Relief flooded through her when she saw that the window faced a small alley at the back of the building. She didn’t have to worry about paparazzi, or anyone else seeing her getaway. She tried to push the window up, but it wouldn’t budge. Once more, with all the strength she had, and the window slid open with a terrible screech.
“Crap, that’s loud enough for Pops to hear without his hearing aids.” Now that the window was open she could see that it was a decent drop to the ground. It was farther to the grass below than it would be if she dropped back to the floor of the bathroom.
Someone jiggled the bathroom door handle. “Anyone in there?”
Her head jerked toward the sound. The air pumping in and out of her lungs didn’t seem to be doing its job because the room spun and she almost fell from her perch.
A weird clicking sound had her looking around until she realized it was her own teeth chattering out of…fear? Adrenaline? The possibility of freedom? It was probably a combination of all three. Whatever it was, it was time to move.
She hoisted herself up, maneuvered her body through the window and swiveled around until her feet were dangling with the window sill wedged under her armpits. A quick look down told her she was a good six feet off the ground. Piece of cake, unless you were carrying another person. What if the fall hurt The Pod?
Just let go.
I can’t.
Let go!
I can’t.
Do it!
I can’t.
A cool breeze fanned across her backside. It appeared she may have a bigger problem than she’d initially thought. A quick peek confirmed that her white slip dress was caught between her body and the building. The same slip dress she had to wear a nude thong with. Which meant her bare-ass cheeks were exposed to the entire world. Because fleeing your own wedding, pregnant and penniless, doesn’t seem like quite enough humiliation. Let’s add mooning the fine folks of Zachsville to the mix for kicks and giggles. “Are you shittin’ me right now?”
“Would you listen to that. The teenybopper queen has such a dirty mouth.”
Her head jerked around of its own accord. She knew the voice. She knew it and hated it.
“Sheriff.”
Chapter 5
Hank tried to ignore the finely rounded ass of the bride currently hanging from the window of the old courthouse. He’d come outside to get himself under control, and this is what he’d stumbled upon. God must really hate him.
All these weeks later and he still craved every inch of her. The luscious globes of her behind taunted him. He’d traced every contour of her backside with his hands, tongue, and lips. She was beautiful even dangling six feet off the ground, pissed-off, and sweaty. “Need some help?”
“Not from you.”
“That’s an interesting position for you to take, as is the position you’re currently in. Didn’t I see this on an episode of Charlie Takes the Town once, minus the bare ass, of course?”
She glanced over her shoulder. “Kiss my bare ass, Hank.”
He checked to see if his clothes were on fire. The searing glare she gave him left little doubt that she hated him. He deserved it. She couldn’t hate him any more than he hated himself.
But that didn’t stop irrational anger from burning him alive. She’d refused to let him explain that he and Karen had been on the last steps of divorce. He’d made the decision to be with her with a clean conscience, genuinely believing his marriage was over. Should he have stopped things and told her? Yes. But it ripped him up that she’d automatically assumed the worst of him.
Now she’d have to listen. “Charlie, I’ve been trying to talk—”
“Shut up, Hank, and go away. I don’t care what you have to say.”
“Tough.” He was saying his piece, damn it. He kept one eye on her hands to make sure she wasn’t about to fall. Regardless of what she said, he’d catch her if she slipped. “You’re going to listen.”
She readjusted her hands and gave him another death glare. “Are you married?”
He shoved his hands in his pockets. “Yes. But—”
“Then we have nothing to discuss.”
“Charlie, please listen.” He touched her ankle.
She kicked out her foot and caught him on the side of his head. “Don’t touch me.”
He rubbed the spot. He deserved that too. “We’d been legally separated for a month.”
“So you were on a break? Perfect.”
“It was more than that. Divorce papers had been filed. You see—”
“La-la-la-la. I can’t hear you.”
“Real mature, Charlie.”
Both feet went to the wall, she pushed, dropped, and landed in front of him. She turned with fire flaring in her blue irises. Her small hands went to his chest, and she shoved. He stumbled back a few steps from the shock of it.
“You know what’s immature, Hank? A stupid, starry-eyed girl who thought the boy she used to love would’ve grown into a good and honest man who didn’t cheat on his wife.” She balled her fists at her sides. “That boy was the only honorable person I knew, and I’m furious that you took him from me.”
He didn’t think he could feel worse than he already did. He was wrong. “I’m trying to be an honorable man.”
“Are you back with your wife?”
“Yes.”
She shook her head, and the disgust rolling off of her made him sick. “You have nothing to say that I want to hear.” She pointed her finger at his face. “Stay away, Hank. We don’t need you.”
What was left of his heart turned to ash when she stormed off down the alley. Just as well. It was wrong for Charlie to own so much of him when he was trying to make things work with Karen. Still, it took everything in him not to go after her. But she’d made herself perfectly clear, and he’d made a vow to someone else.
There was just one question.
Who was “we”?
Chapter 6
The hot water rained down on Charlie. She’d been in the shower for thirty minutes and could still smell the funk from Haskell Jordan’s pick-up truck. She’d flagged down Haskell as she’d left the alley, and he’d given her a ride home. Unfortunately, the inside of the man’s vehicle hadn’t been cleaned since the first Obama administration. The smell of dog, motor oil, and stale mayonnaise clung to every surface of the interior like mold on a three-week-old slice of bread. In fact, she was pretty sure Haskell had some kind of science experiment growing in a discarded fast food bag she spotted on the floorboard. She’d nearly had a reunion with her breakfast when her rescuer put the cherry on top of the toxic sundae being served to her olfactory system, by passing gas. The man seriously needed to adjust his diet. It had taken all her self-control not to yell, “For the love of God, man, eat a salad every once in a while.”
The Pod still wasn’t speaking to her.
Admittedly, she could’ve been pickier about who she caught a ride with, but she’d just been so mad and upset after talking to Hank. Fire and lingering nausea simmered in her belly over what had happened between them.
Scenes of that night ran over her like the water from the shower. She still dreamed about it. It’d been everything her stupid, young girl’s heart had hoped for. But she wasn’t a young girl, no matter how the people around her treated her. She was a grown woman, and that night had proven it in more ways than one.
Speaking of the people around her. The last thing she wanted to do was have the confrontation with Ron and Marci that was sure to come. But no matter what they said, she wasn’t getting married. They could either stay with her and take their chances or leave. She braced her hand on the shower wall. What would she do without them? Even though she hadn’t been happy with her life in a long time, they’d always been the constant. Their presence was more stable than her mother had ever been.
A final rinse and she flipped off the water. She grabbed a towel, one of the few things that she’d bought for herself and her grandfather since she’d come to help him. The threadbare exc
uses for towels that her grandmother got from a laundry soap box back in the sixties just wouldn’t work. Naturally, her grandfather had given her trouble about the expense, but she noticed he hadn’t complained after he’d tried them.
She wrapped her hair, then slipped on a pair of yoga pants and an oversized t-shirt. If she was going to battle, then she was going in comfort. She lifted her shirt and turned to the side. Her hand went to her still flat stomach. Emotions she couldn’t identify, but somehow knew would be with her forever, bloomed in her chest. “I’ve gotten us into a bit of a mess, Pod. But I promise I’ll get us out of it, just give me time.”
The clean, fragrant smell of her lotion helped settle her nerves. A sense of satisfaction at having made the body butter caused her to smile in spite of the day she’d had. It was her legacy from the grandmother she’d adored. The woman had been a modern-day alchemist. She could take any ingredient and make it into something lovely and good for your skin.
She pushed down the waistband of her pants and smoothed lotion on her belly. “Maybe one day I’ll teach you to make soaps and creams like my grandma taught me, little Pod. I’m pretty good at it. My makeup artist on the set in Hollywood used to say I should bottle and sell it.” She pulled her clothes back into place, capped the bottle, and an idea flashed through her mind.
I could sell this stuff.
It had been the dream that she and her grandmother had talked about all those years ago, but she quickly dismissed it. Yes, she’d taken some online business and accounting classes for that reason, but honestly, what did she know about running a business? What did she know about anything? There’d always been someone around to take care of every aspect of her life.
Not always.
Warm, happy thoughts of when she’d been a regular person came to a screeching halt when she realized all those memories involved Hank and a silly, love-struck girl. The misery she’d been battling snuck up on her again. Sometimes it hit her like an eighteen-wheeler, but usually it army-crawled its way through her chest like love-hating soldiers, silent and covert, lying in wait for an ambush. Most days she could handle it, but on days like today, her battered heart had a hard time holding off the assault.
She braced her hands on the counter and gave in to the misery, but only for a few minutes. That was all she could afford to give to the memory of her and Hank. She had a crumbling career, a life in shambles, and a Pod to raise. No time to nurse a broken heart. Several deep breaths and a few more sniffles later, and she was ready to face the music.
When she opened the door to the bathroom, she heard her grandfather raising hell downstairs. She made her way to the staircase, careful to stay out of sight. “No, you can’t talk to her. I think she made herself pretty dern clear when she ran out on you.”
“Listen, old man, we’re not leaving here until we talk to Charlie.” A note of barely restrained violence laced Ron’s tone.
“Ron, calm down. I’m sure Wardell understands how important it is for us to speak to Charlie.” Marci’s ever-reasonable words tried to break through the tension filling the house.
Charlie patted her belly. “Hang on, Pod. Things are about to get bumpy.” She made her way down the stairs and waded into the fray. “Ron, stop bullying my grandfather.”
“Charlie, thank god.” Her manager came to her and gently took by her shoulders. “We were so worried.”
His reaction was so unexpected that she momentarily lost her ability to speak.
“Don’t coddle her, Ron.” Marci’s words sliced the air like the blade of a sword. Gone was the voice of reason. “What she did was unbelievably irresponsible. How could you take a risk like that, Charlie? What if the paparazzi had seen you?”
Charlie glanced around the room to check for hidden cameras. This had to be a joke. Their role reversal had her head spinning. “I…um…”
“Stop it, Marci. Can’t you see she’s having a hard time?” Ron slid his arm over her back.
The anger in Marci’s face had Charlie taking a step toward the protection Ron offered. “I don’t care if she’s having a hard time. I’m tired of her antics. We can’t do our jobs if she won’t do hers.”
“Lady, you better watch what you’re saying about my granddaughter.” Wardell tried to insert himself between her and Marci, but Ron stepped in. “Marci, I think you should wait outside. You aren’t helping.”
“Fine.” Her publicist agreed just a little too quickly.
Something about this whole scene had Charlie’s spidey senses going haywire.
“Wardell, would you mind if I spoke to Charlie in private?” Ron asked.
Okay, now she knew something was going on. Ron hated her grandfather.
“Come on, Wardell.” Honey took him by the hand. “Let’s give them some privacy.”
The fierce look he and Honey gave Ron settled Charlie’s nerves. She hadn’t had anyone in her corner like these two geriatric superheroes since she left Zachsville. This is what she wanted for The Pod. A life where he or she was treasured and protected. “We’ll be in the kitchen, Charlie. You yell if you need anything,” Wardell said.
“Anything,” Honey agreed. She turned her attention to Ron. “Mister, if you try any funny business, I won’t stop Wardell from cuttin’ your tallywacker clean off.” To reiterate her point, she made scissors with her fingers and mimed cutting.
Charlie bit her lip to keep from laughing when Ron shivered next to her. She didn’t blame him. It was clear that Honey was dead-dog serious.
Ron waited until they were out of the room before he led her to the sofa. Then he sat on the coffee table in front of her and clasped his hands in his lap. “Charlie, can you tell me what happened?”
His empathetic gaze caressed her face like he was auditioning to be the next Oprah. Good grief. How stupid did he and Marci think she was? He’d never asked her opinion on anything. Ron was terrific at his job because of his single-minded approach and focus. Not because he polled the room to see what everyone else wanted to do. “I’m not marrying you, Ron.”
He leaned forward, rested his elbows on his knees and placed his hands over her clutched fists. “But why? Is it because you think I don’t care for you? I assure you that’s not true.”
She extracted her hands from his and crossed her arms. “No, that’s not it. I know you care for me.”
“Good—”
“Like any manager cares for his client and the money they can make him.”
He reeled back like she’d punched him. Honestly, he should be the one with the acting career. “What?”
She stood and moved out of his reach. “Just stop it, Ron. I’m not buying this crap you’re peddling. I don’t know what this good cop, bad cop thing you and Marci have going on is, but it’s not working. I’m not marrying you.”
Some of his affability slipped, but he caught it before it fell away completely. He stood and tried to move to her, but she put her grandfather’s recliner between them.
“Charlie, listen to reason.”
“Call Marci back in here.”
“What? Why?”
“Forget it. I’ll do it.” She marched to the screen door, swung it open, and almost hit her publicist in the nose. “Marci, I need you to come inside.”
“Okay.” The trepidation in Marci’s voice was palpable. She gave Ron a questioning look, but her manager just shrugged, clearly tiring of this game.
“Sit, please.” Charlie indicated the sofa. They both remained standing. Fine. She could do this standing up. “I appreciate everything you both have done for me, and how you tried to take care of me when my mom wasn’t around.”
“That’s our job, Charlie.” Marci sincerely broke off a tiny piece of her scarred heart.
It was only their job. She was their job, and she was bone sick of it all. “I appreciate that, Marci.” The words were like jagged rocks rolling up her throat. “But I’m not going to marry Ron, or anyone else. If Carousel won’t take me as I am, then they can keep their job. I don’t wa
nt them anyway.”
“They won’t accept it. I can promise you that.” The smug, condescending expression on Ron’s face severed one more tie between them. They really did think she was the stupidest person in the world.
She shrugged. “Then we’ll do something else. Surely there’s someone else that will hire me. Or I can go to auditions. I’m not too good for that.”
The color of Ron’s face was an alarming shade of red. She’d never seen him this mad. “And what roles are you going to audition for, Charlie? Knocked-up best friend? Pregnant girl number one? No one will hire you while you’re pregnant.”
“Then I’ll wait until I’m not pregnant to begin to look for another role.” That could work, couldn’t it?
“Charlie, in seven months you’ll be irrelevant. A has-been.” Marci did seem truly sad about that.
“Here’s the deal, Charlie.” Ron’s hair stood out in every direction from plowing his fingers through it. “Either you marry me, and we pursue the Carousel deal, or Marci and I walk.”
Her gaze shot from one to the other. “You would really do that? I mean so little to you two that you would dump me just like that?”
Neither said a word, but the guilty expression painted on Marci’s face said it all. They did mean it. “Oh.” They would leave her. What would she do without them? The answer was perfectly, wonderfully clear. Any damn thing she wanted. She’d be free. “I understand.”
“Good. I think if we rub a little money in JP Norris’s palm, then we can get him to do the ceremony now.” Ron had that crazed look in his eye that he got when he was about to close the deal.
Charlie gave them both a sad smile and moved to the door. She opened the screen and stood with her back to it, one foot in the house and the other on the porch. “I accept your resignation as my representation. You’ll understand if we don’t invite you to stay for dinner.”
They both just stared at her like they didn’t speak the language.
“I said, goodbye.”
Marci rushed to her and tried to take her hand. She calmly pulled it away. “Charlie, don’t be like this.”
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