Rogue Gentleman (The Rourkes, Book 8)

by Kylie Gilmore

  Sean flushes guiltily and takes the hint, leaving the room.

  The moment he leaves, she leans forward. “He’s normally very easygoing with a great wit. He’s been under a lot of pressure.”

  I shake my head. “He’s been irritated by my presence right from the beginning. Maybe one time he wasn’t a complete grump to me. I’m sick of it. I’m done.”

  She takes a sip of wine and says serenely, “Okay.”

  “Really. I couldn’t be more serious.”

  “I’m sure.”

  I bite back a sharp remark. The last thing I want is to fight with Princess Silvia, especially when she agreed to connect me to Claire Jordan. “I heard you’re a children’s book editor. Is that as fun as it sounds?”

  She glances toward the kitchen. “He’s a good guy, and he means well. Don’t be too hard on him.”

  I purse my lips. Obviously his cousin is on his side.

  Chapter Seven

  Sean

  Tonight was a disaster. Silvia made dinner go by as smoothly as possible, which was not easy with Josie sending pissy looks at me. Worse, the guilt has been eating me up inside. I think Josie cried in the bathroom. I feel awful about that because Josie doesn’t have a mean bone in her body. She’s always so open and cheerful. I was only trying to keep some distance for both our sakes.

  I can’t live with her anymore. I don’t know what she expects will happen. There’s chemistry. And, okay, fine, I like her. I didn’t want to like her, but I do, and she’s only going to worm her way in more, and then she’s going to leave. And I’m not going anywhere. I can’t. My brothers depend on me for our shared business.

  We’re in the car on our way back home, and Josie hasn’t said a word to me since we left Silvia’s apartment.

  I can’t take the silence anymore. “It was only a friendly invitation to use Leon as your guard.”

  She scowls. “I don’t appreciate the way you tried to pawn me off on your cousin. You could’ve just asked me if I wanted to stay there. Instead, you made this elaborate plan behind my back.”

  “Silvia had to meet you first, but obviously she liked you enough to invite you to stay with her.”

  “She took back the invitation two minutes later.”

  “Because I told her to after I realized you were upset about it.”

  She looks out the window, silent again.

  “Hey, you went behind my back before too. I forgave you.”

  She turns to me, her eyes narrowing. “I take back every compliment I ever gave you about your neck.”

  “Fine.”

  “Your shoulders and back are still a thing of beauty, but that’s beside the point. You’re my roomie and nothing more.”

  Some of my guilt eases because she complimented me, which means maybe she’s feeling a little better. “That’s all I ever was.”

  “No, you kissed me once.”

  “You told me to.”

  Her chin juts out. “That was not me. We were doing improv.”

  No way am I letting her pin that kiss on me. “Call it what ya want, but there was no question you wanted me to kiss you. ‘Yes, and kiss me.’ Your exact words.”

  She crosses her arms. “Yes, and never again. I’m designing a new room.”

  My brows draw together. “What?”

  She drops her arms. “Improv. Yes, and…then the other person adds something new.”

  “Stop with the improv. I don’t wanna play games. I just want…” I trail off because I realize what I really want is something that can never work—the two of us, together. “Look, I’ll be straightforward with you from here on out, you do the same, and we’ll go back to, ya know, friendly roommates.”

  She stares at me for a long moment, and I hold her stare. I don’t know why, but I can’t lose this staring contest.

  Finally, she says, “Silvia told me you’re normally easygoing with a great wit. Boy, was she wrong.”

  “A great wit? Like I’m funny?”

  “Yes. What happened to you?”

  “Oh, I don’t know, maybe working twenty-four seven with my ex breathing down my neck, and her spying cousin distracting me and slowing me down at every turn has something to do with it.”

  She jabs a finger at me. “You still haven’t forgiven Winnie. That’s the real problem here.”

  The real problem is I have forgiven Winnie. I’m over her, but I was burned, and I don’t want to get burned again. Josie is leaving for LA soon for her sitcom. There’s no question in my mind someone as talented as her will get it. Her personality alone could carry a show. I can avoid entanglement for the next week or two before she heads to LA. I can’t say any of that to her because then she’ll know I care too much. It’ll make it harder to keep my distance.

  I go on the defensive. “If I haven’t forgiven her, then why would I be fine staying at her place and renovating it?”

  She throws her hands up. “I have no idea.”

  “I’m over her.”

  “You’re not over her.”

  “This has nothing to do with Winnie. I love the house. I love the neighborhood. I want to see it through.”

  She waves a hand airily. “That all sounds perfectly reasonable. Unfortunately, I don’t believe a word you just said.”

  My temper flares. “Whatta ya wanna hear? That I thought this was my future, living a different life in Park Slope, and I can’t let it go?”

  “At least it’s honest.”

  I lean close. “This project means something to me. I’ve been working on it for more than a year.” I pull back. “And, yeah, I want this life, even without her. I’m ambitious. I don’t wanna always be just a construction worker. I told ya my family’s getting into real estate development. Rourke Management, that’s us. Winnie’s place will look great in our portfolio. Did you know your grandmother paid five thousand dollars for it in nineteen fifty-three? When I finish this renovation to my standards, it’ll go for three million at least.”

  Her eyes widen. “Whoa. I had no idea.”

  “Yeah. I’m gonna be a developer. Maybe I’ll get into the financial side of it too. Less sweat, more brain power.”

  She looks at me curiously. “You know finances?”

  “I can learn.”

  “I’m ambitious too. I want to be just like Claire Jordan.”

  “You shouldn’t try to be just like someone else. Just be yourself.”

  She scoffs. “You say that like I’m actually an okay person, and I know you see me as nothing but a giant inconvenience.”

  “I’m just sayin’, don’t be a wannabe Claire Jordan.”

  She sighs. “Look, I know Winnie really screwed you up, and I’m sorry about that, but please keep me out of the blast zone. I’ve done nothing but help you since the day we met.”

  “You set off the smoke detector, made a mess of the kitchen, made me worry about you, and generally made yourself a nuisance.”

  She sucks in air, blinking rapidly.

  I grimace, fearing she’s about to cry again on my account. “Not really a nuisance. I take that back.”

  She meets my gaze directly, her eyes shiny with unshed tears. My gut twists. “No, don’t take it back. It’s obviously how you really feel about me.”

  “No, it’s not. I shouldn’t have said that.”

  She turns away. I hear a sniffle.

  “I like you,” I admit. “Even though I don’t want to.”

  She turns to me, blinking back tears. “Why don’t you want to like me? Because of Winnie?”

  “You’re leaving anyway. What does it matter?”

  “So if I didn’t leave, you’d like me more?”

  I face forward, muttering, “You’re twisting my words around.”

  She’s quiet for a moment before saying, “I was right about you.”

  I turn to her. “Right about what?”

  “You’re a committing kind of man, not a fling kind. I find that refreshing.”

  “I’m whatever I feel like. I don’
t have time for the complication of a woman. That’s the real reason I want to live alone, but you’re always right there.”

  “Fine, I get it. You don’t have to be so harsh. You won’t see me. And you can forget me serving you dinner every night.”

  I shake my head. So weird how she thinks that’s such a big help. It’s not like she’s cooking. “I can manage to eat takeout on my own.”

  “Good because you’re officially on your own from now on.”

  “Whatta ya mean?”

  “I’ll go out as much as possible so you won’t even know I’m around.”

  “Great.” Only it doesn’t feel great. My chest aches. I might’ve just pushed her so far away she’ll never return.

  “Besides, I’m probably going to hear back about my pilot soon.”

  “Hope ya get it.”

  Her brows lift. “Because I’ll leave, or because you wish me well?”

  “I don’t know how to answer that.”

  “Would it kill you to be nice to me?”

  I exhale sharply. “I don’t know where you got the idea that I was nice.”

  She stares straight ahead, her lips in a flat line.

  It occurs to me she’ll be going out every night since that’s the only time I’ll be home once I start working at my day job tomorrow. But will I be able to focus if she’s out there in the city by herself at night? She doesn’t have a tough New Yorker attitude. More like, hey, let’s hang out!

  Before I can help myself, the words are out of my mouth. “Let me know your schedule and text me if you’ll be late. I don’t wanna waste my time checking if ya got home okay.”

  Her lips curve up a little before she presses them in a flat line. She doesn’t mind when I’m protective. She likes it. “Consider it done. You won’t have to waste a second of your time on me.”

  “Good.”

  “Do you mind if I have a guest upstairs?”

  My jaw clenches. Does she mean a guy or a girl? I can’t ask or she’ll think I’m jealous, which I am, even though I have no right to be. “No guests. The place is still a construction zone.”

  “The fourth floor is fine. There’s this guy in my improv class who wants to practice more with me.”

  I study her. Is she yanking my chain? Hard to tell. Her face is the picture of innocence.

  “Practice what?” I ask.

  “Improv.”

  “Kissing improv?” That’s what she did with me.

  She shrugs.

  “I think it’s a terrible idea, especially when you’re leaving so soon.”

  “Okay.” She sounds pleased.

  “What’s that supposed to mean? Okay?”

  She gives me a secret smile. “It means okay.”

  “You sound like you’re implying something more.”

  “You’re hoping I’m implying more, aren’t you?”

  I clamp my mouth shut before I blurt out the truth—the only reason I want her gone is to eliminate temptation. I have the uneasy feeling she already suspects the truth.

  She sighs and leans her head against my shoulder.

  I don’t push her away.

  ~ ~ ~

  When I get home after work Monday night, I hear a noise upstairs and find myself hoping it’s her, even though she said she plans to go out every night.

  “Josie?” I call.

  Silence.

  I head upstairs, but she’s not here. It was just the old house settling. I need to get used to a life without Josie. I’m the one who pushed her away, with good reason, so I just have to deal with the temporary discomfort of not knowing where she is, whom she’s with, or when she’ll be back. Fuck my life.

  I go down to the kitchen, microwave one of the frozen dinners I brought home, which look nothing like the picture on the box, and wolf it down on the back deck. Then I get to work on the kitchen, feeling unsatisfied and unusually cranky.

  An hour later, I need to know what’s up with her. I pull out my phone and text her, brief and to the point: Estimated time of arrival?

  No response. What’s she doing? Is she with that guy from improv?

  I shove my phone in my back jeans pocket and get to work. It vibrates when I’m in the middle of installing a new upper cabinet. I hold the cabinet in place with one hand, set down the drill, and reach for my phone.

  Josie: Be back 9ish. I’m visiting a friend from college. Maybe 10ish. She wants to take me to meet some of her friends in Harlem. We might have a jam session.

  I shove the phone back in my pocket and finish installing the cabinet. Then I pull my phone out again and send her a quick text. You play an instrument?

  Josie: I’m passable on the piano.

  Me: Multitalented. Cool.

  She sends a kiss emoji. Okay, don’t get excited. Emojis are casual things. Still, the blood thrums through my veins, suddenly alert.

  Josie: My mother’s an opera singer. I grew up with music in my life. Did I ever tell you that?

  Me: Yeah. I heard you sing once. You were really good.

  Josie: Wow. So many compliments tonight. I can tap dance too.

  I find myself smiling. Somehow it’s easier to say stuff through text.

  Me: That I’d like to see.

  Josie: Maybe. If you ask really nicely. What’s your talent? Besides being an uber-talented construction guy.

  I text back on impulse. I’m good in bed.

  I grimace. What am I doing?

  Shit. She stopped responding. I wish I could take back a text. I look around at the half-finished space as if someone here could help me out. How do I fix this? I’m about to text, Sorry. Sent that to the wrong person, when she texts again.

  Josie: Hey, had to respond to my friend. Back to you. Does that count as a talent? Also, inappropriate.

  Me: It’s more a gift than a talent. And that was inappropriate.

  Josie: Are we sexting?

  I laugh out loud and text back: Do you want to be sexting?

  Josie: Maybe. It is super boring on the subway.

  Me: You don’t need to stay away every night. I didn’t mean to scare you off.

  Josie: Why did you?

  I can’t tell her the truth and still keep my distance.

  Me: I don’t know.

  Josie: I expect to see good progress in the kitchen when I get back. Let’s get this job finished and Winnie out of your hair for good.

  Me: I hear that. Alright, back to work.

  Josie: You got this, stud. (Construction humor) :p

  I’m smiling as I text a quick bye. I need to stop snarling at her. I can be civil, friendly even, without getting too close.

  I go back to work, a new burst of energy coursing through me. I can’t wait to show her how much I’ve accomplished tonight.

  ~ ~ ~

  Josie

  I’ve been on edge all week, anxious to find out about the pilot. My agent says she’s pretty sure we’re going to hear something by Friday, which is today. I tell myself if it doesn’t work out, then it just wasn’t the right project. There’s lots of stories about actors who lost one show only to land an even better one that became a smash hit. What’s meant to be will be. I kept myself busy this week with auditions (had several for commercials and for a show on a new streaming service), improv class, the gym, and visits to everyone I could think of in the city, including dropping in at NYU to say hey to my fave teachers. I even went to an open-mike night at an alternative comedy club. I did a bit as an overenthusiastic triangle player, who dreams of joining a rock band, because why not? The audience at these shows is looking for something different. I visited Winnie one night too, who seemed unusually tense, though she said it was just wedding-planning stress.

  Now it’s Friday night, still early enough to hear news from LA, and I’m holed up in my fourth-floor room, trying to tune out Sean with his noisy power tools in the kitchen. He’s installing a new island. He texted me every night this week, checking on what time I’d be home. It’s clear he cares about me, but what does
it matter when he keeps his distance? I sigh. I hate to admit it, but he’s probably right to keep his distance, with him being deeply rooted here and me about to fly off at a moment’s notice. We only saw each other for a quick hello when I got in every night. He wasn’t waiting up for me, he was working in the kitchen. Maybe it’s his way of trying to be friendly after he felt bad for acting like I was such an irritating thorn in his side.

  One good thing happened this week. I heard back from Claire Jordan, and she invited me to meet at a restaurant in the city next weekend to chat. It gives me hope. If one good thing happened, then don’t good things happen in threes? I’m due for two more. I’m throwing all my positive energy out into the world.

  My phone rings, and I check the screen, my heart racing. It’s my agent. This is it. The big moment. I’ll be telling interviewers about the moment I got this show and how exhilarating it was. I jump up and down a few times to expel my nervous energy.

  “Hi, Jade!” I answer cheerfully. “Do you have news?”

  She answers in a flat tone, “The pilot wasn’t picked up. I’m sorry, Josie. I really thought this was going to be the one.”

  My stomach drops, and I hold the phone tighter. “Did they say why?”

  “It wasn’t you. You were great. There’s just a lot of shows vying for audience, and the network felt there were stronger options for the lineup. But we keep going. I’ve got an audition lined up for you next week for a new comedy channel, and are you open to Off Broadway? There’s a new show looking for unknowns who can sing.”

  My throat tightens, my eyes stinging with unshed tears. Unknown. That’s me. No one knows who I am. Maybe they never will.

  “Okay, sure,” I manage. “Thank you for letting me know.”

  “Keep your chin up. Next time. It’s not personal. Every no is one step closer to yes.”

  I nod, unable to speak for a moment. “Bye.” I punch the button to end the call and slowly sink to the floor. For a moment I just stare blankly, and then I burst into tears. I really, really wanted this one. I thought for sure it was going to happen. Great script, great concept. I really nailed the character. There are so many things out of my control in this business, but it seemed like everything that could go right did. Yet it didn’t.