“Here’s a reminder.” She glared at him. “So, just let me know the next time my services are required.”
With that, she stormed out. He heard the front door slam behind her. He focused on the paper—a printout of an e-mail from Kendra. His fork stopped midway to his mouth as he scanned the e-mail. What the fuck? Twix candy bars cut up into squares? Extra large condoms? When he got to the last, nasty paragraph, where Kendra informed Amy to, essentially, shut the hell up and do what she was told, his heart was pounding so hard that he could hear an echo in his ears.
He put his head in his hands, thinking back to his trailers on the sets he’d been on. They’d always been stocked with those girly bath products, condoms, and yes, Twix bars but not cut up. He’d never even thought about it, although he’d found the condoms kind of insulting—he could keep it in his pants until he was off set and not working, thanks. Still, he’d figured it was standard fare that all stars received. Sure, he’d probably made offhand comments to Kendra over the years about how he liked this or that, but he’d just been making conversation, for Christ’s sake. She’d always seemed so interested…and now he knew why. His breakfast churned in his stomach as he thought about what Kendra had done. And Mike—Mike had to know too, because he’d be the one to negotiate the contracts. Now that he thought about it, it sounded like something Mike would be all for. He’d probably spout some bullshit about how it pointed out to the studios that he was a big star, a delicate artist.
He checked the date and time the e-mail had been sent, and wouldn’t you know, she’d sent it just hours before he’d fired her ass. He’d never liked her, and she went ballistic when he’d informed her to make him a reservation at Lopez Island. He was her meal ticket, nothing more. Still, he’d been professional and told her he’d give her a reference for her next job. If he’d known that her stupid list of demands was making him look like an overly pampered and demanding asshole all over town…Ben clenched his hands, and hoped to God someone would call him for a reference. He’d give her a reference all right.
Appetite gone, Ben carried his plate to the sink and sent the leftovers down the disposal. He rinsed off his plate and silverware and loaded it in the dishwasher and finished the rest of the dishes, started the cycle, even though the shock of her seemingly pampered movie star guest getting his hands dirty might give Amy a heart attack. He leaned against the counter and contemplated what he could do to make it up to her. Granted, he hadn’t known that Kendra was being such a bitch, but still, she’d been his employee, and he was responsible.
He’d noticed a single wineglass in the dishwasher, and on impulse, he looked under the sink, hoping to find a recycle bin. Sure enough, a bin of glass bottles and jars sat next to the garbage can, including one bottle of Cabernet, made by what looked to be a local vineyard. He pulled out the map of the islands Amy had given him and noted the vineyard was on Orcas Island. Perfect, he thought as he headed out the front door. He could get in a good sail at the same time.
***
Orcas Island was beautiful—more hilly and populated than Lopez, with art galleries and boutiques. He wasn’t a big wine drinker, preferring beer, but after tasting different varieties at the vineyard, he ended up buying two bottles for Amy and two for himself as well. And, he’d stopped by the farmers market in the village to pick up a big bouquet of cheery sunflowers and some local cheese to go with the wine. There was a marina located near the village, and he figured he’d come back, dock for a few days and explore the island, maybe during the week when it wasn’t so crowded with tourists. But for now, after meandering through the farmers market for a while, he took his purchases and sailed back to Lopez.
He felt at home on his boat, which he’d named “Sona,” Gaelic for contentment. Standing at the stern, rocking side to side with the gentle swells, listening to the sails flap in the wind—it relaxed him like nothing else. And, he found himself wanting to stay out on the boat all day. The sights were so new to him after sailing in the L.A. area. Here, the water was choppier, colder, but the sun still shone down—for now. Instead of the brown line of the L.A. hills, or the endless stretch of white sandy beaches, everything was green, lush.
He took his time, so it was late afternoon by the time he docked at the marina. Amy’s beat up pickup truck was in the driveway when he arrived at On the Sound. An unexpected flutter of nerves hit him as he balanced the flowers and the gift bag of wine and headed up the path. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d been nervous—not on set, before an interview, or at an audition.
Amy sat at the reception desk, fingers flying over the keyboard, a frown of concentration creating a furrow between her eyebrows. She looked up, a welcoming smile in place and flushed when she saw him. Before she could say anything, Ben marched up to the counter and handed her the sunflowers.
“I’d like to apologize,” he said, reaching over the counter and putting the gift bag on the desk. “I had no idea that Kendra had e-mailed you that list or had been so rude.”
Amy looked up at him, her arms cradling the flowers, but her face skeptical. “Is that a list you reserve for separate occasions then?”
“No.” Frustrated, Ben ran a hand through his hair. “I had no idea she had that list, or where it came from. Which makes me a complete idiot, I know.” He blew out a breath. “God knows how many directors and producers she sent those ridiculous demands to. So now I’m not only an idiot but I look like a complete asshole all over town—the kind of pampered actor other actors and directors make fun of. Jesus.”
He drummed his fingers on the counter and tried a smile. “Anyway, that’s my problem, not yours. I just wish I’d fired her after I found this out instead of before, so I could have really chewed her out.”
“You’d already fired her?” Amy laid the flowers down on the desk.
“Yeah, just a few hours after she e-mailed you, actually.”
Comprehension dawned on her face. “So when I e-mailed her to cancel your reservation…”
“She was already gone,” finished Ben. “I never heard about it.”
“Oh.” Ben watched as she thought back over the past few days, and her color rose even more. “Then it seems I’m the one who should apologize, not you. I’ve been very rude.” She fingered one of the bright yellow blossoms, smoothed out the green tissue paper enclosing the bouquet. “I can’t imagine why you’ve wanted to stay. I’m so sorry.”
“No,” he protested. Crap, he hadn’t wanted her to feel badly. “You had every right to act as you did. I mean, come on! Twix bars cut up into little pieces?” He paused for effect. “Everyone knows I prefer Oreos pre-dunked in 2% milk.”
For the first time since he’d met her, her mouth curved in a genuine smile, and she let out a quiet laugh. “I’ll keep that in mind.”
“Come on, I’m here to apologize to you. You can’t hog my apology,” he said when she kept avoiding his eyes. “Please.”
She looked up at him, and then took a deep breath. “Maybe we should just start over.” She held out her hand. “I’m Amy. Welcome to On the Sound.”
He took her hand, holding it a little longer than he needed to, enjoying the feel of her skin against his. “Hi, Amy. I’m Ben. I’m glad to be here.”
She wrinkled her nose. “Really? Because I’ve heard the owner can be a real bitch sometimes.”
He grinned at her. “I heard that’s only when she has to deal with pain in the ass guests.” He pushed the gift bag towards her. “Open your present.”
She eyed the bag. “You didn’t have to get me anything. The flowers are beautiful.”
“Oh, didn’t I tell you? The flowers are for my room. I expect them to be changed daily.” He held his breath, wondering if she’d laugh, relieved when she did. “I’m kidding, just so we’re clear.”
“The funny thing is that I actually do normally put fresh flowers in my guests’ rooms in the summer. But damned if I was going to do that after that e-mail.”
“Yeah, I guess it’s a bit ov
erkill bringing you these when you have all these beautiful gardens,” he realized.
“No, no. I love sunflowers, and I don’t have any.” She peeked inside the bag, and then raised her eyebrows when she saw the wine. “You have good taste—that’s my favorite.”
“I figured.” He smiled when she looked up. “I confess: I snooped through your trash.”
She laughed again. “I never thought I’d thank someone for going through my recycling, but in this case, I appreciate your thoughtfulness.” She chewed her lip. “As long as we’re confessing, I have to admit that I don’t really have a premium room rate.”
Ben chuckled. “I kind of figured—you looked like you were just plucking numbers out of the air.”
“I’m that obvious?” she frowned. “Anyway, I haven’t charged your room yet for this week, so I’ll just charge the regular rate.”
He shrugged. “I appreciate that, but actually, it’s entirely possible paparazzi may hunt me down and make your quiet life here pretty miserable. So—”
“No,” she interrupted. “You’re just like any other guest, and I’ll charge you the same rate.”
He nodded, and an awkward silence settled over them. It wasn’t often that he ran out of things to say, but he found himself studying the curve of her cheek, and the way a few strands of her reddish hair had escaped from behind her ear.
“Thank you again. Really.” She waved her hand at the flowers.
“Sure. I’m sorry for the mix-up.” He held up the other bag he carried. “I bought a few bottles for myself, so it was a productive trip.”
“Do you need a corkscrew?” Amy looked relieved to fall back into the role of host.
“Yeah, I guess I do. You don’t have to get it right this second…”
“It’s no trouble.” She turned to go back to the kitchen just as the front door opened.
“Amy, you won’t believe this—” The woman stopped short when she saw Ben, and her blue eyes widened slightly. “I’m sorry, you’re busy.” She tossed her blonde curls over her shoulder and pulled out her business card in a practiced move. She offered her hand to Ben with a wide smile. “I’m Marybeth Weston, and I’m a huge fan.”
“Thank you.” Ben shook her hand, glad when she turned her attention back to Amy. He peeked at the card—Marybeth Weston, licensed real estate agent.
“I’ll come back later.” Marybeth turned back to the door. “But, Amy, call me—I’ll be at the office.”
“Don’t mind me. I was just leaving.” Ben smiled, and walked back to the kitchen. “Which drawer is the corkscrew in?”
Amy called out directions. Ben rummaged around until he located it and then peeked into the pantry and fridge. His stomach was growling, and he wondered if he could talk Amy into sharing the cheese he’d gotten her and toss in some crackers, too. Marybeth’s excited voice carried down the hallway, and he paused. He didn’t mean to eavesdrop, but it was hard not to hear.
“He’s a new client, and he’s very interested in On the Sound. He wants to come by and take a look at the property, but he’s tossing around numbers like $6 million sight unseen.”
Ben raised his eyebrows. Looked like Amy might have hit the jackpot. Still, he felt a pang of regret that the ownership might change—he liked the place just as it was.
“I’m not even on the market,” he heard Amy say, shock evident in her voice.
“I know, I know, isn’t it great? He mentioned he was interested in a hotel property, and I remembered how initially you said when you bought the place that you were going to fix it up and sell it, so I mentioned that I’d talk to you. Next thing I knew he’d already driven by and loved the look of it.”
“I’m shocked, Marybeth. I don’t know what to say.”
“Hey, this is prime waterfront property, and you’ve done an amazing job with the place. So, what do you think, are you interested?”
“No.” Amy’s response was quick, and her tone vehement. There was a silence, and Ben inched closer to the door, dropping all pretense that he wasn’t listening.
“Oh.” Now Marybeth was the one who sounded surprised. “Is it the price? Because I can’t promise anything but he might be open to negotiation—”
“No, it’s not the money. I don’t want to sell.” Amy’s tone turned wondering. “I really don’t.”
“Okay. Listen, this is a big decision, and I dropped it on you with no notice.” Ben had to hand it to Marybeth—she recovered quickly. “You think about it. I’ll call you in a few days just in case you change your mind.”
“I won’t.” Amy sounded certain. “But thank you, Marybeth. I appreciate you looking out for me.”
They said their goodbyes, and Ben heard a thud. He peeked around the corner, and saw Amy sprawled in her chair, a stunned expression on her face. She looked, he imagined, much like he had when he’d sat in his kitchen just days ago and realized he hated his life. Lucky for her, hers was a happy epiphany. He found himself envying her.
She looked over and saw him snooping. Unabashed, he straightened, and leaned against the doorframe.
“She just offered me six million dollars,” Amy said, her eyes dazed. “And I said, no, thank you.” She let out a slightly hysterical laugh.
On impulse, he walked over, took her arm, and pulled her out of her chair. “You know what you need? Some wine.”
She didn’t protest when he led her out to the porch, which he figured spoke to the level of her distraction. He left her sitting there, and in the kitchen, hunted up wineglasses. He sliced the cheese from the farmers market and put it on a plate with some crackers and managed to carry out the plate and the wine and glasses in one trip.
“So we should celebrate,” he said as he poured wine into their glasses. He handed hers over and lifted his. “To making decisions that will have your accountant weeping into his spreadsheets.”
She let out a weak laugh and tipped her glass to his. “I’m not sure that’s something to toast to.”
Ben spread some cheese on a cracker, leaned back in the chair and surveyed the Sound while he munched. He looked over at Amy, where she sat, twisting the wineglass stem between her fingers. “I was offered 3.8 million to do the sequel to the sequel to Hidden Enemies,” he said. “I turned it down flat—didn’t even have to think about.” He grinned and grabbed another cracker. “Mind you, I did a lot of crap after that so my judgment has gone downhill. But, I’ve never regretted turning it down.”
“Really?” She turned her gaze on him. “Didn’t that movie do pretty well at the box office?”
“Sure.” He shrugged. “Hell, I’m probably the wrong person to take advice from.” He reached over to top off her wine. “So, I take it you haven’t been here on the island for all that long?”
“Three years.” Amy glanced out at the water. “I inherited this place when my husband died. I’d planned on selling it, but once I came up here…” she trailed off and took a sip of wine. “I didn’t want to leave.”
He looked at her profile, etched against the lush greenery, and noticed for the first time a few lines fanning out from her eyes, etched around her mouth. Here he was worrying about his career when this woman had lost the man she loved and started over from scratch, away from everyone and everything familiar. Ben looked out over the lush gardens, towering evergreens and the sea. “I can see why you wouldn’t want to leave.”
“My family has always wondered when I’d come to my senses, and go back to my ‘real’ life.” She shook her head. “I guess that I secretly thought the same thing. But today, when Marybeth told me about the offer….It was just immediate. No way was this man going to come onto my property, and buy my inn.”
Ben noticed she’d clenched one of her hands into a fist, and he smiled. “You look like you’re ready to punch him if he tries.”
She relaxed her hands and let out a little laugh. “I guess I am.” She sipped the wine. “It’s just so different from what I expected my life to be. I always thought by now I’d have two point f
ive kids, working my way up to the corner cubicle…”
“Sometimes life doesn’t turn out the way you thought it would.” Ben propped his feet up on the porch railing. “I never thought I would walk away from acting, but…” he gestured to the garden, the Sound. “Here I am.”
Amy looked over at him. “You’re giving up acting?”
Ben shrugged, sat for a minute before answering. “I don’t know,” he said finally. He shook his head, gave her a rueful smile. “But I didn’t mean to turn this into a conversation about poor old me. I just meant that I can relate, I guess.”
They sat in silence for a minute. “So can I ask you a question?” Ben glanced over at her.
“Okay,” Amy said, eyeing him warily.
“Even though it’s not what you planned, are you happier now than you were before?”
Amy furrowed her brow and gazed into her wineglass, swirling the wine around and around. “It’s different,” she said slowly. “Before it was all about the life I was building with my husband. Now, I’m alone and making a life for myself.”
“I guess you can’t really compare,” Ben said.
“No.” She shook her head and added, half to herself. “He would’ve hated living up here.”
“Ah.” Ben set his glass down. “Well, that’s the kicker, isn’t it?”
“Yes.” Amy flushed and put a hand over her glass when he reached over to refill it. He could almost see her remembering who he was. “No, I’ve had enough. I’m sure you have better things to do on your vacation than listen to me have a mini breakdown.”
“Not really.” Ben grinned at her. He was coming to enjoy making her blush. “I’ve already had my breakdown, and there was nothing mini about it. I’ve got nothing but time.”
He watched as she tried to think up a graceful excuse to get rid of him. Maybe he was a movie star asshole—after all, he’d eavesdropped on her private conversation and then just assumed she’d prefer his company to her own. He’d thought he was just being nice. He sighed and set his glass down, wishing he could talk to Lucas and Steve, the only people who would not only give him a reality check but a kick in the ass. On impulse, he turned to Amy.
Love on the Sound Page 13