. He might be feeling pissed off, but this wasn’t about him. He had to remember that. If she wanted to change the subject, he was more than willing. “So, can I?”
“Can you what?” she asked.
“See you tonight? Will you save me a dance at your gala?” he pressed.
The sunset was beautiful, but the dimming light was throwing shadows in all the wrong places. He couldn’t see if it was the light or if she was blushing. A blush would be a good sign. A blush would be fantastic.
“Probably.”
There was a smile. A small one, but it was genuine. “Can you save me all of them?”
“That depends,” she teased.
He was about to ask what his fate rode on when his phone interrupted. He recognized the ring. His agent was calling. It had to be news from High Note. He’d been specific that nothing else was important enough to interrupt the afternoon. Chris grabbed the bench with both hands and tried to relax. If he wanted Sydney to believe he could make her come first, it started now.
“Who is it?”
“No one important. Depends on what?”
“Chris.” She put a world of exasperation into one word. “Who is it?”
“My agent. It can wait.”
“It’s about the movie, isn’t it?”
She wasn’t going to let it go. “Yes. Probably.”
“Answer it.”
“It can wait.” At least until the end of this conversation. Thankfully, the phone fell silent.
Sydney leaned back until her shoulders rested against the bench he was stretched out on. She tilted her head and tapped it on his shoulder. “Business calls happen. You can call them back.” God, she felt good against him.
“Nope. We need to settle this first. What will it take to get all of your dances?”
“Your checkbook. I’m one of the bachelorettes on the auction block tonight. One dance only.”
“Okay, so I can buy all of your dances tonight,” Chris confirmed.
His phone rang again. Different ring. He had to check that one. He frowned at the call dis
play. Answering was unavoidable, but the call was short. Sydney’s car was waiting on the street.
“Sunrise to sunset,” he said as an explanation.
She nodded. Chris took her hand and helped her down the bleachers. She didn’t need the help; her balance was fine. He wasn’t about to pass up on a perfect excuse though. Lights flashed to the side of them. He didn’t look. He didn’t want to know if it was Benny with a final shot or somebody else with less noble intentions. Let them take pictures. If he had his way there would be a lot more of him and Sydney.
Two town cars idled in the no parking zone where the beach walk met the road. Sydney had scooted to the far side of the vehicle and fastened her seatbelt when his phone went off again.
“Save those dances for me. I’ll see you tonight,” Chris said.
“Answer your phone.”
He went to his knee on the car seat and leaned across to where Sydney was seated behind the driver. He was so going to steal a kiss. Karma gave him this opportunity; it would be wasteful and ungrateful not to take advantage.
It turned out he didn’t have to steal it. Sydney gave it to him. Unlike their first kiss, this time she touched him. Her fingertips touched his temple and then trailed down his jaw. When she got to his lips, she pulled away and looked at him through shining eyes. He grabbed her shoulder and tugged her forward again. She tasted like sunshine and chocolate icing.
Sometime during the kiss, his phone had stopped ringing and had started again. “I’ll see you tonight,” he repeated. “I promise.”
“Good-bye, Chris,” she whispered.
“See you later,” he corrected.
He crawled out of the car, shut the door, and let her go. This was not good-bye. He wouldn’t let it be. He ducked into his own car and instructed the driver to stop at the studio before taking him home. He needed to pick something up.
His agent couldn’t decide on ecstatic or furious. Ecstatic because Chris had evidently impressed Robert Clancy enough to be offered the job. Furious because said Mr. Clancy wanted to meet him for drinks to discuss it further and Chris wasn’t picking up the phone.
Honest to God, he should have worn a cup today. Karma was giving him the workout of his life. This was a replay of this afternoon with the added benefit of knowing how the play was going to turn out. Get the part or get the girl? What was really funny was he wanted the girl to read the part before he said yes.
He’d been working this idea since he’d spoken to Gary Dobson. That industry genius ran projects past his non-industry wife, and she knew what she liked from an audience point-of-view. Sydney had great, compatible taste in classic movies. And current television, not to put too fine a point on things. She loved entertainment, not the entertainment business. He was interested in what she thought of the project.
After much badgering, Chris got Clancy’s phone number and made the call himself. He hoped it was the right call.
“Hi, Robert, it’s Chris Peck. How are you tonight?”
The producer’s deep bass sounded happy to hear from him. “Fine, Chris. How was your day as a slave?”
“It was fine. Martine Peeples said it was a huge hit on the social media sites. Apparently other media outlets are starting to pick up on it.”
“Good to hear. Would you be free for drinks this evening to start discussions?”
“Actually, I have Valentine’s plans with Sydney tonight,” Chris said. He didn’t choke on the words. Maybe that was a sign he’d done the right thing.
“Oh, her fundraising gala is tonight. Your agent said. Of course you’d want to finish off the charity’s evening. That’s good planning. You can’t buy positive publicity like that.”
Chris’ chin hit his chest. So easy. It would be so easy to agree with him, to say that he was doing it for his career. It would cover his ass and impress High Note’s backers. Press was everything when it came to launching a movie.
But it would be a lie. Another of his mother’s sayings came back to him. Start as you mean to continue. He didn’t mean to start like that, but he had; now he wanted to finish it. He might not have known how this conversation was going to go, but he was not being impulsive. Pros and cons were noted. He didn’t try to figure out the karmic feedback either. The right thing was the right thing.
“The studio doesn’t know. I’m doing this as me, not as Zeus. There won’t be any press.”
A surprising voice of censure came over the line. “That’s not very practical. Like you said earlier, you were prepared to do what it took to make the sweepstakes work for you, but now that the contest is over you can walk away and quit wasting your time.”
Chris flinched when his words from his conversation with Clancy that afternoon were thrown back at him. “The contest is over, but it’s not a waste of my time,” Chris protested. “I asked Sydney if I could see her later, and she agreed.”
“That’s a risky game. If the tabloids find out you’re only dating her until the contract is signed…”
Chris’ gut clenched. He must have done a better job of dismissing Sydney this afternoon than he originally thought. “I’m going out with her because I like her. And thankfully she’s the forgiving sort because I didn’t make a great first impression with her.”
A long silence. Long enough that Chris checked to see if they’d been disconnected. “I understand,” Clancy finally said.
“I hope you do. I told you I agreed to be the sweepstakes prize precisely for this chance. I want the role. Badly. But…”
“But you want the girl too. And if you had to pick?”
Silence weighed on them both.
“You surprised me, Chris. Now I owe Gary dinner,” the producer said.
“Gary?”
“Gary Dobson. We were chatting this afternoon about you.”
“You talked to Gary Dobson today? About me?” About mouthing off about “his Sydney”. God, shoot me now.
“I’ve known Gary for years. I told him you were all business, but he was certain you’d choose Sydney in the end. Did he tell you he got me my start? Not that I’ll admit where. That job won’t be listed in IMDb. But he was right again. I really should stop betting against him. He has a secret weapon.”
“Arlene,” Chris blurted out.
Clancy laughed. “You do know them.”
“We met. Please say hi for me the next time you see them.”
“Okay. I’ll let you know where I ended up taking them for dinner.”
Robert would let him know? Why would he be in contact again? “Robert, to be clear, when you said that I chose Sydney, you meant over the part, didn’t you?”
“Drinks, Chris. Over drinks. I’m not fool enough to decide on an actor, have my opinion validated by Gary Dobson, and then change my mind when he wants to go out with a pretty girl on Valentine’s Day. I’ll call you on Monday. Enjoy your weekend.”
“You too, Robert,” Chris barely got out before the call ended.
He threw himself back into the seat, utterly exhausted. He’d had his fair share of auditions. That, by far, topped the list.
Chapter 20
Sydney frowned at the mirror. She’d hoped to be able to recreate the look the stylists had given her that afternoon, but between the makeup and the hair she was falling short. She’d paid enough attention to remember a couple of the tricks they’d used. An afternoon in the sun hadn’t helped her freckles though. She gave her half-upswept hair another shot of hairspray and forced a smile. There was nothing in her teeth; she was good to go.
Ashleigh was waiting in her living room. The Scandinavian blonde looked stunning in a floor-length gown that was two shades darker blue than her eyes. She wore deceptively short heels that gave the illusion of being much higher than they were. Sydney wasn’t a clotheshorse, but she knew two things: the dress would be from a consignment shop, and the heels would be the real thing. Dancers didn’t skimp on shoes.
Caitlin was waiting there as well. The dark Hispanic-Irish actress tugged up her cream-colore
d wrap from where it had slid and gathered at her elbow. The bruise on her biceps where the volleyball hit her was starting to bloom. Sydney saw that the padded bandage on her foot stretched the straps of her friend's sandals, but she only noticed because she knew where to look. Caitlin had smiled gamely when asked if she was up for this evening but admitted she’d only be having one dance with her bad foot.
They met her with wolf-whistles. Sydney’s dress was a shot silk, green in one light, gray in another. She’d originally bought the strapless gown because it came with a little bolero type jacket. Tonight she’d left the jacket in the closet. It was time for her to step into the spotlight.
It was a shame the limo service hadn’t lasted into the evening. The trio piled into Ashleigh’s ancient compact and toodled along in no danger of breaking speed limits in the sometimes functioning car. Ashleigh parked it herself in the back lot of the Pacific Western Hotel where they’d booked the smallest, cheapest ballroom they could get for the foundation’s gala.
It wasn’t a Hollywood gala in some swanky club. It was a chain hotel not too far from the airport. The tables had white tablecloths and centerpieces put together by the gala’s setup committee, some of whom were in the car with her. That’s what Vanessa and Ashleigh had been doing all morning before the tournament. The decorations were balloons and streamers, and there’d been a hell of a battle about there being a cash bar or not. They’d tried to be frugal without crossing the line into cheap. Sydney hadn’t seen the final result, but she was hopeful.
She let the pair in the front seats chatter as she focused on her breathing. Curse the Darkness was her baby. Her family had helped out as best they could from a distance, and her friends had been insanely generous with their time, but she didn’t think they truly understood how big this was. This was the charity’s first year. But Sydney wanted big. Years of working the complaints switchboard of the hospital’s billing center followed by a year of recovery had given her perspective, both on how huge the need for help was and how to make it work. She knew the system from the inside out. And knowing how to use it meant knowing how to work it. She wanted to make sure everyone got as much out of their treatment as she did.