All We Were (Ex-Factor Duet Book 1)

by Elisabeth Grace

My cell phone rings. I look at the table and feel at my sides. No phone. I groan, staring into Jimmy’s house, through the open floor plan, and spot it on the kitchen island. I left it there when I went in for a refill. Shit. The kitchen is, like, a mile away. Getting up is too much effort, so I let the damn thing ring. To hell with it.

  It starts up again a few minutes later. I release a frustrated breath and slowly peel myself off the slats of teak wood before trudging to the sliding doors. Entering the house, I pull my sunglasses off my face and toss them on the coffee table. My agent’s name flashes on the screen. I debate not picking up, but I might as well get the call over with, especially since I’m already up.

  “Hey, Mina.”

  “You sound rough,” she says in her mousy voice.

  “Yeah, thanks. What’s up?” I plop down on the couch and stretch my legs out on Jimmy’s coffee table.

  “I got a call from the House of Carlisle. They’re considering making you their face next year, so they want to set up a meeting.”

  I run her words over in my head a few times to make sure I heard her correctly. Her voice holds no inflection, so it can’t mean what I think it does. The House of Carlisle is a high-end fashion house that normally works solely with runway models. Since my five-seven stature is too short for runway, I’m surprised they want me.

  “Are you sure?” I ask.

  Mina chuckles. “Yes, I’m sure. Though I’ll be honest, I’m as surprised as you.”

  “Why aren’t they using one of their usual girls?”

  “They’re trying to attract a different sort of customer. They’re going to have their regular line as always, but they want to move into the millennial market with a high-priced line that’s still somewhat affordable to a high-end shopper. Investment pieces, so to speak.”

  “Wow. I don’t know what to say.”

  “Say you’ll cut the partying and get your head on straight so you can land this campaign.” One minute monotone, another happy, and now snarky. She’s bipolar. Maybe she should take a pill and calm the fuck out.

  I tuck my knees up to my chest and wrap my free arm around my legs. “I’m staying with Jimmy right now.”

  Mina responds with a sardonic laugh. “You and I both know that as hard as he tries, he cannot keep you in line.”

  She’s aggravating me, so I might as well keep this conversation to logistics. “When’s the meeting?”

  “In a few days. I’ll email you the details. Lilah, I’m serious. Stay off the booze and whatever else you’ve been using. They’re interested, but your reputation precedes you and it’s a hurdle we need to overcome if you’re going to land this campaign. I have twenty clients who would kill for this opportunity.”

  “I know, I know. I won’t disappoint you.”

  “Make sure you don’t.” The line dies.

  I should slip her an oxy next time we have lunch. She’ll thank me.

  Anxiety squeezes my chest as Mina’s news sinks in. So much responsibility if I land the job. I should be dancing around the room and calling Jimmy. He’ll be so happy, happier than me probably, to hear I have this big of a shot. It’s his dream. I chew on my fingernails, tension building in my body. Once I calm my nerves, I’ll be ecstatic.

  I head to the spare bedroom and lift the corner of the mattress to grab my stash.

  I grab my weed and rolling papers, head back to the living room, and roll myself a joint. One inhale and my body sinks into the couch as I exhale the puff of smoke. My eyes slowly shut, and the panic attack subsides.

  Hours later, I’m woken by the door shutting.

  “Where’s the party?” Jimmy walks past the island, lifting the half-empty vodka bottle and waving it.

  He probably draws lines to know how much I’ve drunk daily.

  Shit. So far since staying with Jimmy, I’ve done a good job of getting rid of any evidence of what I do while he’s on set.

  “I had one drink after dinner,” I lie.

  He doesn’t need to know a joint was my dinner.

  He surprisingly doesn’t respond and sits next to me on the couch. His new fresh-and-earthy smell mixed with soap tells me he showered in his trailer.

  “How was filming today?” I ask.

  “Good. It’s a great crew, so we get through everything pretty quickly. We were scheduled to film tomorrow, but it’s an outdoor shoot on the beach. Since it’s supposed to rain, they’re pushing it a day.”

  “The curse of outdoor shoots,” I say. “Remember that time I had a shoot over in Morocco and the sand storm came through?”

  He chuckles and squeezes my knee. “How could I forget? You looked like something from a horror movie in the picture you sent me. All covered in sand with a bandana over your face.”

  I smile at the memory. It was my first overseas shoot and I was so green, but excitement overtook my nerves then.

  “What’d you do all day?” Jimmy asks, picking up my baggie of weed.

  I fill him in on Mina’s earlier phone call, diffusing his anger.

  “Lilah, that’s amazing!” He pulls me in for a hug, baggie of pot forgotten.

  “Yeah.”

  He pulls back, his hands holding my shoulders. Lines scrunch on his forehead. “Aren’t you excited?”

  I shrug.

  “Hey…” He places his finger under my chin and forces me to face him, but I’m reluctant to meet his gaze until he gently tucks a loose strand of hair behind my ear. “What’s the matter?”

  “It’s huge and I’m probably going to screw it up.”

  “You’re not going to mess it up, okay? You’re going to go to that meeting, wow them, and they’re going to sign you.”

  I nod.

  “I mean it. You got this.”

  Jimmy used to calm me and make me believe I could do anything. His pep talk is nice, but I’m not sure it did its job.

  “Should we celebrate?” I gesture to my weed and papers on the table.

  For a split second, disappointment flashes in his eyes, but he recovers quickly with one of his million-dollar smiles. “Sure. This definitely needs to be celebrated.”

  I smile and rise from the couch to make us some drinks while he rolls us a joint. Jimmy doesn’t partake in anything other than alcohol very often, and the truth is, I’m jealous of his ability to stop and start whenever he wants. I return with a vodka soda for me and a beer for him. He’s already lit the joint and taken a haul.

  “Thanks,” he says, blowing out a stream of smoke and leaning forward to grab his beer.

  I hold my hand out for the joint, the skunky scent pulling a Pavlovian response from me. “I need this. I’m so nervous about meeting with the House of Carlisle.” I inhale from the joint, and the smoke in my lungs is heaven before I slowly let it fall out my lips.

  “Want to go over it?” Jimmy asks.

  “What you mean, like, act it out?” I scrunch my forehead. “I’m not an actress.”

  “I know,” he says, leaning forward to grab the joint from me. “But practicing your answers to the hard questions can’t hurt.”

  I think about his offer for a second. “You’re right. Okay, let’s do it.”

  We spend the night role playing my interview. Not sure how well we do after smoking another joint, but it’s nice to be with the old Jimmy. The best part came afterward, when we did a different kind of role playing in bed.

  I wake to the feel of lips pressed against my shoulder, followed by a scratchy beard nuzzling into my neck. I moan, gathering my bearings as I shake off the last of my sleep. I roll over onto my back. Jimmy’s lying on his side, his head in his hand, gazing down at me. His dark hair is curled up at the ends and mussed, resembling a younger Jimmy.

  “What do you want to do today?” he asks in a raspy morning voice.

  I wrinkle my forehead before I remember that he has the day off because of the rain. I look over my shoulder at the wall-to-wall window. Rain clouds loom over the dark ocean. “I don’t know. What do you want to do?”

&nbs
p; “To be honest, nothing. Just chill with you, catch up on some movies I haven’t seen.”

  “Okay, let’s do that then.” I smile. In my mind, I calculate how many pills I have left, trying to come up with an excuse to slip away to grab some weed and oxy.

  “Great. Why don’t you relax, and I’ll make us some breakfast?”

  I run my hands through his hair, and he turns his head to kiss the inside of my wrist.

  When we were younger, he used to make me breakfast if my dad forgot to get food. Twelve-year-old Jimmy was already the responsible man he is today. His situation wasn’t much better than mine, but he had a mom who tried to keep food in the cabinets. I can still smell the burnt eggs from the first time he tried to make me scrambled eggs in their old cast iron pan. Their stove was ancient and never worked properly, so the one burner only pumped out heat full blast regardless of where you set the dial. The whole place filled with smoke. I remember the awe of gratitude that he’d even tried to help me. Unfortunately, with the good comes the bad. Jimmy’s dad returned from his midnight shift, and I listened from the front room as Jimmy took a beating.

  He taps my temple. “What’s going on inside there?”

  “Nothing,” I say softly.

  He kisses my forehead. “Relax for another half hour. I’ll call you when it’s ready.”

  He rolls out of bed, wearing his black boxer briefs and looking every bit the superhero he’s playing.

  After he’s gone, I slip out of bed and sneak out of his room to “my room,” the one my stuff is in. When I agreed to stay with Jimmy, I insisted on having my own room, something he wasn’t happy about but agreed to. I don’t want him to think that I’m ready to have a real relationship, because I’m not. I’ll probably never be ready. With anyone.

  I tiptoe into my bedroom and to the walk-in closet. My hands shake as I root around the bottom of my purse for the small container of oxy. I breathe a sigh of relief, counting that I have enough to get by today, but I need some for tomorrow for sure. I swallow one pill, close the container, and push it to the bottom of my purse, covering it with tampons and receipts.

  “What are you doing?”

  I spin around to find Jimmy behind me, holding a spatula.

  “I’m picking out some clothes. Figured I’d have a quick shower before breakfast.” It’s scary how quickly lies pop into my brain.

  His gaze dips to my purse then back to me. “Do you want your eggs scrambled or fried?”

  “Fried please,” I say with a smile.

  “Coming right up. Don’t take too long in the shower,” he says and walks down the hall.

  I sag to the floor, exhaling a breath in relief. Jimmy knows I’m no angel, but I don’t know how he’d feel if he knew I need to pop a pill on a regular basis now.

  After a minute or two, I shake off the panic and head to the bathroom to shower and wait for the pill to take effect.

  Chapter Eleven

  Lilah

  The next day, Jimmy insists I join him on set, since it’s only ten minutes down the beach from his place. Even though the need to get to Derek’s runs over and over through my mind in the most obsessive way, I agree to follow him. He has to go over the script changes for the day and see hair and makeup first.

  At eight o’clock, I drag myself out of bed, pop my last pill, and brush my teeth and hair. Deeming myself good enough, I walk down the beach. The sand wiggles between my toes and brings up memories of Jimmy and me, two desperate deserters, arriving in Los Angeles with next to no money but determined to make it. We were so different then.

  The set for the day comes into view. It’s blocked off by security, but men with cameras are hanging around the perimeter.

  Shit. I hadn’t even thought about the paparazzi.

  I duck my head as I make my approach, knowing it’s a useless endeavor. These guys are better than the FBI at identifying one of their suspects. It’s as if their brains have an entire catalogue of celebrities, from the A list all the way down to the Ds.

  I stay as close to the water as I can, away from where most of the paps stand. When the bulky security guard spots me, he walks the length of the temporary fencing to meet me.

  “Sorry, ma’am. They’re filming today. You can’t get through.”

  I lift my head and smile. “I’m here to see James Crawford. My name is Lilah.”

  He gives me the once-over then reluctantly pulls his walkie-talkie off his hip. “You got a Lilah on your list for James?”

  The click of a camera shutter sounds to my left. The paps have figured out who I am. Who knows what kind of juicy story they’ll cook up to go along with these photos.

  I turn my back on them, but it’s no use. They walk down to where I am.

  Something garbled comes through the walkie-talkie that I can’t understand, but apparently the guy in front of me can, because he says, “Right this way,” and steps aside, allowing me through the fence.

  “Thanks.” I move as quickly as I can over the shifting sand.

  “He’s just finishing up in makeup.”

  I give him a wave and keep walking toward the parking lot where the trailers are set up. I’ve been on enough sets to know the deal, so it only takes me a few minutes to find his trailer. I give a quick knock and peek my head inside.

  Jimmy sits in the makeup chair with the script in his hands. Adelaide Sheridan sits in the chair across from him, doing the same. She’s laughing, and he’s smiling. A sour queasiness fills my stomach as I watch the two of them. The fact I opened the door and he’s yet to notice bothers me.

  “Hey, Jimmy.”

  He looks away from Adelaide and smiles, his mocha eyes sparkling. “Hey, come in.” He stands and meets me halfway, giving me a hug hello. “Lilah, this is Adelaide.”

  “Hi,” I say, giving her a short wave and an even shorter smile.

  “Hi, nice to meet you.”

  She’s pretty. Not glamorous or anything, like a lot of Jimmy’s previous coworkers, more the girl-next-door type. Honest and fresh-faced.

  “Same.” I nod.

  There’s a bit of an awkward silence which Jimmy quickly fills. “We were just running our lines for today, since we’re done with hair and makeup.”

  “So I don’t get to see you in the superhero suit?” I tease, poking his stomach.

  “Not today, sorry. We’re doing the climax of the B plot today.”

  The itchy anxious feeling I’m so familiar with crawls across my skin. I know that the B plot in a superhero movie is code for the love story.

  “Oh? What’s going on in the scene today?” I ask, doing my best to sound genuinely interested. I wonder how long it will take for me to get to Derek’s with traffic.

  “Today is our first love scene,” Adelaide says. “Always awkward.”

  I can’t tell if she said that deliberately to piss me off, or whether she’s truthfully not looking forward to it. Unless she’s dating some other LA heartthrob, I’m sure no one looks at Jimmy and thinks, man, the last thing I want to do is roll around in the sand with him.

  I give her a small smile and look at Jimmy.

  “Yeah, they changed it. We were supposed to be in studio for our love scene next week, but when the sides came, we saw that they’d changed it.”

  I’ve known Jimmy long enough to see the apology in his eyes. He never would have invited me had he known. Regardless of the fact that we’re not anything official and everyone here is a professional, there’s nothing pleasant about watching someone you have feelings for dry humping another person.

  “When are you due on set?” I ask, thinking maybe I can have a quick visit and bolt, but there’s a knock on the door as the last word leaves my lips.

  A woman with a headset on pokes her head in. “They’re ready for you.”

  “Great, thanks,” Jimmy says.

  Adelaide hops off her chair and heads toward the door. “It was good to meet you. I’m sure I’ll be seeing more of you.”

  I mumble a, “You too
,” and smile at her.

  Jimmy steps into me so that we’re chest to chest. “I understand if you want to leave.” His hands rest on my hips.

  I feign indifference with a shrug. “No worries.”

  His hands drop to his sides. “I forgot, you don’t really care if you’re not the only woman in my life.”

  He’s picking now to have this fight?

  “It’s not like that and you know it,” I snap.

  He settles his hands on his hips. “What’s it like then?”

  I squeeze my hands into fists at my sides, resisting the urge to scratch at myself because that feeling, the one I hate, is back and it’s like bugs crawling under my skin. “Why do you keep pushing me on this? You know I’m not girlfriend material. You know better than anyone the issues that would ruin us.”

  He grips my shoulder and using his other hand to brush his knuckles along my cheek. “You’re so much more than you think. I wish you could see that.”

  Our gazes connect, my blue to his deep brown, and a part of me wishes I could sink into him, believe what he sees in me. But there’re things about myself I hide, and I’ll only end up hurting him worse than I already am.

  I sense the day coming, the day when I’ll have no choice but to dislodge the anchor of me and let him move on with his life. I owe him that much at least. But I can’t bear to think of how hollow my life will be without the one good thing I have left in it. One day I’ll find the nerve.

  I wrap my hand around his wrist and pull it from my face. “You’d better get on set.”

  His lips thin and tilt down, but he doesn’t argue. “You gonna stay?”

  “Yeah, I’ll stay for a bit.”

  He nods, and we both head for the trailer door.

  Once on set, Jimmy is so busy and enthralled in Adelaide—or the scene they’re filming—that I slip away unnoticed fifteen minutes later.

  I can’t handle watching him and Adelaide kissing and carrying on, but sadly, that’s not the only reason I hightail it out of there.

  Chapter Twelve