by Stacy Wise
He dabs the cloth against my knee. When he reaches the top, I suck in a breath. “That hurts.”
“Sorry. It’s pretty deep here.” He pats it lightly and looks at me. “Is this better?”
“Yeah.” The sun shines through the huge window and catches his eyes. I swear, sometimes he has a soulful look in them that contradicts his usual crabby personality. I clear my throat and say, “Almost done?”
“Yes. Almost.” He finishes with the cloth and sets it aside. I try not to notice that it’s stained light red with blood. Blech. Jack keeps one hand on my calf as he puts ointment on my knee with the other. He finally places a large, padded bandage over the cut. “If this starts to bug you, we can wrap gauze around it instead, but I think this might be better since you need to bend your knee.”
I nod and run my hand across the soft blanket, wishing I could wrap myself in it with him.
Oh my God. Where the hell did that thought come from? Well, if I think about it, this is an incredibly stressful situation. And he’s a good-looking guy. I’d have to be blind not to notice. So I guess it’s not all that strange I’m slightly attracted to him. It certainly doesn’t mean I’ll ever like him.
I clear my throat. “Thanks for doing that. You didn’t have to.”
His eyes follow my hand as it moves across the blanket. He catches me watching him and turns away. “Yeah. No problem. Happy to help. I’ll, uh, leave you to get dressed.” He crosses to the door and closes it quietly behind him.
I slide the blanket off and pick up my pants as I survey Jack’s room one more time. There’s a sense of comfort in here, which surprises me. A stripper pole and strobe lights is what I would’ve expected from Hollywood’s favorite bad boy. I’m able to pull my pants back on without too much trouble. After slipping on my shoes, I fold the blanket neatly across the end of his bed. I look at the spot where I was just laid out, and my stomach flips. I shake my arms and blow out a few breaths before leaving his bedroom.
When I reach the kitchen, Jack isn’t there, so I settle in at the table. Leo prances over to me, and I absently rub his back. “I forgive you, little pig.”
The ebb and flow of a voice drifts near me, and I look up to see where it’s coming from. Jack is pacing in the backyard, talking into his cell phone. He’s more animated than I’ve ever seen him. He doesn’t look angry, but he doesn’t look exactly thrilled, either.
Moments later, he walks through the door. “Hey. You doing okay?”
“I am. Thanks.” I stand and motion to the phone in his hand. “Do you want me to finish your calendar? I wasn’t quite done when…when I left to walk Leo.”
He shakes his head. “You can do it later. I’m leaving for a meeting with my publicist.”
“Oh, okay. Do you want me to organize your pantry? Pick up dry cleaning?”
“No, but I have a project for you. I’m hosting a dinner party. I need you to set up catering and stuff. I emailed the guest list to you.”
“Great. Sounds like fun.”
“Yeah. I’m thinking a Latin fusion menu would be cool. Maybe Caribbean-style food. I’m totally into fried plantains lately, so anything that goes with those. We can do some muddled cocktails. Maybe order some centerpieces for the table. Call Marnie. She’ll point you in the right direction.”
“I’ll get right on it.”
“Thanks.” He grabs the magazines from the table. One drops to the floor in front of me. Jack is on the glossy cover with two women who look like Vegas showgirls. They’re both wearing sparkly hot pink costumes that resemble one-piece swimsuits, although they’re cut way too high on the legs and way too low in the chest to be something one would ever consider wearing to a public beach. It’s hard not to stare at the redheaded girl in the picture, because her boobs are enormous. They pop out of the top of her costume. I imagine that’s what I’d look like if I shoved a grapefruit in each cup of my bra. Jack is between the girls, a big, dumb grin on his face. The caption reads, “We Know What Happened in Vegas!”
Jack catches me looking at the magazine. He stuffs it into his messenger bag with the others. “It’s not what it looks like. These tabloids do whatever it takes to sell their magazines.”
“Oh.”
“I’ll get it worked out. That’s why I have a big-time publicist,” he says, trying for a smile.
Of course. Leave it to the big-time publicist to fix your mess. The bottom line is, if he doesn’t want to be portrayed as a player, maybe he shouldn’t be hanging out with girls in stripper heels.
Once he’s gone, I flip on the laptop he left for me. I have to admit, I’m curious to see who made his dinner party guest list. My eyes land on Jordan Kennedy, causing my heart to hammer in my chest. Of course Jack is pals with freaking Jordan Kennedy. I should’ve known. I scan the rest of the names: Paul Platt, Renee Wolfson, Scarlett Mae, and Tabitha Childress. All actors, except Renee Wolfson, who’s an indie filmmaker.
I grab my phone and call Aunt Marnie. “Hey, Jess,” she says. “How’s it going today?”
“Oh, just fantastic. Are you aware that Jack and Jordan are buddies?”
“No, Jess. What’s the problem?”
“The problem is, Jack’s having a freaking dinner party that I’m supposed to plan, and Jordan is on the guest list.”
“Don’t overreact. You don’t have to be at the party. He’s getting a group together to discuss a project that Renee approached him with. Get the catering lined up, make sure all your ducks are in a row, and leave.”
“You think? I won’t have to stay?”
“It’ll be fine, Jess. Look, I’m in the middle of something right now. I’ll have my assistant email you the name of the catering company and florist I use.”
“Okay. Sorry. I just saw the name and freaked out a little.”
“Well, don’t freak out.”
“You’re right. I’ll talk to you later. Thanks, Aunt Marnie.”
“No problem. Love you.”
“Love you, too,” I say and shut off my phone. I pull the laptop closer and open a search page. I type in “Jack McAlister and Jordan Kennedy.” Nothing significant pops up. Well, that’s a relief. Aunt Marnie has helped bring people together for projects in the past. Maybe this is the same type of thing. Whatever it is, I’m certainly not going to hang around to find out.
Chapter Ten
Imelda greets me at the door, and I walk into Jack’s house, my arms full of the boxes and bags I picked up from his manager’s office. It’s stuff that companies give him. For free. He has an entire closet dedicated to his swag.
I lug the stuff to the closet and start organizing. The first box contains Caron Poivre perfume, the new John Varvatos sunglasses, shoes from an Italian designer, two smart watches, and a case of organic protein bars.
As I stack shoeboxes, Jack strolls past. “Hey, Jess. More shit, huh?”
“Yep. Check out these cool watches, though. They do everything.”
He takes one and glances at it. “Pretty slick for a smart watch. I got two?”
“Yep.”
“You can have the other one, if you want. I have more than I know what to do with.”
“Thanks.”
His phone rings, and he turns to answer it. “Hi, Phil, what’s up?” he asks, pacing down the hall, and I wonder what the call is about. Usually his manager calls me for day-to-day things.
Five minutes later, Jack returns, a serious look on his face. “Sophia Cacciotti just dropped out.”
“Of the Steven Lowi film?”
“Yep. She apparently checked herself into rehab.”
“Oh my gosh. I hope she gets better.”
“Yeah, me, too. I had a feeling something was up with her.”
“So are they going to postpone filming until she’s out of rehab?”
He looks at his phone as though he can’t believe the news that was just delivered through it. “No. Steven wants to recast and keep the start date as is. We’re too far in to push it back. They’re checking
availabilities for Rosa Montenegro and Elizabeth Crawford-Shaw.”
“Oh, wow. They’re both so beautiful.”
He looks at me, eyebrows raised. “Yeah, I guess so. I also asked them to check out Nichole Antocci. I’ve always wanted to work with her. I think she’d be great in this part.”
Of course he wants to work with Nichole Antocci. Every male on the planet would want to work with her. She oozes sex appeal. She started out as a dancer and has a sick body and this luxurious mane of wavy brown hair. But her reputation makes the female portion of the population eye her with disdain. During the filming of one of her recent films, she apparently hooked up with her leading man, Chase Beriker. Her married leading man, I should say. And then, after the movie was a humongous hit and his marriage was over, she dumped him.
“Anyway, Steven is going to set up chemistry tests as soon as possible. You’ll need to move my schedule around if there’s a conflict.”
“No problem.” I pause. “They make you takes tests? Is it like an actual written test?”
“No.” He shakes his head, and his eyes crinkle as he smiles. “No. It’s something the creative team sets up. We do a scene from the movie to see which actress I have the best chemistry with.”
“Oh. That makes sense.”
“Phil will call you with details once it’s scheduled. It sucks that this happened when we’ve already started rehearsals.”
“I can imagine.”
“In the meantime, have you seen Down Country?”
“The movie?”
“Yeah.”
“No. I feel like I should have. Didn’t it win an award?”
“It won the Sundance Audience Award.” He pauses. “Come on. We’re going to watch it now. You can deal with that shit later. It’s not going anywhere.”
“What?”
“I’m going to screen it now, and you’re joining me. Renee Wolfson directed it.”
“She’s on your invite list,” I say, remembering the name.
“That’s right. She’s interested in collaborating on a project with me when I’m done shooting Steven’s film.”
“Never a dull moment.”
“Yep. I’ve gotta keep things lined up. Anyway, I’ve had the screener for Down Country for a while now but haven’t found the time to watch it. Come on.”
I follow him down a set of tiled stairs. It’s dark, and I hold onto the wrought-iron banister like a blind person, while he descends in a half jog. We reach the bottom and land in a huge room. It must be the basement, but it’s been turned into a movie theater. How cool! There’s a red commercial popcorn machine, a soda fountain, and a case full of candy. “This is unreal! Does it work?” I ask as I make a beeline to the popcorn maker.
“Yep. There’s candy here, too, if you want.” As if I didn’t already notice. “I had it stocked for a party. It was about a month ago, so the candy may be stale, but help yourself if anything looks okay. You want me to make popcorn?”
Hell, yes! “No, no. It’s just really amazing. I’m actually not hungry right now.” I say it, but it’s a total lie. There’s always room for popcorn.
He rifles through the glass case, and then pulls out a box of Red Vines. “You like these?”
“Sure.”
“Cool.” He takes a remote from a little wooden box and clicks on the giant screen. “Go ahead and grab a seat. I’ll get this going.”
I pick one smack in the center. There are twelve seats in here—three rows of four. And they aren’t the regular uncomfortable movie seats. These are full-on leather recliners. I lean over to see if there’s a lever to pull.
“Did you lose something?”
“No, I was just wondering if these recline. They look like they would.”
“Power recline. See the button there?” He steps into my row, pointing to a button near my seat. “Push it.”
Well, of course they’re power recline. I push the button. Amazing! Jack watches as I play with the chair. I pop it back to the upright position. “Nice.”
“Yeah. I like them,” he says as he takes the seat next to mine and holds out the Red Vines. I take a few, and my fingers accidentally brush his when I hold the box steady. It makes my stomach fluttery. I yank a big bite off my Red Vine, angry at myself for having any sort of reaction to Jack. Just because he hasn’t resumed yelling at me doesn’t make him someone I should have those kinds of thoughts about.
I close my eyes and take a breath, telling myself to relax. Just as I’m getting comfortable, I feel Jack’s mouth near my ear. “Don’t fall asleep on me,” he whispers.
I flick my eyes open and stare at the screen, all too aware that if I turn my head just a bit, his mouth will be dangerously close to mine. I bite my lip. “I won’t.”
“I want to hear your opinions about the movie. So pay attention.”
He’s still whispering, which is kind of funny, being as we are the only people here and it’s his theater. “Okay. I promise I won’t fall asleep.”
“How’s your knee feeling? I meant to ask you earlier.” He pats my leg and lets his hand rest on my thigh.
My body stiffens at his touch. I feel like I need to stand up and do ten jumping jacks and take a lap before sitting back down. “It’s getting better,” I whisper. I steal a glance at his hand on my leg, and the sight of it sets off an earthquake in my stomach.
“You were really brave,” he says, and slides his hand away.
I stare at the screen and allow myself to get caught up in the movie. It’s set in the 1940s and follows a young soldier and the army nurse who saves his life. They fall desperately in love. No matter what hardships they endure, they fight for each other. Upon reuniting after a grueling separation, they kiss. He peels off her jacket and slides his hands across her body. She throws her head back, and he slowly undoes the pearl buttons on her blouse. As it gets more heated, I start to wonder what Jack is thinking. Clothes are falling to the floor. He has her up against the wall of their bedroom. Oh my God. I thought since it was set in the 1940s, it would be innocent. But the movie was made recently, and Renee Wolfson didn’t hold back with the explicit love scene. Out of the corner of my eye, I see Jack shift in his seat. He leans forward and places his elbows on his knees. His chin rests on his folded hands.
I grasp the armrest of my chair.
He turns to me slowly. “You okay?”
“Yep.” My voice comes out in a squeak.
His hand lands on my leg again, and my body feels like it’s on fire. He looks down at it and slips it away, as though he wants to pretend it never happened. Maybe he forgot who is sitting next to him. He clears his throat and leans back in his chair.
I grab a Red Vine, itchy to have something to do with my hands. I try telling myself that it’s no big deal I’m watching a full-on love scene with my boss sitting this close to me. But the air is charged with passion, even if it’s only because of the heat on the screen. Jack is as affected by it as I am, if his breathing is any indication.
The movie ends, and I quickly swipe the tears from my eyes, hoping he can’t see what I’m doing. Guys—men—never cry at movies.
He turns to me, and I’m grateful that he hasn’t flicked the lights back on. “Man.” He blows out a breath. “Okay. First impression. What’s in your head right now?”
I will myself to keep my voice steady. “It was so sad. It was an awful movie.”
“No,” he says quietly. “It was brilliant. But it made you feel sad. Why?” He looks at me, waiting for my answer.
“Why? Because he never stopped loving her, even when everyone thought she died. He never gave up on her.” My voice cracks. I take a deep breath and turn to him. “I feel so stupid for crying, but it really got to me.”
“You see? It touched you. That’s not the mark of an awful movie.” He voice is gentle.
“Yeah, I guess. It’s just…” I pause, not sure how to finish.
“What?”
I sigh. “The movie made me realize how different thin
gs are in today’s world. Love like that doesn’t exist anymore. It’s all about immediate gratification and insta-love. Especially for men. I think they’re taught to be tough manly men, where it’s all about the conquest and how many women they can sleep with. It’s sad. I suppose some women are like that, too.”
“You really believe that?”
Oh, man. How did we get on this conversation? I see no way of getting out of it without making it worse, so I might as well be honest. “To an extent, yeah.”
He shakes his head. “I don’t know what kind of guys you’re hanging out with, but real men have feelings. It’s not all about the sex, although sex can be a mind-blowing expression of a real love.” He pauses and looks at me. “I apologize on behalf of all men if some guy made you think differently. Now, did you notice how Renee used light to help tell the story?”
“No.” Light? I’m still stuck on what he said about love and mind-blowing sex. I’m thankful for the dark once again, only this time so he can’t see the flush on my face. I put my hand to my cheek, trying to cool it. The image of him laying me on his bed and brushing the hair from my eyes pops into my head. Stop!
I wonder if Jack really means what he says, or if he’s just trying to play some sort of good guy.
“Did you like the acting?”
“Um, yeah. Yes, I guess I did. I forgot I was watching actors, so that’s a good sign, right?”
“That’s what we strive for. It’s harder to do the more famous you become, because your face is so recognizable. Johnny Depp is a master at it.”
“I see what you mean,” I say, relieved we aren’t talking about love and sex any longer. “Johnny Depp is awesome. Especially in the pirate movies. Oh, and did you see Charlie and the Chocolate Factory? Hysterical.”
Jack smiles at me. “I like that you say what you think.”
“We’re only talking about movies. It’s not like I’m telling you my deepest, darkest secrets.”
“You have dark secrets?”
“It’s an expression.”
He looks at me quizzically. “Fair enough. Did you know that Johnny Depp and I were both born in Kentucky?”