by Cassie Reed
He gave a nod. “That’s nice of you.”
She took a deep breath, seeming to try to calm herself. “I would offer you wine but you said you prefer not to make business decisions when you’ve been drinking.”
“Only there’s no decision left to make,” he told her. “I’m helping you. End of story.”
She gazed up at him, a look of relief in her eyes before she turned away. “In that case,” she said, going over to retrieve her handbag and placing it on the kitchen island beside them. Removing her wallet, she began to count out a handful of bills.
“You always carry that much cash?” Trayce asked.
“I was prepared for negotiations,” she said. “And I wanted to be as convincing as possible.” She slid a stack of bills in his direction. “Here you go.”
He took them into his hand, feeling their satisfying weight in his palm. Maybe she wasn’t doing as bad as he thought. “Thanks,” he murmured, lifting his arms to check the sides of the robe for a place to stash it. No pockets.
A bell chimed from somewhere in the house, catching Olivia’s attention. She looked at him. “That must be your pants.”
5
“Hi, thanks so much for coming!”
Olivia must have said that line more times than she could count in the past two hours, but as the guest of honor and glorified ambassador for the LA Commuter Train, it was her job to make everyone feel welcome, from city diplomats to curious fans to hopeful commuters. It was a gloriously sunny Friday afternoon, and as the occasional breeze kissed her skin, she couldn’t help but feel positive. Despite what was only moments away from happening. . .
Her life-threatening stunt with Trayce Bradford.
Olivia’s stomach did somersaults.
Speaking of Trayce, she thought as she covertly studied the crowd that had gathered. Where was he? Had that tall, handsome drink of water taken her money and ran? Figures. Even if she had seen him in his underwear already, she still barely knew him. People who worked in Hollywood rarely matched the characters they portrayed, and Trayce was no Captain Patriot. He didn’t even have the hair.
Then again, that hadn’t stopped her from thinking he was insanely attractive, despite her frustrations that night back at the house. The bathrobe she had given him had barely fit around his shoulders, leaving his strong chest and hard stomach mostly exposed, and she had managed to dry his jeans so fast that they seemed just a little bit tighter when he put them on again.
“Olivia!” a high-pitch voice prompted her out of her thoughts and she pasted a smile onto her face before even realizing who it was.
“Gillian,” she replied brightly.
Great.
Gillian Jenkins, actress extraordinaire, at least in Gillian’s not-so-humble opinion, stood before her with a plastic smile on her face. The two had worked together years ago on a TV pilot that went nowhere, but even back then Olivia could tell the pretty redhead was the fakest of the fake, and someone who never seemed to be in short supply of a cutting remark or two.
“I feel like it’s been ages since we’ve seen each other,” Gillian said, her green eyes widening with interest before a look of manufactured sympathy crossed her face. “How are you, dear?”
“Fabulous,” Olivia replied good-naturedly. Maybe fabulous was a bit of an overstatement, but she refused to let Gillian see her squirm. At that very moment, she noticed Mia walking up to them, and she nearly let out a sigh of relief. Thank goodness. “Mia!”
“In the flesh,” Mia replied with a deliberate grimace in Gillian’s direction that she quickly turned into a smile. “Gillian.”
“Well, as I live and breathe, if it isn’t my favorite aspirin spokeswoman,” Gillian replied. “I used to see your commercial on TV all the time, but not so much anymore. I hope the checks aren’t drying up for you.”
“Judging by that dress, she’s doing just fine,” Olivia interjected. “You’re the definition of stunning today, Mia.”
“Why thank you.”
“I heard they originally asked three separate entertainers to be here today, but all of their schedules were full,” Gillian said, turning her attention back to Olivia. “Good thing you were free.”
Olivia smiled. “Well, I’m surprised they didn’t ask you, seeing as you were obviously available today.”
Gillian’s face melted into a scowl that she quickly erased into a serene expression of civility. “Good luck with the ribbon-cutting, Olivia.” They watched her walk off.
“Don’t mind her,” Mia said. “You know she’s full of crap anyway.”
“I know,” Olivia agreed, but the confrontation, along with the impending ceremony, had created the perfect cocktail to frazzle her nerves. “Thanks for coming, by the way.”
“I wouldn’t miss it for the world,” Mia said, a curious look coming over her face. “Are we. . .going to see something exciting today?”
“Of course,” Olivia confirmed, a wry smile crossing her face. “Trains are always exciting.”
“Maybe if you’re six years old,” Mia replied with a grin.
“Olivia! Oh, where is Olivia?” Erica Marino, city commissioner and the ceremony’s officiating agent, could be heard saying.
“I better get over there,” Olivia said, touching Mia’s shoulder. “Wish me luck.”
She strode over to where the yellow ribbon had been put in place, smiling as she greeted various members from the planning commission and finally shaking hands with Erica. “Commissioner Marino, thanks so much for having me.”
The stately woman smiled kindly at Olivia. “Should we get started then?”
“Of course,” she agreed, turning around to face the gathered crowd. Her stomach had already tightened into a rigid knot when her eyes landed on him in the crowd.
Trayce.
He had really came.
Which meant only one thing. She was really going to have to go through with the plan now. There was no turning back, not if she wanted to get her money’s worth, and get her career back on track.
Speaking of tracks. . .
Olivia turned slightly, eyeing the train tracks below her. It was at least a ten foot drop down to the bottom. Trayce was right. This was absolutely risky as all get out. But as her eyes landed on Gillian, watching her judgmentally from the crowd, she realized she had no choice. She would rather risk it all than lose it all, and right now, she was about halfway there with the latter.
The commissioner’s words flew by her as she concentrated on her breathing. In and out, in and out. This would be just like any other scene she had ever prepared for, and prepare she had. Not only on the edge of the pool with Trayce, but continually throughout that week, watching herself in the mirror lean back ever so slightly, her heels carrying most of her weight as her arms rounded in uncertain circles. Would she fall, would she not fall? Certainly, Trayce was going to swoop in and save her, wasn’t he? She met eyes with him briefly, but he seemed to stare straight through her. Whatever he was doing, he had an excellent poker face and that had been exactly what she asked for.
Applause. More applause. Olivia glanced covertly at her watch. What was taking so long? The train would be arriving any minute, but Erica’s speech continued to drone on.
“Well, I’m getting ahead of myself,” Erica finally yielded. “Why don’t I turn things over to our guest of honor today? You probably already recognize her. Please, give a warm welcome to Oscar-winning actress Olivia Warner!”
Olivia stepped forward, waving to the clapping crowd. The applause felt so good she began to realize just how much she missed it. “Thank you so much, everyone,” she said brightly. “I’m so glad to be here today.” She hesitated, her mind thoroughly distracted. The remarks about the train, she prompted herself. That was right. “This is truly a momentous occasion for the city of Los Angeles. . .”
She moved through her speech with relative ease, and before she knew it she was hefting the large ribbon-cutting shears into her hands. Turning towards the train tracks to make
the cut, she heard Erica say, “Should we do a countdown?”
Olivia pasted a cheery smile onto her face. “Why not?”
“Okay, everyone, on three—no, sorry, on five—”
Oh, brother.
Whatever Erica was doing, it was definitely throwing Olivia off her game. She poised the heavy scissors above the ribbon and waited.
“Five! Four! Three! Two! And one!”
The scissors clashed with the stubborn ribbon as Olivia wrenched them up and down, gritting her teeth. It was a good thing she was turned away from the crowd. Cripes, she thought. What is this, some kind of joke ribbon that won’t cut? That would be just what she needed, another viral video of her doing something embarrassing.
Mercifully, the ribbon fell away, yellow strands of plastic parting away from the tracks. Olivia turned around triumphantly, hoisting the scissors overhead like a trophy. The crowd applauded, smiling faces beamed at her, and suddenly. . .It seemed like enough.
Maybe this was just the type of press she needed, showing up for the community, being a part of an important new service that would change people’s lives. It was nothing but positive and showed her commitment to the city that had made her.
But suddenly, her weight seemed to tip back as though from muscle memory. Olivia gasped, the scissors falling from her hands and down onto the side of the tracks below with a resonating clatter. The noise seemed to mock her. It really was a long way down.
Her breath caught in her chest and her arms twirled desperately. Losing her balance for real was, unsurprisingly, more terrifying than losing her balance as an act. Risky, Trayce’s words echoed in her head. He was right. What had she been thinking?
The crowd gasped in front of her, but everyone seemed frozen in place, too shocked by what they were about to witness. As she tipped further backwards, her ears picked up the faint sound of a train whistle. Her eyes snapped open, gaping at the blue sky overhead.
This is how it ends.
There were screams. And then. . .
A strong arm circling around her waist. Pulling her upright, pressing her body against his.
Trayce.
The train whizzed by behind them, gleefully unaware as it made its grand debut.
Olivia’s whole body seemed to shiver as she stared into Trayce’s eyes. He had saved her, just the way he had said he would. Her fists curled around the fabric of his shirt. “Don’t let me go,” she uttered.
“I’ve got you,” he told her, pulling her close. “And I promise, I won’t let you go.”
6
The plan had gone off without a hitch.
By the time Trayce got home, or rather, got back to his brother’s apartment where he had been staying most nights ever since the accident, Layton was asleep. A movie quietly streamed on his laptop beside him, but Trayce could see at least someone had stopped by, either a friend or a helpful neighbor, and brought him some takeout for dinner. That would be one last thing Trayce had to worry about, but he almost could have used the distraction from thinking about just what exactly had all gone down at the train station that afternoon.
If Olivia Warner wanted to prove she could act, she had sure pulled out all the stops. Trayce could have sworn, as he rushed over to save her just in the nick of time, that she was actually falling. If he had been one or two seconds later. . .he didn’t want to think about it.
He was just glad she was safe.
As strange as she was. Miss Goody Two-Shoes with a side of prim and proper and too many bad ideas for her own good.
He shook his head, lying prone on Layton’s couch.
So why couldn’t he stop thinking about her?
Maybe to distract from his own frustrations with himself. He had enabled her after all, agreed to that one, big, bad idea. Then again, now he could pay Layton’s rent for another month, worry free. Less financial stress would go a long way toward his brother’s recovery, and more than anything, Trayce wanted to see him back on his feet again. It would be up to Layton whether or not he wanted to return to stunt work. Trayce wanted to believe he would support him no matter what, but the thought of him returning to an industry that was still so worn down by antiquated regulations, ones that had left him without catastrophic coverage when catastrophe was a very real threat in their profession, made him nervous. Trayce had been lucky enough to sign on to the Captain Patriot project, banking him the allotted hours required to qualify for medical coverage according to the union. But for others like Layton, stuntmen who split their time between multiple smaller projects, that hourly requirement was a goal out of reach. The problem was, the only people with the power to change that were the heads and chair people of the unions themselves.
Trayce sighed, feeling a familiar tension begin to build in him once again.
One thing at a time, he had to remind himself. He would try rallying for change once things settled down and Layton was in better shape. But for now, between his own work and playing caretaker, his plate was full.
His thoughts returned to Olivia as easily as a gust of wind could move a dandelion seed. It had become downright annoying how ever since he had crossed paths with her, she hadn’t left his mind, but he finally came to the realization that she had been a welcome reprieve from everything he had been dealing with lately.
Only. . .it was over now.
She would probably send him the rest of the cash via mobile, and the next time he would see her would be, well, never.
Good riddance, he told himself. Crazy woman.
At the same time, watching one of her movies didn’t sound half as bad as it had before.
***
The city slept. Just before dawn seemed to be the most peaceful time in LA, when even traffic seemed to evaporate. Trayce had woke up early to get Layton set up for the day before heading back to his own apartment for a shower and a change of clothes before heading to the movie studio. Captain Patriot’s heroic backflips weren’t going to do themselves.
Unlocking his front door, his own place seemed almost foreign, so much that he hit his shin on his own coffee table when he walked inside. Trayce hissed in pain. Funny how something like that hurt way more than any fall or wayward punch he had ever received on the job.
Freshly showered and dressed, he clenched a bagel between his jaws as he locked the door to his apartment behind him. Turning around, his eyes widened in surprise at what he saw, the bagel falling to the ground and rolling away.
He let out a silent curse.
That had been his last one.
“Trayce Bradford? Channel 4 News. Would you mind giving an interview for this morning’s newscast?” a reporter, microphone in hand, asked him as a camera panned toward his face.
“Uh,” Trayce uttered. How had they found him, and so quickly? His mind traced back to the day before at the train station. Olivia had been fine but people had still rushed to her aid, sweeping her out of his arms like a tsunami of concerned waves. He had watched her from afar as first responders took her blood pressure and checked her for cuts and bruises. A uniformed policeman or two wandered about as city officials talked amongst themselves. He had given his name to someone in the middle of it all, distracted by the action and too uncomfortable to just walk off like nothing had happened. Eventually, things had cooled down and he had been able to make his exit, thinking that was the last time he would have to deal with any of it.
Well, the joke was certainly on him now.
“Interview about what?” he said, playing dumb. If he acted clueless enough maybe they would think they had the wrong Trayce Bradford. He knew he should have worn a disguise.
“About the incident at the train station,” the reporter said. “How does it feel to know you saved Olivia Warner’s life?”
Trayce shrugged. “I guess you could say it feels as good as saving anyone else’s life,” he replied. “But I’m not sure it’s that serious. She seems fine, and I’m fine so. . .thanks for coming.” He eyed his motorcycle parked a few yards away. If he made a run f
or it maybe he could get on and speed away before they were able to follow him. Then again, if he ran it would look like he had something to hide.
Which he absolutely did as sure as some of Olivia’s cash was still in his pocket.
Cautiously, Trayce began to walk toward the parked bike.
“Are you married, Trayce? Any kids? Tell us more about yourself,” the reporter prompted.
“No. No,” Trayce said, answering the first two questions. “And no. I gotta get to work, guys.”
“Where do you work?” he heard the reporter say as he pulled on his helmet.
“LA,” he replied simply before starting his motorcycle with a roar. “Have a nice day.” He hit the gas and the bike tore away, leaving the reporter and her camera crew in the dust. He had never felt so free and so burdened at the same time. His mind churned with questions as he made his way down the street. Had he been too aloof? Too quick to shut them down? Did it seem like he was hiding something?
He tossed the thoughts from his mind. They weren’t doing him any good. Lots of people didn’t like talking to the press, he reminded himself, especially in this town. If they really wanted to talk to someone, they would have to go find Olivia, hell, she would probably welcome it. Of course, they would need the code to her gated mansion first. The code that he had, that he had somehow committed to memory.
Just like her face.
And that body.
If he tried hard enough, he could still remember the feeling he got from holding her. It gave him an adrenaline rush better than any one he had ever got on a movie set.
Oh well.
That was over now.
The press would find Olivia, leave him alone, and that would be the last he would ever have to hear about it again. Only something inside him told him that was far too optimistic to be true. He could sense a storm brewing, and it threatened to get both he and Olivia soaking wet.
7
Olivia was already up when she heard her housekeeper, Patrice, come in the front door just after dawn. Rubbing the sleep from her eyes, she clicked on the flatscreen that hung on her bedroom wall and nearly fell out of bed as a familiar face filled the screen.