by Christa Wick
Melanie shook her head. She didn't want the money, didn't want the house sold, didn't want her mom moving to Massachusetts and certainly didn't want to think about the day her mother was permanently gone from the earth.
"Pull over here," she directed at the first curbside opening she saw.
Her mother signaled then slowly squeezed the car into the gap. "It's not too late to go back and talk this over."
"If I don't show up on Monday," Melanie answered, "it will be a long time before I get another job on any production."
Turning in the front passenger seat, she wrapped a hand around her mother's arm and met the older woman's gaze. "I love you, but I don't want to pick up and move after all the time I've spent trying to get established."
Nancy's bottom lip began to quiver. Melanie's stomach tightened. She really did love her mom, but her father had spoiled the woman, letting her live in her books and library. Up until Melanie had entered high school, George Archer had cooked the family dinner more nights than not and was the one to do the shopping. Cooking duty shifted to Melanie her freshman year and then, when she got her driver's license, she did the shopping, as well.
She wasn't her father. She wasn't going to yield her life away and move to Worcester or anywhere else in that vicinity.
"You've survived with me being in L.A.," she reminded her mother. "And Boston has about a hundred colleges—lots of Lit majors hanging around. I bet half the baristas have a Master of Arts. Months will pass before you even come up for air."
Her mother smiled at that. "You can always change your mind, honey. Just tell me you'll think on it after the surprise wears off."
"Of course," Melanie answered, knowing the surprise was never going to wear off. Leaning across the center console, she kissed her mother's cheek as the horn in the vehicle behind them began to sound.
"I have to go before TSA drags us both off."
That earned her a rare eye roll from her mother.
"Go then...and keep your phone charged in case I need to pick you back up."
Melanie's chest tightened at the possibility that the storm would move in sooner than expected.
"I will," she said and gave her mother another kiss before sliding out of the car and fighting her way inside.
Reaching the JetFly self-service kiosks, she swiped her credit card and punched through the options until a red screen came up directing her to see one of the counter representatives. Stomach knotting, she shouldered past the other kiosk users and took up a place in line for the counter.
Fifteen minutes later, she was bouncing with one eye on the clock as the representative waved her forward. She explained the red screen and the man looked up her name.
"I reserved the seat online this morning."
"That was an overbooking, I'm sorry to say."
She stared at him a few long seconds waiting for him to offer a solution. When he didn't, she stood on tiptoe so she could lean closer over the counter. "How is JetFly getting me home before Monday?"
"I can put you on a later—"
She shook her head, her voice rising and catching the attention of everyone around her. She had seen the sky on the drive in and had lived in the area from birth until she’d left for college.
"You and I both know the later flights are going to be grounded."
"It's overbooked," he repeated with an indifferent shrug. "Last in, first out."
"Is anything available in first—"
This time he cut her off with a shake of his head. "Overbooked is overbooked, Miss. Do you want a refund or the later flight?"
"Refund," she answered flatly and watched as he pressed a few keys then waited for the printer.
She hadn't been hysterical or exaggerating when she told her mother that missing the assignment would screw her chances of getting future gigs—at least ones that paid anything. Hollywood was an unforgiving city, especially when you were as far down on the totem pole as an overstuffed wardrobe girl.
"Here, this is your reference code. Call this," he paused and pointed at a toll free number. "They'll make sure you get a refund."
"Fabulous," she groaned.
Now, not only did she not have a spot on the only flight likely to leave Denver for L.A. before Monday, but there was still a hold on her card for the amount of the ticket.
Walking aimlessly through the terminal, she pulled out her phone and checked to find that she didn't have a signal. She headed toward the exit, stopping when she heard a rising tide of excited female voices.
Looking behind her, she saw part of the murmuring crowd and followed the direction of their gaze to land on the one person she didn't want to see any time soon, if ever again.
A crowd of fans surrounded Declan Bain. He had a smile plastered on his face, the expression almost secretive. She'd seen him smile like that a dozen times around the studio's lot and seen the smile drop like a lead weight when the person moved on.
She turned back toward the exit and made it a few feet before realizing he was her only chance to get home on time.
Her throat bobbed roughly as she swallowed her pride and marched resolutely up to the crowd of women as Declan gave his last signature warning and told them he had to catch his flight. Melanie waited for him to notice her. She knew he had when his million-dollar smile faltered at one corner and then his lips puckered for an instant before his charm was fully restored.
"You have a charter?" she asked as he started to walk away without acknowledging her.
Declan didn't slow at her question. She chased after him.
She couldn't be sure that he had hired a plane just for him. One of the things she'd heard the actors and actresses brag about was how they were able to skip security on domestic flights when they had hired a private plane. Big or small, those planes usually left on runways away from the main airport.
"Look," she growled as her rolling suitcase caught the heel of her shoe and she had to limp along with the piece of footwear half off. "I really need to get back to Los Angeles before Monday. If you—"
She stumbled as her shoe came all the way off.
"Would you please just stop!"
Teetering on one foot, she fixed the shoe on the other one and looked up to see that he had not only halted but turned around to glare at her.
"You do realize we're in an airport," he ground out, his lips barely moving. "And that if we're stuck in some security office for another two hours because of drama you cause, neither of us is getting back to L.A. before Monday?"
"Yes," she sniped. "But the entire Hollywood world will wait for you to return late. Me—I can't even get a bus to slow down on Wilshire Boulevard."
Melanie closed her eyes, trying to calm her temper so she could ask him as politely as possible to give her a lift back to California. She kept them closed as she started to speak even though she knew she should look straight into that dark gray gaze instead of hiding from it.
"I'll tuck myself in a corner, I promise, and reimburse you the cost of..."
She faltered, knowing she couldn't reimburse him the price of an equal share. Even a first class ticket would put her in a position where she would be late with rent. Of course, she was going to be late with rent if she didn't show up on the soap's set bright and early Monday morning.
Finally forcing herself to open her eyes and look at him, she couldn't get any more words out, at least not at first. Anger tightened his jaw, thinned his lips and narrowed his gaze.
She blinked, her nose beginning to sting.
"I get it," she whispered. "You dislike me. Even more than you did before you found out my mom married a guy you clearly dislike even more than you do me. I don’t know what I did to irritate you before this trip, but this latter part at least, you have to know is not my fault."
When he continued to stare at her as if trying to figure her out, her shoulders bobbed in a broken laugh. "You probably think I'm going to race home and update your Wikipedia entry or sell the story to TMZ."
His fa
ce twisted at the suggestion, the anger already visibly etched on his features deepening.
The response was like a hard slap in the face.
"Crap, you really think I'm that kind of bitch?"
Blinking hard, she didn't wait for him to answer or turn away.
She spun, swinging her roll along behind her and heading away from Declan, not caring what direction she walked. A hundred feet on, she looked over her shoulder to see him going through the VIP line at security as casually as if the entire conversation had never happened.
If she never saw the man again, it would be too soon.
Shoving her hand in the pocket of her hoodie, she wrapped her fingers around her phone. She needed to call her mom, but she had to wait until she could talk to the woman without bursting into tears. She sucked at lying and wouldn't be able to pass it off as mere frustration on missing the flight or worrying about the job she was going to lose.
Pulling her hand out of her pocket, she buried her face against it and took a few deep breaths. She could understand Declan being upset about his recently discovered family situation. So she supposed he’d been warranted for being a bit grouchier than usual. But the way he’d acted after he thought she’d been referencing his reputation with women, in the context with them, had been a slap in the face.
It was bad enough that she’d woken up next to the very man she’d had a massive crush on for months, after passing out drunk for the first time ever. But hearing that…
She got it, she was a fluffy girl. But Declan had never been cruel to her about it. He’d been rude about her mere existence in this world, sure, but he’d never once looked at her the way a lot of other people in Hollywood did when they saw her.
So, yes, she’d allowed herself to get hurt over what he’d said when he’d just been responding to what he’d thought was a dig on her part. And yes, after learning that Declan had actually been the one to carry her drunk butt to bed in the first place, she probably should’ve started with an apology instead of a request for a favor when she first saw him at the air terminal.
Just like that, her frustration with the man fizzled and faded.
You're not really pissed at him, Melanie Lee, you're pissed at yourself for having had a massive crush on a man that now has an actual reason to dislike you.
Through the two months on set of occasionally interacting with Declan, fueled by hours spent watching his old movies when she was home alone and the lights were off, she had been looking for that moment when he would finally recognize her for someone more than the wardrobe girl. But the "meet cute" scenario and its brethren like the clumsy collision existed only on film and in print.
She was stuck living in the real world, one in which his finally recognizing her for someone more than the wardrobe girl meant he now saw her as an extension of a family he clearly resented.
Story of her slowly spiraling life.
"Excuse me, miss, I need to see your identification."
Hearing the command, Melanie frowned and looked up to see who was talking and to whom. The first body her gaze landed on was a TSA officer, and he was staring directly at her.
"Me?" she croaked, her throat tight from all the thoughts running through her head and her looming long-term unemployment.
"Yes." He cast a hurried glance at his watch. "Now, miss."
She wanted to argue that she wasn't flying, that she had been bumped off her flight, that there was zero reason for him to look at her ID, but then she remembered she was in an airport and the TSA officer didn't need a reason. Plus she had yelled at someone, creating a bit of a scene.
"It's in my wallet," she said, standing up and reaching slowly toward her back pocket despite the man's gaze urging her to move faster.
Once she had the wallet out and her hands in plain sight, she quickly removed her driver's license and handed it to him.
"Very good," he said, retaining her license. "Come with me."
"Why?" Her mouth clamped shut as soon as the question issued, but she couldn't get her feet to move. Dread that she was about to spend a few hours in a TSA holding cell began to finger its way through her stomach.
With a snort, the man reached forward, grabbed the handle of her rolling suitcase and began walking, tossing an explanation over his shoulder as he picked up speed.
"Because I've got fifteen minutes to get you cleared and to your gate."
9
The man took her through the VIP security area. And the entire time, she felt the gaze of passengers in the other security lines on her as she stood, arms and legs outspread while the body scanner buzzed and beeped. Not even on her best day did she look like a VIP. Plus, the last person to go through the special line was probably Declan.
The other passengers had probably stared at him, too, but with entirely different thoughts running through their heads.
"Let's keep moving," the TSA officer urged and grabbed both her backpack and rolling carryon from the x-ray machine.
Instead of walking deeper into the terminal, he cut a quick left, slid a security card through a reader alongside a door and pushed it open, his head jerking in a silent order for her to hurry up and follow him.
She hadn't mustered up the temerity to ask him if JetFly had changed its mind. It seemed unlikely as she had the vague sense boarding for that flight wouldn't have begun for another twenty minutes, giving her at least half an hour to reach its gate.
That left Declan as the one who was coming to her rescue, the very man she had just been swearing at inside her head between moments of self-loathing.
She quickened her steps, catching up with the TSA officer. He led her across a long hall, down one flight of stairs, across another hall and to a door that led outside the airport. An attendant was there waiting to take her bags, the woman's age approaching that of Melanie's mother.
"We'll stow these in the cabin," the stewardess said as she headed for a wheeled staircase attached to the side of a small jet.
Melanie followed her up the steps, heart hammering in her chest from the rush to reach the gate and, more so, because she was about to spend the next two and a half hours locked inside a plane with Declan Bain.
Stepping into the main passenger area of the aircraft, she quickly took in the lay of the land while simultaneously looking for Declan. There was a group of heavily padded bench seats facing one another with a worktable between them. A long couch stretched along the same wall with cushions deep enough that a person could comfortably sleep on it. On the opposite side of the plane were an entertainment center and a loveseat that faced the couch.
Declan wasn't anywhere, but an expensive leather laptop bag was resting on one of the benches at the worktable.
"If you'll pick a spot—" said the woman politely.
"Just set her up on the loveseat," Declan interrupted, far less politely, as he entered the cabin behind them. “Where she promised to stay invisible and silent.”
God, the man knew how to work her last nerve.
Still, grateful for the ride home, she just nodded and took her seat.
Looking at the stewardess, Melanie gestured at her rolling case. "You said you could store this for me?"
"Of course. Can I get anything else for you for the flight?” the woman answered hesitantly with a side glance at Declan.
He looked impatient and agitated. Melanie quickly shook her head in reply to the woman’s question and made her way to the loveseat as instructed.
Plopping down on the end furthest from Declan, she opened her bag and pulled out her tablet then her phone, conscious of Declan staring at her the entire time.
Given how their conversation in the airport had ended, Melanie made a point to put her phone back into the pocket of her hoodie. Hopefully, when she landed, Cammie would be available to pick her up without the advanced warning.
At the edge of Melanie's awareness, the stewardess returned to the cabin and asked Declan if there were any refreshments she could get him. He asked her what scotch was on bo
ard and, satisfied with her answer, told her to bring him one.
"Very good, sir," the woman acknowledged before turning in Melanie's direction. “And a drink for you, miss?”
"No alcohol for her," Declan answered crisply. "She can't handle it."
Melanie jerked her head to stare at him, her entire face feeling like it was about to burst into flames. Yes, she had gotten drunk the only time he'd seen her have any alcohol, but that was because she never really drank the stuff. She would never, ever be drinking anything that sweet again, either. It had been all too easy to treat it like a flavored coffee or some kind of soft drink, taking a sip each time a nervous twinge echoed through her as the awkward night progressed.
"Coffee," she managed to ask as the stewardess was struck silent. "As black and strong as you've got it."
Peeling her eyes away from him, she kept them glued to her iPad until the attendant returned with Declan's scotch and the coffee.
"Thank you," she said, her voice as low as it could go without actually becoming a whisper.
"My pleasure, miss. Just call if you need anything else," the woman said, her eyes kind.
Melanie nodded and snaked her free hand into her pocket to fish out the phone as she took her first sip of coffee. With no cream or sugar, the dark roast's bitter flavor ravaged her tongue. Her jaw tightened and then her chest.
The request had been a bad choice, except she wanted to make sure she stayed awake the entire flight. No way could she risk another dream like the one she'd had on the plane ride into Denver.
Taking another drink, she managed to keep a straight face, but could have sworn she felt hair growing on her chest and testicles sprouting between her legs.
The co-pilot came over the intercom and announced they would begin taxiing shortly. Then he gave them their current estimated arrival time for Los Angeles—but not at LAX.
Crap, she hadn't thought of that. She would have to tell Cammie to pick her up at the private airfield—if Cammie would even be allowed onto the airfield in her decades-old Honda.