“If you’re going to get crazy and all worked up about it, then no.” Junell folded her hands over her slight belly. “I have to be back on the set in another hour, and I don’t need you freaking me out.”
Grace blinked her eyes multiple times and looked her friend up and down. She’d never once cared more about filming a scene than what Grace was going through. Grace wondered if that was because of the baby or because Junell had just simply grown tired of the multitude of issues that seemed to follow Grace everywhere she went.
“Must be a difficult scene,” Grace said offhandedly. She looked into her glass of wine, trying to hide her disappointment in the burgundy liquid in her glass.
“It’s beyond difficult.” Junell rubbed the center of her forehead, as if thinking about it was exhausting. “You know, getting pregnant while filming is difficult, and the writers have decided to write my pregnancy into the story, rather than write me off or have me go on a hiatus. So, I’m going to sleep with the captain of the squad this evening.”
“Oh, yeah!” Grace perked up a bit. “Isn’t the captain married?”
“Yes. Apparently, my character has been secretly in love with him since he was her teacher at the academy, and they finally have the opportunity to do the deed.”
“All the Christian sisters that support you are going to be up in arms.”
“I know.” Junell tsk-tsked. “I had to repent so many times while reading the script. I don’t think I’m going to make it through this scene.”
Grace looked up from her wineglass and stared at Junell. A wet film covered her eyes. Junell was so worked up about this scene, she was oblivious to Grace’s pain. She let the tears run down her cheeks. They rolled slowly over her cheekbones, creating streaks on her flawless face. Grace bent over and rested her head on the countertop they were seated at.
Junell rubbed Grace’s back. “G, are you all right?” she whispered, bending over Grace.
Raising her head slightly, Grace turned in the opposite direction of Junell’s coos of comfort. She let the sobs and nose sniffing flow freely.
“Come on. Talk to me, Grace. People are starting to look at us.”
“Let them look,” Grace spat. She sat up, picked up a napkin, and blew her nose. Her chest tightened so much, she could feel her heart rattling around inside of her. She wanted to jump through the picture window they were seated in front of to escape Junell. She’d expected more from her than this. Closing her eyes, Grace let her head fall to her chest and buried her chin in the layers of her gray wraparound scarf.
“People have been looking at us for a long time,” Grace said. “Isn’t that the business we’re in? You’re a model turned actress. Aren’t you used to being looked at already? Or are you suddenly bothered because this is your real life that people are looking at?” Her voice dropped. “This is your friend breaking down, not some character on one of your little episodes.”
Grace slid off the stool and turned toward the door. Junell reached for Grace’s arm and caught the elbow of her oversize tribal-print cardigan. Grace had meant to move faster than that, but the heaviness of her wounded heart had slowed her down.
“Grace, what’s going on?”
Their eyes met. Junell’s large brown eyes zigzagged from side to side, as if she possessed the power to scan Grace’s brain.
Breaking eye contact, Grace looked down at the raw, untiled floor of the coffee shop. She cupped her own arm and slowly pulled her cardigan out of Junell’s grasp. “Now’s not a good time to discuss it. People are looking,” she whispered, backing out of the coffee shop.
Chapter 21
Grace scurried out of the coffee shop and across Eighth Avenue as quickly as she could in her wedges. She never looked back. She knew Junell well enough to know she would follow her out of the restaurant and would go to extreme lengths to right every wrong. Grace didn’t want any of her apologies right now; she wanted to slap the mess out of her best friend for being more concerned about who was around them than what was going on with Grace. She done got all Hollywood on me, Grace thought. She slapped her hand against her thigh at the realization that she might be in danger of losing her friend to her newfound success on television, and then there was the baby on the way.
As she waited for the light to change at the next corner, Grace felt the soft vibration of her cell phone against her thigh. Her heart contracted a bit with the hope that it was Horace calling or texting to check on her. Ignoring the traffic light, Grace broke one of the cardinal sins in New York—do not block traffic. She tuned out the insults flung at her from those who had to walk around her and withdrew her phone from her pocket.
My office. ASAP.
Grace’s heart plummeted. Two things were wrong. Ethan was in the office on a Saturday, and he was texting. It was never a good sign when Ethan wanted to see her ASAP or resorted to texting. Ethan was a little old school and still relied on having actual conversations with people to get his point across. One hundred forty characters was just not enough for him to say anything meaningful. Secretly, Grace loved that about him. She dangled her long arm in the air, trying to summon a cab, as she tallied up her recent offenses—kissed Ethan, got into a minor tiff with the pastor of Ethan’s church, and ran off with Horace, a member of that church. She left getting slapped by Candace off the list. After all, for once, she hadn’t been the antagonist. Grace preferred not to recall that moment and thanked God no one had recorded it.
After several minutes of arm waving and shouting at the cabs that passed her by despite appearing empty, a cab pulled up in front of her. It was one of the more spacious ones for families and the handicapped. As Grace leaned in to open the door, the window in the rear rolled down and Horace poked his head out and warmly asked, “Are you going my way?”
Blushing, Grace pulled back her hand. “That depends on where you’re going,” she said flirtatiously. She never flirted; she simply said, “I want you,” and sealed the deal. She looked at Horace’s plump lips and his crooked front tooth and wondered what had happened. Grace couldn’t believe how flirtatious Horace made her feel.
“Well, hop in, Grace King. I’ll take you wherever you want to go.” He flung the door open and scooted over so that Grace could get inside. “Where to, my lady?” Horace asked as soon as she had climbed in and pulled the door shut.
“Fiftieth and Eighth Avenue,” Grace replied.
“Did you hear that, driver?” Horace tapped on the back of the seat in front of him. “Drop the lady off at Fiftieth and Eighth.” Horace reclined in the seat and extended his arms across the back, slightly grazing Grace’s arm with his fingertips. “Where are you off to, Ms. Grace?”
“Me? Where are you going in a cab?”
“Listen, us po’ folks got to get around too, you know,” he said sarcastically, looking away from her.
“I—I didn’t mean it like that.”
“I’m not really sure what you meant, and I don’t know if I care to know. What I do know is that you don’t know me, so you should think twice before you judge me,” he replied, staring out the window.
“Horace.”
Horace turned to face Grace. His pronounced nose was slightly wrinkled, his mouth was curled into a frown, and yet the exquisiteness of his face took her aback. She wanted to plant kisses all over his warm brown face until a smile resurfaced. Reaching for him, Grace rested her hand on his thigh and began again.
“Horace, I’m sorry, but—”
“There are no buts when you’re sorry. Either you are or you aren’t,” he said firmly, folding his hands across his chest and cocking his legs open a little wider, knocking her hand from its position on his thigh. “I think this is your stop.”
The cab pulled to a full stop at the corner of Eighth Avenue and Fiftieth Street. Horace opened the door and exited the cab, allowing Grace to exit on his side.
Grace took that to mean she still had a chance—however slim—considering the fact that he hadn’t allowed her to open the door and ste
p into oncoming traffic.
“Horace.” She breathed his name slowly, staring into his eyes. She wanted to see what happened when she said his name. Then she would know where she stood with him.
His eyes flickered, and his eyebrows arched at the sound of her voice. Yet he did not respond to her. Then, reclaiming his spot in the cab, he called to her through the cracked window. “Top model, meet me at Chocolat at nine.”
Grace headed to Ethan’s office and was all smiles as she pushed Ethan’s door open. “What’s up, Ethan? You said you needed to see me ASAP.”
Ethan looked up from the papers on his desk. Another crease surfaced on his forehead, adding to the other two on his brow. He stuck the cap of his pen in his mouth and sucked on it for a moment.
“Just spit it out, man,” Grace commanded as she approached his desk. She casually rested her bowling bag tote on his desk, taking over his space. Based on the look on his face, nothing good was going to come from this meeting, and she didn’t want to waste her time on dramatics. Ethan had a flair for them.
Ethan removed the pen cap from his mouth and held up two fingers. “Two things,” he said, then took a dramatic pause. “One, your time at Mount Carmel is up.” He lowered one of his fingers. “Two, if you don’t get your butt on the set of that film, Javier is going to sue you blind.”
“For what?” Grace flung her hands in the air.
“We went over this already. Breach of contract, loss of profits, and some other crap.” Ethan sat up and waited for Grace to concede.
Twisting her mouth to the side, Grace said, “I don’t know how we’re going to work that out.” Grace did not want to be sued. She couldn’t afford any more negative press, nor could she afford any of the checks she’d have to write to the firm and to Javier if he won the lawsuit. She tapped her foot lightly as she moved on to the other issue Ethan had laid out—Mount Carmel. “The last time I checked, I am nowhere near the hours mandated by the judge. One year is three hundred and sixty-five days.”
“You let me worry about the judge. I’ll have you at a new placement before the week is out.”
Grace swallowed hard and chewed on a small slice of regret. She had dived headfirst into the industry, and not only had she neglected to finish high school, but she’d also granted the firm power of attorney, and that allowed Ethan to make every decision for her, including where she would do her time. Grace tried to conceive an eloquent speech that would make Ethan aware that she was no longer willing to allow people who didn’t clean the toilet after she sat on it to make decisions for her.
“I don’t want to go anywhere else. Are you trying to protect David too?” she asked, a rough grimace emerging as she recalled how Ethan had flown down the aisle, prepped to accuse her of bringing about the downfall of the church.
“This isn’t about Pastor David. Why do you care, anyway? The last time I checked, you were protesting about setting foot in a church.” He tapped his pen lightly against the desk, shifted his gaze from Grace, and stared at the papers on his desk. A look of fierce concentration consumed his face.
Sensing that an argument was brewing in his head, Grace grabbed the handles of her bag and scooped it up. She was trying to flee the scene while Ethan categorized his thoughts to determine whether there was evidence that this was about Pastor David or an assumption. “I want to stay there, and that’s it,” she said matter-of-factly, pivoting on her heels to leave. Her hope was to clear the doorway before Ethan launched into his attack.
Ethan lurched forward before she made it to the door. “This is about your knight in shining armor, isn’t it?” he asked loudly.
Grace did an about-face and zoomed back to Ethan’s desk. “Are you serious?” she asked, leaning in over the desk. “I don’t need anybody to protect me. I know how to put my foot up someone’s behind and how to put it down when necessary.” She snickered, looking Ethan up and down. “I know what this is about. This is about that kiss, isn’t it?”
Ethan rose from behind his desk, walked around to the front of it, and stood next to Grace. He grabbed her hand and rubbed the back of it while staring deeply into her eyes. “I don’t blame you for that, Grace. We crossed all kinds of lines that we shouldn’t have a long time ago, and things really just got out of control. I’m sorry,” he said, still caressing her hand. “I shouldn’t have let that happen.”
His apology seemed genuine, and the worry painted on his eyes gave away how conflicted he felt. He’d given in to his flesh and lost both Grace and Candace. The thought made even Grace feel sorry for him. For the first time since she’d met Ethan, he had broken from the script and had decided to ad-lib, and it had resulted in disaster. She wished they had acted on the desire and chemistry between them before falling in love with other people.
“I’m sorry too, Ethan.” She withdrew her hand from his palms and straightened the knot on his lavender and gray silk blend tie. Grace was sorry she wasn’t the simple client who just booked jobs and didn’t start bar fights. She wanted to be better but didn’t know where to begin. “I’m going to fix this—for you.” She laid the tie back down against Ethan’s chest and stroked it softly, then looked up at him. “For us.”
Chapter 22
Showing up early wasn’t typical behavior for Grace, but she wanted to make a great impression on Horace. Grace asked the hostess to seat her while she waited for Horace to arrive. After slathering on a dollop of matte fuchsia lipstick, Grace used the camera on her iPhone to check her face. She dabbed some stray mascara away with her finger and covered the spot with a pinch of concealer. She tousled the front of her spiked-up hair a bit. Her face was beat, her hair was laid, and thanks to the courtesy waist trainer she’d received in the mail, her body was looking snatched in the formfitting orange body-con dress she was wearing.
She adjusted the neckline a bit to obscure some of her cleavage, which was popping out. Grace bit her lip and stared at her image on the camera screen for a moment as worry set in. Maybe this is a bit much for an evening with Horace, she thought. After all, he is a church boy and he hasn’t said this is a date. On the other hand, it is Saturday. According to Grace’s fashion philosophy, stepping out on a Saturday evening was a prescription for wearing anything that fit like a glove. She ran her finger along the rim of her teeth to remove a stray lipstick mark.
“Leave the lipstick there. That’ll level the playing field for the average women in here,” Horace whispered into her ear, leaning over her shoulder.
Grace turned around and stood up to greet him. She was going to ask for a drink, but his clear cognac skin quenched her thirst. Breathing deeply, she inhaled the scent of sandalwood about him and was ready to collapse as he drew her close to him for an embrace.
“I thought you were angry with me,” she whispered.
Horace held Grace by her waist and stepped back, taking in her whole frame. His eyes softened, and his lips curled into a smile.
Body-con does it every time, Grace thought. Returning the flirtatious smile, she placed her hand on his chest.
“Offended, yes, but angry? How could I be angry with you, Grace King?” he said, releasing her waist to pull out her chair. He walked around the table and took a seat directly across from her. “Have you thought about what you want to order?” Horace opened his menu and began to scan it.
She cleared her throat, thinking about the most diplomatic way to broach the topic of the cost of the food at Chocolat. It wasn’t for the ultrarich, but the menu certainly wasn’t for someone who ate meals at the church pantry. Grace considered herself to be a modern woman. She didn’t mind paying for a meal or two, as long as that was established before the date, but since she still didn’t know if they were on a date or not, Grace had no idea what to say.
“Ummm . . . I was thinking I’d order two appetizers instead of an entrée. What do you think?”
“I think I need more light to make a decision.” He laid the menu on the table, picked up the candle, and used it to illuminate the menu. “I did
n’t think that whole ‘not eating’ thing was true, but if you’re not going to get a full meal at Chocolat, something is wrong with you. If you’re worried about the price, don’t be. I have a job, remember?”
Grace wanted to rebut his response with the facts of the matter. If his job was so good, why was he eating at the church? It didn’t make an ounce of sense for him to be this fine and foolish enough to blow his whole check on wining and dining Grace. Heck, she’d slept with many a strange man for less than a meal at Chocolat. When she considered it, she had never got much in return out of the deal except for dirty linens.
“Grace,” Horace called out to her gently, snagging her out of her surmising. “Does it bother you that I work construction?”
“No,” she replied, smiling.
Horace put his menu down, folded his arms on the table, and leaned in closer. “Then what is the problem?” he asked, licking his ripe lips.
Giving him the once-over again, Grace couldn’t find a fault. He looked pretty relaxed in a forest-green plaid button-down shirt. His freshly shaved bald head was glowing, despite the muted lighting, and the small triangular tuft of hair beneath his bottom lip was neatly trimmed. “I don’t have a problem.”
“Yes, you do,” he insisted.
“Hi. I’m Juliana, and I’ll be your server this evening. Would you care for an appetizer or drinks to start out your night?” the waitress offered, switching her gaze from Grace to Horace.
Grace was relieved by the diversion from the present conversation that the waitress’s presence created, and smiled at her. Biting her tongue was like swallowing stones for Grace—unnatural and unhealthy. The truth was, it did bother her that Horace was a construction worker who was eating meals at the church. It bothered her that he looked like Prince Charming and had the pockets of a pauper. It bothered her that she couldn’t discern whether the glint she saw in his eyes came from him searching for her name on CelebrityNetWorth.com or from him being genuinely captivated by her. Shifting her focus from Horace’s pockets back to the waitress, Grace began her order.
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