Falling for Grace

by Kate O'Keeffe

  My phone beeps for the millionth time since I fled the studio. I ignore it, too worked up to focus on anything.

  Who do these people think they are, assuming Sam and I are having an affair? Sure, we kissed, that much is true, but they didn’t report that I turned him down, that I walked away from him, my head held high.

  I’m the bigger person here, people!

  I’m so incensed I could scream.

  My phone beeps again. This time I delve into my bag and see a text from Jessica.

  Saw the show. My god!!!

  I throw it down and bury my face in my hands. Not only my boss, my entire family was watching the show. They all saw me humiliated in front of the nation. They all saw a photo of me kissing another woman’s man.

  Argh! I cringe, a fresh wave of guilt and anger taking hold.

  My phone sings its chirpy tone.

  “Grace, it’s me, Jess.”

  I swallow. “Hi, Jess.”

  I know what’s coming.

  “Thank goodness I got a hold of you. First of all, are you okay?”

  “Yes, I’m fine. Thanks for asking.”

  She exhales. “Well that’s the most important thing. Cheryl was brutal.”

  “I’m really sorry I walked off set. It was unprofessional of me. It’s just . . . I didn’t expect any of this to come out, especially on television. And I didn’t even get to do your fashion slot. I’m so sorry.” I hang my head, tears welling in my eyes.

  “Okay, it’s not ideal, I’ll give you that. What happened on the show is hardly your fault, though.”

  “No, you’re right,” I reply with vehemence, excited someone is finally taking my side.

  “That said, I’m not exactly thrilled you’re fraternising with a client, Grace. A client well known to be in a relationship with someone else at that.”

  I hang my head. “I know. Please believe me when I say I’m not having an affair with Sam Montgomery. That kiss was . . . was . . .”

  What was that kiss? In-freaking-credible, that’s what it was. But I can’t tell my boss that. And anyway, I told Sam I was a no-fly zone last night.

  It’s all a horrible storm in a teacup.

  “That kiss was nothing,” I say, resolute. “I promise you.”

  “I’m glad to hear it. It wouldn’t be professional otherwise.”

  “You’re right. Nothing will ever happen like this again. You have my word.”

  “I hope not, Grace, and not just for the sake of the business. Take it from me, I’ve been the other woman, and it ain’t pretty. I wouldn’t want you to have to go through that.”

  Ah yes, the Brooke-Scott-Jessica love triangle.

  “Look, why don’t we take a day or two? Then we’ll talk. I need to do some damage control here.”

  “Ok. If you say so.” I swallow.

  I guess I don’t blame her: I’ve hardly been the perfect stylist’s assistant today. In fact, I’m surprised she didn’t fire me on the spot.

  After hanging up I lie down on the bed, clutching a pillow, my mind spinning all over the place once more.

  My phone rings its chirpy tone once more. I have to remember to change that to something less … chirpy.

  It’s Tiffany. I take a big breath and pick up. I’m going to need to face people at some stage: I may as well start with friends.

  Before I have the chance to speak she screeches down the phone, “Shit, girl. You’re famous! How did you do that? And Sam Montgomery? Jeezus, what a hot piece of ass. You go girl! I am so jealous.”

  “Hi, Tiff,” I sigh.

  “So, did you sleep with him? What was he like? Hot I bet. So hot. Mind you, some of those good-looking guys can be lazy in bed, you know? Like they’re so handsome they don’t have to try? I’ve been with guys like that. What you want is both hot and great in bed. The perfect sex storm.”

  “Finished?” I ask.

  “Yeah. Just saying. So?”

  “So nothing. I didn’t sleep with him. And I have no intention of sleeping with him. There’s nothing to tell. It was all a big, horrible, humiliating mistake.”

  “Never say never,” she trills. “But you’re right, it was humiliating for you.”

  I groan. “Not helping.”

  “When are you back?”

  “I land at two thirty, I think.”

  “Well, I’ll see you at home and you can tell me all about it.”

  I hang up. Almost immediately my phone rings again.

  “Hey, Sammy Jo.”

  “Grace! I’m so glad I got you. How are you?”

  “You saw it then.” Not wanting to know the answer, I ask, “How did it come across?”

  “Honestly?”

  “Honestly,” I confirm, steeling myself.

  “Road crash. Total carnage. And you looked like some horny home wrecker.”

  A horny home wrecker? One thing I can rely on from Sammy Jo is the no frills truth.

  I take a deep breath. A few frills might not have hurt today.

  “Is that actually you in the photo?” she asks.

  “Which one? The mortifying one of me falling off the stage or the one kissing someone else’s boyfriend?” A fresh wave of guilt rolls over me.

  “The kissing one.”

  “Ah, yes. Yes, it was.”

  “Oh. My. God. So, you actually kissed Sam Montgomery?”

  My phone beeps, telling me I have yet another incoming call. I glance at it, notice it’s Tiffany, hit divert. One conversation with her is more than enough right now.

  “Yeah,” I groan, “but he started it.” Like that makes it better.

  She sighs. “What was it like?”

  “It was… nice.”

  “Nice? I bet it was a few notches higher up the sexy pole from ‘nice’.”

  “The sexy pole? Is that a thing?”

  “Yes,” she replies, indignant. I’ve just made it one.”

  “Okay. Fair enough.”

  “Tell me how you got yourself in the position to kiss Sam Montgomery? I want details.”

  “I didn’t get myself into a position, exactly. We were talking and it just… happened.”

  “That old chestnut, eh?”

  “I don’t know what else to say. I’d met him before, as you know, and we got talking at the party.”

  I glance at my watch. Cripes, I’d better get myself organised. “Sorry, hon. I have to get going. My car to the airport will be here soon.”

  “Call me when you’re back?”

  “Sure.” I hang up.

  As I zip my suitcase closed, I hear a knock at the door. Ignore it. The world can go throw itself off a cliff.

  Whoever it is knocks again. This time a voice calls out, “Grace, please let me in.”

  Curiosity gets the better of me. I wipe my nose and peer out of the spyglass in the door. I see the back of a woman’s head. She turns around and I get such a shock I leap back, away from the door, crashing sideways into the wall.

  It’s Vanessa Hudson.

  “Ow!” I exclaim involuntarily.

  Vanessa is the last person I expected to see right now.

  “Grace, are you all right. It’s Vanessa. Please let me in.”

  My heart still racing I check the spyglass to see if she’s alone. She is. I turn the handle and crack the door.

  “Thank goodness I found you. Can I come in?”

  Without a word, I open the door further. She walks into the room and gives me a long hug. “Oh, you poor, poor thing. That looked brutal.”

  I sniff. “You saw it.”

  What must this woman think of me?

  She lets me go, looking earnestly at me. “I did. They were so unfair, springing this on you when you were there to do another job. So wrong, so unethical.”

  I nod. She’s right. It was beyond crappy of them. It was crap-bloody-tastic. But why is she being so calm about it?

  “Can we sit? Have a chat?”

  A photograph of me kissing this woman’s boyfriend has been splashed all
over television and she wants to sit down and have a chat with me?

  Did I forget to take my meds today or something?

  “Sure,” I reply uncertainly, rubbing my bruised arm.

  We sit in the firm, uncomfortable faux leather chairs by the window overlooking Auckland city.

  I lean forward in my seat, facing her. “Vanessa, I’m so sorry about this.”

  She shakes her head, smiling at me. “We’re the ones who should be sorry. Me and Sam.”

  “You and Sam? Why?” I ask, thoroughly confused.

  “Because he really likes you. I haven’t seen him like this about anyone before.”

  I blink at her. It’s official: I’ve entered The Twilight Zone.

  “And . . . and you’re okay with that? Forgive me, but this feels really weird. I’m not sure what’s going on.”

  My phone beeps on the bed next to us. We both turn to look at it momentarily, then back at one another.

  “I understand, believe me. This must seem incredibly odd to you. I’ve come here to tell you Sam and I are no longer together. We haven’t been for about a year now.”

  I stare at her, my eyes wide. So, it’s true. Sam was telling me the truth.

  I sit back in my chair, let out a heavy sigh.

  After a moment of awkward silence, she laughs. “Say something. Please!”

  “He told me the truth.”

  “He did.” She smiles.

  “It wasn’t a line?” My mind races. Sam likes me. He genuinely likes me.

  And I told him to back off.

  My tummy clenches.

  She laughs again. “It wasn’t a line. He really likes you. You have to believe me.”

  A smile spreads across my face.

  She grins back. “And, judging by the looks of you, you like him too.”

  I look down, embarrassed. God, this is awkward. Sam’s fake girlfriend is sitting opposite me, telling me he’s attracted to me, all the while smiling in encouragement.

  Awkward doesn’t begin to describe this.

  “Tell me if I’m being dense here. I don’t get it. Why are you two pretending to be in a relationship when you’re not?”

  She takes a deep breath. “We’ve got a movie coming out soon. We’re hoping it will be Sam’s and my entrée into Hollywood. When we broke up, David, who does PR for us, thought it might damage the publicity for the movie. So, he suggested we behave as if we’re still together. I guess it’s a marketing thing.”

  “A marketing thing? And you’re okay with that? It seems pretty crazy to me.”

  She shrugs. “They don’t call it Holly-weird for nothing.”

  “I guess not.” I look at her for a moment longer, trying to process what she’s saying.

  “David’s managed a lot of big names in the past. Sam and I decided we need to trust his judgment and go with this.”

  I nod, pretending I understand any of this.

  “Why are you telling me this, and not Sam?” I ask.

  “Sam wanted to come see you himself but he had an an early morning flight. I felt so awful for you when I saw the show. Sam told me you were going to be on, so I watched it while I did my Pilates. He told me how he feels about you. I guess I’m trying to be a friend to him.”

  God, she’s nice. Possibly marginally insane, but nice nonetheless.

  I look out the window at the view. The world is carrying on, just as before, oblivious to the turmoil going on in my life.

  “The only thing is, if you two decide to, you know…” she blushes, “no one else can know about it. We need to keep up the pretence of our relationship, until the movie’s released. Do you understand?”

  I blink at her. This is kind of like a girl at school telling me a boy in my class fancies me but I can’t tell anyone.

  I nod. “Does, ah, Sam know about what happened on the show?”

  She nods, bites her lip. “He does.” She rises from her seat. “Grace, I’m really sorry we’ve put you in this position. It’s not fair on you.”

  I stand up. “That’s okay,” I reply, not feeling at all that it is. “It wasn’t a lot of fun on that show this morning, that’s for sure. I don’t know how you put up with all that media attention.”

  She shrugs. “It’s part and parcel of the job.”

  “That’s what Sam said.”

  “I imagine he did. And, Grace? If you like Sam as much as I think you do, you’ll need to get used to it.”

  I can’t imagine ever getting used to this.

  Chapter 12

  THERE’S A LARGE CROWD of people at the gate when I disembark my flight at Wellington airport later in the day. I keep my head down and work my way through them, hoping my suitcase comes out quickly on the carousel so I can get home as soon as humanly possible.

  “There she is!” someone shouts.

  I’ve just hauled my suitcase off the carousel when I look up in surprise to see a gaggle of reporters, thrusting their cameras and microphones at me in some sort of sick feeding frenzy.

  “Miss Mortimer! How long have you been in a relationship with Sam?” one asks.

  “Has he broken up with Vanessa?” another asks.

  “Loretta Ahern from Chick magazine. We’ll pay you ten thousand dollars for your story.”

  “Ten thousand? That’s a joke. We’ll pay fifteen,” another retorts.

  “Tell us, Grace. Are you having Sam’s baby?” another one asks.

  They’re crowding around me, poking their recorders and microphones n my face, making me feel like a caged tiger. My eyes dart from one to the other, in some sort of daze. After a moment, I spy a gap between two of them, duck down, and push my way through. I grab a tight hold of my bag and sprint, as fast as my legs can take me, out onto the road outside the terminal, frantically flagging down a taxi as I do.

  “Grace! Wait!” a voice yells behind me.

  I turn to see Stalker Girl sprinting towards me, still dressed head-to-toe in black, this time without her dark glasses.

  “Leave me alone!” I shout, turning back around and stomping towards the taxis. A black, shiny car with darkened windows swoops to a stop in front of me, halting my progress.

  “Hey! Move it!” I yell.

  The back window lowers in front of me. My stomach leaps into my mouth as I see Sam peering out at me.

  “Hop in.” He pushes the door open for me and slides across the seat.

  I hesitate, look from left to right and behind me. Stalker Girl is gaining on me, close enough I can see the desperation written across her face.

  “Grace!” she says, slowing her pace when she nears me.

  I glance at her, turn and throw my bag into the car and dive in, slamming the door behind me.

  “Drive,” Sam instructs, and we take off with squealing wheels.

  This is just like a movie.

  I look out of the back window. Stalker Girl is standing by the curb, watching us drive away.

  I turn back to face Sam, trying to calm my rattled nerves. “They were everywhere,” I murmur.

  Sam nods. “I thought they might be. That’s why I came to get you.”

  “How did they even know I would be here?”

  “Someone must have tipped them off. It happens.”

  Hail Mary. Tipped them off? Who would have done such a thing?

  “The important thing is, you’re safe.” He reaches across and gives my hand a quick squeeze.

  I look into his eyes as a smile teases my mouth. “You’re making a habit of rescuing me, you know.”

  He’s Mr Sexy Knight once more.

  He shrugs. “I’m happy with the state of play if you are.”

  Our eyes lock for a heartbeat. Two. I feel the pull of him, like there’s an invisible force field between us.

  Lord, give me strength.

  “Grace, I’m so sorry about this. I never meant for it to happen this way. It’s all my fault. The media can be relentless.”

  I shake my head. “I don’t know how you do it. It’s awful.”r />
  “It is, but it’s part of the job.”

  “Well it’s not part of my job.”

  “I know. That’s why I’m so sorry.”

  He squeezes my hand again and I smile at him. Looking into his eyes seems overwhelming. I look away.

  “Vanessa came to see me,” I say quietly, looking out the window as we whizz past trees and buildings, heading into the city.

  “And?”

  I turn to back look at him, notice the hopeful look in his eyes. “And she explained your… situation.”

  “Yeah.” He looks down at his hands, seemingly lost in thought. After a moment he looks up, into my eyes. “You know what I want? I want to feel something for a girl, ask her out for a drink, and see where things go. You know, like a normal guy.”

  I smile, nodding, the butterflies in my belly doing a little dance.

  I’m that girl. I’m that girl.

  He shifts closer to me. I take in his delicious citrusy, vanilla scent as my heart rate picks up.

  “When Vanessa and I first agreed to pretend to the world we were still together I thought we could manage it, no problem. My relationships were casual, so it didn’t matter. Now it feels… different.”

  I swallow.

  He takes my hand in his. “Grace, I’d really like to spend some time with you, get to know you better.”

  “Me too.” I reply, my voice breathless, my heart pounding against my ribs.

  As I look at him I know with every fibre of my being I want this man any way I can have him—if it has to be sneaking around so the world still thinks he’s in a relationship with Vanessa, I’ll take it.

  His eyes crinkle in a grin.

  His eyes drift to my mouth. Anticipation makes my body hum.

  He leans over towards me and brushes his lips gently against mine. He groans, reaching across and pulling me closer to him, every nerve ending in my body focused on our kiss.

  We sit side by side, luxuriating in the exquisite feeling of our lips gently touching, tingling, teasing. He slides his tongue between my lips and I open my mouth in response, sliding my tongue against his as lust pulses through me.

  “Ah, excuse me, Mr Montgomery. Where would you like to go?”

  Our driver sure knows how to pick his moment.

  He pulls back from me, clears his throat. “I thought we might go for a coffee. Talk. Would that be good?”