I’m thinking Aidan might be wrong. Feel free to disregard my earlier text. No offense will be taken.
He sounded so Iowan somehow that a little wave of homesickness struck her. It might be a good distraction to talk about things so different from Hugh. Before she could change her mind, she typed back: A friendly drink would be nice. What time?
Pete texted back that he would pick her up at six. Now all the reasons she shouldn’t do this flitted around in her brain like bats, the principal one being that Pete might read something into it that wasn’t and would never be there.
She shrugged. He’d been the one to put the emphasis on “friendly,” so he should have no illusions.
Jessica swallowed the last of her Manhattan and ordered another one, even though she knew she had drunk the first one too quickly. She and Pete were at the same bar where they’d met for their last date, but this time they sat in wooden chairs on opposite sides of a square, tile-topped table. No more banquette seating. Pete was sticking to the “just friends” script like a champ. He must have come straight from work, because he wore khakis and a deep blue, button-down shirt that made his hair seem more golden than usual.
She wore jeans and a lavender sweater, her hair in a loose ponytail, keeping it casual and low-key, the way she wanted their friendship to be.
They’d talked about her patients, Pete’s business trip to Vancouver, and some old friends from Iowa. The only personal topic had touched on Aidan. Pete had volunteered that Aidan’s boss raved about his coding skills, which made Jessica proud and glad for her brother.
“He’s always been a tech whiz,” she said, picking up the fresh Manhattan the waiter had just delivered. “What he does is way beyond my comprehension.”
“Mine, too,” Pete said, his eyes crinkling at the corners as he grimaced.
Jessica took a sip of her drink and fixed him with a skeptical stare. “I think you downplay your expertise. A lot.”
“I have to understand what the guys like Aidan are doing in a conceptual way, but I’d flounder around like a mule in a mud hole if you asked me to actually do it.”
Jessica laughed at his simile. The combination of his folksy speech and the alcohol made her bold. “Since we’re just friends now, I have something to ask you.”
“Okay.” He put down his beer.
“We didn’t part on cordial terms, so why did you invite me out tonight?”
He sat back in his chair, making the wood creak. “I regretted our leaving it like that. And by the way, I think Hugh Baker is a complete idiot.”
“Oh God, I’m going to kill Aidan.” She took an oversized gulp of Manhattan and coughed at the burn of alcohol.
“He’s protective, like any good brother.”
“And he overshares.” But Jessica was touched by Aidan’s vocal concern.
Pete snared her with his pale blue gaze. “I’d rather have you in my life on your terms than not have you here at all.”
Pleasure and discomfort spun in her chest, combining with the drink to make her a little dizzy.
Pete took a swallow of beer. “Look, I know I came on strong right away in our relationship. Maybe I pushed too hard. But when you find someone you know is special, someone who makes everything in the world look better and brighter when you’re with them, you go after that person with all you’ve got, because they don’t come around so often.”
The dizziness was vaporized by a blaze of regret. “That’s much nicer than I deserve, but thank you for being so honest and so kind.”
Pete shrugged with a crooked smile. “No point in pretending otherwise.”
She remembered how focused Pete had been in his pursuit of her until Hugh had come back into the picture. But she hadn’t done the same with Hugh, had she? She’d allowed him to walk away with barely a fight. He’d hit her in her most vulnerable spot, taking her back to that little girl who always had to get everything exactly right, reminding her that she had grown up in the cornfields of Iowa rather than in the sophistication of LA or New York.
But Hugh’s upbringing was no more sophisticated than hers. He had grown up in foster homes. Maybe that made his outside shell thicker, but he still had the small, unloved boy curled up inside him.
“Oh my God, that’s it! That’s why he did it.” Hugh couldn’t forget that his mother had bailed on him when things got too overwhelming for her. He thought Jessica would do the same thing because she’d broken the engagement before.
“I think your train of thought has left me behind,” Pete said, amused chagrin in his voice.
“I know what I have to do,” Jessica said, pushing back her chair and standing up with a slight wobble. “Thank you. I need to go home now.”
Pete rose as well, putting out a hand to steady her. “Let me pay the bill.”
“Oh, right. We’re friends, so I need to pay my half.” She fumbled with her purse.
“This one’s on me.” He pulled out his credit card and handed it to the waiter, who’d appeared at Pete’s signal. “I have a feeling I might not get to buy you another one.”
She shook her head. “No matter what happens, you will always be my friend. You’ve been a good one.”
“I’ll hold you to that,” he said.
Jessica tried to carry on a conversation with Pete on the drive home, but her mind was taken up with how to convince Hugh she wouldn’t leave him when the going got tough. For one thing, he was in Prague and she was in New York. An elusive thought darted around her alcohol-soaked brain for a long moment before she pinned it down. She smiled. He was coming back to present an award to Gavin Miller. She just had to figure out exactly where and when. And she had to find a way to be there.
“Cut!”
There was a long silence as Hugh slowly rose from his crouch on the stone floor of the Gothic church in Prague. “Did you get the shot?” he asked, trying to figure out why no one was moving.
“Yeah, yeah, we got it,” Bryan said.
“Do we need another take?” Hugh asked, rolling his shoulders under the straps of the shoulder holster.
“Definitely not.”
“Okay.” Hugh started toward his trailer.
“Hugh!” Bryan called.
Hugh stopped and looked over his shoulder.
“You ripped my guts out. Great job,” Bryan said before turning to his crew. “All right, set up for the interior pan.”
Gavin Miller stepped out of the controlled chaos of the film crew and fell into step beside Hugh. “Bryan’s right. You had me reaching for a tissue, and I wrote the damn scene.”
Hugh unbuckled the shoulder holster and shrugged out of it as he walked. “You gave me a lot to work with.”
He’d been dreading that particular scene, because it was the moment when Julian Best finds out that Sara, the woman he loves, is dead, and it’s his fault that she’s been killed. He knew if he chose to do it right, he would tap into all the soul-destroying loneliness and loss he felt over Jessica—and he didn’t want to go there. However, he owed it to Bryan, Gavin, and everyone else on the film crew to suck it up and be a professional. Actors mined their own emotions, so he’d allowed his feelings to wreak their agony on him as he did the scene.
“You took what I gave you and raised it to a whole new level,” Gavin said. “That scene is going to turn the movie into an extraordinary experience for the audience. You might even get nominated for an Oscar.”
“They don’t give Oscars to spy blockbusters.” Hugh tried not to think about the other scene he shrank from for an entirely different reason. In fact, Sara is not dead. When Julian sees her alive and well, there would be a highly charged scene of lovers reunited. Where he was going to find the resources to pull that off, he had no idea.
The two men climbed the few steps into Hugh’s trailer, which was considerably smaller than the one he had used in New York City.
“Where’s Allie?” Hugh asked, glancing around. “I thought she was waiting here.” Allie and Gavin had flown over on the same pl
ane as Hugh so Allie could visit the set and tour Prague. Watching them together reminded Hugh of what he had almost had and lost.
“She decided to go shopping. Want a drink?” Gavin rummaged in the small bar, pulling out a bottle of bourbon.
“I’m done working for the day, so why not?” Hugh tossed the holster on the kitchen counter. “It will help me sleep on the plane.”
He, Gavin, and Allie were headed back to New York for the INK Literary Awards. Of course, the cynic in Hugh wondered how much the possibility of his presence at the ceremony had factored into the committee’s decision to create a special achievement award for Gavin, but he quashed it. Whatever the committee’s ulterior motives, the writer deserved the recognition.
Gavin handed him the tumbler of bourbon and settled down on the trailer’s sofa. “I know how you reduced us all to tears in that scene.”
“By being a great actor.” Hugh lifted his glass in a mock toast to himself before he sat in the chair opposite Gavin.
“By using your real feelings about Jessica.”
Hugh sent him a warning glare and took a sip of his drink. The alcohol slid down his throat with a smooth, welcome burn. Maybe he could drink enough to forget about Jessica for a few hours, since he didn’t have to face the camera again for three days. No one would care if he had a hangover.
“You see,” Gavin continued, impervious to Hugh’s dagger stare, “I know what’s really going on here. You’re not saving Jessica from a life of shallow pretense and vicious gossip. You’re saving yourself from the pain of losing her when she discovers what kind of life you think you lead. It’s fear, pure and simple.”
“Thank you for the amateur psychoanalysis.” Hugh wasn’t going to let Gavin get to him.
“I’ve been there, Hugh, with my mother. I was so terrified of how she might react to me that I refused to even try to find her. Until Allie convinced me that it was worse not taking the risk than it was to be rejected. Now my mother and I are establishing a real relationship. You have no idea how healing that is.”
Hugh did his best to fend off Gavin’s prodding. “My mother is dead.”
“Don’t be obtuse. You’re taking the coward’s way out.” Gavin leaned forward with unaccustomed earnestness. “No matter what you think, you deserve happiness. Don’t reject the gift of Jessica’s love because you’re afraid it might be taken away again. Grab it with both hands and hold on for the ride, because it’s a magnificent one. If it ends, at least you will have the memory of real joy to help you through the dark days.”
“Yes, I know the poem. I even read it at a charity gala once. ‘’Tis better to have loved and lost than never to have loved at all.’ Thank you, Alfred, Lord Tennyson.” He was doing everything he could not to let Gavin’s words sink into his heart, but he was failing. Little feathered bursts of hope stirred faster than he could quell them.
“Now you’re being an ass.” Gavin continued to skewer him with his gaze. “You’ve loved this woman for years, admit it.”
“My fixation doesn’t mean we’re the right people for each other.” Hugh finally broke. “She left me once because of my career, and that career has only become more intrusive.”
“No, she left you because you made your needs more important than her needs.”
“I had one chance to succeed. I had to take it.” Hugh tried for a mocking smile but suspected he didn’t quite achieve it. “You should be glad I did, since I’m the personification of your fictional super spy.”
Gavin just looked at him. “Consider the fact that you’re going to be in New York and Jessica lives in New York. Start there and attempt to reach the correct conclusion about what you should do.” Gavin put down his glass and stood up. “I’ll see you at the airport.”
As the door closed behind his friend, Hugh swallowed the rest of his drink in one gulp. But all the bourbon in the bottle wouldn’t be enough to allow him to sleep on the plane tonight. Gavin had made sure of that.
Chapter 23
Jessica tugged at her royal-blue scrubs as she sat in the back of the car service sedan with Quentin, en route to the INK Literary Awards.
“Stop fiddling with your clothes,” the stylist said. “You’ll ruin my masterpiece.”
“I’m not used to them being so tight,” she said, twisting her hands together in her lap.
“Honey, I could have made them a lot tighter, but that wasn’t the image we were going for.”
When Jessica had tracked down the stylist and explained her scheme, Quentin had embraced the project with so much enthusiasm that Jessica felt like she had been whirled up in a tornado. He’d tailored her scrubs so they fit like a designer ensemble, found a jeweler who would loan her a real diamond necklace and earrings, and forced her feet into mile-high silver sandals with slender ankle straps. Her hair was spun onto the top of her head in a complex, sophisticated updo.
When he’d allowed her to look in the mirror, another woman had stared back at her in shock. The woman in the mirror had curves, but elegant ones that made her waist look tiny and tempting to a man’s hands, and her exposed neck was as graceful as a swan’s. Jessica had had no idea she could look like that, and she gaped at herself until Quentin handed her a jeweled clutch and told her to put her cell phone in it.
The well-connected stylist also knew someone who knew someone who could get tickets to the awards ceremony, and he’d offered to accompany her for moral support.
“Thank you for everything,” she said, reaching over to squeeze his hand on the car seat. “You’ve gone above and beyond for me.”
“Are you kidding? This is the most romantic thing ever,” he said, the city streetlights flashing over his smile of excitement. “I can’t wait to see Hugh’s face. Can I be honest? That’s half the reason I wanted to come with you.”
Jessica laughed with a nervous edge. “That makes me feel a little less obligated.” She drew in a breath. “I just wish I had more of a plan.”
“Your heart will tell you what to do when the time comes,” Quentin said.
Jessica’s heart wasn’t all that trustworthy on these matters, but she didn’t share that with Quentin.
All too soon the car pulled up in front of the venerable midtown hotel where the ceremony was being held. The red carpet leading to the entrance blazed with lights, and photographers lined both sides. A few slightly dazed-looking couples were running the gamut.
Quentin snorted. “Those people must be writers. They don’t know how to work a red carpet. But the photographers are only here for Hugh and Gavin and their movie friends, anyway. Let me get out first and prepare your path.”
He swung open the door with a flourish before turning to help Jessica out of the car. He tucked her hand into the crook of his elbow and faced them toward the carpet. “Now the fun begins.”
Most of the photographers were standing around, talking and waiting for more interesting prey.
Quentin scanned the cameramen and fixed on one particular pap. “David, how are you?” he asked loudly.
The photographer stepped up to the silken rope cordoning off the carpet. “Quent, what are you doing at a literary event? Not your usual.”
“I’m escorting this lovely lady on Hugh Baker’s behalf. Jessica, meet David Bristol, an old friend of mine.” Quentin winked at Jessica.
“Nice to . . .” David took in Jessica’s unusual outfit and Quentin’s comment about Hugh before he came to the right conclusion and swung up his camera. “You’re Jessica Quillen! Give me a smile, would you, gorgeous?”
That was all it took to get all the other cameras clicking and whirring. Quentin stood back to let Jessica pose as he’d instructed her, one hand on her hip, one foot in front of the other. At first all the huge, glaring lenses intimidated her, but then she remembered that she was there to show Hugh she could shine in his world, so she held her head high. Confidence coursed through her as she flashed her most brilliant smile in whatever direction a voice called her. She could do this, anywhere, anytime, n
o problem.
“Why the scrubs?” one pap asked as he snapped.
“Because I’m a veterinarian. That’s what we wear.”
He laughed. “Okay, but seriously.”
“It’s a little inside joke between Hugh and me.” Jessica took another step toward the door.
“I thought you and Hugh Baker had split up,” another said bluntly.
“You shouldn’t believe everything you see on entertainment news,” she said with a sly smile that evoked a few more chuckles.
When Quentin decided enough photos had been taken, he said to the paps at large, “Make sure to tell Hugh his date arrived before he did.” Then he guided Jessica through the entrance. “You handled it like a pro out there,” he said as they followed the trail of guests through the opulent lobby.
“That was the easy part.” Surprisingly, it had been easy once she got into the right mind-set. But now she had to face Hugh, who might be less than thrilled by her unexpected presence. “You’re sure Hugh’s not here yet?” She wanted time to brace herself.
“Trust me, he’ll make a grand entrance with Gavin, so the paps can do their thing and INK can get their publicity. Also, he doesn’t want to have to schmooze for too long before the ceremony starts.”
As soon as they’d checked in and been admitted, Quentin piloted Jessica over to one of the bars set up for the preceremony cocktail hour. “Liquid courage,” he said, handing her a glass of white wine.
Peering over the rim of her wineglass, she watched the swirl of guests, many of whom looked slightly uncomfortable in their fancy gowns and tuxedos. She liked that about them.
“Too much black,” Quentin said dismissively. “It’s the amateurs’ safety net. They think you can’t go wrong with black, but, oh, you can.” He pointed out a woman in a black dress that sported both ruffles and fringe.
“It has lots of movement,” Jessica said, taking another swig of sauvignon blanc.
“Just like Jell-O.”
Jessica nearly spit out her wine.
Quentin continued to entertain her with comments on their fellow guests’ apparel, and after she drank a second glass of wine, Jessica could appreciate the lavish surroundings of glittering crystal chandeliers, cream wallpaper with glossy gold stripes, and deep-piled burgundy carpet. Music from a string quartet provided a counterpoint to the hum of conversation.
Second Act Page 28