by Lizzie Shane
He turned, and she thought he would walk away, leaving her in his dust, but he only made it as far as her car before he stopped, bending to peer under the hood.
She frowned at him until he reached in and jiggled something. She folded her arms. “Do you even know anything about cars?”
“Nope.”
It was the weirdest Mexican standoff she’d ever been a part of. She wouldn’t let him help her and he wouldn’t leave until she did. She let the silence stretch, watching him poke and prod at her engine without any hope of success. It would have probably been cute, if her cute-o-meter hadn’t been irrevocably busted.
“Fine,” she said finally, after several minutes of their silent detente made her feel silly for refusing him. “You can drive me back to town.”
Chapter Ten
He shouldn’t have tried to kiss her again.
Jude drove with his hands at ten and two, his gaze locked on the road in front of him, carefully avoiding looking at the woman in the passenger seat beside him.
When he’d seen her stranded on the side of the road like the proverbial damsel in distress, his hopes had lifted that maybe he hadn’t irrevocably screwed things up with her. He could be there for her when she needed him and she would realize he was still the guy she’d gone to the top of the hill with last night—Jesus, had it only been last night? It felt like a lifetime.
He’d been ready to grovel—but she hadn’t wanted groveling.
He’d been ready to do whatever it took to redeem himself—but he didn’t have the first freaking clue what that was.
Just like Jack. Bumbling through a forgiveness tour with no idea what he really needed to do to be forgiven.
But he shouldn’t have kissed her. He’d known as soon as he touched her that he’d screwed up, pushed too fast, tried to make it about chemistry when it was about… hell, he didn’t know what they were about. He just knew he liked her and he needed to make things right for her.
Now all he had to do was figure out how.
They got back to the hotel too soon. The entire drive had passed in silence while he tried to think of something to say or do to make things better.
Jack was standing at the fire pit on the side patio, watching for them. He waved as Jude pulled up to the curb and Ginny unbuckled her seatbelt before the car had even stopped rolling.
“Ginny…”
“Thanks for the ride.”
Then she was out of the car and he was watching her walk away, moving not toward Jack but toward the hotel’s front entrance as the movie star scrambled to intercept her.
Jude needed to do something. Something to repair the damage he’d done.
His gaze caught on one of the production vans with a fender dented in four places. Ginny could be one of the greatest actresses of her generation but she was stuck in the middle of Bumblefuck, Nowhere, working on a film with a budget that may as well have been spare change gathered from couch cushions, because of him. Because of the tape.
He may not be able to unring the bell. He may not be able to bury the tape so no one ever heard it again, but he had contacts after three years in Hollywood. Maybe he could get her off the blacklist.
Ginny strode with purpose toward the hotel’s main entrance, determined to find Dani and figure out how to retrieve the production’s broken down car, but Jack Cooper apparently had other ideas.
“Ginny!” He jogged over from the side patio, looking every inch the heartthrob that he was with the wind ruffling his hair. “Ginny, hold on.”
It was tempting to pretend she hadn’t heard him, to keep walking and ignore the earnest sex god jogging to catch up, but twenty minutes trapped in a car with Jude had burned away her Zen and suddenly the idea of having it out with Jack sounded entirely too enticing.
She whirled to face him, not even caring that they were on the front step of the hotel where anyone could see them. “Why did you do it? Why ambush me like that?”
He fell back a step at her vehemence, but met her eyes squarely. “I wanted to help. I thought you’d like it—”
“You couldn’t just say you were sorry? Why does everything have to be a show?”
“I am sorry.”
Her anger popped and deflated in the face of his apology. “That’s all I needed from you, Jack.”
His expression softened and he stepped closer. “I’m sorry about the stuff with Agatha too. I thought you liked shows.”
“I did,” she admitted. “Until my life became one.” She looked up into his handsome face, so sweet and earnest it could break your heart. He really was the nicest guy she’d ever met in Hollywood. Just the wrong guy for her. “I’m sorry too. God, we were wrong for each other.”
“Were we?”
She could tell from his tone he was more curious than trying to get her back—maybe he never had been trying to pick up where they left off. Maybe her visions of reclaiming her past dreams had always been as one-sided as they were unrealistic. “Maybe we were right for one another then,” she acknowledged, “but I’m not the same person I was before.”
And she wasn’t sure that was a bad thing. Her world had fallen down around her ears, but she was stronger now—and she liked to think she was kinder too. Less inclined to let petty jealousy and hurt feelings drive her to lash out.
She’d never really worried about being kind before, but now it had become the unwritten rule by which she lived her life—and she couldn’t be sorry about that.
“I really am sorry I ghosted on you,” Jack said.
“I understood why you did. Everyone vanished on me—and I didn’t blame any of you.”
He shook his head, unwilling to be absolved so easily. “I shouldn’t have. I should have been there when you needed me. As your friend, if nothing else.”
On impulse, she reached up and hugged him. This good man, who sometimes let the blows be softened for him. “You wanna make it up to me? You wanna make amends for your forgiveness tour? Do me a favor. Next time something like this happens, next time you have a chance, don’t take the easy way out.”
He met her eyes and nodded. “Deal.”
He reached for the front door of the hotel and Ginny became aware of their surroundings. She was a little surprised they hadn’t gathered a crowd during their conversation, but that was one of the benefits of being in sleepy Libertyville. Though she thought she would have at least seen Jude.
He would have come this way on his way inside, wouldn’t he? Her conversation with Jack seemed like the kind of thing Jude wouldn’t want to miss, as a gossip columnist—but as soon as she had the thought, it felt wrong. That wasn’t who Jude was. Though she wasn’t sure why her inner voice said that when her better judgment kept trying to remind her that was exactly who he was.
Jack held the door for her and she walked into the lobby, scanning it for Dani to tell her about the car, but the woman she saw instead made her throat tighten.
“And speaking of not taking the easy way out, I think I have my own overdue apology to give.”
Dame Agatha sat to one side of the lobby in the hotel’s small café area, a cup of tea in front of her and a waitress fawning over her. As Ginny watched, Agatha dismissed the server with a regal smile—and calmly lifted her gaze to land directly on Ginny, as if she’d known she was there all along.
“Good luck,” Jack whispered as Ginny swallowed and began the walk across the lobby. Like a walk to the guillotine. On her way to face down the woman she’d publicly berated and privately worshipped.
“Once more unto the breach,” she muttered under her breath.
Chapter Eleven
“Genevieve.” Agatha inclined her head as Ginny approached.
“Dame Agatha.”
The woman who had played queens and prime ministers arched a brow. “You don’t have to call me by my honorific, dear. Agatha will do.” She gestured to the empty seat opposite her. “Won't you join me?”
“Thank you,” Ginny murmured, sinking down into the chair.
> She should have prepared. She’d spent that last two hours obsessing over Jude when she should have been composing odes of apology to Agatha, finding the exact right words to say. Maybe hiring a script writer to say it right.
But even now all she could think of was Jude.
Dame Agatha was evidently thinking along similar lines. “I understand you met my nephew.”
“How did he convince you to come?” she blurted, then blushed at the outburst. “Jude, I mean.”
“He didn’t have to. I wanted to come. I’ve been wanting to speak with you for some time.”
Ginny cringed. “To tell me what you think of me to my face?”
“To tell you not to take it so hard.”
Ginny blinked, stunned by the calm words. “What?”
Agatha gave her an arch look. “You think I’ve never said something snide about a costar in a fit of temper? You got unlucky because your stylist wasn’t someone you could trust. There’s a lesson in that.”
“Don’t say horrible things if you don’t want them repeated on the internet for the rest of your life?”
Agatha’s lips quirked. “That. And know who to trust.”
Ginny grimaced, studying the tea things on the table. “I was never very good at that.”
And here she was again, some part of her wanting to trust Jude when she knew that was the last thing she should be doing. Was Dame Agatha warning her away from Jude? From her own nephew? Warning Ginny to be careful who she trusted?
“Genevieve…”
“Ginny, please.”
“Ginny. Why do you want to be an actress?”
“What?” she asked—and then realized how uncouth she sounded blurting what at Dame Agatha Kelly.
“This business will eat you alive if you let it. It’s important to know what you want to get out of it and why you want it.”
Ginny felt her face heating. “You’ll think it’s stupid.”
“Possibly,” Agatha said with an elegant shrug. “My initial reasons for wanting to be an actress were positively idiotic. But that doesn’t mean they weren’t real. My nephew, poor fool, wants to be Shakespeare and Dickens and Oscar Wilde rolled into one. It’s a lot to live up to. Who do you want to be?”
Ginny flushed, and forced herself to admit the truth. “You.”
Agatha’s eyebrows flew up—Ginny had managed to surprise her. “Ah.”
“You always seemed so poised. So in control. Like nothing shook you. I always envied that.”
She’d wanted to be one of the glamorous, polished people who always knew what to say and always had someone handsome and adoring on their arm. She’d wanted to be so famous she never had to feel alone, or like she wasn’t good enough. She’d wanted that aura of calm strength and absolute self-assurance that Dame Agatha had.
“Darling. No one is as perfect as we paint them. Especially our idols.” Agatha reached for her tea, lifting it and taking a sip. “That must have made what I said to you that day even more upsetting. I am sorry about that.”
“You don’t have to apologize to me.” Ginny couldn’t imagine anything more ridiculous than Dame Agatha owing her anything.
“Just because no one recorded me saying it, doesn’t mean it wasn’t just as unkind as what you said. And I said it knowing you were listening.”
Ginny didn’t remember everything Agatha had said—the memory had been blurred by everything else that had happened in the subsequent weeks as the tape came out. She mostly recalled the feeling, and a few choice snippets. Why should you even care about the craft? Your entire generation is all about skipping the work and jumping straight to the glory, a bunch of spoiled children famous for nothing but being pretty and broadcasting their lives. Who cares if you can act if you’re dating the right man, right, dearie?
The dismissive tone had burned, but it was the fear that the words were true that had cut deep. That she really was a talentless hack who would only be successful if she was on Jack Cooper’s arm. That she would never be good enough on her own.
She and Jack had argued only that morning—she’d been frustrated that he was doing a red carpet for another project without her, frustrated that she would miss the chance to advance her career by being seen with him. Agatha’s casually delivered snark had seemed like a laser-focused indictment of the kind of success she was pursuing. Somebody’s girlfriend, who happened to act.
“It was all right,” Ginny murmured.
“No, it wasn’t,” Agatha corrected firmly. “I was angry about something that had nothing to do with you. I can’t even remember what it was now. Some idiotic thing the director had said to me, no doubt. He should never have been given that job, but he had a following and the studio wanted to appeal to millennials so they gave a summer blockbuster to that child.” She sniffed derisively and sipped her tea. “You know the part of your diatribe that bothered me the most? It wasn’t being called a raging bitch—because God knows that’s true enough—it was when you said I was an old bat who was past my sell-by date.”
Ginny cringed. “I’m so sorry. I wasn’t even aware of half of what I was saying—”
“I know. It didn’t bother me because you said it. It bothered me because I was afraid you were right.” She took another delicate sip of tea, still so poised and in control. “This isn’t an easy business, Genevieve. And it doesn’t get easier the higher up you get, no matter what you tell yourself. When you’ve arrived all of the stresses don’t suddenly go away. The higher you climb, the farther you have to fall—and the more terrifying the idea of falling becomes. Sometimes fear reduces us to our worst selves.”
“I was scared you were right too,” Ginny admitted. “That I would only be famous for dating Jack. I’m so sorry. I’d always admired you and I hate what I said on the tape. I didn’t mean it—”
“You did. In that moment. And I deserved it. I’m sorry I wasn’t worthy of your admiration that day, but I’m not sure I’m sorry you got caught. It was bad luck, but you’re much more interesting now than you were back then. The most interesting people are forged in fire, don't you think? I bet you’re an even better actress now than you were then—and you were already excellent.”
Ginny flushed, the compliment sinking into her like sunlight.
Agatha eyed her over her teacup. “How do you feel about Shakespeare?”
“What?” She must have missed something.
“I’ve decided to direct.” Agatha smiled smugly. “And when you’ve been in this industry as long as I have, people are afraid to say no to you when you want something. I’ve been thinking a great deal lately about Othello. Gossip, rumors, innuendo… I think I’d like to change it up a bit. Perhaps modernize? Add in a tabloid angle, a little social media. How do you feel about Desdemona?”
Ginny’s eyes went wide. “The lead?” She shook her head, feeling like she was being given a gift that was too generous. “You don’t have to—”
“Darling, I never make casting decisions as favors. You’re exquisite. And I have every intention of making you read for it. You will have earned it, if you get it.”
Ginny couldn’t accept fast enough, “I’d love to audition for you.” Ginny couldn't get the words out fast enough.
“Excellent.” Agatha set down her teacup with a satisfied click. “I tried getting in touch with you through your agent months ago, but apparently you’d changed representation. No one seemed to know who your new agent was.”
Ginny blushed. “I don’t have one. The tape...”
“Ah. It’ll pass. Whether you work with me or not, so don’t feel like you need to in order to make a statement. I was speaking with your production manager earlier. Lovely girl.”
“Dani?” Ginny asked, having trouble following Agatha’s conversational leaps.
“The crew here. They love you.”
“I’m sorry?”
Agatha reached for her purse to pay the bill—and Ginny realized she traveled without a massive entourage to take care of her needs for her. The
realization was almost as jarring as her next words. “Word gets around in this business—and not all the gossip is in the tabloids. It may take a while for the word to spread since this is an unfortunately small production with a relatively inexperienced crew, but some of them will go on to bigger and better things, networking at festivals and whatnot, and the word will get out that you’re good to work with. Give it a little time and you’ll be just fine. Or you can come do Shakespeare with me.” She adjusted her scarf, gathering her things in a signal that their conversation was coming to a close. “There are good things in your future, Ginny Jones. I’m looking forward to seeing it.”
“Thank you,” Ginny said, the words soft as her throat closed around them.
Agatha smiled, meeting her eyes. “Now. About my nephew…”
Chapter Twelve
Jude stepped out into the morning sunlight and squinted eyes gritty from lack of sleep. He’d been up half the night, trying to figure out some way to bring Ginny’s career back to life. He’d called everyone he could think of in LA who might be able to help him set things right, until it had been too late to call California. Then he’d started on his contacts in London.
Maybe the night wouldn’t have felt so long if it hadn’t been so fruitless. It turned out it was a helluva lot harder to repair a reputation than it had been to ruin it—even if he was the one who’d pushed the button to wreck it in the first place.
“You look like hell.”
He turned toward the familiar voice to find Agatha seated on the side patio, smoking something that smelled liked it was illegal in this state. “What are you doing?”
“Waiting for my car,” she answered, tipping her face up to the sun.
He gave her a look that told her exactly how amused he was by her innocent act. “Where did you get that?”
“One of the cameramen,” she replied, pausing to take a long draw on the joint. “Sweet kid. Told me I was a GILF.”
“Gilf?”
“Apparently it stands for grandmother he’d like to—”