by Kara Isaac
Brad didn’t answer, his eyes off over Lucas’s shoulder. “Would you look at that?”
Lucas didn’t even turn his head. It was bad enough to have one person at their table unable to control his gaping.
Brad let out a low whistle, jowls trembling. “I’m telling you, dude, you want to check this one out. Now she isn’t exactly a pinup, but there is something about her that is—” He flapped his hands in an awkward motion that Lucas presumed was meant to indicate heat.
“No thanks.” Lucas pinched some bacon and popped it in his mouth.
Brad’s eyes bounced back. “She’s coming our way.” His attempt to suck in his midriff was laughable. Lucas rolled his eyes. Great, some bimbo recognizing Brad and coming to paw all over him. He threw down his last piece of toast, stomach unable to take any more.
“Hi, Lucas.” He jolted up in his seat.
He was in so much trouble. His eyes crept up. “Rachel, hi.” His voice croaked. He coughed, trying to clear it.
Floaty navy sundress, lots of lean tanned leg, hair down, sunglasses perched on her tousled hair. No wonder Brad looked like a frog trying to swallow flies.
Lucas sprang to his feet, chair almost tipping before balancing itself on the back of his knees.
She smiled, dimples and all. “I’m so glad I spotted you. Sorry I forgot to give you back your phone last night. You’ve had a few calls and messages. Hope you weren’t expecting anything too important.”
“No, not at all. Thanks.”
She dug around in the cream bag she was holding, fishing his phone out and placing it in his palm. Was it his imagination or did her hand linger, just for a second?
“Brad.” The bullfrog lurched up, thrusting a sweaty palm toward Rachel.
She looked at it with distaste, before good manners took over and she allowed her hand to be manhandled. “Rachel.”
She extracted her hand, looking at Lucas with pity in her eyes. “I’ll see you at the studio this afternoon.”
Lucas’s stomach clenched. Donna had insisted he join her at some talk show appearance this afternoon. Why did he say yes? His first TV interview, and Rachel would be there to witness him making a fool of himself. “See you there.”
“Great!” She flashed him a bright smile and spun around, her skirt lifting slightly in the breeze.
Lucas looked down to see Brad ogling. He wanted to rip his eyes out and use them to play marbles. “Seriously. Show some respect.”
Brad ignored him. “Who. Is. That?”
“That’s Rachel.”
“And where did you find her, you crafty fox?”
It was like he’d been hit with a brick. He was going to have to tell. No doubt Brad would find out eventually and wonder why he hadn’t mentioned it. “She’s Donna’s assistant.”
Brad’s gaze snapped back to his, eyes changing from lewd to calculating. “Lucas, my man, I was beginning to doubt you, but you are clearly far more devious than I gave you credit for.”
Lucas slumped back into his chair, Brad’s words a sobering indictment of his good character.
- 19 -
“Hi.” The whisper went in one ear and straight down her spine, puddling into a warm glow in her stomach.
Rachel kept her eyes straight ahead, to where Donna was being fussed at with a makeup retouch. “Hi.”
Lucas stood next to her, his arm grazing hers as he lifted a Styrofoam cup of coffee. A slurp. Still she refused to look. She couldn’t afford to be undone by his ocean eyes any more than she already was.
She’d spent the rest of her morning digging through her archives from when she’d been an intern to a renowned advice columnist. The discarded letters and emails that never made the newspaper had provided the basis for both her blog and their first two books. She’d been hoping they might spark another idea. Instead she’d spent most of the morning thinking about the same blue eyes she was currently trying to avoid.
“How was your morning, Miss Uber-assistant?”
Rachel tried to smother her smile but failed. “Good. They’ll be ready for you soon. Thanks for last night, by the way.”
“You’re welcome. Though couldn’t you have left my ego with even one high score?”
She couldn’t help but glance up at the tease in his voice. Mistake. Eyes filled with laughter and, yes, even admiration stared back.
“I would have if any of them were actually a challenge.” She would never admit that she had played one level of Flinging Frogs for an hour before she’d managed to beat his score.
“Ouch. Really know how to make a guy feel good about himself, don’t you.”
“It’s a specialty of mine.” She couldn’t help the smile playing on her lips.
“Can you help me with something?” There was no teasing now.
She turned, her arm grazing against his. His skin was coarse yet soft. Thank goodness. She couldn’t abide the plucked and waxed LA men. Stop thinking, Rachel! “Um, sure.”
He held out his cupped hands, which were piled with a receiver, transmitter, cordless mic, and an earpiece. “What do I do with these?” His bewildered expression was comedic. “One of the guys with headsets gave them to me and just disappeared.”
“You um . . .” She took the receiver in her hand and pulled the cord to the earpiece out. “You need to drop this down your back, then you plug it into the receiver and clip it onto your belt.”
He took the cord in his hand and reached his arm back, popping one end down his collar. “Like this?”
He did a little dance, trying to shake it down his back.
“Here, turn around.”
Lucas turned and Rachel watched the line of the cord snake down under his shirt, getting stuck just above his belt. “Almost there. Can you pull it down the rest of the way?”
He untucked his shirt, his hand reaching up to tug the end of the wire all the way down.
She averted her eyes, but not before catching a glimpse of his tanned, muscular back. The back of someone who knew hard work.
“Rach?” She looked up. “Can you plug it in for me?”
Her hands fumbled with the box, and it took two attempts before she managed the successful click of the plug into the receiver.
“Thanks.” He took the box from her, his fingertips dancing along hers. He clipped it onto the back of his belt and did his best to retuck his shirt.
He turned, the earpiece now trailing out of his collar and down his shoulder.
“Okay, now you need to tuck that into your ear.”
He groaned. “You mean like a stupid Bluetooth thing?” Plucking it up, he pushed it into his right ear.
She nodded. “Yup. Fine.”
“And these?” He turned his attention to the transmitter and cordless mic remaining.
“That one.” She pointed to the transmitter. “Clip on the belt too.”
Obediently he reached behind and tucked it in.
“And the mic you just clip to your shirt.”
With a smile of exasperation, he clipped it onto his collar, then threw his hands up. “Okay?”
Tilting her head, she studied the small black bug-like object. It looked wrong. Clipped to his collar, it would be too high to catch his voice properly.
“Everything okay?” This time, his eyes held hers, searching.
“Um, it needs to . . .” She pinched the mic between her fingers, tugging it down and positioning it to attach on the button seam. His chest rose and fell in time with the warm breath on her cheek. It was broad, safe.
Every fiber in her being yearned to lay her head on it. To have him cradle her in his arms.
She forced herself to focus. She clipped the mic, allowing herself a quick stroke with her palm, like she was smoothing his shirt. She stepped back, lifting her eyes to find him studying her, a smile on his lips. As if he favored what he saw.
“You know, I had to post a solo selfie last night on social media. I looked very sad and pathetic.”
“You know what you should do?”
/>
“What?”
“Take a selfie with your arm like it’s draped around someone’s shoulder and then invite all your fans to Photoshop themselves in. They’d love it.”
He let out a surprised laugh. “Or . . . how about if we took a photo and I promised not to publish it anywhere.”
“I’m just the assistant, Lucas. I’m no one special.”
“Now that clearly is not true.” He looked at her and, for the first time in a long time, Rachel felt seen.
“There you are!” A heavyset production assistant appeared, all officious, as if having a headset made him ruler of the universe. His advance broke the spell. “We’re ready for you now. Good grief, who on earth miked you up? It’s a disgrace!”
• • •
HE’D ALMOST forgotten how to breathe. Watching her long, delicate fingers on his chest, her face just a whisper away, brow wrinkled in concentration.
Like the night before, all he’d wanted to do was wrap his arms around her. Although last night it had been out of a desire to wipe away whatever it was that caused pain to etch itself across her face when he asked about her family. Today it had just been the straight-out fact that having her that close scattered his emotions like freshly shelled peas on a wooden floor.
He couldn’t explain the effect Rachel had on him. It made no sense. But he couldn’t seem to help himself. If that grumpy little tech guy hadn’t come and interrupted them, who knew what might have happened. At least today he didn’t have to worry about glancing up to find Sloany coming after him like a piranha.
Get a grip, Grant. He shook his head, fingers desperate to scratch his forehead. The infernal makeup they’d plastered his face with was driving him mad. And the lights. Did they really need to light up the set like it was an operating room?
He didn’t even know what he was on this show for. According to Lacey, all the scheduled Feelings and Football events were already sold out, so it wasn’t as though they needed the publicity.
His gaze found its way over to Rachel. She was chatting to a production assistant, laughing at something he had said.
He forced his eyes away. He couldn’t let himself get distracted. Not by anyone, but especially not by her. Not when she was his best shot at finding out if Dr. Donna did have a big skeleton in the closet.
He shoved his discomfort away. Silenced his conscience whispering that he was using Rachel to advance his own career.
As far as he could see, there was nothing there. Brad was mistaken. He just needed a little more time, to ask a few more questions, and then he could go back. Tell Brad there was no scandal to be found. No double life being lived. Donna and Rachel would never even know.
“Lucas, darling boy.” Donna dropped into the couch beside him, her back ramrod straight. He found himself sucking in his stomach and pulling back his shoulders. “How did you find the rest of the gala?”
His fingers worked their way under his collar, attempting to suction it loose from the sweat ring forming. “Um, fine. They’re not really my thing, though.”
She pulled her face into a grimace. “You and Rachel both. That girl needs to get out more. I do my best, but . . .” She shrugged her shoulders and gestured in a “what can a woman do?” kind of flap. “Even my powers have their limits.”
“You must be happy with all the money we raised for such great causes.” Hundreds of thousands of dollars. The zeroes that people had been scrawling down without so much as an intake of breath had caused him to feel light-headed.
Donna shrugged. “It wasn’t bad.”
Lucas stretched out his legs, then caught his reflection in a screen. He looked like a frat boy. Pulling them in, he tapped ankle to knee. Better. He tried to remember how he’d seen guys sit on chat shows. Except he didn’t watch any.
“Now what’s this I hear about Brad Shipman courting you?”
Lucas’s mouth went dry. How did she know? Brad had said no one was to know. He licked his lips, mouth parting. “I, um . . .”
Donna’s hand fluttered to her impressive bosom. “Oh, I’m sorry, I’ve put you in an awkward position. Forget I said anything.” Her eyes crinkled, a pensive look passing across her face. “Though one piece of advice. Keep your eyes wide open. The man has the golden touch, I’ll grant you that, but he would eat his own young if he thought there were ratings in it. I wouldn’t trust him as far as I could throw him.”
“Do you know him?”
Donna paused. “He was working in marketing at my publisher when I signed my first contract. He was assigned to work on the first book but there was a falling-out, shall we say.”
Interesting. Brad definitely hadn’t mentioned that little piece of shared history.
“Moving on.” Donna plowed ahead before Lucas could ask a follow-up question. “What do you think about taking Rachel on a date?”
“Excuse me?” This was all too surreal.
“C’mon, Lucas. Humor me. You’re a nice young man, and I know my Rachel has a bit of a prickly exterior, but I promise underneath it is the best woman you could ever hope to meet. You are single, right?”
“Um, yes, but . . .” How could he get the words out that he didn’t really date, when the idea of being able to have more time with Rachel made him short of breath for all the right reasons?
Though he wasn’t sure he would manage to last through a whole dinner when simply a few minutes with her made him feel like his heart was about to burst from his chest and run down the road.
“Now, Rachel won’t stand for it.”
Lucas felt a jolt run through him. Not stand for it? Maybe he wasn’t the best-looking guy on the block, but he liked to flatter himself that he was okay company.
Donna caught his reaction. “Nothing to do with you. My ex-husband and Rachel’s father unfortunately came from a line of cads. Fortunately, the good Lord was merciful and only allowed two of them to be born. Who knows how many broken hearts would be splattered across the country if their mother had gotten her wish for more.”
Lucas rubbed his forehead. His mind was spinning. “I’m sorry. You and Rachel are . . .?”
She laughed. “Sorry. I forget sometimes that people don’t know. Related, yes. My ex-husband is her uncle.”
Brothers presumably would have shared a last name, but Rachel and Donna didn’t. Though they were very close. How hadn’t he noticed that before? “So what’s with the similar-but-different surnames?”
Donna flicked her hand. “Some research about people perceiving people with three syllables in their last name to be more authoritative. When we got the first book contract the publisher asked whether I’d consider it. Donna Somerville tested much better with focus groups as a self-help author than plain old Donna Somers. Plus, there’s a singer called Donna Summers and they wanted to avoid any confusion. Anyway, since Somers was one of the few things Oswald had left me with, I was more than happy to be rid of it. It’s just a shame Rob didn’t come along before the books took off. Otherwise I’d be Donna Higgins. Though I’m not sure how that would have gone down with the focus group. I did try for Donna Somerville-Higgins, but apparently that was seen as too pretentious.”
Lucas’s brain was buzzing, overloaded from the information that had been delivered to him in the space of two minutes. He tried to sift through it all. Rachel and Donna were related. Donna had changed her name because of some focus group. Was there something there? Was this the kind of thing that Brad was looking for?
He couldn’t see it. It clearly wasn’t a secret when she was sitting here, telling it to him all miked up with a bunch of studio staff roaming around.
Donna tapped him on the knee. “So what do you say? I see from your face a date might be pushing it, but will you at least join us for dinner?”
- 20 -
“We’re in trouble.”
The sharp edge in Lacey’s voice swung Rachel around to stare at their flustered publicist. She knew Lacey wasn’t exaggerating when she saw that almost half of her immaculate chignon w
as tumbling down the side of her face. “What is it?”
Lacey gestured to the set, pulsing with action, and grabbed Rachel’s elbow. “Not here.”
Rachel tossed a glance to where Lucas and Donna sat chatting. Filming hadn’t started yet, so she had at least twenty minutes before she’d be missed. “This way.”
Retracing her steps through the soundstage, she led Lacey through the tunnel she and Donna had entered half an hour earlier.
Which door was it? All the doors lined up like identical sentries. Taking a stab, she opened the third one on the right. A startled gasp met her and she yanked her head out before even registering what she’d interrupted.
A knock at the next one and then a more cautious crack. A glimpse of Donna’s coat thrown over the back of a black leather sofa. Got it. “We should be okay in here.”
Lacey locked the door behind them. She ran her fingers through her hair, causing the remains of her updo to collapse. With her hair all messed up, tumbling over her shoulders, she lost ten years.
“What’s happened?”
“I’ve double-booked her.”
“Just cancel one of them.” But even as she said it, Rachel knew that if there was any way she could have, Lacey would have done it.
Lacey shook her head. “It’s one of those once-upon-a-wish ones.”
Rachel collapsed onto the couch like a sand castle hit by a rogue wave. “No. No, I can’t. I won’t.” It was one of the few remaining pieces of self-respect that she had left. Never would she be the substitute to some terminally ill woman whose dying wish was a phone call with Dr. Donna.
“I’m so sorry.” Through the slits of her fingers, she could see Lacey ringing her hands like a dishrag. “I don’t know how I missed this in the schedule.”
“I’m not doing it. We must be able to reschedule. A personal call later today, fly Donna out to meet her. Whatever it takes!”