by Penny Reid
Half of my staff left Sunday, another quarter departed Monday morning. Praise be, only Sasha, Dave, and Miguel remained by Tuesday.
But after a week of putting up with constant whining, doors being slammed, and crap left all over the place, Sasha and her attitude were tap dancing on my last nerve. No wonder I needed a butler and cleaning staff in LA! I was convinced the woman used an inordinate amount of toilet paper. And she couldn’t change a toilet paper roll if a lifetime supply of designer purses were on the line.
“Are you sure you like this color? Because I think people are used to seeing you in shades of red.” Sasha picked up the red swatch I’d already discarded in favor of the pink. As far as I was concerned, the matter had been settled over an hour ago. One red carpet event of me wearing pink instead of red wasn’t going to make or break my acting career. I honestly didn’t care either way. Red, pink, purple, black. Whatever!
This was her job. This was why I paid her, so I wouldn’t have to think about every single tiny detail.
Has it always been like this with her? Yes.
How did you put up with it for so long? Maybe I thought mean equaled smart?
I felt like I’d been sucked into an alternate dimension, where I was now viewing myself from the outside—or the old version of me—and I found her exhausting and boring.
“I really think you should do the red.” Sasha picked up the pink swatch, tossed it into the pile with the rejects, and put the red down next to the sketch of my dress.
No. Wait. Scratch that. I find Sasha exhausting and boring.
“Hey, hey, hey! I brought lunch,” Charlotte’s cheerful voice called from the front door. I leaned back from where I sat at the kitchen table and relief washed over me at the sight of my friend. Who I liked. And who was nice to me.
Jumping up, I left my PA and her pushy opinions behind, walking over to take the bags from Charlotte. “It’s so good to see you.”
I lifted up, she bent down, and we kissed cheeks. “Good to see you too. I guess this is more like an early dinner. I just got off work and the kids are saying hi to Ben, Andy, and the baby. Jethro asked if they could stay for a bit and play, so I’m dropping off dinner. Or lunch. Depending on what you want to call it.”
“Thank you. It can be breakfast, lunch, and dinner. I haven’t eaten all day.”
Sasha and I had been meeting nonstop since Sunday. She’d proclaimed each issue an emergency, and I’d lost count of how many times she’d said my absence had brought everything to a standstill. No one could do anything without me. I was never allowed to take a vacation again without my staff.
But once we’d worked our way through the first five items—colors for redecorating her en suite bathroom, whether to follow our standard August calendar for social media or create a new one, whether or not I should have lunch with Ana Ortega next week at the studio and what I would wear, things like that—it was clear that these were tasks and decisions she could’ve handled on her own and didn’t merit my involvement.
Pasting on a smile, I turned to carry the bags of food into the house and called to Sasha. “Charlotte brought us food.”
“What is it?” Sasha met me with folded arms and an expression that could only be described as petulant.
“It’s sandwiches from Daisy’s,” Charlotte said, meandering into the house after me but addressing Sasha. “I brought tuna for Rae and veggie for you, because I remembered you’re a vegetarian.”
“A sandwich? So I guess the bread is wheat? They don’t have any salads in this town?” Sasha huffed, scratching her scalp with a pencil and turning her back on Charlotte. “We should fly Marques back out.”
Marques was my chef. I liked him. Probably because he didn’t speak English, so we rarely talked. Not that there was anything wrong with Marques. But I was coming to the realization that most of my employees were insufferable, pushy crybabies, and I’d been bamboozled by celebrity inertia into thinking I needed them.
But the last two weeks told me differently.
“No need to fly out Marques. I’m staying. You’re leaving. You’ll see him tomorrow. Or maybe even tonight if we can wrap all this up.” I fought the urge to tell Sasha to say thank you to Charlotte and stop acting like an entitled brat. But she was my employee, not my child.
That said, this incident was soooo going on her performance review.
Exhausted. And Bored.
Unloading the containers, I popped each one open to figure out which was one veggie, which one was tuna, and which one—
“The BLT is mine.” Charlotte pointed toward the pile of takeout.
Meanwhile, Sasha dug through her purse and pulled out a one-hundred-dollar bill. I watched in horror as she marched over to Charlotte and held it out. “Do you have change for this?”
“Why? You planning on going to the Pink Pony?”
“It’s for the food.” She waved it under Charlotte’s nose. “And do you need a tip?”
Charlotte lifted an eyebrow at my PA. “I don’t think you have any tips I need.”
“No, Sasha. Charlotte is a friend of mine. Remember?” I sent Charlotte an apologetic smile. This was the third time I’d had to remind my PA who Charlotte was.
Sasha looked between us. “What? Are you two fucking or something?”
Charlotte’s mouth fell open, her eyes ping-ponging to mine.
“What?!” I almost dropped the takeout. “That was—Sasha. That was way over the line.”
She lowered the hundred and huffed, turning to face me completely. “Sorry, okay? It’s just been really stressful since you left us with a big fucking mess, Raquel! I’m so stressed.” She swung her arm toward the front door. “I’ve been the one having to clean it up. And now I have to be out here, in hillb—”
I stopped her before she could make a hillbilly reference. “No. You don’t. I told Domino only to have you pack some clothes for me and fly out with Miguel and Dave. I talked to him, and he confirmed that he’d told you exactly that.”
“Domino doesn’t know what it takes to keep everything running smoothly. Only I know. And I can’t believe you sent back my PA candidates. You expect me to do everything! I need more help.”
I jerked back, my temper rising to lava levels. “Uh, no. You haven’t been dealing with anything. You saved it all for me to deal with. What have you been doing for two weeks?”
“I’ve been completely overwhelmed!”
“Well now you’re completely fired.” I said the words three seconds before they formed in my brain. Even as they solidified, I felt no remorse.
Perhaps I’d allowed Sasha to speak to me this way before, but not anymore.
She reared back. “What?”
“You’re fired. I don’t like how you speak to me.”
It’s amazing what being surrounded by kind people will do. Sienna, her family, Charlotte, and especially Jackson. They’d taught me how I wanted—how I deserved—to be treated, and not by pushing or bullying me.
Or perhaps being around Sienna and Jethro—and Jackson, his good manners and steady character—had made me realize that I wanted wholesome and real more than I wanted glamourous and exciting.
Or perhaps spending a few weeks on my own, making my own meals, doing my own laundry, setting my own schedule, and making my own decisions had been just what I’d needed. There’s nothing like being capable to remind a person just how capable they are.
Or perhaps I’ve just finally grown up.
But you know who hadn’t grown up? Sasha.
“Are you kidding?” she screamed. “You disappear for two weeks and now you don’t like how I speak to you? And now you think you can fire me? What happened to you? Why are you suddenly being like this?”
Nuh-uh. I wasn’t doing this. I was so done. “I’ll call Domino. He will meet you at the house so you can pick up your things. I’ll put you up in a hotel for one month—no expense account—so you can find a new place to live. Or you can pocket the cash and be done. But you’re fired.”
Sasha made a sound that resembled a chicken squawk, searching the ceiling as though passive, doormat Raquel lived up there. When she found nothing but high ceilings and crown molding, she turned, grabbed her purse, and—sending me a fiery glare—stormed past Charlotte.
“And place the credit cards on the console table as you leave, please. Call Domino. He’ll help you make flight arrangements back to LA. You can pick up your last check from his office.”
She paused by the front door, and with jerky movements, slapped three credit cards on the table. And then, in a very Goodbye, Cruel World! kind of move, she turned and shouted, “Good luck surviving without me, Raquel. I wouldn’t work for you again if you begged me,” slamming the door on her way out.
Wonderful silence followed her departure, during which Charlotte and I stood motionless. Eventually, I looked at my friend, she looked at me, and she said, “Since you might not survive past tonight, and this very well may be your last meal, are you still okay with tuna?”
“Yes. I feel good about tuna.” God. I loved Charlotte.
She strolled over to the fridge and opened it. “What kind of beer do you have in here?”
“I don’t. Sadly.”
“Do you want me to go get some from the big house? Jethro has cases and cases. They keep getting it free from people who love Sienna.”
I chuckled. “Sure. Go ahead. Thank you.” If people in LA had offered me cases of free beer, I probably would’ve accepted it too.
“I’ll be right back. And I’ll make sure she leaves without slashing any tires.”
Charlotte left me in the kitchen with my sandwich and no regrets. Yes, my life would be more difficult for a little bit . . . but would it?
I sighed at the thought. It would be more difficult. Sasha was exhausting, and she frequently foisted her responsibilities on me, but she’d been good at keeping track of details. Until I could get someone new hired and trained, things would be stressful. Details would be missed.
That said, I didn’t want a live-in PA anymore. I didn’t want a live-in anything anymore, except a dog. Or a Jackson.
I grimaced, shoving thoughts of Deputy Dreamy from my mind and focusing on the issue at hand. When I got back to LA, I would be making some changes. And when I hired a new PA, he or she would not be living with me. I’d grown addicted to privacy and autonomy here, and going back to the way things had been ceased to be an option the moment I stepped off the plane in Green Valley three weeks ago.
While I waited for Charlotte to return, I placed the veggie sandwich in the fridge, figuring I could eat it for lunch tomorrow, and poured us both a glass of water. I was just setting the table for two when Charlotte burst back in, carrying six cases—yes, SIX cases—of beer.
“Rae! Come quick.”
“Oh my God! Do you need help?”
“No. I work out. Plus, hefting around four kids means I’m strong as a bull. But—get over here!” She set the beer down by the door.
“What? What is it? What happened?”
“Nothing bad. And your little friend is gone. A taxi already came and went—which is basically a miracle. Taxis usually take forever to arrive. But enough about that. Guess what’s pulling up the driveway?”
“What?” I scooted around the stools at the kitchen island and rushed to where Charlotte was unloading her burden.
“It’s a cruiser. From the sheriff’s department.”
“Oh!” My heart leapt, and I pressed my face against the window that looked out onto the driveway. I hadn’t seen or heard from Jackson since Saturday, and I’d been kicking myself for not entering my number in his phone under my real name—or, you know, my stage name.
“Is it Jackson?”
“I don’t know.” She squinted out the glass, then cocked her head. “Oh. No. That’s not Jackson. I think that’s Boone.”
“Could Jackson be with him?” I did a dance of uncertainty in the foyer, not sure if I should run into my bedroom and change out of my frumpy clothes, or if I should watch from the window, or if I should go open the door.
“I don’t think so,” Charlotte said softly, and then to herself, “Where the hell is that dummy?”
My heart dropped, and I pressed my hand to my chest, rubbing the ache. I agreed with Charlotte. Where the hell was that dummy? Whatever he’d done Saturday to get the paparazzi moved away from Moth Run Road had worked. And the paps hadn’t returned to line the road, but they did materialize whenever I left Sienna’s property.
Maybe the paparazzi are why he’s staying away? Or maybe he’s mad that I told Charlotte about our night together? I hated that he was so hard to read. What was I supposed to do? Should I get his number from Sienna and call him? I felt like . . . no. He should call me, right? Or check on me? Or should I check on—
A knock shook me out of my never-ending loop of questions, and I calmly walked to the door and opened it.
Before me stood a man who looked a lot like a young Derek Luke, dressed in the same uniform Jackson had been wearing when he’d found me at the bank over a week ago. “Hello, Ms. Ezra. I’m Deputy Boone.”
“Nice to meet you.” I held out my hand for him to shake. “Won’t you come in?”
“No, ma’am. This shouldn’t take long. I just have a few questions. Do you mind coming out here?”
I glanced at Charlotte. She shrugged.
“Suuuure.” I followed Deputy Boone outside. He didn’t take me too far from the house, just three feet or so.
“I’m here to check up on you, and make sure everything’s okay after the events of last Thursday.”
“The . . . events?”
“Yes, ma’am. We’re doing our due diligence. Just wanted to check in and make sure you didn’t have any complaints against the department, or Deputy James.”
Crossing my arms, I allowed my confusion to show on my face. “Uh, no. Absolutely no complaints. Except, you know, I haven’t heard from him.” I chuckled.
“Uhh. . .” Deputy Boone did not chuckle. He was all business. And I could see that what I’d said confused him.
“Sorry. That’s not—sorry. No, no, Jackson was a perfect gentleman, and I do mean perfect.”
He reached into the front breast pocket of his uniform. “Here’s my card if you have any questions or something occurs to you that you’d like to talk about.”
I accepted the card, not looking at it, and anxiety climbed up my throat because I could see Deputy Boone was finished and ready to leave, so I blurted, “How is he?”
“Who, ma’am?”
“Jackson.” I fiddled with the business card I’d just been given. “Do you know him?”
“Yes. We work together.” He said this very slowly, like he wasn’t used to answering questions.
“Is he okay? Does he have any . . . complaints? About me?”
More confusion flickered over his features, and he responded to my question with one of his own. “Ms. Ezra, do you know how to reach Deputy James?”
“Yes. I mean, I don’t have his number.” I snorted, then regretted it when his eyebrows jumped. “Sorry. I regret that snort. I have snort lament. Charlotte has Jackson’s number, and I see her basically every day, so, yeeeeah.“
“I also happen to have Deputy James’s card.” He pulled out a business card holder, this time from some unseen pocket on his person, and thumbed through several business cards, eventually handing one over to me. It was Jackson’s. “If you feel like you need to reach out, you should.”
I looked at the card. I gazed at it, the black lettering on the white, thick paper that read Deputy Jackson James. I still loved his name.
“I don’t want to bother him.”
I glanced up and found Deputy Boone inspecting me, like he was working really hard to figure out what to say, or how to say it.
“Do you think I should call him?” I asked. “Do you think he wants to hear from me?”
His expression unreadable, he tucked away his notepad and pen. “If you have a reason to cal
l Deputy James, then you should. If you don’t, then don’t.” The words sounded a bit like a warning, and they were definitely a riddle. “Have a nice day, ma’am.”
He turned. He left.
And I don’t think he heard my belated, “You too,” as he drove away.
Chapter 17
*Jackson*
“It is better to be looked over than overlooked.”
Mae West
I saw Rae and Charlotte together everywhere. I saw them at the park, playing with Charlotte’s kids. I saw them downtown, grabbing lunch at The Sandwich, Soup, and Salad Stop. I saw them in the Piggly Wiggly, grocery shopping. I even saw them at the station, bringing in treats from the Donner Bakery for all the deputies and staff.
I’m sure they would’ve said hi if I’d given either of them the chance. I hadn’t. This was for four reasons:
First, the paparazzi. Green Valley had some experience putting up with the paparazzi. Sienna Diaz being a big movie star meant we usually had a photographer lurking about in town at least three or four times a year. When Sienna first arrived in town, things had been pretty bad. But not like this.
This time they’d descended like a swarm of locusts. All the restaurants ran out of food. They didn’t just want photos of Rae, they wanted photos of Rae with me. I lacked the motivation to provide any of these antagonistic scavengers with a meal ticket.
Luckily, pictures of me on my own had lost their allure after the first week post-ATM-gate, but several photographers continued following me around anyway, taunting me, perhaps hoping I’d forget I was being followed or hoping to make me lose my temper.
Being followed meant the sheriff had pulled me from the field and placed me on desk duty until further notice. I wasn’t much use to the community as a deputy, being trailed by paparazzi all day, making citizens nervous every time I answered a complaint or call.
Second, seeing Rae and Charlotte all around town together would’ve been disconcerting enough—especially now that I knew Raquel had told Charlotte about us—but in addition to the paparazzi, Rae’s newly arrived bodyguards followed them constantly, two hulking shadows trailing their every move and keeping everyone else—and I do mean everyone—at bay.