It is disheartening to think that I haven’t had amazing sex with anyone since pre-promotion Alex, and that was four years ago! Why was it so easy for him to replace me over and over again while I’m still waiting for someone, anyone, who can hold a candle to him? Life is so unfair!
I’m vaguely aware of a dinging noise and the elevator doors sliding open, but I’m too lost in thought to register that those sounds have anything to do with me.
“Nessa? We’re here,” Alex’s voice breaks through my fog, and I glance up to see him standing outside the elevator with his hand pressed against the doors to keep them from closing on me. “Uh oh. What happened? You look like you want to stab me.”
“Isn’t that the way I always look at you?” I query dryly as I exit the elevator into the parking garage.
“About eighty percent of the time, but you were fine, bordering on pleasant, up in my office, and we didn’t even speak on the elevator . . .” he trails off, furrowing his brow in confusion.
I have no intention of sharing the reason for my mood shift with him, so he can go right on being baffled about it. “Where are you parked?” I ask tersely.
“I have a reserved spot a few rows over.” He waves a hand in that direction.
“Of course, you do.” Another sign of how powerful and successful he’s become.
“This is me,” Alex says, rushing ahead of me to a Jaguar F-TYPE convertible in a bright, metallic blue. He pulls a key fob from his pants’ pocket and presses a button to unlock the car’s doors.
Surveying the Jag, which is top-of-the-line with all the bells and whistles and probably cost him over $100K, I say, “You’ve really come up in the world.” This car is certainly a far cry from the used Hyundai he drove when we were dating.
“I never would have splurged on something this expensive,” he tells me as he runs his hand lovingly over the curve of the sports car’s gleaming bumper, “but it was a gift.”
If Alex thinks I’m going to plant my butt in a car given to him by another woman, I’ve got news for him.
He must see the mutinous look in my eye because he hastens to clarify, “From a client.”
“A female client obviously. And one who was inordinately appreciative.”
A smile of amusement flits across his lips. “Perhaps I’m inordinately good at my job. And why are you so sure this car was bought by a woman? I have just as many male clients.”
“It’s blue,” I reply, referring to the Jag. “Only a woman would think to get you a car in the same color group as your eyes. Also a color she knew you’d look great in because you frequently wear it.” Reaching out a hand, I tug on his floral medallion printed tie, which is various shades of blue.
“That is some excellent deductive reasoning, 99, and you are correct. The client in question is a woman who gifted not just me, but everyone on her team, with a luxury car last Christmas. She even got a mini-Lambo for her dog to sleep in. The woman has money to burn and she enjoys making grand gestures with it.”
“Lucky you.”
“I’m definitely feeling that way at the moment,” he says, his voice lowering to a very husky register as he stares deep into my eyes.
That’s when I realize I’m still clutching his tie and we are standing mere inches apart. How the heck did that happen?
I drop my hand so fast it’s like his tie suddenly turned into a hissing cobra then take a few steps back.
“We don’t want to be late for our reservation at The Rooftop.”
“No, we don’t since I had to grease some hands with front row Billie Eilish tickets to get us a table at the last minute.”
“I thought you had connections at the restaurant?”
“I do, but you know everything comes with a price here in LA.”
Grabbing the handle on the Jag’s passenger door, he opens it for me and I’m momentarily taken aback because I’d forgotten what good manners Alex has. Chivalry is a lost art and very few men of my generation hold open doors, pull out chairs, or see a woman safely to her door unless they have reason to believe they’ll be invited in for sex. Alex was trained to do these gentlemanly things by his parents who have strong, old-fashioned values. Plus, his Emily Post-loving grandmother would bop him on the head with her tank-sized purse if he didn’t show these signs of respect to the fairer sex.
“Thank you.” I let him know I appreciate the gesture before climbing into the car, being careful not to rip the skirt of my snugly-fitted dress in the process.
“You’re welcome, and,” Alex leans down to say, “don’t worry. I’ll keep the top up so that your wig doesn’t blow off.” With an impish wink, he straightens back up and closes the door.
CHAPTER 18
“This is perfect. Thanks for accommodating us, Amanda.” With his most charming smile, Alex slips The Rooftop’s hostess the pair of concert tickets he bribed her with, then pulls out one of the table’s wrought iron chairs for me.
“My pleasure, Mr. Farr. I’m always happy to be of service in whatever way I can.” She gives him a long, smoldering look to let him know that there’s an invitation in her statement before setting down our menus and walking away with a pronounced swish of her hips.
I frown because Alex has always attracted his fair share of female attention, but the hostess was being ridiculously overt about her interest in him. Perhaps she’s an aspiring actress who wants his guidance with her career and she thinks she can use her seductive wiles to facilitate that. Now that he’s a big deal publicist Alex probably has wannabes throwing themselves at him all the time. The thought makes me queasy, and I have to remind myself that Alex’s personal life is not my concern. If he wants to sleep with every nubile fame-chaser in LA, that’s his prerogative.
Taking a seat on the celadon-colored cushion in the chair Alex is offering me, I say, “I’m surprised you didn’t ask for a table with a better view.” We are twelve stories up on this rooftop and the tables at the edge of the restaurant have a sweeping view of Beverly Hills all the way to the Santa Monica Mountains.
“We can see everything we need to from here,” he asserts, claiming the chair opposite me. “Jazmin and her party will be sitting at that four-top over there.” He inclines his head toward an empty table by the low wall topped by glass that wraps around the restaurant. “Besides, I thought you’d prefer a table with an umbrella since you burn so easily.”
Unrolling the white napkin at my place setting and draping it across my lap, I say, “Very considerate.” My foundation has sunscreen in it, but I was so focused on my disguise I forgot to apply any to the other exposed parts of my body. As it’s a beautiful spring day and the sun is shining brightly, I probably would have ended up fried if Alex hadn’t thought ahead. “Thank you.”
I bury my head in my menu for a minute because his solicitousness is stirring up memories of the sweet, thoughtful, little things he used to do when we were a couple. Although it’s nice to know that the Alex I fell in love with isn’t completely gone, that knowledge is also a bit disconcerting. Keeping my guard up around his slick publicist-to-the-stars persona isn’t that difficult. I’m less sure of my ability to resist the lure of Alex 1.0.
When I’ve committed every item on the menu to memory, I glance up, but quickly avert my eyes away from my companion and over to Jaz’s table. When I see that it’s still unoccupied, I’m fretful. “It’s past Jaz’s reservation time. Do you think she decided to cancel? Maybe she wasn’t up to a public outing.”
Looking unperturbed, Alex shakes his head. “It’s a business meeting with her team; she wouldn’t flake out on that. Jaz is habitually late, so this is par for the course with her. You need to relax.” Waving over a passing waiter, he says, “We’d like to order some drinks. The lady will have a Yuzu Drop and I’ll take whatever beer on tap you recommend.”
“I’m not drinking a cocktail in the middle of a workday!” I protest.
“I suggest you rethink that, 99.” He gives me a pointed look and twirls his finger in the air,
indicating I should look around, which I do.
There seem to be power lunches in progress at most of the tables surrounding us as I recognize all types of celebrities from A-list to C, sitting with suits who have their deal-making faces on. The one thing all of these industry insiders have in common is the alcoholic beverages they’re guzzling. I guess if I want to look like I’m a part of all this wheeling and dealing, I’d better imbibe.
“Fine,” I tell the waiter. “I’ll have one of those yuzu things.” When he’s gone, I turn back to Alex and say, “I didn’t realize there was so much day drinking in showbiz.”
He shrugs. “Gives these meetings a more sociable vibe.”
“Your poor liver,” I retort.
“The secret is to nurse the same beer or whatever all the way through the lunch. Getting soused is counterproductive when you’re on the business side of things. Talent, on the other hand, can toss back as many as they like. Gotta love the irony of actors and actresses refusing to touch bread, but they have no problem drinking tons of alcohol, which has just as many carbs, calories, and grams of sugar.”
My phone buzzes in my purse. “Sorry,” I apologize as I reach down for the device. “I told my staff not to bother me unless it was an emergency, so this must be something important.”
I tap the screen a few times to bring up the text message, which came from Ian, not a member of my staff.
‘Partied with the UK cast of Kinky Boots last night. What do you think? New business casual look for the office on Friday?’
I giggle when I see the attached photo of Ian in his usual business apparel with a dress shirt and tie on top, but rather than crisply pressed trousers and his Italian Oxfords on the bottom, he’s sporting blue boxer briefs and a pair of red, patent leather, thigh-high boots that lace up the front. It’s the same look Charlie, the male lead in Kinky Boots, wears on the musical’s poster. I should probably also mention that Ian’s surrounded by drag queens and several, curvaceous women in lacy lingerie and every last one of them appears to be three sheets to the wind as they’re holding almost-empty bottles of Cristal, their wigs are askew, and their heavy stage makeup is smeared all over their faces.
‘I dare you.’
I titter again, then stick the phone back in my purse.
Alex is eyeing me with curiosity. “Not one of your employees?”
“No, that was Ian. Thanks.” I smile up at the server who’s just returned with our drinks.
“Are you ready to order your meals?” he asks.
“Sure,” my tablemate says. “What would you like, Nessa?”
“Um,” I drop my eyes to the menu. “I haven’t eaten here before, so I’m not sure. The Thai short rib burger and the lobster burger both sound good.”
“They’re equally delicious. How about I order the short rib and you can get the lobster, then we can share?”
I’m about to veto this idea because sharing food is something we often did when we were a couple and it’s totally inappropriate under these circumstances, but before I can, Alex adds, “No pickles on the lobster burger, not even on the plate. She can’t stand them.” Taking the menu from me, he hands both of ours to the waiter who trots off to turn our order into the kitchen. “What?” Alex wonders when he sees me staring at him gape-mouthed.
“You remembered that pickles make me dry heave.”
“Why wouldn’t I? It was your one big food quirk. You wouldn’t even kiss me if I’d eaten a pickle.”
Him mentioning us kissing makes me feel flushed all over, so I grab my cocktail and take a healthy swig. Mmmmmm, not bad, very citrusy.
“So tell me about this boyfriend of yours. Ian, was it?”
“That’s right.” I offer no further information as my ex is just about the last person I want to discuss my fictional romance with.
Alex takes a long drag off his beer before saying, “He makes you laugh, so that’s a good thing.”
“Ian does have a great sense of humor. He’s also smart, successful, wonderful company, and drop-dead gorgeous.”
“And how long have you and Mr. Perfect been seeing each other?”
“A couple of years.”
“Huh.” Alex taps his chin thoughtfully. “That’s the same amount of time you and I dated and you broke up with me because I wasn’t interested in marriage. I don’t see a wedding band or an engagement ring on your hand, so is that no longer a deal-breaker?”
“What’s it to you?” I ask, glaring at him.
“Just curious to know why your relationship with this Ian seems to be on a different timetable than ours was. You don’t care about tying the knot or having a family anymore?”
“Of course, I care!” I say hotly, then suck in a surprised breath when I see a tall, sylph-like blonde in a diaphanous floral dress gliding behind Alex’s hostess friend toward the empty table I’ve been watching. “She’s here!” I inform my companion in an exaggerated whisper.
“Hmmmm . . .” He picks up his phone to check its clock. “. . . only twelve minutes late. That’s practically on time for Jaz.”
“Wow. No wonder Jax is so in love with her. She’s even more stunning in person.”
And she comes by her looks naturally too, which is rare here in LA where most starlets have their plastic surgeons to thank for their photogenic faces and flawless bodies. Jaz’s platinum hair, which falls in a shiny curtain down her back, along with her large, glacier blue eyes and peaches and cream complexion come from her Norwegian ancestors on her father’s side while her rosebud mouth and impossibly long legs can be attributed to her mother who achieved some minor fame as a model back in the early ‘90s. That’s right, I did my research!
“Don’t let her ethereal beauty fool you into thinking Jaz is all sweetness and light. She can be very volatile.”
“Name me an actress who isn’t a huge drama queen.”
Alex’s lips twitch with amusement. “And how is your grandmother?”
“Same as ever. Still queen of all she surveys and sleeping with men half her age. She’s in rehearsals for a play at the Santa Monica Playhouse right now.”
“I’ll have to get a ticket . . . if you don’t think she’d object.”
“Hmmmm?” As my attention momentarily drifted to the table twenty feet away from us, I’m not quite sure what Alex is talking about.
“I said I’d like to support Viv by going to see her show, but not if you think my presence would upset her.”
“I’m sure she’d be thrilled to have you in the audience. She always loved you. If it wouldn’t have been a major violation of the Girl Code, she probably would have made a play for you after we broke up.”
“My loss,” Alex says with a smirk, and I chuckle before my attention is drawn back to the table that’s our reason for being here.
“Who are the people having lunch with Jaz?” I ask after a few seconds of studying the foursome.
“Hold on . . .” Alex proceeds to accidentally knock his fork off the table, then he leans down to pick it up so that he can glance over to the table without being super obvious about it. When he straightens back up, he says, “The brunette with the big necklace is Rhonda Schimmel, Jaz’s agent. She’s one of the best in the industry, a real ballbuster. The curly-haired blonde is Natalie Wilcox, my counterpart over at PMK•BNC.”
“And the dark-haired hottie with the scruff?”
“Hottie?” Alex freezes with his beer halfway to his mouth and furrows his brow at me. “If you’re talking about the guy sitting on Jaz’s left, that’s her manager, Nick Delucca. Do you really think he’s attractive?”
“Well, yeah, if you like tall, swarthy guys with bedroom eyes who can wear the hell out of a suit, which most women do. What’s the story with him and Jaz?”
“There is no story other than he’s her manager.”
“Which means they work closely together. For how long?”
“I think he’s been with her si
nce before she broke out in Time and Time Again.”
“So his presence in her life predates Jaz’s relationship with Jax. Interesting . . . What’s Mr. Delucca’s romantic status?”
“How should I know? It’s not like he and I are buds. I might have heard something about him getting a divorce last year. That being the case he’s probably single. Why? You want me to set the two of you up? Ian’s probably not going to like that.” Judging by the scowl on Alex’s face, he wouldn’t either.
“No, dummy, I was asking because I’m getting a vibe off of him.”
“What kind of vibe?”
“He took the chair closest to Jaz. He hasn’t taken his eyes off her since they sat down. And he’s touched her three, no, FOUR!, times in the last few minutes.”
“He’s being attentive to his client; that’s not unusual.”
I sigh because men really can be clueless sometimes.
“He’s not just being attentive. He’s into her. Trust me. This is my business. I know romantic feelings when I see them, and if this man is a divorcé, he’s now got an all-new way to bond with Jaz. They can commiserate about their marriages falling apart, and he can offer her a shoulder to cry on, which can lead to who-knows-what since she’s hurt and vulnerable right now.”
And to think I was worried about her seeking comfort from her co-star on the Netflix show! This Nick guy could present a much bigger obstacle to my plans for getting the Js back together.
“Let’s not invite problems,” Alex advises. “Jax and Jaz will have reconciled long before Nick can worm his way into her affections, if that’s what he’s hoping to do.”
Straight from the Hart Page 17