by Nina Lindsey
With a smile, Callie ended the call. Her gaze fell on the flyer for the painting class he’d signed her up for.
It had been silly for her to be so uptight about the mere idea of taking a class. It wasn’t skydiving, for heaven’s sake. If she really wanted to start living…or at least, inching…out of her rigid little comfort zone, she could certainly take a painting class. She might even enjoy it.
She slipped her heels back on, picked up her satchel, and headed out to her car. As she drove to Sugar Joy, she recalled that tomorrow was their usual dinner at Eleanor’s house.
Should she invite Jake?
The question popped unbidden into her mind. She’d want to tell her mother and sisters about him first rather than just showing up with him at her side, but maybe it would be okay to finally let them know she was “seeing” a man.
Well, not just any man. Big, sexy, famous Jake Ryan.
Flexing her hands on the steering wheel, she let out her breath. Her mother and sisters would all be welcoming, delighted, and polite at dinner, but they would definitely be wondering what was in the cards. And how the cards had been dealt in the first place.
She turned onto Starfish Avenue, frowning slightly at the lack of parking spaces alongside the street. Must be a town hall meeting about the Spring Festival. She drove to the back of Sugar Joy and edged into one of the Reserved spots between a massive SUV and a truck.
Time to celebrate her new proposal with a coffee—maybe even caffeinated this time—and one of the pastries she rarely allowed herself.
She unlocked the backdoor and went inside, surprised by the bustling activity in the kitchen. Five bakers instead of the usual two were rolling out dough and setting up pans of croissants. Rory hurried into the kitchen from the front counter, her face flushed.
“I need more ham-and-cheese croissants,” she called. “Are they out yet?”
“About six minutes,” one of the bakers replied.
“Hey, what’s going on?” Callie approached her sister.
“Just super busy.” Rory pushed her bandana away from her forehead and shrugged. “It’s been nonstop since this morning.”
“Why? Is there something happening in town?”
“Not that we know of. Must be a tourist thing going on somewhere, though, because we’re not seeing many locals.” Rory picked up a basket of chocolate-chip cookies. “I gotta get back out there. We could use another hand, if you’re available.”
“I’ll be right out. Where’s Mom?”
Rory jerked her thumb toward the walk-in freezer. “Getting more éclairs.”
As her sister returned to the front, Callie put her satchel in the office and grabbed an apron from the back shelf.
Eleanor emerged from the freezer with rosy cheeks and a tray of éclairs. “Hi, honey. Did you see the crowd?”
“Not yet.” Callie tied the apron around her waist. “Rory said it was tourists?”
“I don’t know, but I’m not questioning it.” Eleanor extended the tray. “If you’re going out front, can you please take these with you?”
“Sure.” Callie took the éclairs and started toward the front. A busy bakery was a happy and successful bakery, so she was grateful for whatever had caused this sudden influx of customers.
She pushed through the swinging wooden doors with her hip, then turned as soon as the large tray cleared the doorway. All the tables were full, and a line of customers snaked clear to the cold case.
She set the tray on the counter. A sudden energy charged through the air—voices rising, chairs scraping against the floor, forks clattering onto plates.
“That’s her!”
Callie’s heart jammed into her throat. Before she could move, over two dozen people surged toward her. The sea of faces blurred in front of her eyes, then flashbulbs began popping and exploding. She threw her hands upward to block them. Her vision darkened.
“How long have you been dating Jake Ryan?” someone shouted.
Oh dear God. Panic erupted in her veins.
“How did the two of you meet?”
“Are you the reason he backed out of Fatal Glory 7?”
“Did you and Jake know each other as kids?”
“What is your statement about the allegation that he assaulted a reporter?”
The flashbulbs blinded her. Somewhere in the distance, she heard Rory shouting at everyone to “back the fuck off.” Eleanor rushed in from the kitchen, her eyes wide with shock.
“How long have you been dating Jake Ryan?” a tall blonde woman demanded again.
“How… did you…” Callie’s words tripped over each other.
“Leave her alone.” Rory shoved between Callie and the woman, flinging her arms out. “None of your damned business.”
Callie closed her hand around her sister’s wrist. Her heart hammered. Did the paparazzi know Jake was still in Bliss Cove? Had they also swarmed the bookstore?
Maybe not.
Maybe she could somehow warn him in advance, if she could keep this mob from leaving. Still holding on to Rory, she took a breath and lifted her gaze to the blonde woman.
“Jake Ryan and I are old friends from high school.”
The woman almost sneered. She flipped her phone around and shoved it at Callie. “Friends, huh?”
Callie stared at a distant, blurry photo of her and Jake exchanging a kiss outside of Ruby’s Kitchen. How had she gotten that picture? How long had someone been following them? Who told them Jake was even here?
She stumbled backward, losing her grip on her sister. With a swipe of her arm, Rory batted the woman’s cell phone away. “All of you, get the hell out!”
Flashbulbs kept popping. Cameras clicked. The crowd rushed forward again as people in the back tried pushing their way to the front.
“In case you didn’t hear…” Eleanor thrust her hands up high. “You are all to get the hell out or I will call the police.”
“Are you Eleanor Prescott?” a man yelled. “Were you aware your daughter is dating Jake Ryan?”
“They’re gathering at the backdoor too.” Rory grabbed Callie’s arm, her grip tight. “You can’t go out that way.”
“I’m calling the police.” Eleanor took her phone from her apron pocket.
A man shouted from near the front window. “It’s him!”
No.
In a sudden frenzy, the paparazzi surged away from Callie and toward the front doors. The blonde woman bumped into Eleanor, knocking her phone to the floor.
Callie twisted her arm away from Rory. Adrenaline flooded her veins. Without thinking, she shoved her way through the throng of reporters. Maybe she could catch Jake before he got closer and warn him not to—
He stopped right outside the bakery window. His features hardened like steel.
Run, Callie thought.
He yanked open the door and stepped into the mob. Shouts and questions flew like bats. People lifted their cameras and cell phones to catch pictures of him.
“Jake, why did you decide not to do another Fatal Glory movie?”
“Jake, do you have a comment about the assault allegation?”
“Jake, is it true that you’re signing on for an Conrad Birch movie?”
“Jake, tell us about your new girlfriend!”
“Jake…”
He didn’t respond to the flurry of questions. Instead he searched the crowd, his height allowing him to see past most of the other people. His gaze settled on Callie. He tensed.
She started forward, desperate to get to him. He extended his hand palm-out in a clear “Stop” gesture.
She froze, suddenly remembering his story of what had happened with his sister. As they’d probably done back then, the reporters shoved cameras and cell phones at him, grabbed his arms, tried to block his path. Though he fisted his hands, and his eyes blackened with anger, he didn’t react to the invasion.
“Did you know Jake has been dating Jessica Barnett?” Another woman pushed closer to Callie, hard eyes peering at he
r over a narrow nose. “Are you breaking up their relationship?”
“Come on.” A beefy guy shoved Callie from behind. “What’s your comment about all this?”
“I—”
“Don’t get near her.” Jake’s voice had a knife-sharp edge. “She has nothing to do with this.”
“Are you leaving Jessica for her?” The man peered through his camera viewfinder and snapped another picture of Callie. “Does Jessica know?”
“We heard Jessica is expecting a proposal!” a woman shouted from the back of the crowd.
Excitement flared at this new information.
“Are you proposing, Jake?”
“When’s the wedding?”
“Give us a money shot, man!”
Jake turned back toward the doors. A flashbulb popped so close to Callie’s face that her vision went black.
“Callie!” His sharp voice echoed through her the instant before she stumbled backward, her heel slipping on the hardwood floor.
The world tilted. With a gasp, she hit the ground. The paparazzi closed in, cameras clicking, shouts flying. She couldn’t move. Fresh panic fired through her.
“He’s leaving!” a man yelled.
Suddenly, the crowd surged toward the doors. Space opened up around her, giving her room to breathe.
Rory grabbed Callie and pulled her to her feet. “Are you all right?”
She nodded, not trusting herself to speak. Jake had stepped back outside, and the paparazzi were pushing through the doors in a chaotic stream, following him like he was a magnet.
Before they all exited, three police cars, sirens wailing, skidded up in front of the bakery. The chief and several officers poured on to the sidewalk, hands on their guns.
“Everyone out!” The chief pushed through the doors. “This establishment is over capacity, and harassment is against the law. If you have a camera and don’t want to be arrested, I’d suggest you get your ass out of here right now.”
Shouts broke the silence again, but the chief and officers began forcefully escorting the remaining reporters to the door. On the sidewalk, another set of officers began pushing the paparazzi away from Jake.
Callie stared out the window at him. He caught her gaze, his dark eyes filled with regret, and then he turned and hurried away. Without him as the target, the paparazzi dispersed in seconds and the bakery was empty.
So was Callie’s heart.
Chapter 20
“You bastard.” Jake gripped his phone and spoke to his agent through clenched teeth. “It was you.”
The accusation snapped from him like a rubber band. Anger tightened every muscle in his body. He slammed the car door shut and stalked to the terrace of the Bliss Cove Lighthouse, ignoring the cold ocean wind cutting through his jacket. Dealing with the fucking press was like playing whack-a-mole—the minute you got rid of one, another popped up.
He knew they’d be staking out his rental cottage, so he’d come up to the lighthouse for some privacy. Not that his “privacy” would last long.
“What was me?” Richard sounded innocent as all hell.
“You tipped the press off about where I am. That’s why they fucking blindsided me.”
“Yeah, like you blindsided me about Fatal Glory,” his agent retorted.
“I have a right to do whatever the hell I want in my career.”
“Not when it’s the biggest mistake of your life, you don’t. Maybe you can pretend to be Joe Shmoe in some ass-backwards little town, but your PR firm and I are still here doing damage control on your efforts to self-destruct your own career. Even with the Conrad Birch role, it’s been a shitstorm of bad publicity. That old saying about any publicity being good publicity is a load of crap. The social media streams are filled with angry fans, and more than one director or actor has backed out of events or promotions you were lined up for. Susan is having a hell of a time managing the crisis, so I gave her a hand.”
Jake rubbed the back of his neck. He’d had numerous conversations with his publicist over the weeks, and not once had she indicated she either wanted or needed Rich’s interference.
“How the fuck is a paparazzi blitz supposed to help?” he snapped.
“Well, at first I was just hoping they’d take a few pics of you stocking books or running shirtless on the beach,” Richard said. “So Susan could spin the Fatal Glory mess into you needing to get away from the world for your health or some shit like that.” He huffed and raised his voice above a crackle of static. “Then I see a picture of you and this random woman making out like teenagers, and I get an even better idea. Jake Ryan Leaves Fatal Glory For New Love. Your fans might actually forgive you, if Susan can spin it right.”
Fury boiled under Jake’s skin. Any more spinning and the earth would fly off its fucking axis.
“Where did you get a picture of me and Callie?” he demanded.
“You and who? Cassie? That’s her name? I like it. Good and wholesome. Is she coming with you? I need her in the spotlight as fast as humanly possible, if you expect to salvage your career.”
“You leave her the hell alone.” Jake gripped the terrace railing, ignoring another burst of icy wind. “Where did you get the picture?”
“I don’t know, man. It was in one of the papers.”
“You’re fired.”
“What?”
“You’re fired.” Jake took a deep breath. He owed Richard his gratitude for having helped navigate his career over the past couple of years, but that was it. Rich hadn’t been instrumental in his good fortune or success, and Jake sure as hell wasn’t going to give him any more control. “Thank you for what you’ve done, but I’m moving on. Good luck.”
Ending the call, he speared one hand through his hair. How had this become such a fucking mess?
He dragged in a breath, unable to stop an image of Callie. The sight of her on the floor, her eyes wide with shock and fear, her face drained of color as the press closed in on her—beneath his blinding rage, every single instinct he possessed had converged on the need to protect her.
Only by some superhuman effort had he known that getting close to her in that instant would have been a disaster. He’d have ended up punching another reporter, or worse. The best way to protect Callie, to get the paparazzi away from her, had been for him to leave, knowing they’d follow him. He hoped to God she understood that.
He scrolled through his multitude of texts and found one from her. At my mother’s house. Please come over.
After getting back into his car, he drove straight to Eleanor’s. The very least he owed them was an apology for throwing everything into chaos. The most he owed them was to get out of their lives for good.
Three police cars sat outside Eleanor’s house. Two officers got out when Jake pulled up. The front door opened, and Callie hurried down the porch steps, waving at the officers in an “it’s okay” gesture.
Regret and hopeless, aching love filled Jake as she approached, her gaze searching his anxiously.
“Hi.” He pushed the word past his tight throat.
“Hi.” She threw her arms around him in a hard embrace. “Jake, I am so, so sorry.”
She was sorry? For what?
Locking his arms around her, he breathed in the sweet scent of her hair. “Callie, I’m not dating Jessica Barnett.”
She drew back, jerking her gaze to his. “I know.”
“I’m not…” He clenched his teeth, hating such shitty gossip. “I’m not cheating on her with you. I would never do something like that.”
“I know.” She spread her hand over his shirt, a puzzled glint shadowing her eyes. “I would never believe it.”
“Those bastards invent stories like that all the time. They fucking love stories about cheating and break-ups.”
“Jake, I don’t believe them.” Callie curled her fingers into his T-shirt and gave him a little shake. “I’m so sorry.”
“You don’t have anything to be sorry about.” He pulled in a heavy breath and rested his
hand on the side of her face. “Are you okay? Your mom and sister?”
“We’re fine. Just fielding calls from friends and neighbors.” Tangling her hand into his, she led him toward the house.
Her mother and two sisters were seated in the dining room, and the smell of coffee filled the air. After a round of introductions—Rory looked at him suspiciously and Aria recalled that he’d been elected Homecoming King in high school—Callie went into the kitchen to pour the coffee.
“What happened?” Eleanor gestured for Jake to sit down. “Who blew your cover?”
“My former agent.” He sighed and ran a hand down his face. “I’m so sorry for all the trouble this has caused.”
“Trouble?” Aria grinned. “This is the most exciting thing to happen in Bliss Cove since Mrs. Bowers was elected mayor. Is it true that you go to oxygen bars with your costars?”
Jake managed a rusty laugh and shook his head. “I don’t even know what an oxygen bar is. Most of the things people read about me aren’t true.”
“That must suck.” Rory narrowed her eyes at him, twisting a lock of dark hair around her finger.
“Sometimes it does. Other times it’s calculated. Part of a narrative.”
“Your narrative right now is pretty lousy,” she observed.
“Yes, it is.”
“What are you going to do about it?”
“Rory, this isn’t our business,” Eleanor chided.
“No, it’s okay.” Jake looked at Rory. “I have a PR firm that’s rolling out a big campaign to turn the narrative around. But since I’m not doing another Fatal Glory movie, I don’t care all that much. I’ve had to maintain a certain image because of Blaze Ripley, and a lot of that is who I am, but part of the reason I wanted to take a smaller role is to step away from the spotlight. So my main goal is not to fix my reputation, but to make sure no one gets hurt because of my actions.”
Though Rory frowned, faint admiration gleamed in her navy-blue eyes. The doorbell chimed.
“I hope that’s not a reporter.” Eleanor stood and went into the foyer.
Callie returned from the kitchen and distributed mugs of coffee. Passing behind Jake’s chair, she squeezed his shoulder gently and disappeared back into the kitchen.