“What project? What are you talking about?” Harrison sat up straight and narrowed his eyes at his sister.
Greta let out a small chuckle and ignored him. “Did you ask him to get rid of Steve and Company?”
“I mentioned it.” Clarke shrugged, her eyes darting up to Mike again, who was eating silently.
“What project?” Harrison asked again, this time addressing Clarke.
“Greta finds wounded boys like some people find wounded animals. She takes it upon herself to patch them back up and re-release them into the wild. She gets some good portraits out of it, but they usually fall in love a little bit.”
“Oh don't make it sound so scandalous. You're an ongoing project, you know,” Greta chided lightly.
Mike's chuckle caused Clarke to look back at him. He was hiding his smile with a napkin but it was evident in his eyes.
“I am not a project,” she denied hotly, though she had suspected as much over the past couple of months. Greta couldn't not try to help people. She just wanted everyone to be as happy as she was. If she was planning on drawing Clarke out of her self-imposed and perfectly reasonable fortress of solitude, she had her work cut out for her.
The rest of the dinner progressed pleasantly. Greta had made more than enough food, but Mike and Harrison polished it off easily. Mike brought up a few of his favorite films and Clarke was finding it difficult to maintain her hardline decision of keeping him at arms length.
When they were finished eating, Mike got up to clear the table and Harrison volunteered to wash the dishes. Greta and Clarke took seats on the stools at the island to watch them.
“Did that guy ever call you back, Mike?” Greta asked.
Mike was tall, Clarke noted. Not as tall as Shane, but tall enough to make the kitchen feel smaller. And he was fit and healthy, his jeans hugged his waist snugly and his short-sleeved tee was fitted enough to show the definition of his shoulders and chest. She swallowed hard and looked away quickly when he caught her looking at him.
Celebrity crush, in her kitchen, doing her dishes. So not what the movies portray a moment like this to be. It was taking all of her concentration to not fall off the stool into a puddle of disbelieving bliss on the floor.
She could be cool. She'd been cool before. Like, once. Yeah, one time for sure, she'd been cool. She could do that again.
He took his phone out of his pocket, checked the screen and made a face. “Not yet. He might not call until tomorrow.”
Greta looked concerned and before she could stop herself, Clarke asked,“What guy?”
“Oh, my brother did not get a place to stay for the duration of their visit. So Michael has been trying to find something all afternoon.”
“Why can't you get a hotel?” Clarke asked, though she suspected she knew why. And the crushing, euphoric feeling she had been having with Mike's presence disappeared as his past came flying back into her head. He was a dope fiend. He was a user. He used to hole up in Hollywood hotels with easily misled starlets and push the limits of what the human body could handle. Sure, he seemed like the All-American boy right now, but he had a problem. One that it would be irresponsible to overlook.
A commotion at the front door signaled the arrival of Steve, Bo and Brady. Clarke closed her eyes and put her head facedown on the counter top.
“When did my house become the home for wayward boys?” she asked no one.
“Don't worry about it.” Mike stepped over to her and put his face next to hers on the counter. She turned her head sideways so she was looking at him. His blue eyes were clear and bright. This close, she could smell the hint of aftershave. It was weirdly comforting. “We promised one night. We can get a hotel.”
The flip-flop in her head was starting to make her nauseous. One second she was reminding herself to distrust this man, the next she was star-struck and wanted to launch into her list of questions that she'd written up four years ago that she promised she would ask him if ever given the chance. Then there was the side of Clarke that needed to be silenced the most.
“What about all your...?” She didn't know how to finish that sentence. She also didn't know why she hadn't straightened back up and was continuing to talk to Mike sideways on the counter. She sort of felt like they were having a private conversation even though Harrison and Greta were right there.
“I can deal.” His mouth ticked up on one side in a smile. “You have a lovely home. I'm particularly fond of the tile on this island.”
Clarke couldn't hold back the smile that escaped at his joke. She righted herself just as Steve and Bo breezed into the kitchen.
“Did you make any food for us, Garbo?” Steve asked as he opened the refrigerator.
“I have a theory that if I stop feeding you, you'll go away,” Greta deadpanned.
Bo circled around and pushed his body in between Greta and Clarke, bringing a hand to settle on the small of Clarke's back. He tugged at the ends of her wavy hair.
“How's the girl with the porn star hair?” he asked, and Clarke could smell the beer on his breath.
“Go away, Bo,” she warned. On her other side, Mike gave her a concerned look and she shook her head at him subtly.
Bo leaned closer, his hot breath causing her nose to scrunch. “I saw a bikini today that you would look great in. When you gonna get rid of that boring one-piece?”
Clarke rolled her eyes and slipped off the side of the stool in Mike's direction. “And that's my cue to leave.” She went to step around Mike and he caught her eye as she did.
She paused in front of him. “It was really nice meeting you. I wish the circumstances could be different.” Like, maybe if you weren't an addict and I wasn't so hung up on that small fact. “Too bad my home has been converted into a bad interpretation of the Real World house.”
He chuckled lightly at her joke, but looked like he had so much more to say. He ducked his head slightly, his eyes checking Bo's presence. “Goodnight, Lauren. Maybe I'll see you again soon.”
The use of her first name caused her heart to stall briefly. She hadn't expected that kind of a reaction. She gave a half-smile before hugging Harrison and jogging quickly up the stairs. Leaving all of her hopes, dreams and desires safely behind her.
***
Mike lay awake on the couch in the room he was sharing with Harrison. He could hear Steve, Bo and Brady drinking in the courtyard below him. They were loud, but like Greta had said earlier, harmless.
Knowing Lauren, or Clarke, or whatever her name was, was sleeping in the room right next door was what was really causing him to stay alert. She didn't trust him, he could see it in her eyes. And he knew it was all his fault.
Lauren Clarke Matthews. The past dictated that he should stay as far away from her as possible. But now that he'd met her, that was going to be incredibly hard to do. Her brother had finally gotten his wish.
Though the circumstances were decidedly darker than he had hoped for.
Mike closed his eyes and scrubbed his face with both hands. Paul had been sweet, outgoing, far too trusting, and adventurous. He'd described his sister as the same. But that soft, shy, guarded girl was a shadow of the energy her brother manifested.
Mike wondered if there was anything he could do to fix that. If he could somehow make it up to Paul posthumously.
How very Old Hollywood of him, he thought cynically.
Chapter 3
1, 2, 3
Clarke eyed the green Wrangler in the parking lot and shook her head. That girl was relentless.
Greta hadn't brought up her plans with Shane since that first night at dinner, but Clarke knew her well enough to know that that thought had hardly left her mind. So Clarke had done what little she could do and tried to warn Shane of the fact that Greta had him in her sights.
If he hadn't looked so intrigued she wouldn't have been worried at all. He tried to play it off, like dealing with Greta O'Neil was the last thing on his mind, but Clarke was no fool.
Seeing Greta's ride in the pa
rking lot early in the morning days later confirmed what Clarke already knew.
“What's going on in here?” Clarke asked when she reached Shane's open office door. She crossed her arms over her chest and tried to look intimidating. Not likely, considering Shane was six and half feet tall and Greta feared no one.
Greta half turned her body towards her friend while giving Shane a small wink. “Shane and I have come to an arrangement.”
“I've agreed to be her project if she agrees to be mine,” Shane explained professionally.
Clarke looked back and forth between them. She'd known this was coming, but now that the moment was here, she felt utter disbelief. She settled on mild annoyance. Like she could stop either one of them if she even tried. The both of them were the two most headstrong people she'd ever met. “Whatever. You two have problems.” She shook her head and left the office.
Busying herself at the main counter she kind of overheard Shane and Greta's goodbye and grimaced. Her biggest fear was that one or both of them were going to get their heart broken. Their personalities were both so dynamic... this did not fit into her carefully crafted safety zone.
“Bye, Clarke,” Greta waved at her on her way out the door.
Shit. She was glowing. Actually frickin' glowing.
Shit.
***
The past few days, Mike had been distracted. He had predicted this would happen when they got to California, and he thought he'd been prepared for it. But this specific distraction was unanticipated.
He couldn't stop thinking about Clarke.
He couldn't believe he'd found her.
“Nicky wants to know what time we'll be here tomorrow,” Harrison interrupted his thoughts. Mike rubbed his chin as he thought about it.
“Same time? Does that work?” he asked with a shrug.
“Yeah, I'll tell him.” Harrison left the slummy lobby area in the direction of Nicky's office.
Mike leaned back against the decades-old couch and laced his fingers behind his head. He loved this studio. It was one of the only reasons he'd agreed to record in SoCal again. Truthfully, he loved California, he probably always would, but he'd spent too much time here ruining himself for it to be an overly positive place.
The phone rang on Tessa's desk and he listened to her familiar greeting, letting it take him back to when he'd made the first phone call here to book a recording session. They'd been kids back then, still young and stupid. Now, they were older, but just as stupid.
“Greta texted me, you want to go over there for dinner tonight?” Harrison reemerged from the hallway and stood before him.
Would Mike like to go back over to Clarke's house and look at her and talk to her and not be able to tell her how he knew her name? Of course he would. While some things had changed over the years, his idée fixe for emotional torture was the same.
He didn't say any of that to Harrison, though.
“Sounds good to me.” Mike stood slowly and followed Harrison out of the front door of the old studio, nodding at Tessa on his way by.
Harrison unlocked the door of their rental, a Volvo. It was so typically Harrison. Mike hadn't even tried to change his mind, the man was who he was. He climbed into the passenger seat and slid on his sunglasses. The weather was always gorgeous, like living in a dream. He rested his arm along the open window as Harrison made his way carefully through the traffic.
Mike wondered if tonight would go the same as the past few had. They would all sit around the table and eat Greta's delicious food and talk about work and the weather. Clarke would be quiet and reserved. She'd smile politely, finish her meal and excuse herself to her room where Mike wouldn't see her again until the next night. He hadn't been able to find any kind of excuse or cause to get her to stick around.
And Greta wasn't helping. She never asked Clarke to stay. If anything, she encouraged Clarke to keep her distance. But that wasn't entirely true either. Mike didn't really know what to think.
“Gorgeous day today,” Harrison said bizarrely. He glanced over at Mike. “Probably be a gorgeous night for, say, a walk on the beach.”
“Are you hitting on me?” Mike asked with a chuckle.
“You wish.” Harrison checked the mirror as he changed lanes. “Maybe tonight you could ask Clarke to go for a walk or something instead of staring at her like you're the Predator.”
“Thanks for that comparison,” Mike replied. “And a walk on the beach at dusk isn't cheesy at all, by the way.”
“Your sarcasm is unwelcome and unnecessary,” Harrison reprimanded. “I'm not saying you should start dating the girl. In fact, I really hope you don't. But I think you both could benefit from some conversation with the opposite sex.”
“What's that supposed to mean?” Mike frowned.
“It seems like you're both in a rut. Frankly, it's kind of annoying. Just ask the girl to go on a walk, it's not a proposal.”
Mike considered Harrison's words. “You and your sister spend way too much energy trying to fix people.”
“My tactics are safer than hers,” Harrison said wryly.
“I think Greta knows what she's doing,” Mike defended the younger girl.
“Yeah. We both do,” Harrison responded with a grin.
***
Clarke had left work early and had gone for a drive. She had intended it to be a simple excursion up the coast to clear her head, but she found herself standing on the edge of Manhattan Beach wondering why she hadn't brought a wetsuit.
The wind blew her hair across her face and she sighed. Lately, all she had been able to think about was the water. She wanted to be out there in it. Life hadn't afforded her the opportunity lately and she was drying up. She needed to rehydrate.
Shane had spoken to her about maybe taking a vacation soon. She had mixed feelings. She loved the idea of taking a break and getting back to what she loved, but at the same time she liked the security that working all the time brought her.
She grabbed her hair in both fists and held it to the top of her head. The pull to return to the water had gotten stronger as the week had continued. Mike's calm presence at her dinner table every night had her memories surfacing. The good mixed with the painful.
She felt guilty for finding transparent reasons to slip away every night. But she didn't think she was a good enough person to disconnect her illogical association of Mike to her brother's death.
Maybe she should go back to her grief counselor. She'd left treatment too early and she really shouldn't have. She thought she'd learned enough to get by, and maybe she had, but it had only gotten her by for a time.
***
Mike and Harrison arrived at Casa de Clarke and Greta with empty stomachs and a sack of lemons per texted instructions from the chef herself.
Mike's eyes cut to the Land Rover that was parked in the driveway. By process of elimination, Mike had deduced that the Rover belonged to Clarke. The guys living there had vehicles that he couldn't remember at the moment, but he knew he'd recognize them if they were present. They weren't. But a white Mercedes Benz SL550 classing up the already classy curb was a new addition.
Didn't take much more than walking in the front door to figure out the Mercedes belonged to Shane Brookings, who was sitting at the kitchen island drinking Harrison's lemonade.
For reasons only known to Harrison, his sister's homemade lemonade was a special occasion drink. The special part being that Harrison believed it was only for him. So the dark glare Harrison shot at the back of Shane's head almost made Mike laugh out loud.
Greta set about making more lemonade while Mike and Harrison made small talk with Shane. Mike tried not to make it look too obvious that he was looking for Clarke. She was normally hovering around the food, intent to eat quickly, and jet out of there. So far, she was a no-show.
“Clarke is taking a quick shower,” Greta murmured as she handed Mike a stack of plates that she had pulled from the cupboard. Mike's eyes flicked to hers, but she was already looking past him to wher
e Harrison and Shane were sharing a chuckle.
“You okay, Gret?” he asked.
Her eyes returned to his and she took a deep breath, giving him an almost false smile. “Of course.” Then she spun back to her task, leaving him to set the table.
Clarke arrived shortly after that looking fresh and windblown in skinny jeans and a white long-sleeved tee. She gave Mike a soft smile before taking her usual seat and he held onto it, knowing the few laughs and minor details she would share around the table were as far as he was getting anytime soon. Harrison was crazy if he thought that asking Clarke to go for a walk would get him anything but iced tea thrown in his face. Because while everyone else was raving about the lemonade, Mike had noticed Clarke go quietly to the fridge and get herself something else.
Okay, she probably wouldn't throw her iced tea, she was too nice of a person, but she would probably fake chronic fatigue syndrome and have to go straight to bed. She was just too cagey, too protective. Skittish even.
“Lenny said that you've made some huge strides the past couple of weeks,” Harrison directed at Shane.
Harrison had kept the conversation flowing. Whether he had picked up on the obvious tension between Shane and Greta was a mystery. Mike couldn't tell if the tension was due to their barely controlled attraction to one another or something else. He was betting on the former.
“Couldn't have done it without her. Or Luke, for that matter. That guy's head never runs out of ideas.”
“No shit.” Mike nodded in agreement. “He never quits. Even now, doesn't matter that we're on 'hiatus,' he's already emailed me three new songs for the next DBS album.”
Shane's phone lit up on the table and he glanced at the display while frowning. Mike noted his conciliatory smile to Greta before facing Clarke.
“Shipment came early, Clarke. You wanna come down to the shop and help me put it away?”
Greta set her fork down loudly and all eyes swung that direction. Except for Clarke, who had been watching Greta intently all night.
Deepest Blues Page 4