The Manny

by Piper Rayne

  “I can’t imagine that, Hannah.” Jagger leans forward, lowering his voice. “You have the best ass in this place.” He winks.

  She hits him on the shoulder and laughs, then turns her attention to me. “This is why I keep Jagger around. He’s good for the ego.”

  I could add my two cents. She is gorgeous. She’s turned at least five heads since we’ve been sitting here. It’s more than the red dress, though. It’s her demeanour, and her sophistication. The ‘take no shit’ attitude pours off of her.

  “He only speaks the truth,” I say.

  She sips her wine. “I need to keep both of you around for a while. Going through a divorce when your husband somehow beat you to the best lawyer in town hasn’t been good for my self-confidence. Or my bank account.” Again, an empty laugh leaves her lips.

  The waiter comes over, Jagger and I order drinks and then I wait for her to open her menu before I do.

  Between some small talk about what’s good at the restaurant and Jagger pouring on enough compliments that she’s probably sweeter than a jar of maple syrup, we order and afterward the real conversation begins.

  “I have a question, Hannah,” I say.

  Jagger looks at me with a warning in his eyes.

  “Yes?”

  “You told Jagger my story reminds you of your own love story…”

  She purses her lips as though she’s trying not to remember, but eventually her entire face relaxes. “Confusing, right?”

  “A tad,” I say.

  “Well, I wasn’t a criminal and neither was he, but when I read your story, I just felt how overpowering to was for Melanie to have Joseph dominate her life. The summer before I went to college, I fell in love with this guy. He was a few years older than me and I would’ve followed him anywhere to do anything, like Melanie did Joseph. Melanie’s love for Joseph reminded me of myself during that time in my life.” Her smile dims for a second and she picks up her wine to sip it. She might physically be at the table, but mentally I can tell she’s far, far away somewhere in the past.

  “Was it Todd?” Jagger asks, and I’m assuming Todd is her ex-husband.

  “No. I married Todd because I was an idiot.” Her tone brings a finality to the conversation.

  “The script manager thinks there isn’t enough love in the script.” I ask her opinion—if she’s bankrolling it she’ll tell me the truth.

  “There is on Melanie’s side for sure,” she says.

  At least that’s one part I don’t have to worry about.

  “So, you guys have secured Layla Andrews?” she asks, her gaze bouncing from me to Jagger.

  “We have,” he says. “Why did you want her again?” Jagger discreetly looks at me and I know he’s trying to see how invested Hannah is in her. “Do you know her?”

  “No.” She laughs. “I don’t know her, but I watched a film she starred in right after her stint on that kids’ channel was over. Anyway, it got me thinking how she’s had nothing but secondary character roles as an adult. I think she’ll be a good Melanie. She’s a fresh face and she’s due for her spotlight. Why not utilize someone new and different rather than an overused actress with a bunch of roles behind her? I want people to see her as Melanie.”

  “Those overused actresses put asses in the seats,” Jagger says, but smiles. “But fresh faces, as you say, can do it, too. If we’re lucky it’ll be known as her breakout role a decade from now.”

  “What film did you see her in?” I ask and Jagger shoots me a glare.

  “Um…” Her fingers drum along her lips. “Polarized.” She points to me. “It’s about a girl who suffers from bipolar disorder in college. Very dramatic and really well done.”

  Huh, I’ve never heard of it.

  “I’ll have to watch it, I’m not sure I remember that one,” I say.

  “It went straight to DVD.” Jagger fills me in.

  “You really should watch it,” Hannah says to me. “Oh, and who are you thinking for Joseph? Wait!” She sits up straighter, clearly excited for whatever she’s going to say. “How about Carver Sterling? They’re married, right?”

  Jagger’s eyes widen and he picks up his drink and takes a large sip.

  “Actually, they’re getting divorced,” I remark.

  She slouches down in her chair. “That’s too bad, because he might be a good fit. It’ll definitely be on everyone’s radar if it’s the film that put their family back together.” She laughs.

  Our salads arrive and I unwrap the silverware, placing my napkin in my lap, taking extra care to concentrate on the task before I bend over the table and tell Hannah that Layla’s taken, and not by Carver Sterling.

  “We can definitely keep that in mind.” Jagger takes the lead on responding, which I’m thankful for.

  “I’d love to fly out when you start doing casting.” She picks up her fork, mixing the lettuce around with her fork. “I want to start filming this summer. I have a few Chicago locations in mind.”

  “We’ll get everything sorted once we finalize all the moving parts of the project.” Jagger eats his salad, smiling over a mouthful of lettuce.

  “Great. So, are you two ready for me to show you a good time on the town tonight?” Her perfectly arched eyebrows rise and her already huge smile widens further.

  “Sorry?” I ask. My plans had consisted of going back upstairs and calling Layla.

  “Yes. I need to show you the city where your love story is going to come to life.”

  I hate that I have to keep an investor happy. My story originated in Climax Cove. Climax Cove and Chicago are drastically different places, but I have no choice. I try reminding myself that it would’ve been worse if I’d sold the script to a big studio—I would have had zero say in anything if that were the case.

  “Sounds great. We have another buddy who flew in with us. He’ll meet up with us too, if that’s okay?” Jagger asks.

  “The more the merrier.”

  I have a feeling I’m not going to be feeling all that well tomorrow morning.

  Chapter 19

  Layla

  I’ve lost all energy to move Payne from my lap. We put Via to sleep and he’s been so great with Vance the three weeks I was filming that I rewarded him with a movie night. Now the credits are rolling and he’s asleep on my lap.

  The time on the cable box glows in the dark room. Eleven at night and no text or contact from Vance since he left for dinner. Chicago is two hours ahead, which means it’s one o’clock in the morning.

  My insecurities wreak havoc on my mind. He could be writing in his hotel room, but Jagger doesn’t seem like the type who would let him hole up in his room. And there’s the fact Leo joined them, which really means it’s more of a guys’ trip. Strip clubs. Lap dances. Visions of tabloid photos of sleazy strippers on Carver’s lap slam into the forefront of my mind.

  Not Vance, though. No way. Then again, I’ve only known him a few weeks.

  Still, in some ways I feel like I know Vance better than I ever knew Carver. I realize now that Carver showed me what he thought I wanted to see. Vance shows me who he really is.

  “Ugh.” I turn off the television, pick up Payne, and carry him upstairs.

  “Vance?” he mumbles.

  “No, sweetie, it’s Mommy.”

  He rolls over and clings to his emoji pillow—the poop one—and I laugh at the memory of his arm getting stuck in the machine.

  Vance was a real hero that day.

  After getting Payne into bed, I close his door, checking my phone once more.

  Nothing.

  Uneasiness rolls inside my stomach after Payne asking about Vance. He’s attached to him. Hell, I’m attached to him. But I’ve never had a man stick around before. Even my own father wasn’t consistently in my life until I was a steady paycheck for him. Then, all of a sudden, I was pretty damn important.

  Vance came into this house like a freight train and all three of us hopped on board, with smiles and open arms. The problem is, maybe the freight
train was just passing through.

  No, no, no. This man-made love to me like no one before. He caressed my body, kissed me tenderly. I have to stop overthinking. Vance isn’t Carver.

  Feeling a little better after my mental pep talk, I go to bed hoping to be woken up by Vance.

  The next morning, I’m folding the blanket we used last night and carrying the popcorn bowl to the sink when my doorbell rings.

  I glance at the clock. Seven in the morning. The kids are still sleeping. No way it could be Vance unless he caught a red-eye home.

  My stomach unleashes dozens of fluttering butterflies. Maybe he’s here to surprise me.

  My footsteps move faster and faster the closer I get to the front door and my smile grows wider and wider.

  I swing open the door. It’s not Vance. Instead it’s a small Hispanic lady in a pink uniform and a bucket in her hands.

  “Hello?” I ask, wondering who the woman is and why she’s here.

  “Hello, I am Marisol. Mr. Rose sent me.” She points to the name on her pink uniform.

  Clean Queen.

  “Why?” I ask, and, without me asking her in, she steps up onto my stoop.

  “To clean.” She points to her shirt again. “Please.” Her smile is kind.

  “Okay.” I let her in like a fool. “How do you know Mr. Rose?” I ask after she’s already inside with the bucket of cleaning products and probably a camera hidden up her shirt.

  She hands me her card and I see ‘fully bonded’ on it, making some of the anxiety that she could be a member of the paparazzi diminish.

  “I clean his condo and his friend Leo’s. And I practically raised their other friend, Jagger, when he was a boy.” Again, her smile is plastered to her lips. She’s one happy lady.

  I nod a few times, my eyes instinctively moving to the stairway up to the kids’ bedrooms.

  When a hand lands on my arm, I look up to see Marisol’s soft smile. “No worries, Ms. Andrews. I’m very discreet. Jagger refers me to many of his high-profile clients.”

  “Thank you. Please let me know if you need anything.”

  She smiles and walks into the family room.

  I stand in the foyer, wondering what the hell to do with myself now.

  Then I realize it’s seven here, which means it’s nine in Chicago, so I pull out my phone.

  Me: Thanks for sending Marisol. Not necessary, but thank you.

  No three dots appear and I wonder where the hell Vance has disappeared to. The man who texted me from the minute he got off the plane to the time he went to the restaurant has suddenly gone MIA. I search his Instagram and Snapchat account, but no recent posts. He’s not even tagged in a post anywhere by Leo or Jagger.

  The rest of the morning, I try to stay out of Marisol’s way, even leaving for lunch with the kids, although I worry she’d take pictures of my things or steal something the whole time. But if she’s a big part of Jagger’s life—assuming that’s true—then I’m sure I can trust her.

  The long-awaited response come comes through at three in the afternoon.

  Vance: Hey. Jagger is forcing me to stay another night. He’s calling it bonding time. Grrr. Do you have time to talk?

  I hem and haw, staring at the two kids piling ice cream in their mouth. Well, Payne is. Via is wiping whipped cream all over her tray and once in a while she pushes her fingers into her mouth.

  Me: I have the kids with me. I’d stay if I were you. Maybe Jagger is coming out this weekend. ;)