Souvenirs

by Mia Kay

  “We’re all lured by the power at some point,” he said. “Maybe it’s the chance to tell other people what to do.”

  “Reversal of torture?” Susan asked.

  “Exactly.”

  Grace forced herself to meet his gaze. “Have you met everyone? Bennett Br—um, Oliver.” He wasn’t her Ben anymore. He was Bennett Oliver, co-worker and movie star. She took a deep breath and then nodded to indicate each person. “Morris Wright is the financial genius helping Paul with the financing.”

  “And your co-star’s husband,” Morris explained as he extended his hand. Bennett leaned closer to accept the greeting, and Grace stepped back.

  “Ted Horner is our director,” she continued.

  “Of course, Ted. It’s a pleasure. I’m looking forward to working with you.”

  “Same here. I worked with Dan Lybrand a few months back, and he called when he heard the casting news. Says to tell you hello and offer you another shooting lesson.”

  “He had his hands full with me as a student,” Bennett laughed. Grace gritted her teeth.

  “And of course, Susan Wright,” she said.

  Bennett extended his hand. “It’s nice to meet you. I’m looking forward to having you kick my sorry arse.”

  “And I’m looking forward to doing it,” Susan quipped.

  They stood in a circle and everyone else listened to Ted and Morris discuss financing needs and shooting schedules. Grace watched Susan and Bennett—Zadie and Ian—side by side.

  This was really happening.

  Warm fingers closed over hers, and she let her gaze travel from her hand, up Bennett’s arm, to his face. Holding her gently, he spoke with Ted as if nothing had happened.

  Not again. She slid free from his grip and ignored his twitching fingers.

  Tucking her hands behind her back, she continued watching her stars. Something was off. Susan’s wide smile was cold. She paid attention, but her eyes were hard. Her shoulders were stiff.

  She didn’t like Bennett.

  How could she not like him? Grace fought the urge to pull the actress aside and extol Bennett’s virtues and list his good deeds.

  “Excuse me,” Grace whispered to no one in particular before she walked away, willing herself not to run to the bar in the far corner of the room.

  “Hey, Ms. Don—Grace.” The bartender corrected himself as he greeted her. “Refill?”

  “Thanks, Bobby.” She surrendered her glass and he moved it under the bar so no one would see her beverage of choice—plain water. After the mini-bar binge, she’d sworn off alcohol. Especially if she wasn’t eating. And she wasn’t tonight.

  “Nice party,” Bobby said.

  “It is, but my feet are killing me.” She took her drink. “Thanks.”

  She looked for a new group to join. Her stars were now off limits, and the producers made her nervous. The cameramen talked about things she didn’t understand.

  From the crowd in the center of the room, Gino Correlli waved a meaty hand. The giant of a man was the best prop designer in the industry, and this project would let him step out on his own. He’d shown his appreciation by making model swords and laser blasters for all the children in attendance. If she got close enough to the stairs, Grace could hear them playing in Meg and Paul’s basement. For the umpteenth time this evening, she considered hiding down there with them.

  Instead, she walked to Gino and the special effects department. Everyone welcomed her with smiles and upraised drinks while two of the members defended their respective crafts.

  “I’m just saying, actual models won’t go wonky on you if you hit a wrong key. No fuzzy trees.”

  “Yeah, but you can’t put real people in a model forest. In front of a green screen, if it’s done right, you can’t tell the difference.”

  “And,” Grace laughed, “Todd’s too nice to tell you his trees were fuzzy because I hit the wrong button.”

  “Anybody could do it, Grace. I was tickled to have you in there. You smell better than Larry.”

  “And she brings donuts.”

  “I didn’t get any donuts,” Todd complained.

  “Because she didn’t want to gum up the keys on your computer. That’s another reason models are superior effects.”

  The clink of silver on crystal got their attention. Paul stood at the head of the room.

  “Thank you all for coming tonight and for throwing in while we bring Partners in Time to life. I know signing up with a new studio is a gamble, but we’re committed to making it pay off for everyone involved. And on that note, Grace has accepted our offer to become an associate producer. She’s your boss.”

  Wariness crept into the gaze of every crewmember. A few of the younger ones sat straighter, one put down his half-full beer. A few more stepped backward. Why had Paul done this?

  Her answer stood in the corner of the room. Bennett’s expression was unreadable, but his eyes never left hers.

  Great. God knows what he thinks. Paulie, why did you have to rush to my rescue?

  She tightened her grip on her glass. “No, Paul. It doesn’t. I got tired of you badgering me.”

  The initial shock of talking in front of all these people faded, and she glared at Paul before she met the eyes of every person in the room, even Bennett. “It means I’m going to keep asking a lot of questions and getting in your way. And you have the right to tell me to let you do your job. We handpicked you because you’re the best at what you do. I’m only in charge of the story, and I’m looking forward to learning from all of you and helping where you need me.”

  The music began again, the crowd shifted, and Grace accepted Gino’s hug.

  “I know that was hard for you to do, Gracie.”

  “Thanks. I’ll be back in a minute.”

  She stalked toward Paul, but Meg was already there.

  “How could anyone so smart be so clueless?” Meg scolded in a whisper. “And while we’re on the subject, he’s our guest and you were rude.”

  “He was rude to who?” Grace asked.

  When no one answered, she filled in the blanks and focused on her Don Quixote in a tailored suit. “Leave him be, Paulie. I’m fine.”

  “He needed to know where he stood,” Paul insisted.

  “And by showing him you set me back at least a month with the crew. I like these guys, and I want them to come talk to me. I want to be able to ask them things without making them defensive. It’s the only way I can learn. You promised you wouldn’t say anything.”

  “Yeah, well,” Paul muttered as he looked over her shoulder to the corner.

  “I wish I’d never told you,” Grace snapped. “I should have called Ron instead.”

  “Ron? You just met him, and he’s a banker. What’s he know about personal stuff?”

  “Exactly,” Grace snarled before she stalked off. She was going to cry again. That’s all they’d need to doubt her fitness. Bennett would think it was over him, then he’d think she really did get her job because of their relationship—their dead, pitiful relationship. Reaching the door, she escaped outside.

  The sun was disappearing into the ocean, and nature had gone quiet in anticipation. Even the tide had hushed. The wind tugged her hair and cooled her skin. She let it dry a tear and watched as the water turned gold and orange. It reminded her of her lake at home. Home, where she was safe and quiet-where she wanted to be more than anywhere else in the world.

  “Grace?” Bennett whispered.

  Keeping her eyes on the fading horizon, she tightened her grip on the cold wrought iron railing.

  “I wish he wouldn’t do that,” she sighed. “He always tries too hard.”

  “You’ve earned it.”

  She shook her head. “So far, all I’ve earned is a screenwriting credit,
though I was making progress. Now I’ll have to start over.”

  “You’ll go down a storm,” Bennett reassured her. “Do what you do best.”

  Great. What’s he think? That I slept with a whole room full of people?

  “They didn’t offer me the position because of—”

  “I know.” He stood beside her. “Instincts, remember? I forgot to listen to them. If anything, I probably owe you.”

  “You don’t owe me anything. Everyone knew you were the perfect actor for this role.”

  She wiped away a persistent tear.

  “Don’t cry.” He cleared his throat. “If Paul thinks I’ve upset you, I’m headed on a one-way ride into the desert.”

  She choked back a laugh. “He didn’t.”

  “He’s worried about you.” His smile highlighted each word.

  “He’s the brother I never had. I’ll talk to him.”

  “Don’t, please,” Bennett said. “I earned this all on my own, and I’ll get it sorted. The best way to do it is to show everyone my sane, charming side and do my job.”

  She nodded and turned toward the house.

  He moved closer and whispered in a rush. “I’m sorry, Grace. Fiona has always said my ego overloads my brain. But that picture . . . While Hillary and I were together, she made sure pictures and stories were splashed everywhere in London. I’ve had to struggle to regain my privacy.”

  “You picked a weird career path.”

  “I’m good at it, and I like it.” He shrugged. “It’s no different than being an accountant or a teacher. I just happen to be on screen.” The breeze whispered though the silence between them. “But I should have known you’d never do something like that.”

  “Yes, you should have. Why did Archie do it?”

  “He claimed he wanted me to come out of the debacle with Hillary with the better publicity, and seeing me happy would get even.”

  “She’s quite beautiful. You two made a stunning couple.”

  “We made a lousy couple, but we were pretty to look at.” He took a deep breath. “All that press is utter shite. It’s not who I am.”

  “You know most of the crew will have seen the picture of us. The ones who haven’t will soon. I need to get in front of it.”

  “We do,” he emphasized. “We’re both in it.”

  “Okay, then. We’ll do it in the morning at the orientation. Right now, we should go back inside before people start to wonder.”

  She braved the curious glances for the remainder of the party, and then again the next morning through Paul’s brief announcements.

  As the departments grouped together and prepared to leave, Grace walked on wobbly knees to the microphone. Bennett joined her, standing too close, and she inched away. No one needed to see them as a couple.

  “If I can have your attention,” she croaked. “This won’t take long.”

  The speakers echoed through the room, amplifying the shake in her voice. She tightened her grip on the edges of the podium. Everyone stopped, some in mid-stride. They all waited.

  She gulped and it echoed back to her, but she managed to nod at Gino who flipped the light on the projector. She watched the expressions fade from confusion to understanding or, in this case, misunderstanding. She really hoped they couldn’t hear her knees banging together.

  Bennett took half a step forward, and she stilled him with a look. At least the telepathic part of their relationship had stuck.

  “I—we want to address the elephant in the room,” she said, her voice gaining strength. “If you’ve not seen this, I’m sure you will at some point during filming.”

  She focused her gaze on Gino and his encouraging nod.

  “I finished the screenplay before we met,” she recited from memory. “Bennett auditioned like everyone else. We have dated, but we don’t anymore. We’re okay with it, so don’t be uncomfortable. Thanks. Have a great first day.” She stepped away from the microphone and fled down the stairs and to work.

  She kept her nose to the grindstone all day, then stayed late to make sure everyone knew she and Bennett didn’t leave together. Relying on her GPS, she wound her way back to Malibu, though Meg and Paul’s gate, and to her temporary home.

  After making popcorn for dinner, she stood in her borrowed living room, her phone on her shoulder, and talked to Pam Reynolds, her cover artist.

  “They look exactly alike,” she grumbled as she stared at the poster boards leaning against the sofa.

  “They’re not.” Pam contradicted her. “I read through the book between renderings. I think the second one does a better job with the story line.”

  God save me from over-committed artists. “Which one is the second one?” Grace asked.

  “It’s subtle, but I like it. You will too when you see it. Spend some time looking at them.”

  “Thanks, Pam,” Grace drawled as she hung up.

  She stared at the poster boards again. Pam had done every cover in the series, and Grace loved them all. She should trust the artist’s judgment. But they were hers, and fewer and fewer things were hers alone.

  Her eyes skipped from option A to option B, and then back to option A. It was like looking at one of those matching game puzzles—find the things in this photo that weren’t in the other. At least the online versions of those gave hints. Shelving the decision for later, she walked to the window to stare out past the deck and into the night. She was bone weary from the day and raw from trying to discipline her body and her mind into ignoring Bennett.

  One waistcoat matched his eyes, and the other matched her green dress. She’d helped Susan design her hair and thought about combing her fingers through Bennett’s. She had to stare at her feet as she walked to keep from bumping into people while she watched him on the training floor. His voice bounced from the metal walls and found her throughout the building, behind every closed door.

  At lunch, he’d sat on the mats with Susan and their trainers, Beau and Max, while they ate. Grace had itched to sit next to him and share her potato chips while they compared notes about their day.

  Even now, she wanted to know what he thought.

  Sighing, she dropped her head into her hands. This would never work if she couldn’t get herself under control.

  Down the beach, closer to the city, Ben slouched in the armchair provided in his furnished apartment. With the patio door open, he could hear the tide and smell the ocean even if he couldn’t see it past the glare of his reading light.

  He hadn’t expected this. With the way Meg and Paul felt about Grace, he was surprised he wasn’t camping under a bridge. Like a troll. He admired their willingness to give him a chance and make him welcome while still letting him know they were firmly on Grace’s side.

  The entire crew was on her side. Hell, half of them were in love with her already. He was either a bastard for breaking her heart or a daft git for letting her go.

  He chose daft git.

  All day long, she’d moved from department to department, stopping to visit, laughing with techs and talent. At least with the other talent. She’d stayed well clear of him.

  Through the dressing room wall, he’d listed to her consult with Susan about wardrobe, makeup, and hair. When the knock had come at his door, he’d looked up with a smile only to see Linda, the wardrobe assistant, armed with a pile of fabric Grace had already chosen and he hated. The hair stylist already had photos taped to his mirror, and none of them fit his interpretation of the character. She’d left make-up to their own devices, thankfully.

  Okay, so maybe he was a bastard.

  He recalled Grace’s speech from this morning. We’re fine with it, she’d said. Bloody hell, he certainly wasn’t fine with it. He thought about the shake he heard in her voice, about her retreat from the stage without waiting on him. She
’d flinched when he’d approached her. Had she simply been nervous about being in front of people? He wanted to know if today had been this difficult for her. Was she really fine?

  In his orientation packet, he found the contact sheet and her name and number near the top of the alphabetical listing. Halfway through dialing, he realized what he was doing and deleted every number with a determined press of his finger.

  Do it right this time.

  Daft git.

  Chapter 15

  For the next month, Ben went to work and did his job. While he didn’t think his costar liked him much, Susan seemed to put it aside for the sake of the film. Ted liked him, and the director ran his set well. But Paul, the producer, hated him. Training went longer each day and stunts got tougher and more intricate. Sore and exhausted every morning, Ben got to the studio early, smiled at Grace, and ignored the disappointment when she stared at her shoes and scarpered. She sat as far from him as possible during read-throughs, focusing on her script and scribbling notes.

  At least he’d mended his relationship with the crew by hosting them at his condo once a week. Sitting on the beach with their toes in the sand, they drank beer, talked about their families, and swapped stories. One night, Gino and Max stayed until it was only the three of them.

  “Paul’s giving you a hard time, isn’t he?” Gino asked.

  Ben shifted in his chair and winced as pain shot from his knee to his hip. “It’s fine. It’s a rough scene.”

  “It’s not that rough,” Max said. “Paul keeps adding difficulty, suggesting ways to improve. If you’re not careful, you’ll end up hurt.”

  “Thanks, mate, but he thinks it’s best.”