Spades: Motorcycle Club Romance (Savage Saints MC Book 5)

by Hazel Parker

  “Fine,” the third man said when she’d finished, “great. You did well. We’ve got your number, and we’ll be in touch.”

  Despite feeling like she hadn’t even really been any throughout the audition, Jessica forced a polite, “thank you for your time!” before she exited out the back door, not wanting to risk running into the man from the lobby again, especially if he’d been able to hear her sing. In the sunlight of the early afternoon, she felt a little lighter, almost like she hadn’t just wasted another day fighting for a job that she didn’t even want. She opened her phone to a text from her best friend, Marissa, and the first genuine smile of the morning crept over her face.

  “Lunch, 12:00, Little Mama’s Bistro,” she read aloud to herself. It was an invitation that, in true Marissa fashion, hadn’t even offered the option to decline, so she flagged down a taxi and headed into town to meet her.

  By the time Jessica arrived at the restaurant, Marissa was already situated in their usual corner booth and had already ordered two glasses of their favorite wines. One was sitting in front of her, half-drank, and the other was at the unoccupied seat, surprisingly untouched. She smiled when she spotted Jessica and waved her over to the table.

  "Jessica," she greeted cheerfully, moving her purse out of Jessica’s seat. "How did your audition go?"

  Without answering, she picked up the glass of wine, emptying half in a few seconds. Marissa quirked one eyebrow at her in amusement.

  "That bad?" she asked.

  "Worse," Jessica replied. "I had to sing, and I know there's going to be some kind of skimpy costume involved." she shuddered at the thought. "I don't even want this job, but I can't find anything else locally, and I need the money."

  Marissa, who had been a paralegal at a major law firm for over three years now, rolled her eyes. "You know that I can help you out if you need cash," she offered, not for the first time. It was an offer that Jessica appreciated, of course, but one that never became any less awkward.

  “No,” she declined, as she always did, “I can make it. I’ve got a little savings, anyway—I just really don’t want to dip into it.” She sighed, swirling the wine around and watching the glass tint purple. “Why does it feel like everyone else our age is buying houses and getting married?”

  Marissa laughed, clearly already a little tipsy but not letting that stop her from sipping more of her wine. “I’m not married,” she contradicted, showing her naked left hand as evidence, “and I’m not even looking to be. I think you’re being a little hard on yourself.”

  Jessica shrugged. “Maybe,” she admitted. “But even if you’re not married, you’re working in your dream career. You’ve got so much going for you.”

  “Hey,” Marissa said, her tone sobering, “you’ve got things going for you, too.”

  “I’ve got fish sticks, if I’m lucky,” she deadpanned, unable to keep her face straight as Marissa giggled. Before she could change the subject to something a little less self-deprecating, her phone began to buzz in her purse. “Speak of the devil,” Jessica said when her agent’s number popped up on the screen. She slid her finger across the screen to answer.

  “You got it,” Jessica’s agent, Kim, began, not wasting any time with pleasantries. “The Juniper ad. They just called and said they wanted you.”

  “Yay,” Jessica said unenthusiastically. “When’s the shoot?”

  “This weekend,” Kim replied. “I’ve got to run, but I’ll email you all you need to know.”

  She hung up without another word, and once Jessica had put her phone away, Marissa was leaning forward expectantly.

  “I got the job,” she near-whined.

  “Wow,” Marissa laughed, “don’t get too excited.”

  Jessica sat back in her seat, running a hand through her hair. “Sometimes I think I should just give up on the acting thing in general,” she confessed.

  Marissa frowned. “Jessica,” she reasoned, “come on. You’re just stressed because you’re not getting the roles you want. This has been your dream since we were kids.”

  Jessica groaned. She was right about that much—Jessica had been dreaming of becoming an actor since before she’d even met Marissa in second grade. In every school production, Jessica had played the lead, one of the only students that didn’t dread the holiday concerts, excellent at giving presentations. All her teachers had told her parents that she was destined for the spotlight, and Jessica had thrived on that attention. She’d gone to a highly competitive college with a world-famous conservatory.

  None of it, now, seemed like it had been worth it.

  “To hell with wine,” Marissa declared, flagging down a young waiter, “you need chocolate. Can we get a slice of devil’s food cake? With extra ice cream?”

  It was rare that Jessica broke her strict diet to eat something so filled with sugar and fat, but when Marissa was right, she was right. Chocolate would make her feel better right about now.

  “Okay,” Jessica said, taking a deep breath, “enough feeling sorry for myself. You’ve got to pay your dues, right? That’s all.”

  Marissa nodded emphatically. “Exactly,” she agreed. “Jessica, you’re the most talented person I know. You’re an amazing actor, and you’re smart and resourceful. It’s only a matter of time before you make it big. You just have to stick with it.”

  Jessica couldn’t help but smile. “We’ll see, I guess,” she said, picking up her fork as the waiter, a cute college-aged guy, set the chocolate cake on the table in front of them, deliberately and exaggeratedly not making eye contact as he shuffled pointedly away. “What was that all about?” she accused, and Marissa grinned.

  “I have no idea,” she disclaimed innocently. “However, it might have something to do with the fact that I took him home with me last time we ate here?”

  Jessica nearly choked on her cake. “Marissa!” she guffawed. “I thought we agreed you weren’t going to do that anymore! It took us months to find a new place to eat after you and the Pizzaro’s guy hooked up.”

  “I told you I was getting something tasty to-go,” she shrugged. “Learn to read between the lines, Jess.” Jessica half-laughed, half-groaned. “Besides, that’s how people meet these days!”

  “It is not,” Jessica argued firmly.

  “I think you’re jealous,” Marissa accused, “because you’re not getting any.”

  “Please,” Jessica rolled her eyes. “I’ve got way more important things to worry about than my love life.”

  “You’re only saying that because it’s nonexistent,” Marissa teased. Jessica set her fork down, noticing that she’d already eaten almost half the cake, and shoved the plate away from her. “You never get out anymore.”

  “Maybe I just don’t tell you about it,” Jessica fabricated. “I could have a wild social life outside of you, and you’d be none the wiser.”

  Marissa kicked at her under the table. “Right,” she laughed. “You, the person who goes to bed at ten every night and reads entire book series over the weekends, are a full-blown party animal. I’m sorry I ever doubted you.”

  Despite knowing that Marissa was joking, Jessica couldn’t help but feel a little self-conscious about the insinuation. Had her life really become that boring and predictable? The problem was, she decided, that instead of working just one job and having free time afterward, she spent almost every minute of her life either auditioning for roles or searching for new roles for which to audition. Even the jobs she did land were short, low-paying gigs, so she never was able to get too comfortable. It was part of the reason she declined every date she was asked on, and that was part of the reason she sometimes wondered if having a chance at her dream job was even worth all the effort.

  As she set her alarm for seven the next morning, she noticed a red notification over her email app and clicked on it. Expecting the information about the commercial from her agent, Jessica’s jaw nearly dropped when she read the name of the sender: Nora Thatch, one of the most famous publicity agents in the bus
iness. She represented all the biggest drama and sitcom stars but was famous for being extremely selective in her clientele and not wasting her time on anyone who hadn’t had at least one major movie in their resume. So why, Jessica wondered, was she contacting her?

  “Hello, Ms. Owens,” she murmured aloud, speeding through the pleasantries, “we haven’t met, but I’m assuming you know who I am. My client, Jace Oliver, whom you’ve worked with, has requested to meet with you to discuss a prospective opportunity that could benefit both of you.”

  Jace Oliver, the famous daytime-TV doctor? Jessica blinked in surprise, reading the line over again. That couldn’t possibly be right. She’d worked with him once, sure, but it was years ago. In what was still the most impressive role her agent had landed her, Jessica had played a terminally ill patient on Jace’s medical soap opera Code Blue, where his hardened, bad-boy doctor character had fallen in love with her sweet dying-girl cliché in the three episodes before her tragic death. She hadn’t even had a conversation with the guy when the cameras weren’t rolling. What could he possibly want?

  “If you’d like to know more, we should meet at The Villa Cafe tomorrow at five,” she continued. “The reservation is already made. Let me know what you think.” It couldn’t be real, Jessica decided. It was spam, or a prank.

  However, that doubt wasn’t enough to prevent her from replying to the email and telling Nora she’d see her tomorrow, nor enough to keep her from being too excited to sleep. Tomorrow was going to be a long day.

  Chapter 2: Jace

  It wasn’t often that Jace Oliver wrapped up the end of recording an episode of Code Blue without greeting fans and adding pictures to his social media. Really, ever since he’d become a regular, then the main character, on America’s most beloved daytime hospital show, his media presence had become a ritual, integral to keeping his ego properly inflated, and save for promisingly slutty dates or important auditions for “better” roles, he almost never missed a chance to take a few selfies with the fans (mostly college-aged women or older housewives, the former being his favorite despite the latter being more devoted) and allow some paparazzi to snap a few pictures of him signing autographs on his way to his trailer.

  Today, however, Jace left out the back door of the studio to avoid being seen, sneaking directly to his trailer without so much as chatting with his costars. As he expected, his agent, Nora Thatch, was waiting for him, sitting on his couch with perfect, stiff posture, her attention trained to her phone until he shut the door behind him. He tugged his shoulder-length blond hair out of the surgical cap that he’d had it in for the second-to-last episode of the series and began wiping off the studio makeup with cotton wipes.

  “Nora, sweetheart,” he greeted blandly, the nickname more of a habit than a pleasantry after so many years of friendship, “tell me you’ve got good news.”

  She finished whatever she was writing before she looked up at him over the brim of her glasses, her expression unreadable. “About what?” she asked carefully. Jace had only asked her to do two things: to get him an audition with any one of the award-winning directors on the list he’d given her and to track down “that girl from season three,” but since none of the directors had replied to her, she knew that it was safer to manage Jace’s expectations. A disappointed Jace was not only unpleasant, but, historically, a PR nightmare.

  Jace glared at her impatiently, a look to which she was immune after so many years of working with him.

  “Fine,” Nora sighed. “Partially, yes. I’ve yet to hear back from directors, but Miss Owens has agreed to meet me for dinner tonight.” She watched expressionlessly as he changed out of his always-clean costume scrubs and into a button-down shirt. Shirtless, all his tattoos were exposed, not just the sleeves of blue and black ink that ran down his arms. He caught her staring at them and began to rub his thumb over the ones on the back of his left hand, something he’d been doing more often lately.

  “You know, these were my biggest mistake,” he admitted sadly. “If I’d known how hard it was for an actor with tattoos to get any role but a biker brother or a nightmare prom date, I’d never have gotten them. They were basically career suicide.” Nora shook her head.

  “Maybe for some guys,” she argued, “but those guys don’t have me as their agent. Jace, I keep telling you this: it’s just a matter of changing your image. You were the young, rough rebel that everyone loved to hate. But you’re nearly thirty now, and people are starting to notice. With Code Blue ending this month, this is the perfect time to show people who you want to be. Jessica is going to help with that, I hope.”

  Jace nodded, sliding his arms into a sports coat and switching into pressed black pants, a change from the jeans and an old band shirt that he normally wore out of the studio.

  “Plans tonight?” Nora asked, half curious, half fearful.

  “Yeah,” Jace said, “I thought about it, and I think it’d be better if I’m the one to meet with—what’s her name again?”

  Nora tried to hide her grimace. “Jessica,” she supplied, “but are you sure that’s a good idea? You’re not exactly the… most convincing guy on Earth, and you barely even know her name.”

  Jace flashed her a winning smile, one which never failed to turn her cheeks pink despite her commitment to professionalism. “I can be charming when I want to be,” he argued lightly. She had to admit; he looked dashing, absolutely ready to sweep an unsuspecting young woman off her feet. “I think it’ll be more realistic if I’m the one to ask, especially if anyone sees us.”

  Knowing that it was futile to try to convince him otherwise, Nora simply stood aside and opened the trailer door for him, fixing a few stray hairs as he passed. “If you say so,” she caved, fighting the urge to roll her eyes. “If she says no, I’m not cleaning up the mess.”

  Jace smirked deviously. “That won’t be necessary, anyway,” he reassured. “Now, if you’ll excuse me; I have a girl to propose to.”

  Nora had specifically chosen a restaurant that would be too expensive to be completely packed on a weeknight so that she could have a quiet meeting with Jessica, but to Jace, it looked less like privacy and more like an empty theater. While he still wasn’t sure whether this girl—Jessica, he reminded himself—would agree to his (well, technically Nora’s) plan, he couldn’t imagine a scenario in which she would say no. What he was about to offer her was a once in a lifetime opportunity, the kind of arrangement that most girls around Jessica’s age grew up fantasizing about. She’d have to be stupid to do anything but accept.

  As he walked through the doors of the cafe, his phone buzzed in his pocket with a text from Nora.

  The reservation is under my name.

  Jace approached the server at the front of the house and watched as she practically melted in front of him.

  “I have a reservation for two under Nora Thatch,” he said smoothly, and she nodded wordlessly, fumbling with the menus and practically tripping over her own feet with nerves as she led him through the dining room and out another door onto the terrace.

  Jessica won’t be expecting you. Go easy on her. Remember, the contract is in your pocket, and don’t forget to have her sign it. Good luck.

  Jace put his phone away without so much as a reply and looked up from the screen for the first time. The patio area was gorgeous, lit ambiently with fairy lights and a candle on each table. The table was simple, metal with a white tablecloth and covered with an umbrella. It was clear that Nora had rented out the entire wing of the place, because all the other tables had been put away, leaving only one in the dead center of the terrace, surrounded by plants and overlooking the fountain. While it wasn’t quite the kind of money-flashing expensive place he’d have selected, it was clear that the restaurant was a romantic place, even if this was nearly the opposite of a romantic occasion.

  So caught up in looking around, Jace didn’t realize that Jessica hadn’t arrived yet. If he were the kind of man who ever wasted time doubting himself, he’d be nervous right
now, but he wasn’t. Instead of allowing himself to worry, he pulled out one chair and sat in it, taking the menu from the waitress who was avoiding eye contact with him in the failed hopes that he wouldn’t notice how star struck she was.

  “Can I get you something to drink?” she asked in a weak, flustered voice. He didn’t look up at her as he closed the menu she offered him.

  “Your most popular craft beer for me,” he said, “and a glass of your most expensive wine for my date.” The young woman nodded, writing furiously as if she might forget even such a simple order in the time it would take to relay it to the bar. As the waitress shuffled off, Jace turned his attention to his phone until he heard the patio door open once more. He glanced up in time to see the look of shock on Jessica’s face, the small step backward that nearly had her high-heel shoe catch on the stair she’d just come down. She was dressed nicely, but not in a way that suggested that she was about to have the biggest offer of her entire career handed to her on a silver platter—she wore a pale blue dress that cut off just above her knee, her hair curled into ringlets and tied up.

  “Oh, my God,” she breathed. She looked for a moment as if she might be spooked enough to run off like a wild deer, but as he watched her chest fall with a steadying breath, so too did he watch her choose to stand her ground and adopt a more confident posture. “You’re… not Nora,” she noted lamely, and Jace forced a laugh.

  “An astute observation,” he drawled, forcing a literal award-winning smile. “No, I’m—”

  “Jace Oliver,” she cut him off, taking a few tentative steps forward. “I know who you are. What I’m confused about is how you know who I am.”

  Jace faked a pout. “Aw, Jessica,” he teased, “it’s been years since we last spoke, sure, but I’m offended you don’t remember. We worked together.”