I leap to my feet and charge out of the spacious, cream-colored bedroom. My bare feet pad out into the main room of the suite. A blonde hardwood floor stretches out beneath me. There’s a cluster of soft leather couches and chairs across the space, a small kitchenette, and a sliding glass door that leads out onto, what else, a balcony overlooking New York City.
I can practically hear my jaw cracking against the hardwood floor as I take in the view, the space, and the whole luxurious shebang. When Jack said that he got me a room for the night, I was expecting a cot or something—not an entire, impeccably decorated suite all to myself. And I definitely wasn’t expecting to find the pot of coffee and tray of pastries that are currently waiting for me in the kitchen. The rich aroma of dark roast coffee draws me forward, my bleary eyes growing wide. I’m not entirely sure what I’ve stumbled into, here, but I know I’ll be much better equipped to face it with a perfect cup of coffee in hand.
As I amble up to the coffee pot and pour myself a deep mug of the delicious dark brew, I spot a note and two key cards sitting beside the plate of pastries. I peer at the sheet of The Rouge’s stationary as I splash a dollop of cream into my coffee.
Good morning, my favorite hot mess. Come on over. — J
Rolling my eyes at his snarky endearment, I pick up the two key cards, surprised by their solid weight. It’s like they’ve been carved from slate, or something. And, given the luxuriousness of my surroundings, they very well could be. I can’t even wrap my head around how much one of these suites must cost.
“Here’s to you, Apollo Pictures,” I murmur, raising my coffee mug to my benefactors before taking a long sip. Just saying the name of the production company out loud lets a swarm of butterflies loose in my belly. I haven’t agreed to anything yet, of course, but even the prospect of jumping into Jack’s movie is overwhelming. And super exciting to boot. I snatch a croissant from the pastry plate and head back into the bedroom to get dressed, putting off the question just another moment longer.
I glance around my expansive bedroom, and let out a groan as I realize that I have no change of clothes for today. I’m not into the idea of putting on last night’s outfit again—too “walk of shame-y” for me. Maybe there’s a robe or something I can slip on over my tee and panties until I find some new duds? I loathe to take off Jack’s shirt, despite my lingering questions as to how I ended up in it. I open the closet door to take stock of my options.
“Holy shit...” I gasp, nearly dropping my full mug of coffee onto the floor. Before my baffled eyes sprawls a huge a walk-in closet, almost as spacious as the bedroom itself. Rows and rows of designer clothing, shoes, and accessories line the space. An antique vanity stocked with expensive makeup and a matching pouf chair stand against the back wall. I’m at once overcome with the almost primal urge to play dress up, and kind of repelled by the excessiveness of it all. Since running away from my parents’ home, the only on-label item of clothing I’ve owned is a pair of Doc Martens.
I tentatively approach the nearest rack of clothes, brushing my fingers along the array of fine fabrics. Everything is exactly my size, a petite 2, and perfectly in line with this season’s fashions. Or at least, I think that’s the case. I’m not exactly the one to ask. As I take in the fancy contents of my new closet, one big question comes to mind.
What the hell is all of this doing here?
I rummage through one of the nearby drawers and pull out a pair of black skinny jeans and a soft yellow cotton tank. Peering around, as if to make sure no one’s watching, I slip out of Jack’s tee and bury my face in it, taking a deep breath in. The shirt still smells like him—crisp, manly, with just the smallest hint of spice. Even after all this time, that signature scent is still the same. I don’t know why, but that fact makes me incredibly happy.
Shucking on my new clothes, I find that they’re a perfect fit. I shake out my long dirty blonde locks, grab my coffee and pastry, and snatch up the key cards sitting on the counter. Slipping out into the hotel hallway, I see that the door marked “Penthouse” is right next to mine. Keeping his backup plan close, is he? I think to myself. I hold my croissant between my teeth as I slip the key card into Jack’s front door. Making sure not to spill my much-needed coffee, I nudge the door open with my shoulder and slip into the penthouse once again. The door clicks neatly shut behind me as I step into the main room, looking around for Jack.
The penthouse is even more impressive in the light of day, though I do wish I had a dimmer switch for the sun on this particular morning. My dull, throbbing headache is clinging on with a vengeance. I sip my coffee, chasing away my hangover as I look over the elegantly minimal space. The only impressively gorgeous thing missing from this picture is Jack.
“The hot mess has arrived,” I call into the penthouse, padding across the floor.
“That you, Cal?” I hear Jack call. His voice sounds very far away. Exactly how big is this place, anyway?
“Who were you expecting, Scarlett Johansson?” I reply, following his voice toward a door off the main room.
“Maybe,” Jack laughs, “She’s a good friend of mine, actually. Great company.”
I push through the door and feel my stomach flip over. I’m standing in Jackson Cole’s bedroom. My eyes go wide as they fall on the gigantic king bed in the center of the sprawling space. The dark wooden bed frame stands out against the otherwise cream-colored room. Before I can stop myself I’m imagining how hot it would be to have my hands tied to those posts, bound naked before Jack as he does whatever he wants to me, and—
“Oh good. You found the coffee,” his voice derails my dirty thoughts from across the room. I spin around toward him, expecting a moment of relief from my flushed, fervid desires. But no dice.
A cloud of stream rolls through the bathroom door in Jack’s wake. He leans against the doorway, fresh out of the shower. A plush hotel towel is knotted around the muscular v of his hips, and not too snugly either. The knot looks like it could come undone just like that, and I find myself praying that it does. My eyes are glued to the cut line of abs that stand out in sharp relief along his torso, the firm and shapely pecs, the dusting of dark chest hair that leads off in a tantalizing trail beneath the white towel.
Jack crosses his thickly muscled arms across his chest, drawing my eyes to his face at last. But this hardly offers any relief from the dizzying awe of his gorgeousness. His dark brown hair is slicked back from his face, and those sculpted features are on full, unobstructed display. The dark stubble can’t obscure his square but razor sharp jaw, the solid definition of his cheekbones, the perfect shapely line of his nose. But as ever, it’s the eyes that do me in. Deep sapphire blue, almost teal in their saturation...and looking straight through me.
“Damn,” I whistle, planting a hand on my hip, “You sure grew up good, Cole.”
A deep, roaring laugh rings up from Jack’s perfect chest. I grin back at him, happy that the moment of intense, raw want has been dispelled. Or at least relieved that it has been. Call me crazy, but I swear I saw a fair bit of need shining behind Jack’s blue-eyed gaze as well.
“You’ve seen me without a shirt on before Callie,” Jack reminds me, running a hand through his damp locks. I stifle a shudder as this motion sets off a rippling cascade across his every defined muscle. “I spend most of my professional life running around half-naked.”
“Yeah, but I haven’t seen you half-naked in person since our high school pool parties,” I tease him, sipping on my coffee to keep from grinning like a lust-struck idiot. “You’re all Hollywood hunked-out now.”
“What’re you trying to do, make me blush?” he grins, taking a swaggering step toward me. With every inch he advances, my skin flushes with wanting to be touched by him.
“Maybe,” I shrug, turning away before I surreptitiously throw myself at him. “By the way, is this taking-your-shirt-off thing compulsive for you or something? I believe I woke up in one of your tees this morning.”
“That you did,” he says li
ghtly.
“And how, exactly, did I find my way into that shirt of yours?” I ask, daring to sneak another peek as his perfect form.
“Man, you were wasted,” Jack laughs, “Relax. I let you change on your own. I’m not in the habit of undressing incapacitated women, thanks.”
“Just curious,” I assure him quickly, blushing like crazy. “I’ll wait out here until you’re decent, OK?”
I all but dive back into the main room, chest heaving. Jackson calls out to me as he puts some clothes on.
“So how’s the hangover treating you?” he asks.
“Oh, it’s swell. Makes me feel like a real starlet,” I reply, sitting down on the couch as I munch my buttery croissant.
“Practicing hard, huh?” Jack asks, “But wait a second...Does that mean you’re in for this movie or what?”
“Or what,” I call back, looking out at the breathtaking cityscape. “I’m not ready to sign on the dotted line just yet.”
“No?” he replies, appearing in the main room once more. His dark blue jeans and plain black tee would look standard on any other man, but on him they’re elevated to works of art.
“Nope,” I say lightly, watching him shamelessly as he crosses the room and fetches his own cup of coffee. “We need to discuss a few more things before I make any decisions.”
“OK. Shoot,” Jack says, settling down beside me with his coffee. Very close beside me.
“First of all,” I begin, turning to face him, “I’m starting to get this crazy notion that you’ve already given the studio the idea that I’m willing to do this.”
“Oh yeah?” Jack smiles rakishly, sipping his coffee.
“Yeah,” I confirm, getting down to business, “Which is pretty out of line, considering that I knew nothing about it until last night. So my first question is, how the hell committed to this project does the studio think I am?”
“Oh, you know...” Jack shrugs, “Just fully.”
I choke on my coffee, staring at my cad of a friend as I splutter, “Jack! What the hell?!”
“Well, aren’t you committing to it?” he asks calmly.
“I don’t—I’m not—I haven’t made up my mind yet,” I shoot back, shaking my head. “How could you speak for me like that? Do you have any idea how messed up that is? I have an entire life of my own, Jack. A life that has nothing to do with hotel suites, and closets full of clothes, and—”
“I see you liked the clothes, then?” he smiles, glancing down at my outfit, “I thought they’d be a nice touch.”
“Are you listening to a word that’s coming out of my mouth right now?” I ask him. “I’m not OK with anyone making decisions for me. And that ‘anyone’ includes you. That’s really not cool, Jack.”
“I hear you, I do. But I had a pretty solid idea that you’d be up for it,” he says coolly, settling back against the leather couch. “I know you, Cal.”
“You knew me, Jack. A long time ago,” I correct him. “And what does that even mean, ‘I know you’? What do you know about me?”
“I know you’re not the type to leave a friend hanging,” he replies directly, “I know that you’re driven, and talented, and ambitious. And I know you’re not a goddamn idiot, so I figured it was a sure thing.”
“Oh. Turning this movie down would make me a damn idiot, then?” I reply sarcastically.
“You’re fucking right it would,” Jack scoffs.
“What a fascinating point of view,” I say wryly, rolling my eyes. “Well, then I guess I’m pretty seriously considering being a damn idiot, then. Because this whole ‘do as I say woman’ act of yours is about to become a deal breaker, Jack.”
“Oh, come on. It’s not like that,” he groans, leaning toward me as I inch away. “Check your pride for a second and think about the big picture. You keep talking about this ‘entire life’ of yours. So, tell me about it. What does your entire life look like right now?”
I bristle at his condescending tone. Sitting up as tall as my slight frame allows, I tell him, “My life is something I’ve built from scratch. Something I’m incredibly proud of. I live in an awesome little town on the Hudson River, have my own place, put myself through college and grad school, and now make a living as a freelance writer. I’ve got my favorite coffee shop, my favorite bar, and my favorite yoga studio. I have friends, and neighbors, and a herd of corgis who live beneath me that I get to pet whenever I like. It may not be as glamorous a life as yours, but it’s mine. And I don’t appreciate you implying that it amounts to nothing.”
“I’m not saying that at all,” Jack insists, closing the space I’ve put between us. “You should be proud of what you’ve accomplished so far, Cal. But can you honestly tell me—and don’t get all huffy on me now—can you honestly tell me you don’t want something more? You used to have all kinds of crazy goals and dreams and plans. What happened to those?”
“I still have them,” I reply, “All of them. But I’ve done the actress thing, and—”
“You did the acting-in-no-budget-super-weird-experimental-plays thing, not the actress thing,” he laughs.
“Don’t be an ass,” I mumble, even though he’s totally right.
“And besides,” he presses on, “Even if you don’t want an acting career in the long run, do you have any idea how much money you’d make from doing this one film? You do this one film, and you’ve got it made.”
Now there’s a thought. “No, actually. You failed to mention a salary for the movie last night. Along with any character description. Or an actual plot...”
“A cool million,” Jack cuts me off.
“Sorry. What?” I blink at him.
“If you do this movie, you’ll be guaranteed a million dollars. Right up front,” he reiterates. “It’s not exactly Sandra Bullock-levels of cash, but hey, you’re a newcomer.”
As this figure sinks in, a rogue giggle escapes my throat. Then another. And another, until I’m totally overcome with uproarious laughter. I fall back against the couch, clutching my stomach as I laugh uncontrollably. Jack’s crooked grin grows wider as he watches me lose it.
“Wanna let me in on the joke?” he asks.
“It...It’s just...” I cackle, struggling to sit upright, “You just...sh-showing up out of the blue. After a decade. With a million dollar m-movie deal...It’s too much.”
“It’s not though,” he insists, offering me a steadying arm. “Think about it, Callie. If a million dollars just fell into your lap, which it will if you accept this job, what would you do with it? What’s the big, number one dream?”
“Well...” I breathe, getting ahold of the laughing fit. “First of all, I’d hop on a plane to Spain and drink them out of Rioja. Then I’d come back and...OK, you’re not allowed to think this is stupid...”
“Try me,” Jack insists, his blue eyes gleaming.
“Well...” I breathe, “I’ve always had this dream of starting a writers’ workshop for women who want to tell stories of their own. Offering the kind of support I got in grad school, only to people who wouldn’t otherwise be able to get it. Young girls, you know. Especially for women who want to write scripts. Screen plays, stage plays, stories people will get to see. I even have a couple script ideas I’d love to work on, if I ever got a break from my freelance gigs. And a million bucks...would certainly do the trick in getting that off the ground.”
“That it would, Cal,” Jack smiles, resting his hand on my knee. “That it would.”
I don’t know if it’s the daydreaming or the feeling of Jack’s hand resting on me, but all of a sudden I’m flying high. For the first time, I seriously let myself consider what it would mean to say yes to Jack’s offer. Not only would I get a crazy big paycheck, I’d get to act again. And not just in something that three people will see, either—in a real blockbuster. I’ve run the whole “changing the entire course of my life” gambit before, but I’m getting a shot to do it again...and this time I could be changing it so much for the better.
“Come
on, Callie,” Jack urges, his touch all but burning a hole om my black skinny jeans. “What have you got to lose?”
“Nothing but a leaky roof and a ramen habit, when you get right down to it,” I grin back at him.
“So is that...a yes?” He breathes, fixing that piercing blue gaze on me.
“I suppose...it is,” I say faintly, my eyes flicking down to Jack’s full lips. “Just don’t expect me to be the next Meryl Streep or anything. I don’t—hey!”
My protestations fall away as Jack lets out a celebratory whoop and scoops me up into his arms like a brand new bride. The floor falls away as I find myself suddenly airborne. I cling onto Jack’s broad shoulders as he spins me around the expansive living room, all but leading a parade in my honor. I can’t help but cheers and laugh along in the face of his ecstatic enthusiasm.
“This is fucking fantastic. I’m so stoked!” he crows, coming to a stop before the wide wall of windows.
“Really?” I breathe, laughing as Jack holds my small form effortlessly in his arms. “I couldn’t tell.”
“You won’t be sorry you said yes,” he says adamantly, holding me fast against his perfectly balanced frame.
“Promise?” I breathe, lacing my fingers behind his neck.
“I promise,” he murmurs, tightening his grasp ever-so-slightly.
The very air around us seems to shift as our words fall away. Backlit by the sunny promise of a New York City morning, poised to carry me off on a whirlwind adventure, Jack has never been more irresistible than he is now. And that’s saying something. The crooked grin falls away from his lips—those lips I’ve only had the pleasure of kissing once, nearly a decade ago.
I realize that the one and only time I kissed Jack was the night I left my parents’ house. The last time I chose to alter the entire course of my life. And now here he is again, as I’m standing on the precipice of the next big leap. Only this time, instead of saying goodbye, I’m welcoming him back into my life. This is a leap we’re making together. I’m aching to make up for lost time with him, and the charged current that races through our touching bodies tells me that I’m not the only one feeling this way.
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