Reserved for You

by Brenda Margriet

  It didn’t matter. Despite everything, he wanted her, longed to help her, protect her.

  How could she be so pig-headed, so determined to ruin what they could have together because she wasn’t willing to take a chance? It was just a job, after all. She was blowing everything out of proportion.

  Calynn settled herself gracefully into the leather chair next to him. “That’s another one done. Three more weeks until the finale. How you holding up?”

  His smile felt forced and awkward. “Fine.”

  “Benedict tells me you were off yesterday.” In a casual movement she’d never make with the cameras rolling, she tucked one leg onto the seat, her skirt slipping up one slim thigh. “Something didn’t feel right tonight, either.”

  Benedict was being uncharacteristically benevolent if that was all he’d said. Paul suppressed a shudder as he remembered salsa dancing with Sappho. He had been so caught up in thoughts of Jemma he barely made it through the evening. Sappho carried the bulk of the conversation, and Benedict had stopped recording more than once to berate Paul for inattention. Then tonight he hadn’t managed to summon a quiver of remorse when he eliminated Berry Shadbolt because of her salmon mousse. “I think I might be coming down with a flu. I have a headache.” Great. He sounded like a baby. A whiny baby.

  “I hope you feel better tomorrow.” She patted his knee. “Come on, everyone else has gone. Time to get out of here.”

  He was in his dressing room grabbing his coat when a dark shadow flitted past the open door. Before he had time to consider consequences he strode quietly down the hall after Jemma.

  She ducked into the contestants’ dressing room. He followed her in, shutting the door behind them. At the sound of the latch clicking she spun around, hugging the flat of water she carried to her chest. “Paul!” she said, expression darkening. “What are you doing?”

  He trod toward her and she pedaled backward until she was blocked by a sofa. “Give me that. You’ll wreck your back.”

  The wariness on her face gave way to irritation. “I can handle it. It’s my job.”

  Her words set a match to his tinder keg. “Of course you can handle it,” he spat, his voice echoing in the empty room. “You can handle anything, can’t you? Except help.”

  Her eyes narrowed. “I accept help.”

  “For emergencies, maybe. But for the everyday things?” He shook his head. “Why won’t you let me in?”

  “You and I...” She swallowed, started over. “You want too much.”

  “I love you.”

  He was unprepared for the stark fear leaping into her eyes. She bobbled the water and he snagged it from her, placing it on a table.

  “Don’t say that.” She clasped her empty hands together. Her gaze darted over his shoulder, down to the floor, anywhere but him. “Please, don’t say that.”

  He cupped her face in his hands, holding her so she had to meet his eyes. “Our night together...it wasn’t a one-night stand for me. It was...amazing. If it wasn’t the same for you, if you feel differently, tell me now, and I’ll never bother you again.”

  Her lips trembled but she remained silent.

  He sighed in relief. “We belong together, Jemma.” Her hands rose slowly, unwillingly, and gripped his wrists. Her small fingers were cool against his heated skin. “It will work out. Trust me.”

  She stood unresisting as he touched his mouth to hers. He sucked her lower lip, stroked it with his tongue once, twice. With a soft moan she sagged against him. He exulted in her surrender, possessiveness surging through him. Wrapping one arm around her waist, one hand around the nape of her neck, he held her head so he could devour her tart mouth.

  Paul’s declaration echoed in every pulse beating through her.

  I love you.

  His lips demanded a response, and her body trustingly gave it. Only her mind held back, watching from a distance, shrieking caution.

  She ignored the warning signals and clung to his shoulders, lifting to her toes. He groaned, the rumble vibrating in his chest, against her breasts.

  Jemma had second-guessed her panic-attack ever since she’d left Paul’s apartment yesterday morning. She wanted, needed, to be independent. But did that mean she had to be alone? Forever?

  Paul’s hands stroked down her body to her hips, fiery prickles of sensation trailing after. He traced moist kisses along her jaw. Her breathing hitched, sped up, as he blew gently in her ear. She yanked at his shirt, desperate to tug it out of his waistband. She needed to touch him, feel his skin under her palms, taste him, taste him everywhere.

  His mouth fastened once more to hers, and she drank him in.

  “Tut, tut, tut,” drawled a breathy female voice. “What have we here?”

  Jemma stood before Lawrence Larrey’s desk, dread buzzing in her fingertips. The air in the office was thick, too heavy to breathe. She sucked it in through her nose and concentrated on not gasping. Paul stood next to her and she shuffled sideways, putting distance between them.

  Too little, too late.

  Larrey sat in his high-backed, luxurious leather chair, elbows propped on the dimpled arms, fingers steepled beneath his chin, and regarded her with a disapproving frown. Lainie stood to his left, Fenella to his right.

  Goddamn Fenella. If she hadn’t forgotten her purse she wouldn’t have returned to the dressing room. Wouldn’t have seen her with Paul.

  “What have you to say for yourselves?” Larrey demanded.

  “There’s nothing to say.” Jemma jumped in before Paul had a chance. “It was a simple kiss. A thank you kiss. It meant nothing.”

  “That was no peck on the cheek,” Fenella contradicted. “He was trying to inhale you.”

  “Fenella.” Larrey’s voice was sharp. “Let’s keep this professional.” He pinned Jemma with a glare. “You know cast and crew are not allowed to associate. Do you have a relationship with Paul?”

  “No.” Trying to avoid an outright lie, she added, “Not really. He drove me home one night when my car broke down.”

  She could feel Paul staring at her. She willed him to stay quiet, to let her protect her job, her family.

  “You came out of his dressing room a couple of days ago, flushed and bothered. Was he giving you a thank you kiss then, too?” Fenella’s anger seemed personal, as if she was truly in love with Paul. If Jemma hadn’t known better she might have felt sorry for her. Might have. “And I’ve watched you on set. You can’t keep your eyes off him.”

  Larrey’s gaze hardened. “Do you have an explanation, Jemma?”

  She opened her mouth to reply, but this time Paul beat her to it. “Jemma is one of your best crew members. I might be new to television production, but even I can see how hard she works, that she’s good at her job.” His tone was conciliatory, soothing. “Are you going to deprive yourself of that?”

  The jaws of despair tightened around her. Paul didn’t get it. He never had. “I promise to keep my distance.” She tried to keep the desperation out of her voice. “I’ll make sure other PA’s do anything related to him. I’ll stay off set if you want me to.”

  “A PA who never goes on set isn’t much use.” Larrey’s voice was hard, cold. “You were warned of the consequences, when you signed your contract, should you participate in any sort of relationship with a cast member.”

  Grey spots floated before her eyes and her chest tightened. “We don’t have a relationship. There’s nothing between us, nothing.”

  “Dammit, Jemma.” Paul gripped her shoulders and twisted her toward him. “Don’t do that. Don’t deny what we could have—”

  “Stop. Stop!” She was eye level with the knot of his tie. The pain in her chest spread into her belly. “Don’t say anything more.” She tore herself away and planted her palms on Larrey’s desk. Sweat beaded in the bends of her elbows, behind her knees. “I’ll do anything to keep this job. Anything. Please, Mr. Larrey.”

  His attention was on Paul. “Are you saying there is something between you?”

&n
bsp; She didn’t dare look over her shoulder. During the pause that followed Larrey’s question, she prayed Paul would follow her lead. Then—

  “Yes. I have feelings for her. I can’t speak for her. But for me...yes.”

  She closed her eyes as doom settled over her like a suffocating blanket. Pushing past the despair she straightened off the desk. She had one card to play, and she couldn’t hesitate.

  “The rule is there to prevent conflict of interest between cast and crew, right?” Her throat burned and she would have killed for a glass of water. “So the contest is fair and without bias?”

  Larrey nodded.

  “Then what do you call your collusion with Fenella?”

  Lainie hissed in a breath and Larrey’s eyes widened.

  “What are you talking about?” Paul touched her shoulder. She shrugged him off.

  “I heard you. About a month ago.” She didn’t take her eyes off Larrey. “Fenella complained she wasn’t getting enough airtime, because Paul wasn’t choosing her dishes. Since then she’s won every week but one.” Oh, God, don’t let him wonder about that one. “You’re telling her what the Kitchen Challenge is, so she can practice, aren’t you?”

  “You got proof?” Larrey rose from his chair, his bulbous belly hanging over the desk.

  Jemma met his stare defiantly. “Isn’t her winning streak enough?”

  “You say you heard us. Did you see us?”

  Jemma had never noticed the ruthless set of Larrey’s mouth before. She hedged. “I know it was you. I didn’t have to see you.”

  A flash of satisfaction zinged across Larrey’s face and she realized she’d made a tactical error.

  Instead of confronting him tonight, she should have waited. He was going to fire her anyway. There was no getting out of that. If she’d kept quiet until tomorrow, then taken her concerns higher up the ladder, they might have believed her, and she might have had a chance to get her job back. But now Larrey would have time to cover his tracks, time to devise a story.

  By blurting out her accusations now, she achieved one thing.

  She’d given him an even stronger motive to get rid of her.

  “You’re lying,” Larrey snarled. “Trying to save yourself by throwing muck at others.”

  “Of course she’s lying.” Fenella’s smooth complexion was mottled with an angry red flush. “What a bitch.”

  Paul couldn’t believe the disaster exploding before him.

  “Let’s all settle down.” Lainie stepped forward, one hand extended, patting the air as if to soothe the turbulence swirling through the room. “We need to deal with this calmly.” Her other hand clutched her tablet, and he could see her knuckles, white with stress, but her voice was low and placating. “We don’t have time to hire another PA, and Jemma is one of our best. I say we keep her on staff. She’s already promised to stay away from Paul.” She glanced at Jemma, then focused on Paul. “And I’m certain he will make the same promise.” She narrowed her eyes at him, and after a moment he nodded.

  “I don’t give a goddamn how good she is at her job,” Larrey growled. “She knew the rule and she broke it.”

  “Lawrence—”

  He slammed his fists on the desk, knocking over a wire cylinder of pens. “She’s fired,” he shouted. “She turns in her fob, clears out her desk. Tonight.”

  Jemma swayed, her face leached of colour. Paul ached to touch her, to gather her in, but he’d done enough damage.

  Besides, she’d probably kick him in the balls.

  She left the office without a word. A thunderous silence hung in the room, broken by Larrey’s furious puffing. Paul dragged his attention from the empty doorway and turned to face the others. His skull squeezed his brain, making his eyeballs throb.

  “Go with her,” Larrey commanded Lainie. “You hired her. You make sure she leaves.”

  Eyes bright with angry tears, nostrils pinched and tight, she hurried past Paul, shooting him a cutting glance.

  Fenella watched Larrey with her head tilted to one side, a sly smile on her lips. The executive producer was still in a rage.

  “You will forget these baseless accusations.” He hammered firmly on his desk with a fleshy finger. “There is nothing between Fenella and me.”

  Fenella nodded, her face virtuous. “Of course not!” She rounded the desk and laid her hand on Paul’s arm. “I’m sorry if you liked her. But you must understand, once I saw the two of you together, I had to tell someone. I couldn’t keep it a secret.”

  He resisted the impulse to shake off her fingers. “Jemma wouldn’t lie. She believed something was going on between you two. Can you assure me the contest is being run fairly, without favouritism, to Fenella or any other of the women?”

  Larrey’s jowls vibrated with intensity. “Of course, I do!”

  Paul didn’t believe him, yet couldn’t summon the energy to care.

  Larrey continued, “For the remainder of this season, you will keep your distance from all other crew members. I won’t fire you, but I promise, if you contravene your contract one more time in any way, shape or form, I will sue you.”

  Paul nodded, unmoved by the threat. “I promise.” Nothing mattered now. Nothing and no one but Jemma.

  Her battered Civic was gone by the time he crossed the parking lot to his car. He remembered the rainy night he’d found her beating on her defunct vehicle and his heart seized.

  Crashing into the driver’s seat, he leaned against the headrest and closed his eyes. Jemma had trusted him to protect her, to put his feelings aside so she could provide for her grandmother, for her only family. And he had failed her.

  It had hurt to hear her tossing off what they had together—what they could have together—with no sign of regret. But he knew why she’d done it. She was a mother, fighting for her family. His instinctive response, forcing her to acknowledge his importance in her life, had cost her—cost her in ways he couldn’t completely understand.

  He was deathly afraid it had cost him, too. Had cost him Jemma.

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  The light rain solidified into a downpour as Jemma stepped off the bus. She dashed to the dubious covering of a ragged awning over an Asian grocery market, but not before cool water trickled its way down the back of her neck.

  By the time she coded into the activity room of the seniors’ day service centre her hair hung over her eyes in wet hanks and she’d discovered a leak in the sole of her left boot. She stood inside the door, dripping onto the worn vinyl tiles. Across the room, Miriam huddled in a grey upholstered rocking chair. Other seniors were doing puzzles, watching television or chatting. Miriam simply rocked, her eyes focused on a blank wall.

  She had been released from hospital the day after Jemma was fired from Reservations for Two. Thankfully, there hadn’t yet been a repeat of the horrible episode when she hadn’t recognized Jemma, but the geriatric specialist had been uncompromising in his appraisal.

  “These incidents will become more and more common.” He frowned at Jemma. “She should not be left unsupervised.”

  “I was taking a shower,” she said. “She’s never wandered off before. How was I to know?”

  “It’s fortunate she was found quickly, or there’s no saying what might have happened to her.”

  The censure in his tone put her spine up, but Jemma had no defence. She knew she’d been lucky, her and Miriam both.

  She couldn’t wallow in the injustice of getting sacked, couldn’t allow herself to think of Paul, how he’d hurt her, betrayed her. Without the energy, inclination, or option to be picky, she took the first job offered, minimum wage as a chambermaid at a scuzzy hotel. A pamphlet a harried nurse shoved into her hand when Miriam was discharged listed senior day services, and by great good fortune one was a short bus ride from home. It required a nominal fee, but it was bright and clean, and Jemma could go to work knowing Miriam was safe and secure.

  Too bad Miriam absolutely hated the place.

  “Hello!” A woman’s chipp
er voice drew Jemma’s gaze from her grandmother. At her side stood a dark-haired woman with a bright smile and friendly brown eyes. Her brows lifted when she saw Jemma’s face. “Hey, haven’t we met before?” She snapped her fingers. “With my brother, Paul. Soufflé night.”

  An ice shard shattered in Jemma’s chest. With great difficulty she replied, “Grace, right? I didn’t know you worked here.”

  “Oh, I don’t. But I volunteer when I can.” She watched Jemma shrewdly. “How have you been? Paul mentioned you’re not working on the show any more.”

  “I’m fine,” Jemma said through stiff lips. What had Paul told his sister? Here she was, dealing with the fallout from being fired, while his life continued on its straightforward path. Muscles vised around her heart as resentment flooded through her.

  “Are you picking someone up?”

  “My grandmother, Miriam Hedge.”

  Grace’s smile dimmed. “Oh, Mrs. Hedge. Poor lady, I wish she enjoyed being here more. It hasn’t been two weeks, though, since she started coming. She’ll settle in soon.”

  They crossed the room to Miriam. Grace put her hand gently on the older woman’s shoulder. “Mrs. Hedge, Jemma’s here.”

  Miriam blinked. Her eyes filled with tears. “You came back.” Her voice quavered, thin and frightened. “You came back to get me.”

  Part of Jemma’s heart tore loose. She dropped to her knees. “Of course I came back, Gramma. I’d never leave you here. You belong at home, with me.”

  Miriam shuffled to the edge of the seat and laboriously raised herself. “I want to go. Now.” She darted a frightened glance at Grace and started for the door with jerky strides.

  Grace shook her head. “I wish there was a way we could help her with her fear. But dementia isn’t logical, and there’s little we can do.” She turned to Jemma. “If there’s anything you need, whether it’s advice, help around the house, anything, make sure you ask. Caring for a loved one with this condition is exhausting, both mentally and physically. Don’t let it wear you down.”