by Stacy Wise
“No, it must’ve been with someone else. This should be very enlightening, though. Continue.”
“Well,” she says, thoroughly enjoying herself, “top levels include the best looking, richest, most athletic, or talented individuals. These people have their pick of the population. But you usually don’t find them looking at lower levels. They want to stay at the top and mate with another top level. Think Jay-Z and Beyoncé, or Brad Pitt and Angelina Jolie,” she says, ticking off names with her fingers. “It’s why Donald Trump, as unfortunate looking as he is, can get hot women.”
I take a swig of my beer and look to the table next to us, hoping they can’t hear her. It’s possible she’s careening down the road to insulting the entire human race.
“Then there are the people who aren’t as rich, athletic, talented, or attractive. But still, above average. These are the level two people. Sometimes they may end up with a top level, but like I said, people usually don’t look to move down a level. And then there’s the next tier down and so forth, all the way down to the bottom level, which consists of the total losers.”
Oh, God. That’s the most pathetic description of love I’ve ever heard. Meg is jaded when it comes to relationships, but this is borderline crazy. “And what? You think I’m stuck at the bottom with the losers? Is that where you’re going with this?”
“No. You’re not a bottom level, and you know it. But you’re midrange, and you have the tendency to fall for the top tier guys.”
“Midrange? That’s just insulting.”
“It’s why you’re single. How long has it been since Jordan Kennedy, anyway? A year?”
“Seriously? It’s been a few months. Anyway, it’s not like I’m sitting by the phone waiting for guys to call me. I’ve been on plenty of dates since him.”
“Hmm.”
“What does that even mean?”
“Nothing really. You just seem defensive.”
I look at her, wishing I could pry open her brain and see inside. “I am defensive. I have no idea how this turned into an analysis of my dating life, but I’m doing fine, okay?”
“Okay.” She shrugs. “I’ve just seen how it goes. Girls wait around for the elusive Prince Charming, and he never shows up for the party, which is exactly why I date around. You should, too. Go out with a guy who might not be your type, just to give it a try. It’s not like you have to get serious with anyone. Live a little.”
I look at her for a minute. Her red lips, lined so perfectly. Her expertly arched eyebrow, raised slightly, giving her a look of Someone Who Knows. Whether she’s talking about the best new burger in town, or how people connect, she comes across as an expert. Sometimes it’s hard to dismiss what she says. But maybe she’s coming from a place of hurt over her parents’ divorce. I like the idea of falling in love. It can work. All I have to do is look at my own parents.
I down the rest of my beer and grab my credit card from my purse. “We’d better get the check. You don’t want to be late for your not-date.”
“Just remember what I said.” A smile splits her face. “Spread the love.”
Chapter Eight
I have an apple crumble cake sitting in my passenger seat. After dinner with Meg last night, I found myself in the kitchen again. As much as I know not to take her harebrained theories to heart, part of me was freaked out that I’m going to end up an old spinster with nothing but sad memories of unrequited love and a dreary home full of cats.
An apple cake seemed like the obvious choice since I had a bunch of apples from the farmer’s market. And I always have plenty of butter and cinnamon. As it was baking, my mood elevated to the point that I was no longer upset about what Meg said. How can I stay mad when my kitchen smells like a bed-and-breakfast at Christmastime? I’m hoping to pass the cake off to Jack. I don’t want it sitting in my apartment. It’s entirely possible I’d get bored and eat the whole thing.
I reach Westwood without hitting any red lights. At this rate, I’m going to get to Jack’s house thirty minutes early, and that’s about as appealing as arriving to jury duty thirty minutes early. I turn off Wilshire onto Westwood Boulevard and head up to my favorite coffeehouse in my old college town. As I drive past all the shops and restaurants that were my shops and restaurants just last year, a feeling of nostalgia washes over me. I loved walking across campus with my book-filled messenger bag slung across my shoulder. It made me feel smart and worthy, like I was going to be someone someday. I loved studying in the sculpture garden in the spring and the late-night parties with my friends. I even loved my classes.
The usual long line greets me at the coffee shop. It’s weird being back, like I’m spying on my old life. I used to come here to study every Thursday with a few girls from my sorority. It always turned into a gossip fest about who was dating whom, and who had hooked up with whom, and where the next best party would be. I reach the front of the line and place my order. As I stand to the side to wait, someone taps my shoulder.
Joey, a guy from my group of friends, pulls me into a clumsy hug. “Hi! What’s going on with you? I heard you were in France.”
“Hey, Joey. Good to see you. I was supposed to be there, but I didn’t end up going because I got sick. I’m totally fine now—just bummed I had to miss my year abroad.”
“So are you back here? I haven’t seen you at any parties.”
“No. I’m taking the year off.” I start to say more but stop.
Tyler, a guy from Joey’s fraternity moves in on us. He glides up to me, invading my personal space. He does it with a cocky smile, as if I enjoy having him so close. I don’t.
“Jessica! Where the hell have you been hiding? I’ve been thinking about you.”
“Awesome line, Tyler. I’m sure you’ve gotten a lot of mileage with that one.”
An amused look crosses his face. “Line or not, I’ve been curious about where you’ve been. I still think we should get together.”
Someone should really slap him one day. “I was just telling Joey that I’m taking the year off.”
His eyes fall to my stomach. Oh, please. He’s obviously checking to see if I’m pregnant. Ironic being that he’s totally the type to try and convince girls to sleep with him without protection, which is something I wouldn’t do. And I certainly wouldn’t ever succumb to Tyler’s moves.
“Why the year off?”
The barista calls my name, and I grab my coffee. “I’m helping my aunt. I, um… She’s a CAA agent.” It’s not the whole story, but I can’t tell Tyler what I’m really doing. He’d probably try to earn extra cash by blabbing to the paparazzi that he knows how to get to Jack McAlister. And then there’s the waiver, of course.
“What? A CIA agent? No shit. That’s awesome.”
Did he say CIA agent? No. He can’t be that stupid. Everyone’s heard of CAA, right? It’s like the biggest agency on the planet. Whatever. I can’t worry about it now. If I plan on making it to work on time, I need to move. “Good to see you,” I say, directing my words to Joey. “Tell the gang I said hi.” I rush out the door before Tyler has the chance to ask me to hang out with him at his frat house.
With each step, my mind erases more and more of the rosy image of college I pictured just twenty minutes ago. It’s true that time makes us forget. To be honest, I was ready to escape from the sorority drama and the fraternity assholes. Don’t get me wrong, there were some awesome guys, like Joey. But they didn’t make up for the cocky jerks like Tyler. Right after things ended with Jordan, it was like Tyler was magnetically drawn to me, as though he could somehow sense I was someone who would date a player. I shut that one down immediately, but he couldn’t seem to get the message.
After all that, I was craving something different. I thought it would be France, but I guess working for a movie star is my new thing.
I reach Jack’s house and give myself a pep talk. Today won’t be so bad. At least I’m not stuck sitting in a lecture hall next to Tyler, slapping his hand off my butt. Jack is by the garage, h
itting a giant tire with a sledgehammer. Shawn yells, “Hey, Jessica! You want to beat the tire up a little bit?”
“No. Thanks, though. I don’t think I could lift the sledgehammer.”
“I bet you’re stronger than you think. You look like you work out.”
I inwardly smile at his compliment. “Yeah, but I don’t lift heavy objects and beat things with them.”
His eyes skim my body, and he turns slowly to Jack. “I like this girl.”
Jack gives the tire a final whack and leans the sledgehammer against it. “That’s it. I’m done.” He blows out a breath and rests his hands on his thighs. I imagine it must be pretty hard to swing that sledgehammer. It looks like something one would use to break concrete.
Shawn bumps fists with Jack and turns to me. “I hope to see you later,” he says, winking as he passes in front of me to jog down the driveway.
Jack sets the tire upright and wheels it into an immaculate three-car garage. I glance over, expecting to see something like a Ferrari or a Lamborghini, but I don’t. There’s nothing flashy at all—only a big black pickup truck and a few motorcycles.
I pull the apple crumble cake from my passenger seat and stand near my car, waiting for Jack. He closes the garage door and walks toward me. A thin sheen of sweat covers his body, making his skin glisten in the morning sunshine. I’m not going to lie—all his working out pays off. Those muscles are fierce.
“What’s that?” he asks, motioning to the cake.
“It’s a cake.” Maybe it was a bad idea to bring it here. It was normal for me to drop stuff off for my friends in the dorms or the sorority house, but this is different.
Jack raises a brow at me. “Don’t let Shawn see that. He’ll take the sledgehammer to it.”
Somehow, I can only picture him doing that with a smile on his face. “Shawn’s cool. Do you work out with him every day?”
“Usually.” He pauses to sip some water. “He likes to flirt with you.”
“He does?”
“Um, yeah. You were part of the conversation we just had.”
“But he wasn’t flirting with me. We were just talking.”
Jack gives me a look that succeeds in making me feel like a truant child. Shawn jogs back up the drive, and I duck inside the front door so he won’t see the cake, but I stay close enough to hear them.
“Hey, man. This came for you.” He hands Jack a large FedEx envelope. “The delivery guy intercepted me at the gate.”
Jack grabs the envelope. “Thanks, man. See you tomorrow.”
“You know it.”
Hmm. So he can comment on the alleged flirting to me, but not to Shawn. I head into the kitchen and set the cake on the counter. Jack rushes in behind me. He’s probably freaking out that I walked into his house without him.
He eyes the cake, then looks over to the kitchen table. “Oh, yeah,” he says, tossing the FedEx envelope onto the center island before grabbing a phone off the table. “I left this out so I wouldn’t forget. Marnie emailed me my schedule.” He slides a stapled packet of papers toward me, and I take a seat. “It’s right here. Will you calendar everything on her list with two alerts? Do the first alert two days before and the second alert thirty minutes before the start time. We start shooting the Steven Lowi film next week, so things are going to get crazy.”
“Okay.”
He pulls out the bench and sits down across from me in front of an open script. He’s working here? In my space? I draw in a breath. I assumed he’d leave me alone to do my work, not stay to monitor my movements.
After unlocking his phone, he hesitates before handing it to me. “Stay in the calendar. No snooping through my contact list.”
I take it and refrain from rolling my eyes. “Trust me, I have no desire to ever snoop through anyone’s contact list again.”
“What the hell? You did that?”
Oops. I didn’t mean to say it aloud. The horror of reading Jordan Kennedy’s day planner is obviously something I need to get past. “I wasn’t intentionally snooping.”
The look Jack gives me makes me feel criminal, so I have to confess. “This guy I was dating always carried his old-school planner with him. I only looked at it to see if I was listed under my first name or my last.”
He raises a brow. “Really. Why would you care?”
“Because he always called me doll. It made me wonder if he even knew my name. I thought if I was listed with my first and last name, it’d mean he cared more.” Before he can criticize me, I say, “It’s stupid, I know. But anyway, the point is I found a list of girls with descriptions by their names, like ‘Kandy Kane, hot redhead with an attitude, Chateau Marmont,’ and ‘Rose-Marie, face like Kim Kardashian with an ass to match.’ It sucked. So I guarantee I won’t snoop through anyone’s contact list again.”
Jack covers his mouth with his hand and eyes me. “So how were you listed?”
“My name was next to my aunt’s with CAA followed by three exclamation points.” I shrug. “He was using me to get to my aunt.”
“He was an actor?”
“Yep.”
He taps the table and grabs his phone. Just when I think he’s going to run off and hide it in a secret wall safe, he passes it back to me. “It was locked.”
I click on the calendar, leaving the phone on the table so he can see what I’m doing. The first event I type in is a photo shoot for Versace. Just as he asked, I add two reminders and move to the next event, a book launch party for an aging rock star. As much as I want to ask about it, I don’t.
My phone buzzes with the sound of two rapid-fire texts coming in. I wish I had thought to turn off my ringer. The last thing I need is to have him get all agro over my phone like he did yesterday. I sneak it from my purse to mute it, but as soon as it’s in my hand, “Lose Yourself” by Eminem blares. Shit.
Jack looks up at me, one hand resting on his forehead, eyes wide. “Your ringtone is old-school Eminem?”
“Yes.” I stare at him, waiting for him to make a snide remark.
“Are you going to answer it? Sounds like someone is trying to reach you. Maybe it’s Megahot.”
“You’re probably right,” I sass back. “You don’t mind?”
“Have at it.” He resumes reading the script, elbows on the table, palms on his temples, the epitome of a serious actor.
My phone display reveals three texts and one missed call. I click on the first text. It’s from Kolbi, one of my best friends from my sorority.
The CIA? Really? How does Tyler know this before I do? I left you a voicemail, too. Call me!
What the hell? I read the next text from Leah, another sorority sister.
What is Tyler rambling about? I thought you were in France. Details, please! xo
I whisk in a sharp breath. “No way.”
“No way, what?” Jack grits his teeth, and I can’t help but wonder if his dentist would be upset. I’m sure he paid a lot of money for those pearly works of art.
Not wanting to deal with his paranoia, I hand him my phone. “Don’t worry. It’s not about you. I haven’t breached the waiver.”
He scans the texts, a confused look crossing his face. “You told your friends you work for the CIA?”
Hearing it out loud makes me giggle. “No. But that would’ve made a great story.” I shake my head. “Miscommunication. I ran into a guy from school when I got my coffee. He asked what I’m doing now, since I’m not going to school, and I told him that I’m helping my aunt, who is an agent at CAA. He apparently heard CIA and now the gossip is flying.”
Jack passes my phone back to me. “How many of your friends know you work for me?”
“None. Just my parents and my roommate know.”
His eyes land on me. I look at him but have to turn away from his piercing stare. It’s like he’s a trying to dive into my brain. I glance back at his phone, concentrating on the details of his celebrity golf tournament, but I can feel him still looking at me.
“What are you going
to tell your friends now that they think you work for the CIA?”
“I guess I could tell them I can’t divulge any information, because then I’d have to kill them. But that’s kind of overdone, isn’t it?” He nods. “I think I’ll just respond with, ‘CAA, not CIA.’ That should clear things up.”
“Thanks for not saying anything.”
Something in his voice makes me pause. He actually sounds sincere for once. I suppose it does suck to have to worry about your privacy all the time. “No problem. Aside from the waiver thing, it makes life easier for me. I don’t want to be the center of any drama.”
“Really. How old are you?” He rubs his temple with his left hand, as if it was a heavy question.
“Twenty-one. Why?”
He leans back, crossing his arms. “I thought all twenty-one-year-old girls like to be the center of attention.”
“Well, that’s because you hang out with actors. They thrive on being the center of attention.”
He shoves back from the table and moves into the kitchen. I glance up as I hear the cover being lifted from the cake.
“Holy shit. You made this?”
“Yeah.”
“Why?”
I shrug. “Weird hobby, I guess. I’ve been baking since I was a little girl. When all the other kids were looking up their favorite pop stars on the internet, I was Googling recipes. Baking is comforting to me.”
“Uh huh. Did you lace it with arsenic?”
“Yeah. Or maybe it was Xanax. Eat at your own risk.”
“I’m more afraid of what Shawn will do, but what the hell. I hope you know CPR,” he says with a rare grin.
“I was joking about the Xanax.”
“Yeah. I figured.” He cuts a hunk of cake and takes a bite. “This is insane,” he says with his mouth full. “You want some?” He sets his piece on the counter and picks up the knife, ready to hack off another slice.
“No, I’m good, thanks. If I tried everything I made, I’d weigh like seven hundred pounds.”
He glances at me. “Might take a while for you to pack on six hundred pounds, but okay. Your loss.” He fills a glass with milk. “You want anything to drink? Or do you deny yourself beverages, too?”