Faking It (The Making It Series)

by Christina Ross

  His grip tightened around me, and my heart went out to him as the paparazzi surrounded us. This had to be hell for him.

  “Jackson, who are you with?” a man called out. “Is she your beard?”

  Seriously? I thought as rage sparked through me. That’s how you’re going to label me? Over my dead fucking body, buddy.

  Unable to contain myself, I stopped, turned, and looked out at the sea of reporters as I was flooded with rapid successions of lights. I didn’t know who had asked that question, but it didn’t matter, because I had a message to deliver to all of them.

  “My name is Sienna Jones,” I said to them. “If you don’t know who I am, Google it. Also, I’m far from being Jackson Cruise’s ‘beard,’ as one of you had the nerve to suggest. If you’d been doing your jobs, you’d know that Jackson and I have been seeing each other for the past six weeks.”

  That wasn’t part of the script, but it was now—and so be it.

  “Who are you, again?” someone called out.

  “Figure it out,” I said.

  “Six weeks?” I heard somebody say. “What the hell?”

  “Who is Sienna Jones?” a woman asked.

  “We’re supposed to Google it,” someone else joked.

  “This way,” Austin said, opening one of the building’s doors for us.

  I placed my hand against Jackson’s lower back just as he impulsively leaned down and kissed me on the lips. I kissed him back with everything I had as the press swept in to capture the moment for all the world to see. In the blizzard of flashing lights and clicking cameras that sought to overwhelm us, our kiss nevertheless lingered before we broke away and followed Austin into the building—just as a rising chorus of questions about our relationship slammed against our backs.

  * * *

  “They’re buying none of it,” Jackson said in a low, irritated voice after the three of us crossed the lobby to one of two escalators that led to the center’s restaurant and bar collection. The famed Porter House restaurant was one of them, as was Per Se. Best of all? The press weren’t allowed on this level, which took the pressure off each of us—at least for the moment.

  “They already know this is bullshit,” he said. “And that’s what I’m going to face tomorrow in print.”

  “This is going to take time,” I said quietly to him as we followed Austin off the escalator. “But soon they will believe it, Jackson. We’ll make them believe it.”

  “We can’t make them believe shit, Sienna,” he said, turning to me. And when he did, I saw that he looked at once furious, vulnerable, and unhinged. “They’ll believe whatever sells papers or drives traffic to their websites.”

  “Let’s not have this conversation here,” I said. “Someone could overhear us. The press are gone for now. You and I need to see tonight through.”

  “Easy for you to say,” he said. “You’re not the one whose career is on the line.”

  “Jackson,” Austin said, “I think you need to have a good look at what Sienna just did for you. The reporters questioned your sexuality—just as we all knew they would—and when they took things too far, Sienna got in front of the situation and challenged them. That took balls.”

  “Yeah, well, she has her own career to protect, doesn’t she?”

  I blinked when he said that but decided not to take it personally.

  He’s upset. He’s angry. And he has good reason to be.

  But at least Austin had come to my defense.

  “That isn’t fair to Sienna,” he said. “And you know it.”

  “Whatever,” Jackson said. “Look, I need a drink. I’ll text you ten minutes before we leave, OK?”

  “When you do, I’ll let you know if the press is outside waiting for you two to emerge. If they are, I’ll handle the situation.”

  “Everyone seems to be handling my situation,” Jackson said.

  “That’s because it needs handling,” Austin said in a firm voice. “Now, get yourself together. At dinner, you two need to sell yourselves to everyone in that restaurant, because the waiters who are about to serve you are going to be listening to you two. You and I both know full well that many of them are paid on the sly by the paps to get inside information, so my best advice is to let go of whatever doubt you’re feeling, because Sienna is right. It’s going to take time to turn the tables in your favor, and I believe that you will—if you don’t fuck it up in the meantime.”

  Clearly these two are close, I thought, because there’s no way in hell Jackson would allow Austin to talk like that to him if they weren’t.

  “I’m sorry if I’m being a dick,” Jackson said. “I don’t mean to be.”

  “Look, we get it,” Austin said. “You’re under a lot of pressure. You’re upset. This is a lot for anyone to handle. But if you’re going to get beyond this, you seriously need to chill, Jackson. Listen to me on this.”

  When Jackson took my hand, I could feel frustration coming off him in waves.

  “I’ll text you,” he said to Austin as we started to move toward the restaurant. “Give us a few hours, and then get us the hell out of here.”

  CHAPTER FIVE

  Thirty minutes later, after Jackson and I had been seated at a table that overlooked Columbus Circle—which was one of the prime seats at Per Se—Jackson was already two bourbons down with a third one on the way. He was drinking so quickly it was starting to concern me. I was still working on my first martini, for God’s sake.

  How well can he handle his booze? I wondered, looking at him nervously. Because if he keeps drinking like this, I’m going to have to say something just to spare him from himself…

  Each of us had ordered the chef’s elaborate tasting menu, which included a host of small bites designed to underscore why Thomas Keller reigned as one of the world’s best chefs.

  On the menu, some of the dishes had been given names, such as “Oysters and Pearls,” “Peas and Carrots,” “Bread and Butter,” and “Gougère,” which was a delicate cheese puff that I knew would be no simple cheese puff. And there were many other samplings that would just keep coming until we arrived at an assortment of desserts that included fruit, ice cream, chocolate, and candies.

  Over the top didn’t even come close to describing this place, which was beautifully lit with ambient lighting that gave the space a romantic glow, particularly with the city glimmering beyond the windows at Jackson’s back. On some level Austin must have gotten through to him, because Jackson was holding my right hand and stroking the back of it with his thumb when his third bourbon arrived.

  “Another martini for you, miss?” our waiter asked me.

  “Maybe later,” I said. “Once we’re well into the meal.”

  “Of course. Now that you’ve had time to relax and enjoy your drinks, the tasting will begin.”

  “Thank you,” I said as the man stepped away.

  And when he did, Jackson let go of my hand, leaned back in his chair, and took a sip of his drink. “Tell me about you,” he said. “Is Sienna your real name? Or your stage name?”

  “No, it’s my real name,” I said, trying to keep my voice light and engaged. “But maybe I should have been more creative, because ‘Jones’ isn’t exactly memorable, is it?”

  “It could be worse,” he said. “Hell, you could be ‘Jackson Cruise.’” He took another pull from his drink. “Where were you born?”

  “Dubuque, Iowa. How about you? Where did you grow up?”

  “Here,” he said. “In the city.”

  “You grew up in Manhattan?”

  “I did.”

  “That must have been exciting,” I said. “You had access to all the things I used to crave when I was growing up. Culture, the best concerts, city life, nightclubs, interesting restaurants, interesting people. I can’t imagine what it must have been like to grow up here.”

  “Oh, it was great,” he said sarcastically. “My father is one of the city’s best brain surgeons. My mother is a best-selling, prize-winning novelist of litera
ture. And since my two sisters decided to follow in my father’s footsteps in ways that I never did, they also are doctors. They have two terrific husbands and two terrific children each. As for me…I’m the disappointment who failed to carry on the family name. So,” he said after he’d tossed back his drink, finishing it, “there’s that.”

  “But you’re so successful,” I said. “What you’ve achieved has to mean something to your family, Jackson. You’re an international super star. And you’re only thirty-five! You’ve been in twenty-five movies already, and pretty much all of them have been box-office smashes.”

  He was far from being drunk—which surprised me considering all he’d had to drink in the past forty minutes—but when he leaned toward me, I did notice him wavering a bit. This concerned me, since I knew that aside from the waitstaff, the diners eating near us had recognized him. And whenever a major celebrity of Jackson’s stature was spied in a public space such as this, I also knew that word of his presence had already spread and that everyone in this restaurant knew he was here.

  He starts work on a new movie tomorrow, I thought as I assessed him. I need to make sure he doesn’t make a fool of himself. But how do I do so without offending him?

  “Sienna, when it comes to my family, what I really am is an international fraud,” he said, lifting his empty glass above his head and motioning for another drink before looking at me again.

  “Your family really thinks that about you?” I asked.

  “Let me clarify. My sisters are fine with the thing that shall not be named in public, but my parents express their disappointment in all sorts of ways—sometimes directly. Like when my name appeared in the tabloids this week. I rarely hear from them, but I sure as hell heard from them then.”

  “What did they say?”

  “In a nutshell? That I was an embarrassment. And that they’d raised me to behave better than that.”

  “By showing affection toward another person?”

  “Toward another man,” he said in a low voice.

  “About him,” I said, “is he anyone special to you?”

  “He could be,” he said. “But because of who I am, he can’t be.”

  “Who is he?”

  “My pilot. We’ve been seeing each other for a few months. It’s not serious, because it can’t be serious. He tells me he understands, but I have to wonder whether he really does.”

  “I’m sorry,” I said as his fourth bourbon arrived. When our server left, Jackson lifted the drink in my direction and toasted me before he took a sip.

  “So, you like him?” I asked.

  “It’s deeper than that…not that he knows. But let’s not talk about him, OK? I’d really rather not.”

  “That’s fine, Jackson.”

  “‘Jackson,’” he said with a laugh. “That isn’t my real name, Sienna, which you’ve probably figured out by now. I mean, who calls their kid ‘Jackson Cruise’? No one. Certainly not my uptight parents. My real name is Mike Fleming. How’s that one for you? My last name literally sounds like phlegm. Something that gets caught in the back of your throat that you want to spit out onto the street.”

  The alcohol is starting to affect him, I thought, getting worried as our first course arrived. It was the “Oysters and Pearls,” which was a single oyster topped with tapioca and white sturgeon caviar. Since I wanted to encourage him to eat before he drank even more, I lifted up my shell to him and said, “Here’s to us. And also to your new movie. Let’s try the food.”

  “Why are you deflecting?” he said. “Is my life too much for you to handle?”

  Time to take him on before he does more damage than good…

  “Nothing is too much for me to handle, Jackson,” I said quietly as I met his eyes with my own. “Because I’ve gone through my own share of shit ever since I moved to Manhattan—things nobody knows about. Dark times I never want to talk about. So, please, don’t believe for one minute that I haven’t had bleak moments of my own in my life, because that isn’t the case. But that’s enough of that. I’m hungry. And both of us need to eat.”

  When I said that, he picked up his oyster, tossed it back, and washed it down with another sip of bourbon. “Fantastic,” he said. “To die for.”

  After I’d eaten mine, I looked hard at him.

  “Jackson,” I whispered, “you need to keep your voice down. If you don’t, the people at the next table will hear you, which you don’t want.”

  “I can handle my booze, Sienna.”

  “I’m thinking otherwise,” I said, pushing the bread basket toward him. “Eat some bread. Get something on your stomach.”

  “Before I embarrass you, too?”

  “Before you embarrass yourself.”

  “Fine—I’ll eat some bread.”

  “And drink some water before you regret having too many drinks.”

  “Look at me, drinking water for the lady.”

  “Keep drinking it, because you need to.”

  “And look at that—I just finished my water,” he said.

  “Give me your drink,” I said. “You’ve had enough.”

  “Nobody tells me when I’ve had enough, Sienna.”

  “Jackson, I understand that you’ve been through hell this past week, but you are in public now. We arrived here to offer up a smoke screen. You can’t blow that. It’s only our first day out in public together.”

  “Then take the bourbon,” he said, pushing it toward me.

  Thank God.

  I swept it away from him.

  “Let me ask you a question,” he said after he’d torn off a piece of bread and started to eat it. “Have you ever been in love, Sienna?”

  “Once,” I said, not wanting to discuss it.

  “Just once?”

  “Yes, just once.”

  “How can that be? You’re hot. And you’re, like…what? Twenty-seven or something?”

  “That’s right. Twenty-seven.”

  “And you’ve only fallen in love once?”

  “Unfortunately. In the meantime, I’ve been focusing on my career.”

  “Who was the lucky guy?”

  “Neither of us was lucky, Jackson. Certainly not me.”

  “Jesus,” he said. “And the mystery deepens.”

  “I’d rather not make light of it.”

  “What was he? Some kind of asshole?”

  Yes, Jackson. The worst kind…

  “Are you finished?” our server asked, materializing at our side.

  “We are,” I said with a bright smile I didn’t feel. “They were delicious.”

  Without a word, the man took away our plates and left. Moments later, he returned with the “Peas and Carrots” part of our serving course, which was delivered to us in shallow dishes with a small serving of sugar snap peas, carrots, and turnips topped with what I remembered from the menu to be a black winter truffle crème fraîche. Looking at the beautiful presentation was almost enough to distract me from the sheer ugliness that was unfolding in front of me.

  “Thank you,” I said to the waiter as he left. I looked over at Jackson, who had just stolen the bourbon I’d taken away from him and slugged it down. “Focus on dinner,” I said to him. “The way you’re going, the sooner we’re out of here, the better.”

  “I am starting to feel a bit woozy,” he said.

  “I don’t doubt it. Eat your peas and carrots.”

  “Now you sound like the nanny who raised me.”

  “You were raised by a nanny?”

  “I was,” he said, tapping his finger against his chest. “Because I’m what they call a mistake, Sienna. By the time I came along, my parents were fully vested in their careers—and not in me. They didn’t have the same kind of time for me they had given my two older sisters. So, I was pretty much shoveled off to Nanny Grace, which is a pretty fitting name for a woman who became the mother I never had. A few years ago, when she needed to go into assisted living, I made certain to put her in the best facility this city has. I pay for
all of it, and I’m happy to do so. Because without that woman, I’d be seriously fucked up.”

  My heart went out to him when he said that, and then I watched him look down at his plate.

  “These are peas and carrots?” he asked.

  “They are. You can see the peas. The orange mousse is the carrots.”

  “I think I need another drink.”

  “I don’t think you do, Jackson.”

  “That’s because you’re not going through what I’m going through right now, Sienna.”

  “I understand that,” I said in a low voice. “But here isn’t the place to get drunk. If you want to do that, I suggest—for you and your career alone—that you do so at home. So, why don’t we just call Austin now and bail on this dinner so you can drink in private? In fact, if we do leave now, we’d probably fool the paps, who likely think we’re going to be here for several hours and have probably left to cover other stories before coming back here.”

  “I don’t want to leave, because I like being here with you,” he said, reaching out to hold my hand. “I feel comfortable with you, which is kind of weird, right? I mean, we only just met today. What am I to make of that?”

  “People meet for a reason,” I said. “And as far as I’m concerned, tonight that reason is for me to get you out of here before it’s too late for you.”

  “Too late for me?”

  “You’re drunk,” I said.

  “I’m not that drunk.”

  “Yes, you are. And I’m concerned.”

  “What’s to be concerned about?”

  “Your making a fool of yourself. Call Austin. Tonight, I’ll pay the bill. We need to get you out of here before those four bourbons you just drank in record time hit you harder than they already have.”

  CHAPTER SIX

  When Austin confirmed that he was waiting for us in front of the Time Warner Center, I looked over at Jackson as he turned off his phone. His eyes had become hooded. His cheeks were flushed.

  “Austin’s at the curb,” he said, “waiting for us.”