by Adele Buck
Chapter 3
Light filtering between the curtains dragged James from slumber, and he rolled away from the windows, squeezing his eyelids tight. Something soft tickled his nose and a familiar, citrusy scent filled his nostrils.
Freddie.
Cracking his eyes open, he saw the dark waves of her hair spilling across the pillow. Lifting his head, he rested his cheek on his fist and looked down at her. She was fast asleep, curled up on her side, dark lashes fanning down across her cheek. It reminded him of the first time he had really seen her that summer.
James had been working on a particularly tricky monologue and his co-star hadn’t been included in the rehearsal since all she had to do was to pretend to sleep through his speech. Susan Vernon, temperamental as she was, would not have appreciated having to fake slumber through repetition after repetition of the same monologue.
But talking to an empty string of folding chairs didn’t work for James. He needed a real, breathing person to focus his attention on. So the director asked Freddie to serve as Susan’s stand-in.
James and Freddie had been friendly up until that point. He admired her professionalism and thought she was cute as hell, but young as she’d seemed, he hadn’t considered her as a romantic prospect.
James’s lips curved, remembering the moment he had looked down at Freddie, dutifully curled up on a moving blanket on top of those folding chairs, dignity keeping her spine straight. In the course of one monologue, she moved from cute kid to I want for James.
After that, he sought out opportunities to get to know her better—he started getting caffeine cravings and accompanying her when she bought coffee, he offered to walk her home, and finally he asked her if she would go out with him for a drink. Seeming surprised, she accepted.
That first date reinforced everything James had learned during their ten minute coffee runs and short walks to the room she rented for the summer in an elderly lady’s home. Freddie was pretty, smart, and had an oddly earnest sense of humor. She was also responsible and ambitious. The seven year age difference between them that had seemed at first like too much of a barrier to James fell away as he got to know her better.
Her bisexuality he could have handled better, at least at the outset. Shame still flooded his face with heat when he remembered his bafflement, his slight withdrawal from her after she had matter-of-factly mentioned that while she had had a boyfriend in high school, she had dated women exclusively since then.
He had almost lost her before things even got started.
Fortunately, he realized his error almost immediately. It caused a hitch in their romance, but not a permanent one. The summer had been mostly glorious, dating Freddie and creating a role in an incredible new play.
The only dark spot in an otherwise completely sunny memory was the way Susan Vernon had caused emotional chaos in the production, flirting with the men—including James—and slinging disdainful comments at anyone she didn’t consider worthy of her respect. Which was just about everyone she wasn’t sexually interested in. And even sometimes people whom she was.
What was worst for him was the way she belittled Freddie, dismissing her in tiny but cutting ways, such as calling her by the wrong name if she deigned to notice her at all. James finally lost his temper with his co-star just before tech week, causing Paul to offer to fire her, and the virago was civil thereafter.
At least while he was around.
He wasn’t sure that common courtesy continued to be extended to Freddie in private and she had never talked about it.
Well, the past is the past and Susan is definitely in the past. We never have to think about her again.
Freddie woke up abruptly, transitioning from sleep to alertness with a suddenness that was unusual for her. She blinked once at the sight of the unfamiliar hotel room, gasping as adrenaline flooded through her before memories of the night before scrolled through her brain. Relaxing and sinking back into the pillow, she took stock of her body. She felt nicely sore and sort of nostalgic. She snuggled her cheek into the pillow, closing her eyes again as she heard water run in the bathroom. Being with James again felt cozy and familiar, almost homey.
The water shut off and she heard the bathroom door open.
“I can tell you’re awake, Fred. You don’t smile in your sleep.” James’s voice shuddered on the edge of laughter. Freddie cracked one eye open and nearly groaned. She wasn’t sure why he had felt the need to put on boxer briefs when they had spent the night naked, but he had. The gray fabric clung, straining around muscular thighs, outlining and highlighting… well, everything.
James’s hand dipped into her line of vision, two fingers hooking upward. “Freddie. Eyes…up here.”
Sighing, she raised her gaze to meet his amused expression and shrugged. “What do you expect when you walk in here looking like an underwear model on his day off?”
James walked to the bed and vaulted over her, making the mattress buck and bounce, the motion tossing Freddie around as the shock waves settled. He looped an arm around her waist, tugging her against him, the weight of his body pulling the bed clothes tight around her. She wriggled in the curve of his arm, appreciating the heat and solidity of his body against hers.
“So.” His voice was deliciously familiar in her ear, his breath tickling her skin, making her shiver. “I never asked: what was stressing you out so much that my offer of relaxation services were so welcome? Not that I mind. I can keep on the job if you’re still stressed, in fact.”
Freddie huffed a breath and squeezed her eyes shut, reality returning to her in an unwelcome, crashing wave. “Oh, I’ve been offered a gig.”
James released his hold around her waist, rising up over her to look at her face. Freddie turned to look up at him. “That doesn’t sound like such a bad thing,” he said.
“It’s not, at least in the abstract,” Freddie said, her jaw tightening.
“What’s the job?”
“A new musical down in TriBeCa. They're halfway through rehearsal and the current stage manager has to leave the production to take care of her sick mother. It’s stepping in at sort of the last minute, which is nerve-wracking. Also nerve-wracking: musical theater.”
James gave her shoulder a bracing little shake. “But you can do it. I know you can.”
Freddie looked at him. Normally the assured expression in his eyes would be a bolstering vote of confidence. As it was… “Yeah, I think I can do it. It would take a lot of work to get up to speed, and I’d be completely in the dark for at least a little while, which is scary, but I do think I can do it.”
Giving her a long look, James finally asked, “Well, then what’s the problem?”
Freddie shifted, turning fully onto her back and looking up into his dark brown eyes. “Susan Vernon is in the cast.”
James’ expression went blank in that careful way that said he was hiding his true reaction and Freddie’s stomach clenched.
“Would you really consider working with that human train wreck again?” James asked, his beautiful mouth drawing tight.
“What, you don’t have people you’d prefer to never see again that you have to deal with?”
“You don’t have to deal with her.” James pulled away a little and rolled over to lie on his back, rubbing his hand across his face. “You don’t have to take the job.”
Freddie turned, his movement having released the cozy hold the covers had exerted on her body. “No, I don’t. Unless I need a job. And I kind of need a job.”
“‘Kind of?’ What does that mean?”
“Well, it means I’ve had a bit of a dry spell.” Freddie’s pulse picked up speed and heat flooded her face.
“A bit.”
She said in a rush, “Okay, long enough that I’m freaking out and I’m not really in a position where I can turn down work.”
James turned to look at her out of the corners of his eyes. “Even if it’s work that includes Susan Vernon?”
The heat in her face intensified an
d her heart hammered even harder. “We’ve both taken jobs that have included Susan. It’s how we met. Don’t act like you’re so pure.”
James flopped onto his back, his forearm flung up to shield his eyes, exasperation flooding his body. “Purity has nothing to do with it. Besides, neither of us knew what we were getting into back then. But in this case, you do know. How could you even think about subjecting yourself to that again?”
“What about, ‘I need a goddamn job’ don’t you understand?”
“I understand about needing work—”
“Do you? Do you really?” Freddie got out of bed, casting around for her clothes, her heart thudding hard. She grabbed her underwear, pulling on the thong and then fumbling with the clasp of her bra. “Because I don’t think you do. You have a steady gig and you’re established. I’m still making a name for myself. I can’t afford to say no.”
James sat up, swinging his legs over the side of the bed. “Oh, come on. You know my career better than that. I was barely keeping it together in L.A.”
“Maybe, but you were never seriously in trouble, and now you have steady work for I don’t even know how long. I have rent to pay and an offer on the table and I’m going to have to take it, regardless of how I feel about it and really regardless of how you feel about it.” Freddie found her blouse, turned it right side out, and pulled it over her head, grimacing and brushing at the wrinkles.
“I had forgotten how pigheaded you can be when you try,” James said, his face hardening into a mask of disapproval.
Freddie yanked her skirt on and shoved her feet in her shoes. “Yeah? Well, I’d forgotten how sanctimonious you can be. I’m not even sure you’re trying very hard. It seems to come naturally.” Grabbing her bag, Freddie whirled to face James, who stood, extending his hands in a placating gesture. “Don’t,” she said, looking at his hands. “I’m mad at you. I need to call a director and accept a job. And you either need to get okay with it, or…”
“Or what?” James pitched his voice soft to go along with his gesture of surrender.
“Or nothing. I’m out of here. I’ll…” She shook her head, closing her eyes. “We’ll talk later. Or something.”
Before he knew what had happened, she was gone.
James stared at the door as it swung closed behind Freddie with a resounding thud.
How had that gone so spectacularly wrong?
Scrubbing his hands over his face, he turned to look at the bed, the tumbled covers mute evidence of the night before. He had been looking forward to more, and not just more sex. More time with Freddie, more exploring that half-easy, half-wary pull between them. Freddie had grown and changed and James wanted to know more, what had set her on the road to being the flirtatious, confident person who was a far cry from the tentative young woman he had coaxed out of her shell two years before.
But one thing hadn’t changed. Freddie was still as stubborn as a stump. James rubbed his lips, wondering if his opposition to her taking the job had actually pushed her toward it.
He ought to have known better than to immediately object. He should have talked it through with her instead of saying no.
As if he had any right to say no.
But James’ protective instincts towards Freddie had not changed a bit over the last two years. It had been okay when he stood up for her when Susan had belittled her two years ago, but over the course of their conversations in the intervening years, she had let him know it had grown to irk her when people treated her like a child.
He groaned, thinking about all the ways he could have handled the conversation so much better and wishing he could rewind time by about ten minutes. Had it only been ten minutes? He glanced at the clock.
Yup, just a few minutes to wreck something promising and then just a few minutes more to wallow in guilt and responsibility.
She certainly seemed to have an outsized idea of how his career had gone. He wondered if he had papered over the insecurity he had felt in L.A.—still felt, to be honest. Even though he had a regular gig now, anything could happen: a television show could be cancelled, a role could be written out. And then he’d be back to auditioning and wondering. Maybe if he had had less pride, if he’d been more open to her about how things were going, she wouldn’t assume he didn’t understand.
He wondered if he could convince her to give him another chance. Talk it over.
Well, if he knew Freddie, she was going to need to cool off. By the time her temper had simmered down, she would have already taken the job. He would have no way of talking it over with her more rationally, without the baggage and emotion getting in the way. Any excuse to talk to her would probably receive a vehement rejection right now.
Sighing, James surveyed the room—his clothes from the night before were still scattered all over. Bending to pick up his shirt, he noticed a gleam of gold on the nightstand.
Freddie had stormed out without her favorite earrings.
Freddie stomped up the subway stairs and onto the sidewalk, still fuming.
Who the hell does James think he is, anyway? Sanctimonious jerk.
Shoulders hunched, she pounded down the block toward her apartment building, glaring in passing at some rando who had that “Smile, honey” look spreading across his face, like he was getting ready to tell her that she should change her expression just because he thought her face needed redecorating.
Men.
Letting herself into her building, she checked her mailbox in the vestibule. Nothing. Taking a deep breath, she climbed the stairs to the second floor and unlocked her apartment.
“Miranda?” she called. “Hey, baby, where are you?” Locking the door behind her and hanging her keys on a little decorative hook, she walked into her tiny living room. Green eyes blinked sleepily from the loveseat, framed by motley black and orange fur.
“Holding down the fort, sweetie?” Freddie moved to the sofa and sat heavily, stroking the cat’s plush coat. Miranda yawned, exposing sharp teeth, eyes squeezing closed and ears slicing back.
“Yeah, you have it so hard here,” Freddie said, bending to press a kiss to the downy spot behind one of Miranda’s ears. The cat pushed at her cheek with one paw, head lolling away as if she was disgusted.
Freddie’s mouth twisted away from the shoving paw and sat up. She’d been warned when she adopted Miranda that tortoiseshell cats had very…strong personalities. The last year had proven those people correct. “You got that tortie ‘tude in spades there, girl. But yeah, you’re right. I need a shower and to brush my teeth.”
Sighing, Freddie hauled herself to her feet and detoured through the kitchen, changing Miranda’s water and refilling her kibble before heading to the bedroom. Stripping off her clothes, she hurled them with more force than necessary at the hamper and walked into the bathroom. Catching a glimpse of her reflection in the mirror, she groaned. Her hair had gone positively feral overnight. It would need a deep condition to get her curls back to where they should be. She turned on the shower and waited for the water to heat up, chewing on her bottom lip and thinking about whether she had any additional questions for Michael before accepting the job.
Why would you bother with any more questions? You’re taking the gig. It’s not like interrogating him is going to change anything.
Testing the water temperature, Freddie pushed the shower curtain aside and stepped under the spray, closing her eyes and leaning back, letting the water cascade through her hair and over her face. Squirting shampoo into her palm, she scrubbed her fingertips vigorously over her scalp, thinking the situation over.
Maybe Susan has changed. It’s been more than two years…
Yeah, probably not.
Well, was she really that bad?
Yeah. Yeah, she was. James did have a point.
That was the main reason she had been so infuriated.
Well, sometimes you just gotta saddle up and ride, regardless. It’s only a few weeks of rehearsal and a three month run, anyway. Then, poof. No more Susan. Eve
r again.
…You hope.
Rinsing the soap from her body, she shut the water off and leaned her forehead against the cool shower tiles, taking deep, deliberate breaths.
It will be okay. You’ve learned a lot since the last time you had to deal with her. You’re not as sensitive. You have more experience. You can do this.
Drying off, Freddie wrapped herself in a cozy white terry cloth robe, blotted her curls with a towel, and went into the kitchen to make coffee.
There’s no way I’m calling Michael without caffeine in my system. Drumming her fingernails on the countertop, Freddie knew she was just procrastinating, imagining some last-minute force that could sweep out of nowhere and save her from having to take this job.
Her intercom buzzed, jolting her out of her glum reverie. Stepping over to the box, she pressed the voice button.
“Yeah?”
“Hey. It’s James. Can I come up?”
Chapter 4
Freddie was standing in the doorway to her apartment when James rounded the landing and came up the final set of stairs. Her hair was wet, slicked back from her forehead, her ringlets dripping water on her shoulders, and she was wearing a bathrobe, bare toes with chipped, bright yellow polish curling and flexing on the threshold.
A black and orange streak surged past Freddie’s ankles and headed for the stairs. Reflexively, James bent and hooked the fleeing cat under her belly, lifting her up to cradle her in his arm and scratching her under her chin.
“Hello. You must be Miss Miranda. Why would you want to leave your cozy apartment with Freddie? You have it made. She’s been telling me you’re the love of her life for at least a year.”