Chapter Eight
I finished my meal—I only ate half of it, but it was enough.
I placed the container back in the paper bag, took a long sip of water, and then looked out over the ocean. The pinks and blues had both deepened, and gray had started to fade from overhead.
“Insurance will cover the replacement costs of your things,” Jackson said.
He was right. This was just one more thing piled on top of an already long list of headaches in my life right now. “I know it’s just stuff. I guess I’m feeling a bit overwhelmed.”
“I’m sorry.” He squeezed my knee. “I know the road hasn’t been exactly smooth lately.”
“Not in the least.”
We sat there for a few minutes in silence. Everything had been going okay for the past month—until I found that dead body upstairs. Maybe it was a bad omen. Like rain on your wedding day. Or a black cat crossing your path.
Finding a dead body in your new home had to mean something, right?
I mean, not that I was superstitious . . . except maybe sometimes I was. Or, at least, I wondered if superstitious folklore might be true. Because it seemed true.
I had to figure out what happened to Desiree. Maybe if I did, I would end this unlucky streak that had started and then snowballed out of control.
“Joey?” Jackson murmured.
“Yes?”
“I just want you to know . . . I don’t want to date anyone else.”
My eyes widened at the serious tone of his voice. “You don’t want to what?”
“To date anyone else.” He shrugged. “I know we’ve been dating for a while now. But we’ve never really talked about us. And what ‘us’ is. If we’re exclusive or just having fun or—”
Jackson wasn’t the type to just have fun, so that thought had never crossed my mind.
“So you want me to be your girl?” I teased.
He grinned back at me. “Yeah, something like that.”
I leaned forward and planted a kiss on his lips. “Jackson Sullivan, I would love nothing more than to be your girl.”
His lips covered mine again. “I’m glad to hear it. I love you, Joey.”
“I love you too, Jackson.”
Maybe this day wasn’t so bad after all. Even with the dead body.
Jackson and I had stayed on the beach for another hour. I’d rested my head on his shoulder, and he’d put his arm around my waist. We’d talked about ordinary, normal things.
The moment had felt like pure bliss—pure, simple bliss.
I felt like I was glowing and floating—in other words, I could be radioactive. Or I could be over-the-moon happy and in love.
I couldn’t stop thinking about Jackson and how much I loved him.
All of this was almost enough to distract me from the fact that there had been a dead woman in my house.
We’d finally headed back to my place, but we didn’t go any farther than the deck. Instead, as we stood in front of each other, I stepped closer, still amazed that this man was mine.
Jackson ran his thumb over my cheek. “I love you, Joey Darling.”
“I love you too, Jackson Sullivan.”
He didn’t say it, but I think he feared something would change when I left to begin filming. And he had every right to be scared.
Not because I would leave him.
But filming could be a breeding ground for less-than-ideal relationship conditions.
Jackson and I would be away from each other. It would definitely be a test of our relationship.
Part of me dreaded having these simple times end. I’d been on a break from Hollywood since I’d been here for the last six months. But I’d been on a break before that also. After my husband had nearly killed me, I’d had rehab. I’d been trying to pull my life together. I’d been unable to find work.
And did I mention that I’d been bankrupt?
There had been some dark days.
They were behind me. But there would be challenges ahead.
The filming schedule could be grueling. Twelve-hour days. Working weekends sometimes.
We had eighteen episodes. That would equal eighteen weeks. I hoped to make it home on weekends. Or that Jackson could swing down and see me.
As Jackson’s lips met mine, those worries became a distant memory.
Until I heard yelling.
I froze and listened. It was coming from my neighbors’ house.
Again.
Chapter Nine
Jackson’s gaze followed mine and his brow furrowed as the argument intensified. “What’s going on over there?”
I sighed as the noise of the fight broke the otherwise blissful moment. “They were fighting like that earlier.”
Jackson glanced back at me. “Are they just yelling?”
“I don’t know. I didn’t see anything physical, but I suspect there’s more to this. After all, I am an excellent reader of people.”
Jackson’s gaze narrowed. “Are you?”
“I’m an actress. I study body language. I think that pretty much makes me an expert.”
“Good to know.”
Annie’s voice cut through the air. “I didn’t even want to come here!”
“This was supposed to bring us closer together,” Adam yelled back.
“I’ve never wanted to be farther away from you than now!”
Jackson grimaced, and an uncomfortable silence passed. Hearing two people who’d once been in love fighting like that was definitely a killjoy. Jackson seemed to read my thoughts, and he pulled me into a hug—a hug that seemed to promise that we’d never be that couple.
“I guess you can’t do anything,” I murmured into his chest.
“Yelling isn’t a crime. Now, if he threatens her or raises a hand to her . . . that’s a different story.”
“I feel so bad for them.” More of my warm fuzzy feelings disappeared as the yelling continued.
Then something crashed.
Jackson stiffened. “I’m going to go check things out.”
As he walked toward my neighbors’ house, I followed him. But I’d stay a good distance away when he talked to them. I mean, I couldn’t just stand here and do nothing.
So I stayed around the corner. Lingering between out of sight and out in the open. I’d choose which one when the time came.
Jackson pounded at the door. Footsteps stomped.
A moment later, the door opened, and a man said, “Can I help you?”
“Detective Jackson Sullivan. I heard a disturbance inside the house and wanted to check to see if everything was okay.”
“Everything’s fine.” The words sounded short and clipped.
When I heard the tension in Adam’s voice, I definitely decided to stay out of sight. I pressed myself into the wall, just around the corner, and listened. As I did, I tried to picture the scene in my head. Was Adam’s face red with anger? Was Annie cowering inside?
And Jackson. . . I didn’t have to imagine. I knew him well enough to know that he was bristled with tension yet professional.
“I’d like to check inside your house to confirm that.”
“It’s fine,” Adam said. “My wife and I just had an argument. It was nothing life-threatening or any reason for concern.”
“I heard something crash,” Jackson continued.
“That was me.” I recognized Annie’s voice. “I got mad and threw a dish. But no one is hurt. Our emotions just got the best of us.”
Was that the truth? I doubted it.
“Can I talk to you outside alone, ma’am?” Jackson asked.
“That won’t be necessary.” Adam sounded angry, like he’d said the words through clenched teeth.
“I’d like your wife to speak for herself.”
“I’m fine,” Annie said. “I really am. Look at me. Everything is good.”
I wanted to look at her. I really did. But I didn’t dare peer out. I had a feeling I’d mess everything up if I did, like I’d disturb some kind of delicate bal
ance.
Uncomfortable silence stretched.
“If you need anything, give me a call,” Jackson said. “Or if the two of you need time apart to cool off, I’d suggest you do that. I’d hate to have to pay another visit here.”
“You won’t have to,” Adam said. “Thank you for your concern.”
He sounded like he was seething, though.
A moment later, Jackson joined me, took my elbow, and led me away, not saying anything until we reached my house.
I thought he might scold me for following him without clearing it first. But he didn’t. Instead, he shook his head.
“What’s wrong?” I asked.
His jaw flexed. “I don’t like what’s going on over there.”
“I don’t either. I guess there’s nothing you can do?”
“I didn’t witness anything. It’s unfortunate because until the wife reports something or someone is injured, my hands are tied.”
We paused by the front door, and I didn’t know what else to say. He was right—his hands were tied, and there was nothing I could do either except try to keep an eye on the situation.
But maybe—just maybe—Jackson and I could have a moment of normalcy. Maybe I could try and forget everything that had gone wrong. Try to forget Desiree.
“Listen, I know a lot has happened, but do you want to come in for a second? Maybe unwind a little?”
“I’d love to.” Just as he said the words, his phone rang. He looked at the screen and frowned. “Except I’ve got to go check out a domestic disturbance. Something must be in the air tonight.”
My heart sank.
This wasn’t the way I wanted my evening to end.
“I understand,” I told him. Because I did understand. Jackson had a job to do, and he couldn’t always control his hours.
“I’ll call later?”
“That sounds great.” But as he stepped away, I called to him again.
He paused and turned toward me. “Yes?”
“I know this is going to sound strange, but . . . can we keep our relationship between the two of us?” I held my breath as I waited for his response.
His eyes narrowed. “What do you mean?”
“That didn’t come out right,” I quickly explained. “There’s nothing more that I want to do than announce this to the world. But as soon as reporters catch wind of this . . . they’re going to be hounding me for information. I’m not ready to share this news with the world yet. I just want to enjoy you and me without all of the craziness.”
“So you’re not going to tell people we’re official?” His voice rose with confusion.
I could tell by Jackson’s expression that he didn’t like that idea. His lips were drawn, his brow furrowed, his shoulders even looked tight.
“Jackson—” I started, desperate to offer some kind of balm to the situation.
He took a step back. “If that’s what you think you need to do for a little while, I understand. I guess I just want to shout how much I love you from the rooftops, not hide it.”
“It’s not that I want to hide it. I just want to treasure it. I know it sounds weird. But I just want to keep some things private. Please don’t think this has anything to do with you.”
He planted a quick kiss on my lips. “We can talk more later. I really do need to go now.”
I watched him walk away, wishing he didn’t have to leave. But he did.
And I had to stay.
Stay in this house tainted by crime.
Dread pooled in my stomach. I didn’t want to do this. But I had no choice.
I needed something to distract myself because sitting alone in this house wasn’t cutting it for me.
I mean, sure, I could marvel all I wanted about how happy I was to be in a new and serious relationship. And I was happy. Deliriously so. But all those warm fuzzy feelings were overridden by the memories of finding the body upstairs. This whole place felt tainted now, and I couldn’t relax.
Maybe I should have called my friend Phoebe to see if I could stay with her this evening.
But no, I had to try and act all tough about it. Like a grownup. Like an independent, self-sufficient woman.
Those things were way overrated sometimes.
Instead, I sat on my couch, wearing my most comfortable pajamas, and grabbed my phone.
I might as well make myself useful, right?
Even though it was ten at night, I called my producer, Mark Johnson. I knew he’d be awake since he was a night owl.
He answered on the first ring. “Joey, my girl. What’s going on? You working on memorizing that script?”
“Of course.” I’d read it through. That counted as memorizing it, right? The beginning stages of it, at least. “I can’t wait to get started next week.”
“Neither can we. We’ve been given a second chance. I think this will be a good move.”
“I do too.” I shifted. “Listen, I have a question for you. I know you like to sit in on all the auditions, correct?”
“That’s right. Why?”
“Do you remember a woman named Desiree Williams who auditioned for a role as secretary?”
“Desiree, you said?”
“That’s right. She was a petite brunette—”
“Yes, I remember her. But why are you asking? I’ve already given that role to someone else.”
He remembered her. That had to be significant, right? He’d probably had hundreds of auditions this weekend. “Why didn’t she get the role?”
“Desiree was a decent actress, but it was clear to me that she was high-maintenance. I didn’t want someone who needed to be coddled or who tried to be controlling. She had that written all over her. So I gave the role to someone who was laid-back but equally as talented.”
That made sense. “I see. Do you remember anything about her audition? Like, why did you think she was high-maintenance? Usually an actress only has a few minutes with you, so those are a lot of conclusions to draw.”
“Oh, it was obvious. Really obvious. She wanted a do-over with her audition. We said no. She looked upset. She broke down and said she needed this role, acting like her life depended on it. She said she had no money for groceries.”
Hmm . . . emotional manipulation? Possibly. Desperation? Definitely. All together it was bad form for an audition, however.
“A lot of actors and actresses find themselves tight on money,” Mark continued. “But an audition is no place to beg for sympathy. We’re not a nonprofit. We need to pick the best people we can. You know that. Why are you asking?”
I explained to Mark what had happened.
“What?” His voice rose with surprise. “That’s insane.”
“I know. When was the audition again? I can’t keep the timeline straight.”
“It was just this past week. I announced who got roles on Saturday. She must have left right after that to hunt you down. Be glad you hadn’t moved into the house yet. Who knows? Maybe she would have been the type to hold a gun to your head until you met her ransom demands.”
A shiver raked through me. It wasn’t too late. Could Desiree still hunt me down, even in death? “Not comforting.”
“Well, she’s dead now. I wouldn’t worry about it too much.”
“Yeah, she’s dead all right. She was found dead in my new house. Draw your own conclusions.”
He clucked his tongue. “I’m sensing some new ideas for an upcoming episode of Relentless.”
“Very funny.” I scowled, even though I could very well see the whole situation playing out onscreen. If I wasn’t living it, it would be entertaining.
“No, really—I’m sorry that happened and that you were pulled into it,” Mark said. “This could be a great press angle, though—”
“No press,” I said. I’d had enough of that. As much as I wanted this reboot to succeed, I wouldn’t sell my soul—or privacy—to make it happen.
“Got it. Okay, I’ll see you soon, Joey. Be safe. If Desiree comes to visit you from the a
fterlife, tell her there’s an upcoming role for a ghost in Relentless.”
I scowled again and grabbed a blanket from behind the couch, suddenly feeling chilled. “You’re just so funny today.”
“I try! Night.”
As soon as I hung up, a knock sounded at my door.
Who could possibly be coming over at this hour? It was 10:30, for goodness sake. And, after everything that had happened, did I really want to find out?
I had no idea.
Chapter Ten
Against my better instincts, I walked toward the door. I paused, unsure if I wanted to even open it.
And then I heard, “Joey? You there? It’s me.”
What? Was that . . .?
I opened the door, and Sam Butler stood there, leaning against the door frame and looking 100 percent Hollywood. Cue the audience applause track.
And that applause track would be well deserved. Sam was a noted Hollywood leading man with his broad shoulders, broader smile, and charismatic personality.
Before I could say anything, he pulled me into a hug, lifting me and turning in circles.
“Relentless is coming back on!” He placed me back on my feet. “Can you believe it?”
“I know! And you’re . . . here. In Nags Head. Right now.” What in the world was Sam doing? Had I missed an email or text message?
“Yes, I am.” He stepped inside and glanced around. “Nice house, by the way.”
“Thanks.” I closed the door and stared at him. “What a surprise to see you here.”
He was my Relentless costar. He played a brooding ex-CIA officer who was as tough as nails. In real life, he was fun and the life of the party. And he was a good friend . . . kind of. I mean, when we were together, we had chemistry. We had fun.
But when we were apart . . . I doubted either of us really thought of the other. He did, however, let me stay at his place for a while after Eric and I had split. I’d be forever indebted to him for that.
“It’s been a while so I figured we should reconnect and maybe rehearse together,” Sam said.
I crossed my arms and leaned against the wall, trying to figure out how to broach this subject. “I see. I . . . I hadn’t planned on any of this, however.”
Gaffe Out Loud Page 5