by J. S. Marlo
The words whispered in her ear failed to appease her queasy stomach. By morning, rumors were bound to hit the grapevine, but that was the price to pay for not attending the event with her husband. Good thing Ollie was a good sport about it. After Blythe left her hotel room, she’d called him and he’d sounded relieved to hear she wouldn’t be alone. Still, Riley hated being in the limelight. “When are we leaving again?”
Silent laughter rippled through his chest down to his arm. “There’s an unwritten protocol we have to follow. First, we mingle with the crowd. Second, we utter platitudes for about an hour.”
As they walked farther into the room, she focused her attention on him, blocking the unwanted glances from her field of vision.
“Third, we sit at a table with a bunch of strange characters and try to remember their names. Fourth, we eat a seven-course meal with the wrong fork or spoon. Fifth, we listen to boring speeches and clap to encourage them to speak faster. Sixth, we—”
“Sneak out the bathroom window?” she quipped, mesmerized by how the scar seemed to dance on his cheek as he described each stage.
Shades of blue and gray swirled in his eyes as he smiled at her. “Back door is safer. Window frames are tricky when—” He halted near the buffet table. “Trouble coming from the left.”
Her gaze followed his, and she sighed inwardly.
Paul walked toward them with the same strawberry-blonde girl he’d been with at Casa Grigia. “Huxley and Ryle. What a surprise.” His young date scrunched up her nose. “Who needs an escort when you have a spare man at your disposal?”
“Paul?” Taller and broader, Blythe towered over the writer. “Let’s not bump into each other again tonight, or someone might get hurt.”
The threat wasn’t lost on Riley, and she couldn’t decide if Paul enjoyed antagonizing them or if he was just too stupid to stop. Whatever the reason, he retreated with his date, but not before throwing one long contemptuous look in their direction.
A waiter, balancing a tray of drinks, walked past them. Blythe relieved him of two crystal glasses and, turning toward her, offered her one. “For the toast. You don’t need to drink it.”
“Thank you.” Out of curiosity, she tasted it. “Interesting.” For a white wine, it was surprisingly fruity. “I like it.”
“I’m glad.” He took a sip and nodded in appreciation. “Do I want to know what Paul meant by escort?”
“He heard I was dateless and suggested I call an escort service.” Too bad it didn’t occur to her at the time to ask if he’d hired the strawberry blonde. The comeback might have shut him up.
“Is he still spreading rumors about us? I can—” Blythe tensed again. “Brace yourself. More trouble coming from behind you.”
As Riley spun around, an involuntary gasp of astonishment escaped her lips.
Isabella floated across the room in a dazzling red gown. The strapless gown hugged her voluptuous curves, and the slit on the right side of the skirt advertised a muscled thigh. Attached to her hip was a cute boy who could easily have been Rowan’s classmate.
“Blythe, honey.” The actress stopped in front of them and scuffed Blythe’s arm, showing no consideration for her much younger date. “You look as handsome as ever in your tuxedo. And you’re wearing your wedding ring. How touching for Claire. Did you dump that mysterious date of yours?”
Blythe moved closer to Riley and slipped his left hand to the small of her back. “I believe you’ve met Riley.” The warmth of his body spread through the thin fabric of her new dress. “She graciously agreed to come with me after my sister canceled.”
Had it been any other man, Riley would have been offended by the liberty he took, but this was Blythe, and he was waging a subtle battle with the sassy, pushy actress. The placement of his hand, or the way he twisted the truth, was nothing more than an act.
Playing along, she clasped both hands around her glass and smiled. “Hello, Isabella.”
The glare in Isabella’s eyes pierced through her with the precision of a laser beam.
“Skip the innocent act, honey. This isn’t a game you want to play.” With that cryptic advice left hanging in the air, she swept her hair back with a flick of her neck and walked away, her cub in tow.
Puzzled by the actress’s behavior, she looked to Blythe for an explanation. “What was that about?”
“I foiled her devious plan when I refused to be her date for tonight. Sorry, Shamrock. She shouldn’t have taken it out on you.” He removed his hand from her back and took another sip of his drink. “Have you been introduced to Dylan’s wife?”
She’d glimpsed the lead actor’s wife on the set a few times, but they’d never spoken. “I never had the pleasure.”
“I believe you’ll enjoy talking to her.” He gallantly offered his arm. “Shall we?”
Chapter Seventeen
Bright orange flames shot out from the hallway, burning her eyes. Axe in hand, Chad rushed to the second floor. He didn’t wear his firefighter suit, only boots and a helmet. His foot slipped. His eyes, one blue and one dark brown, widened as he reached for the railing. The stairs collapsed. He fell, and a ball of fire swallowed him alive. Petrified at the top of the stairs, Rowan screamed, a gut-wrenching scream that speared her soul.
Riley bolted upright in bed, shaking and sweating.
“Ken?” Ollie’s strong arms pulled her down. “What’s wrong?”
Distraught by the intensity of the nightmare, she held on tight to his chest. “Nightmare.”
“You want to talk about it?”
Cradled in his arms, she shook her head. The pounding of her heart slowly subsided, replaced by a dull ache. She loved Ollie, but she’d never stopped loving Chad. They both shared her heart forever.
On the night table, the alarm clock indicated it was past five in the morning. Friday night had come and gone. Thinner hadn’t struck, and Ollie hadn’t been called away in the middle of the night. “I hate Friday nights.” And Tuesday nights.
The death of the bartender on the night of the gala had reopened an old wound. Ollie had waited for her to fly home before he told her, but it didn’t prevent recurrent dreams of Chad’s tragic death from resurfacing. Rowan’s unexplained presence in the burning house added a disturbing twist to the nightmare. No words could erase the terror that had taken possession of her soul before she awoke.
A huge bear hug enveloped her. “No fire, sweetheart. You’re safe.”
The loving hands caressing her bare back offered all the comfort she craved. “I love you, Ollie.”
“Love you too. And I’m so proud of you. I wish I’d been there on Wednesday when the producer approached you at the end of the evening to offer you a contract for the fall.”
While she recognized Ollie’s tactic, she was grateful for the diversion. For her, it’d been the highlight of the evening. For Paul, it’d been an excuse to throw another acerbic remark in her direction while Blythe fetched some coffees. “Nothing is written in stone. I haven’t accepted yet.”
“What?” He rolled her on her back, and propped on his elbows, he leaned over her. “Why the hesitation? Don’t you like writing for the show?”
The first sunrays of the day peeked around the narrow blinds blocking the window, allowing her to see his confusion. “I do. I love it.” Pride and joy swelled inside her chest every time the parts she’d written were played on the screen. “But I’m not sure my skin is thick enough to withstand all the backstabbing going on behind the scenes.”
“You’re a fighter, Ken. Always have been. If you don’t want to sign the contract, it’s fine with me, but don’t give up your dream because of that colleague of yours. He’s not worth it.”
“I’m tired of his innuendoes.”
He placed a tender kiss on the tip of her nose. “You should be flattered he goes through that much trouble to tarnish your reputation.”
“I should?” What kind of mental leap had Ollie made to come to that dubious conclusion?
“Your
scripts have to be that much superior to his in order for him to see you as a major threat.”
In a twisted way, it sounded like a compliment, a nice compliment. “You convinced me. I’ll sign.”
“Good. And in the weeks to come, I’ll try to visit you at the studio.”
“Really?” If Ollie and Blythe were seen sharing a drink, it might slow down the rumor mill.
“I have a credit for the flight I cancelled. I need to use it, don’t I?”
“I’d like that very much.” With the tip of her finger, she traced imaginary lines over his chest. “I have a very nice hotel suite, you know. It has a large Roman tub in it and a king size bed.”
“Really?” He peppered butterfly kisses along her lips. “Since it’s too early to get up and too late to go back to sleep, what about a preview of what awaits me once you entice me in that nice hotel room of yours?”
***
A lifetime ago, Blythe had loved the odd Saturdays on location. He and Claire would leave at dawn, stop in a little country restaurant for breakfast, and then go for a walk in the wilderness before the rest of the crew arrived. In the summer, his wife sat in the shadow of a tree and read a book while he played a wild rescuer, and in the winter, she drank hot chocolate, wrapped from head to toe in a fleece blanket.
Tonight, once Martin called it quits, no one would jump into his arms. There’d be no romantic interlude after a candlelight dinner in a rustic pub in a little motel along the way.
Footsteps in the sand forewarned him of the arrival of an imminent visitor, interrupting his thoughts.
“Reminiscing or sleeping?”
Seated in a remote corner of the beach, his back to a dead log and his arms crossed over his chest, Blythe tipped up his baseball cap. Shielding his eyes from the sun wasn’t the only reason he wore a cap. The garment was also supposed to deter unwelcome people from disturbing him. “Isn’t there somewhere else you need to be?”
“I want to apologize.”
“Really?” He’d never heard Bella apologize to anyone. “For what?”
“Well…” Standing at his feet, she dug a hole in the sand with her sandal. “I heard Kendrick’s husband was the one who canceled at the last minute on Wednesday, leaving her stranded for a date.”
He was tempted to ask where she’d heard this, but the dread of prolonging the conversation outweighed his desire to know her source. No point showing unnecessary interest in her, not when his goal was to curb her interest in him. “So?”
“I find it admirable you changed your plans in Kendrick’s favor so she could attend the gala.”
That sounded way too nice to come from Bella’s mouth, especially after she’d blasted him for giving Riley a ride to the studio, so he waited for her true colors to shine.
“I’m sorry I lashed out at her. She’s a good writer, and she did bring Vivian and Carson together.”
For his sanity, he refused to dwell on the romance between their characters, or the love scenes looming in their future. It was bad enough that in a few hours, Carson would pull Vivian out of the water and wrap her in his arms. “You’re apologizing to the wrong person.”
“I thought you’d want to know your sacrifice was noted.”
Spending time with Riley wasn’t a sacrifice or a chore, but a pleasure, an immense pleasure. Not that anyone needed to be privy to his feelings. “Go back to your college boys, Bella, and leave me alone.”
Chapter Eighteen
The heavy steps resonating in the hallway culminated with Andy’s entrance into the office. “We have a problem.” He tossed a stash of documents into the shredding bin before sitting at his desk. “We have four days to rewrite the finale of the season.”
“Martin rejected Ryle’s cliffhanger?” A grin split Paul’s face. “I told you we should have ended the episode with a rope tied around my Nicolle’s waist, not with Roch losing his footing as the house slides down.”
“You don’t end the season on a minor character.” Riley eyed the coffee machine sitting on a cart in the corner. The coffee that Blythe had bought her when she landed two hours earlier was long gone, and she needed a second cup to sustain her through the upcoming argument. “You want the viewers to worry about Roch all summer, not about Nicolle.”
“Time out, you two.” Hands clasped over his desktop, Andy glanced back and forth between them. “The ending isn’t the problem.”
“It’s not?” Paul straightened up in his chair. Except for the ending, the script was mostly his creation. “What’s Martin’s problem?”
“Nicolle is coming on too strong. Martin doesn’t want a romance between Luke and Nicolle, and he wants us to make Nicolle less insufferable.”
“He what? Nicolle’s character fits perfectly within the scenario.”
In the script, two sisters were trapped in a house caught in a landslide. In her mid-twenties, Nicolle was the oldest, and she fought the rescuers at every turn, only accepting Luke’s help. Her infatuation with the British rescuer bordered on obsession. She was a one-episode character, but Paul defended the sassy twit like a blinded lover. Had she been real instead of a figment of his imagination, Riley had no doubt he’d be dating the woman.
“Instead of two sisters, we could have a mother and a teenage daughter. Nicolle could be the mother, a middle-aged woman whose husband left her for a girl half his age. Her bitterness and distrust of men could explain her reticence to trust the male rescuers.”
Paul leaped to his feet and pointed an accusing finger at her. “You are not touching my Nicolle.”
“Fine.” The outburst didn’t impress Riley. “I won’t touch your Nicolle. I’ll call her Ethel.”
Rubbing his goatee, Andy slowly nodded. “I like it, girl. It has potential.”
Paul’s anger erupted in a thunderous response, rattling the office. “You can’t be serious. This is bullshit.”
She leaned forward, ready to pounce on him and beat some sense into his thick skull. Unsavory words battled with her tongue for the right to explode. With great effort, she reeled in the most offending words, but couldn’t stop her voice from rising. “Try saying it louder, Paul. The joggers in the park didn’t hear you.”
A loud bang diverted her attention to Andy. “That’s enough.” He held his coffee cup high, like a judge holding a gavel. “Do I need to break it?” Keeping the cup in his hand, he stared at Paul who sat in his chair. “Good. I don’t know what you both ate for breakfast, but I suggest you switch menus for tomorrow. We have four days. Start writing. In the meantime, I’ll go talk to Martin about recasting Nicolle.”
Riley had a feeling she might as well forget about Casa Grigia tonight.
“You’re going to pay for this,” Paul grumbled through gritted teeth.
***
For the morning briefing, an employee wheeled a cart with muffins and pastries into the conference room. Except for his morning coffee, Blythe hadn’t eaten anything, and his stomach complained. He approached the cart. The blueberry muffins looked fresh and smelled good. After choosing one from the tray, he turned back. Bella blocked his way.
“Hello, honey.” Somehow she’d managed to corner him between the cart and a garbage can. “Have you made any plans for your two-month vacation?”
None that included his female co-star. “Spending time with my nephews before they head back to school.”
“How sweet of you. If they look anything like you, I bet they are adorable.”
Adorable in a rambunctious way and too young for Bella’s taste. “What do you want?”
She took a step closer and tilted her head. “I wouldn’t mind a real man for a change.”
Long blonde hair brushed his shirt, and the fragrance of strawberries and mangoes assaulted his nostrils. There went two flavors of yogurt he’d never eat again for breakfast. “Good luck finding him.”
“When you’re done playing the doting uncle, I rented a villa on the Aegean Sea.” Her knee rubbed against his leg and killed his appetite. “You’r
e welcome to show up for some R and R.”
He tossed the muffin in the trash can. “I wouldn’t dream of disturbing you.” The lecture he’d given her on the beach on Saturday had obviously flown to a tropical destination without her.
“It’s on a remote Greek island, honey. It could be our dirty, little secret.”
Now would be a good time for Martin to start the meeting, but he was late. “If I go anywhere, Bella, it’ll be horseback riding in the mountains.”
“Horses?” A sneer of disdain twisted her nose. “But they poop, and they smell.”
“Yes, they do.” He smirked in satisfaction. The mountains weren’t a place where he risked running into her.
“Hey, Hux?” From across the room, Nick gestured for Blythe to join him.
“Excuse me, Bella.” Eager to add distance between him and the cougar, Blythe moved the cart and pushed his way toward Nick. “Morning, Nick. What’s up?”
“Not much.” With his boyish charm, tousled, brown hair, and mischievous smile, Nick should have been Bella’s preferred target. “It’ll be twenty bucks for the diversion.”
His friend added a touch of humor to his frustrating encounter with Bella. “Did I look that desperate?”
“Yes. You—” Nick arched a brow as he stared past Blythe’s shoulder. “Martin is making his entrance.”
Blythe turned around. The door of the conference room closed behind the producer. Everyone took their seats around the table and waited for Martin to start the meeting.
“We’re behind schedule, people. Unless you all want to postpone your vacations, get ready to work eighteen hours a day, seven days a week until the end of July. Feel free to blame the stuntmen and Mother Nature.”
***
For the sake of the show.
Riley had stopped counting how often Paul hid behind the expression to justify his sour attitude as they penciled down new scenarios for the finale. Mad over Martin’s decision, he blamed her for Nicolle’s demise, like Riley had any influence on the producer.