by Amy Harmon
A quick, sharp knock sounded on the door. They both turned to it.
“Who’s there?” Slade called.
“It’s me, Landon. Hurry and open the door.”
Slade hesitated, then stepped toward the door. “This isn’t the best time, Landon. Can I give you a call later?”
“I don’t care if you’re in your pajamas,” Landon said. “Open the door, and hurry.”
Slade swung open the door. Landon instantly came through, then pushed the door shut behind him. He was in his late twenties, with sandy-blonde hair that was a bit too long but looked good on him anyway. He had clear blue eyes, a square jaw, and chiseled features. Without looking at Slade, he put one shoulder against the door and listened to the sounds in the hallway. “Three teenage girls got past security. I don’t dare go to my room, or I won’t have a minute’s peace.”
“So you led them to my room,” Slade said dryly. “How considerate.”
Landon shrugged, a smirk stealing across his features. “Hey, I figured you could use some female company even if—” and then he turned and saw Clarissa. A slow smile crept across his face. “Or perhaps not.”
Slade spoke in a flat, expressionless voice. “This is Clarissa Hancock, Bella’s nanny for the vacation.”
Still smiling, Landon walked to Clarissa. He shook her hand, caressingly, and then winked over at Slade. “You don’t have to explain to me.”
It was only a smile, but it instantly became much more than that. With this single act of admiration, Landon gave Clarissa her confidence back. She wasn’t incompetent. Alex had been wrong, and so was Slade. They were just a pair of impossible men.
Slade rolled his eyes. “Oh, for the—” He let out a groan of frustration. “She really is the nanny.”
Clarissa smiled back at Landon. “He’s a little touchy about the subject right now.”
Another knock sounded on the door. This one followed by giggles. Slade rolled his eyes and walked farther away from the door. “Great. Your fan club has arrived.”
“Is this Landon McKellips’s room?” a girl called through the door.
“No,” Landon boomed. “It’s Slade Jacobson’s.”
“Oh!” A chorus of shrieks and giggles penetrated the door. “Can he autograph our shirts?” More giggles. “Please?”
Landon leaned toward Slade and whispered, “Should I call security, or do you want to go out there? They looked older than eighteen.”
Slade turned to Clarissa and motioned to the door. “Can you get them to leave, please?”
“How?”
“Tell them I’m busy; tell them anything; just get rid of them.”
“Tell them anything,” Clarissa slowly repeated. “All right.”
She strode to the door, unlocked it, and opened it wide enough to stick her head out. Three young girls stood in front of her, dressed up, made up, and questionably older than eighteen.
“Is Slade Jacobson in there?” the one in the middle asked in an awed tone.
“Yes,” Clarissa said. “But trust me. You don’t want his autograph.”
“Why not?” asked the first one.
“I’m his daughter’s nanny, and I can tell you, he’s the most overbearing, egotistical man you’d ever hope not to meet. He asks the impossible and then acts like a tyrant when he doesn’t get it.”
All three faces fell. “Really?” they asked together.
Clarissa nodded. “Really. He’s horrible.” She motioned down the hallway. “If you want to meet someone nice, though, keep looking for Landon McKellips. He’s very friendly.”
The smiles returned. “Thanks,” the last one said, and then they started down the hallway, heads bobbing close together, already talking about this new information.
Clarissa shut the door, fastened the safety bolt, and then turned back to face the room.
Slade stood with his arms folded and glared at her. “I’m horrible?”
“They left, didn’t they?”
“I’m overbearing?”
“See, you’re doing it right now,” she said. “You ask the impossible and now you’re unhappy.”
“I think the phrase you used was, ‘He’s a tyrant.’”
She leaned against the door because there was no place else to go. “You said you wanted me to get rid of them.”
His dark eyes fixed on hers. “Fine. Just don’t say anything else to anyone for the rest of the time we’re here.”
“That’s a little overbearing, don’t you think?”
Landon laughed. Slade didn’t.
Clarissa cocked her head. “So are you firing me?”
“No. And don’t you dare quit and leave me without a nanny, either. You agreed to work for the whole time we’re here.”
“All right,” she said. “Then I should go to bed so I won’t be dead on my feet tomorrow.”
Slade nodded. His eyes still smoldered with anger. “Good night, then.”
“Good night. I’ll have Meredith bring Bella to you.”
She opened the door and slipped outside. Just as the door closed, she heard Slade’s voice, still crisp with emotion, say, “This is exactly the reason I’m single.”
Clarissa headed over to Meredith’s room. “Ditto,” she said out loud.
Chapter Nine
Slade woke up early, started thinking about Clarissa, and then couldn’t get back to sleep. He could see her blue eyes blinking in frustration at him, filling with tears. He’d been too hard on her last night. They’d all been tired.
When Slade dropped Bella off at Clarissa’s room, she greeted Bella with the exaggerated happy voice adults use when they talk to children. She greeted Slade with less enthusiasm.
He almost—almost—said, “I’m sorry about last night,” but instead he mumbled, “I don’t know how long I’ll be.”
She took Bella’s hand. “That’s okay.”
He handed her one of his key cards. “If you need to get into my room for Bella’s toys or clothes, you can use this.”
“Thanks,” she said.
“And be sure to take your ID with you if you leave this floor. After last night’s teenage invasion, the hotel has set security guards at the end of the hallway.”
“Okay.”
They stared at one another for a moment longer, and then Slade said, “Well, I’ll see you later.” He turned, started down the hallway, and heard the door close behind him.
In brisk, heavy steps he walked to the elevator. He hated apologies. It was like rehashing the event all over again. And women made it even harder than it had to be. With guys, apologies were easy. You just said, “Hey, you’re not nearly as obnoxious as you were yesterday,” and the other guy said, “And you’re not as ugly!” Then you slapped each other on the shoulders, and the thing was over.
Women always wanted to discuss their feelings, analyze every word you said, and point out your many flaws along the way. They expected things like candy and flowers; and the prettier the woman, the more things she expected. Clarissa probably pulled in quite a haul after every argument.
He would have to pick up something for her later, although he wasn’t sure what. With her big blue eyes, she probably got stuff like jewelry. He wondered what Clarissa’s perfect husband would do if she came home wearing a necklace that Slade had given her. It would probably cause a big argument, and more apologies, and then she would get another installment of jewelry. Love didn’t keep jewelers in business, apologies did.
Maybe he’d just give her a bonus after the trip.
Slade checked the hotel restaurant in hopes of seeing AJ. He wasn’t there. Slade went back to his room, ordered breakfast there, and ate it on his balcony. He’d grown up in California, so he’d put in a good deal of time at the beach. Still, he never tired of watching the waves—the way they rose up, as though reaching for something, then rolled over in a great churning mass and spilled onto the shore. This time as Slade watched them, he wondered what they were reaching for.
And he hoped he h
ad better luck in reaching his goals.
After breakfast Slade made his way to a meeting room off of the lobby, which had been turned into a prop storage area. Someone from the crew might know where AJ was.
An odd assortment of crates and boxes created a maze in the room, and a few people milled around between them, unloading things here and there. He sauntered in, stepping over cables and wires from the lighting equipment, and looked for a familiar face. It took him only moments to find one.
Natalie Granger knelt beside a box, digging through its contents with her long, tanned arms. He hadn’t seen her in two years—not since they’d worked together on the film Mermaid Island. Her platinum-blonde hair was shorter than it had been, but her eyes were the same bright blue, and her body still looked a perpetual twenty years old. She wore tight jeans and a halter top, a sort of chic comfort that she did so well.
He remembered her decked out in her mermaid outfit being carried onto the set because she couldn’t walk in her fins. He had teased her mercilessly throughout the production, telling her one helpless mermaid joke after another. She got back at him by making their love scene difficult. Every time they practiced, she changed it on him. Instead of murmuring softly into his ear that she loved him, she’d put her head on his shoulder and whisper anything else. “I was attacked by a rabid tuna,” she told him once breathlessly, “and now I feel like biting you.”
She made such a joke of the whole thing, he could barely keep a straight face during the actual shoot.
Now Slade walked over to her. “Natalie, if they’re making you unload your own props, I suggest you find a new agent.”
She blinked at him, and recognition warmed her face. “Slade!” She got to her feet and gave him a hug, pressing her body tightly against him. As he held her, he got a faint whiff of her Giorgio perfume. Even that was the same.
She released him, then glanced back at the boxes. “I was looking for my laptop. I think it got packed up with the props back in California.” Smiling, she tucked her hands into her back pockets. “It’s such a surprise to see you. What are you doing here?”
“Mostly just visiting Landon.”
Natalie tilted her head, skeptically. “Men never visit Landon. And besides, the two of you can see each other in L.A. Why are you really here?”
He laughed and ran a hand across the back of his neck. “Actually, I want to pitch a script.”
“Ahhh. Business. I should have known. Everything is always business with you.” She leaned closer to him. “If I recall, you were always too busy to devote any time to our budding relationship.”
“Yes, but as you remember, you were a fish. And besides, you died tragically in the end.” He snapped his fingers in the air, remembering. “What was it that finally did you in? Was it the rabid tuna or the oil spill? I’ve forgotten.”
“It was those plastic rings they use in six packs,” she said. “They’re deadly to marine life.”
“Ah, yes, well, it’s good that the old saying is true then. ‘There’s more than one fish in the sea.’”
She reached out and put a hand on his arm. Her pale pink lips parted slightly, seductively. “It’s also true you always remember the fish that got away.”
And then Slade recalled the other thing about Natalie. Back when they were working on Mermaid Island, she made passes at him on a daily basis. He considered it harmless flirting at first. Then one day she showed up in his trailer wearing nothing but seashells. He’d had to emphasize, strenuously, that he was happily married. Back then he still believed it was a happy marriage.
Natalie leaned toward Slade and ran a finger across his arm. “I was sorry when I heard that you and Evelyn split up. All that fidelity for nothing.”
“Well, sometimes that’s how it goes.” Slade glanced around to see if the other prop people were watching them. They had all disappeared except for one guy across the room. He was pulling assault rifles from a box, looking them over, and then putting them back.
“Fidelity is overrated in my opinion,” Natalie purred.
“And underrated in mine.”
She took her hand from his arm and slowly pushed a strand of blonde hair behind her ear. Her long fingernails were gold, matching the rings she wore on her fingers. “The cast is having a luau tonight at the resort. You’ll come, won’t you? There will be dancing.”
Instead of answering her, he fingered a nearby police hat. “What are you doing here with the cast, anyway? Are you guest starring?”
Casually, she leaned up against one of the crates and watched him. The pose was calculated. Alluring. “No. Actually, I’m here with my boyfriend.”
“Really? Does he share your views about fidelity?”
She laughed, a soft tinkling sound like water falling. “Drinks are at five thirty. Roasted pig is at six. AJ is hosting. Is he the one you want to pitch your script to?”
Slade nodded. “He’s the man.”
“I can help you with it then.”
Somehow Slade knew, before he even asked, what the answer to his next question would be. “And how would you do that?”
“I’ll get you a seat at our table. AJ’s and mine.”
“He’s your boyfriend?” It was more of a statement than a question.
“I don’t mind helping you out, Slade. I want to do it.” She flashed him a smile that lit up the blue in her eyes. “Shall I put you on the guest list? The security is going to be tight.”
“Having trouble with fans?”
“No, with the press.”
“You didn’t seem to have problems with them last night.” He tapped his thumb against the crate and cringed at the memory. “It looked like you invited every reporter on this side of the Pacific to come out and meet you.”
“It’s not the local press that’s giving us grief. It’s the tabloids. Ever hear of Sylvia Stanfield?”
The name rang a bell—and not a smooth, melodic bell, but the shrill clanging of an alarm clock. “Sylvia Stanfield?” he repeated.
“The Scoop magazine.” Natalie overpronounced each word, as though the syllables themselves were sharp.
“Ah, yes, The Scoop.” One of those horrible tell-alls that only told enough to fuel its readers’ imagination. “I’ve always wondered what exactly it was scooping out.”
“Not only is Sylvia producing fiction for it, she’s also started one of those TV gossip bits. It’s called the Hollywood Dish, and lately the Undercover Agents cast has been the main course. It’s driving us crazy.”
Now Slade remembered Sylvia. He could picture her sitting behind her news desk, her shoulder-length, dark hair pulled back into a bun, a full set of shiny white teeth set in the middle of wide cheeks. The cheeks were wide because she was on the plump side, but also because she smiled so continually that her cheek muscles had probably grown to be the strongest in her body.
That was the thing about Sylvia. She smiled in a calm, regal manner as she sat on TV devouring people’s lives.
Natalie reached over and placed a hand on Slade’s arm. “So are you brave enough to hang out with us, or should I leave you off the guest list?”
For a moment Slade considered refusing the invitation—because of Natalie, not Sylvia.
But that was stupid. Having dinner with AJ was exactly the type of opportunity he needed. And Natalie wasn’t going to try anything with AJ sitting right next to her. He was her boyfriend. Chances were she was madly in love with him, and this stuff now was just flirting for old time’s sake.
“Dinner sounds great,” Slade said. And then to be on the safe side, he added, “I’ll bring my secretary along. She, uh, loves mingling with celebrities.”
“The woman who used to bring Bella to the set?”
“Yeah, Meredith. That’s the one.”
One of Natalie’s perfectly-shaped eyebrows arched up. “She’s still with you, even after the tropical fish fiasco?”
Slade shifted his weight uncomfortably and turned away from the police hat box. “It wasn’
t Meredith’s fault that Bella shattered the aquarium. Bella is just accident prone.” He let out a slow breath. “It was my fault, really. I should have known better than to let her within throwing distance of it.”
Natalie smiled in a reminiscing sort of way. “I’ll never forget the way the water flooded over the studio floor—how the fish flopped around on the ground while we raced around trying to save them…”
“The lighting guys and I tried to save them,” Slade said. “You sat there in your fins laughing at us.”
“And you threw some of them into the water cooler. That might actually have worked if they had been fresh-water fish.”
Slade shook his head ruefully. “You wouldn’t think dying fish would be so picky.”
“So you stood over the cooler with a salt shaker trying to save them. It was very noble.”
“Yes, I’m sure that’s what you thought while you were doubled up laughing.”
She grinned at him, but it wasn’t the grin he noticed. It was the way her gaze locked onto him. “I’ve always thought you were very noble.” She leaned closer to him again. “You’ll save me a dance tonight, won’t you?”
“Sure. We’ll request the theme song to Mermaid Island."
“Good.” The grin melted from her face, but the gaze was still going full blast. “I guess I ought to get back to my room. I have tons of unpacking to do.” She took a few steps toward the door, then turned back to face him. “Oh, and Slade, since we’re in Hawaii, who knows—maybe I’ll be able to find some seashells you like.”
Natalie finished her exit out the door. Slade stood in the room for several moments longer. He rubbed one hand over his brow and stared at the door. He hadn’t planned on walking any tightropes but suddenly found himself teetering on one. If he offended Natalie, she would destroy his chance with AJ. If he didn’t offend Natalie—well, there was no way around offending her if she planned to resurrect her seashell wardrobe. He’d have to do his best to avoid her until he’d worked things out with AJ.
Of all people, he had to run into Natalie here. Slade shook his head again and resolved never to become a gambler, because nobody, he was sure, had worse luck.