Straight from the Hart

by Tracie Banister

  I claim a spot by two planters that are diagonally across from the couple I’m interested in and position myself so that there’s a vibrant assortment of flowers directly behind me and a skyline dotted with high-rises beyond that. I fluff my hair (actually, the wig), then lift my phone and start smizing and making pouty lips like I’m on America’s Next Top Model and desperately want to impress Tyra Banks. Of course, I don’t even have my device set to selfie mode and am instead using it to zoom in on Jaz and her manager.

  She’s talking and swiping at the tears that are still streaming down her cheeks while he nods and murmurs who-knows-what in return. He could be telling her that this interview on Late Night is no big deal, or offering to whisk her away to some private island where there’s no television or Wi-Fi so that she doesn’t have to hear whatever Georgina has to say, or badmouthing Jax for being the cause of all this drama. Other than the random word or phrase being carried over to me by the breeze, I can’t really hear what they’re saying, which is super annoying, and makes me wish I was a real spy who had planted a bug on one of them so that I could be listening to their exchange on an earpiece.

  The bits of conversation I can make out because Jaz raises her voice are: humiliated . . . nightmare . . . I can’t believe . . . so painful . . . never forgive . . . I finally hear an entire sentence when she wails, “He’s ruined everything!” and throws herself into Nick’s arms, sobbing her heart out.

  So, to summarize, things are not looking good for Jax who’s probably in his hotel room doing burpees to make sure the cake he ate doesn’t go to his abs while waiting to get a thank you text from his wife that will never come. And I have no doubt that Nick Delucca is loving every minute of watching his client’s marriage fall apart. He looks like he’s died and gone to heaven as he rubs circles on Jaz’s back, whispers in her ear, and ohmigod! I take a quick picture so that I can confirm I just saw what I think I did.

  Yep, it’s official. I have photographic proof. Nick sniffed Jaz’s hair! I knew I was right about him having a thing for her. What an opportunistic sleazeball! I have half a mind to march over there and tell Jaz that Nick is working an angle because he wants to get in her pants, or under her skirt since she’s wearing a dress. Of course, if I did that, I’d have to tell her why her personal life is any of my business and admit that I’m here surveilling her because her husband is paying me to facilitate a reconciliation, which I’m guessing wouldn’t go over very well. Ugh! I hate that I can’t be more hands-on in this situation.

  At least Jaz has now pulled back from Nick, sniffling, and from the looks of things, apologizing for her outburst. I hear her say, “home,” presumably because that’s where she wants to go, and Nick wraps a protective arm around her shoulders and leads her away.

  Since Team Jax has just suffered a major setback, I’m wondering where we go from here when my phone buzzes with a text from Alex. ‘Coast clear?’

  I send him a thumbs-up emoji in response, and he joins me on the walkway a few minutes later. “What happened?” he asks.

  They say a picture is worth a thousand words, so I flip my phone around and show him the snap I took of Jaz and Nick.

  He frowns. “That looks cozy. Hold on a sec. Is he . . .” Squinting because the sun’s behind him and it’s reflecting off the phone, Alex leans in closer. “Smelling her hair? That’s so weird!”

  “I told you he had the hots for her.” Under normal circumstances I would enjoy being right, but not this time since it could cause a serious problem for us. “They just left and were headed back to Jaz’s place. You need to text her assistant and tell her to run interference so that Nick doesn’t try and pull any funny business while Jaz is still reeling from this latest bomb that was dropped on her.”

  Following my orders, Alex extracts his phone from the pocket of his jacket and starts tapping on it.

  “Ask if she’s willing to keep a close eye on Nick moving forward and report back to you,” I instruct. “I don’t trust that guy.”

  “Done,” Alex declares. His phone immediately dings with a reply, which he glances down to read. “Aimee says she’s on it, and I owe her a huge favor that she’s already calling in. She wants me to get her and her squad,” he grimaces when saying the word popularized by Taylor Swift and her girl gang, “a private cabana at Wet Republic to celebrate her birthday next month.”

  “What the heck is Wet Republic?” Clearly, I’m not hip and happening since I have no idea.

  “It’s the hottest adult pool destination in Vegas—lots of daytime debauchery with half-naked people drinking, dancing, and doing illicit things while the world’s best DJs spin.” Alex types something on his phone, then mutters, “Dammit. Calvin Harris is headlining on the day Aimee wants to go.”

  “And an event with him is beyond your reach?”

  “The VIP spaces for that date were probably reserved ages ago, but there might be something I can do.” Alex thumbs through his list of contacts until he finds the one he wants and touches the phone’s screen. Bringing the device to his ear, he waits for the other person to answer, which they do very quickly.

  “Hi, Dvora,” Alex offers the greeting with a smile she can’t see, but it’s still somehow conveyed in his voice. “How are you? Gearing up for the Billboards? Let’s hope they’re not as crazy as the Grammys, right?” He chuckles throatily as if the two of them just shared an inside joke.

  Sobering, he says, “No, no, I told you I’d take it to the grave, didn’t I? And I’m a man of my word, so you have nothing to worry about. I’m just glad I was there to help in your hour of need. Hey, listen, do you still rep Calvin Harris? Great! Think you could hook up a friend of mine with a cabana at Wet Republic on May 11th? Yeah, that’s when Calvin’s DJing. Uh huh, oh, that’s sweet of you, but you don’t have to comp— Well, thanks, and bottle service too? Your generosity knows no bounds, D! I’ll text you my friend’s name, okay? Let’s do lunch soon. Good talking to you as well. Bye.”

  He disconnects the call and flashes his pearly whites at me.

  “Show off,” I say with a roll of my eyes although I have to admit I’m a little bit impressed that he’s so well-connected these days. “Let’s get out of here. I’ve been away from the office too long.”

  “Same. This way.” He waves an arm toward the walkway to our right.

  “Does Jax know about the Georgina interview?” I query as we saunter along the pretty path.

  “I told him, and naturally, he’s freaking out. I suggested we all convene at his suite tonight so that we can watch Late Night together, then discuss damage control. I’ll have everything set up so that we can catch the East Coast feed.”

  That beats having to wait until the show airs here at 12:30, but still . . .

  “It’s going to be a late one.”

  “Yeah, sorry. That’s the life of working with celebrities; it’s pretty much round-the-clock with them,” Alex says as we walk up to the elevator that will take us down to the lobby of the hotel. He reaches out a hand to press the button to call the transport when its doors open and we come face-to-face with its two occupants.

  “Alex!” Jaz’s big blue eyes widen upon seeing him. “I didn’t realize you were here.”

  “Lunch with a client.” He gestures at me.

  “I had a meeting with my team earlier and left my phone on the table,” Jaz explains the reason for her return before exiting the elevator with her manager in tow. The four of us move off to the side so that we can continue our chat without getting in anyone else’s way.

  Giving me an appraising look, her manager says, “I don’t believe we’ve met. Nicholas Delucca of D&R Talent Management,” then extends his hand toward me.

  I freeze in place, feeling panicky because I can’t give him my real name, but I never thought about coming up with a fake one as Alex and I had just planned to observe Jaz from a distance, not interact with her. I’m saved by my “publicist” who introduces me. “Delucca, Jazmin, this is Véronique Le Coeur.”


  I’m French? Fabulous. Now I’m going to have to do an accent and rely on my two years of high school French, which I’ve mostly forgotten.

  Placing my hand delicately in Nick’s, I say, “Enchanté, monsieur . . . et madame.” I acknowledge Jaz with a bob of my head, then tell her, “I am a huge fan of your work.”

  Her face brightens. “That’s so kind of you to say. And I am a huge fan of your beautiful country. I spent a wonderful month there filming Time and Time Again, and we went back later to . . .,” she trails off, her eyes filling with tears as she remembers her epic, romantic wedding to Jax.

  This is the perfect opening for me to mention her husband and encourage Jaz to talk about those blissful, early days of their relationship, but before I can do that, Nick squeezes my hand to redirect my attention his way.

  “What brings you to LA, Véronique?”

  Retracting my limb, I say with a shrug and what I hope is the right amount of French insouciance, “What else? I come here to be reech and famous een your beeg-budget, American movies.”

  Nick chortles with amusement. “A woman with lofty ambitions, I like it. What acting did you do in France?”

  “She’s mostly been on the stage,” Alex answers for me, and I immediately see the wisdom in that reply. Should Nick be inclined to look, it’ll be much more difficult for him to track down my acting history if I’ve only played theater roles in a foreign land.

  “Well, that was a waste,” Nick asserts, his espresso-colored eyes now smoldering. “A woman with your beauty and charisma belongs on the big screen.”

  I imagine self-assured Véronique believes compliments from men are her due. Ergo, she wouldn’t be flattered by Nick’s honeyed words, she’d just agree with him. “Thees ees what I theenk. I do have small role as Marion Cotillard’s seester een her next feelm.” Viv got her start in the movie biz playing the sibling of an Oscar winner, so it seems appropriate that my actress alter ego should do the same.

  “You are well on your way to cinematic stardom then,” Nick says with an ingratiating smile. “If you don’t already have a manager . . .” He produces a business card, seemingly out of thin air, and hands it to me.

  “I can vouch for what a great job Nicky does,” Jaz chimes in. “He really goes above and beyond to make sure all of his clients’ needs are met. He’s more of a friend to me than a business associate.” Coiling her arm around her manager’s, she rests her head affectionately on his shoulder.

  Oh, dear. Jaz seems unusually attached to Nick. I wonder if this is something new or if their relationship has always been so close.

  “But there’s plenty of me to go around and I’m happy to take on new clients who have tremendous potential, as you clearly do, Véronique. My personal cellphone number is on there.” Nick points to the card I’m now holding.

  “Good to know, monsieur.” I slide the business card into the low V-neck of my dress, drawing his eyes to my bust, which appears much fuller than it actually is thanks to the darts on the garment and a push-up bra that’s a miracle worker.

  “We should go,” Alex says, stepping closer and putting his hand under my elbow. “Jaz, nice to see you. Is there a message you’d like me to pass along to . . . ?” He raises an eyebrow questioningly.

  Jaz lifts her head, but keeps clinging to Nick’s arm as if he’s her lifeline and she can’t let go or she might be swept away by the tidal wave of emotions she’s experiencing. “Thanks, but I don’t want to speak to him, even through other people, right now.”

  Rather than pushing the issue, Alex shows compassion by replying, “I understand.”

  He and I start to leave, but we’re stopped when Jaz queries in a small voice, “Is he okay?”

  “Not at all,” Alex answers honestly after turning back toward her. “He’s devastated by what’s happened and is beating himself up over it.”

  “As he should be,” Nick retorts. “That bastard deserves to suffer for everything he’s put Jaz through.”

  “Why don’t you stick to managing Jaz’s career and let her and Jax work out their own problems?” Alex snaps, glowering at the other man.

  “It’s my duty as Jaz’s manager to protect her from people who don’t have her best interests at heart, and since her husband committed adultery and made her an object of pity and ridicule to everyone with a social media account as well as the press, I’d say he falls squarely in that category.” Nick’s dark eyes are now burning with fury, and I worry that he and Alex are going to come to blows if I don’t do something.

  “Thees seetuation ees most unfortunate, but eet will not be eemproved by aireeng thees poor woman’s soiled clotheeng een public.”

  Jaz glances down at her dress to see if she’s got a stain somewhere.

  “She meant ‘dirty laundry,’” Alex explains with a twitch of his lips, which tells me that he found Véronique’s close, but no cigar English to be funny. “And she’s right. This isn’t the place for this discussion. Jaz, if I can be of any help to you during this difficult time, don’t hesitate to reach out.”

  “She’s already got all the help she needs,” Nick assures Alex with a sneer. I swear, if he were a dog, he’d be peeing on Jaz right now to mark his territory.

  Before Alex can call the manager out on being presumptuous and possessive when he has no right to be, I say, “A pleasure to make your acquaintance, Jazmeen. I hope to see you again soon. Monsieur,” I drag out the word in a sexy, languorous fashion and pat my chest where I slipped Nick’s card a few moments ago to let him know he might be hearing from me, then Alex is ushering me to the elevator.

  We say nothing to each other while we wait for the transport to arrive. When it does, a group of five emerges and we take their places. Alex presses the button for the lobby, which makes the doors close. The second they do and we’re all alone, our heads whip to the side at the same time and we both shout the question, “What the hell was that?”

  Since we’re obviously talking about different things, I clarify, “You antagonized Delucca and made him even more determined to hang on to Jaz and prevent her from getting back together with Jax.”

  “I had to speak up for my client, didn’t I? And Nick was acting like such a smug, holier-than-thou prick I felt compelled to put him in his place. I can’t believe he has the gall to sit in judgment on Jax cheating once when I heard it was Nick’s habitual screwing around that made his wife leave him.”

  “Sounds about right. He has ladies’ man written all over his scruffy face.”

  “If you could see that, why were you encouraging the man by flirting so outrageously with him?”

  “I wasn’t flirting,” I scoff.

  “The business card being warmed up by your left boob tells a different story,” Alex says, flapping a hand at my chest.

  Reaching into the lacy cup of my bra to extract the card, I study it as the elevator continues its descent. Musing aloud, I say, “Maybe we can use Véronique as a decoy to draw Nick’s interest away from—”

  “Absolutely not. That was Véronique Le Coeur’s first and last performance,” Alex dismisses the idea out of hand. “What did you think of that name, by the way? Pretty clever of me to come up with it on the fly, right? A first name that starts with a V, and a last one that translates to heart.”

  “Very clever,” I reply, returning the business card to its secret hideaway. “I commend you on your improvisational skills, but why did you make me French?”

  “France was on my mind,” Alex says cryptically and averts his eyes to the elevator panel, which he suddenly finds very fascinating.

  “Because?” I prompt.

  Pressing his lips together, he pivots back to face me. “It just occurred to me when we were out on that walkway surrounded by all of those colorful spring flowers that you and I had talked about going to Paris at this time of year.”

  We had, many times in fact. I even did research online and planned a whole romantic itinerary for us that included a picnic at Luxembourg Gardens where Marius
and Cosette first laid eyes on each other in Les Misérables. I am deeply touched he remembered that. Of course, we never made that trip because he was too busy with work and that memory hardens my heart against him once more.

  “We did,” I say crisply before bringing our conversation back to a topic I’d rather discuss. “Now, about me continuing the Véronique charade . . .” I’m convinced that this idea has merit and I’ll be damned if I give up on it without a fight! “I think you need to reconsider as this might be our best chance at neutralizing Nick. Since he seems to be keen on managing Véronique—”

  “He’s keen on banging her, not managing her,” Alex corrects me testily.

  “Or he wants to do both and I can work with that. String him along with some flirtatious text messages for a while—”

  “Véronique has a phone?”

  Shoot, he’s right. I couldn’t use my cell for this ruse because it’s registered to the business, which means the number can be easily traced back to Straight from the Hart. “I could get a burner phone.”

  “And that wouldn’t look suspicious?”

  “Not if you’re someone who’s visiting from another country. People always pick up burner phones at the airport when they’re traveling abroad so that they don’t have to pay for an international plan.”

  We’ve reached our destination, so the elevator stops and its doors slide apart.