by Freya Barker
When I arrived in town earlier, I went straight to her apartment but her car was not there. Grant saw me parked at the end of the driveway and came outside.
“She’s at the nursing home. She had meetings with Connie’s doctor, the social worker, and a physical therapist, to discuss a plan for her mom’s care.”
“She still planning to work tonight?”
“Said she’d be heading straight there after.”
So I’ve been hanging around the hotel, grabbing a quick bite to eat, and warning hotel security we’ll be invading their space again as of tomorrow, generally killing time.
The moment I see her car pull into the parking lot, I move, catching her off-guard, as much with my presence as I do with my words. Fuck, I surprise myself. I’m not sure I ever told anyone I missed them—I can’t be sure I’ve ever actually felt that before.
She’s visibly confused when I explain why I’m already back and doesn’t protest when I pull her to where my truck is parked, helping her inside.
“I’m gonna be late.”
“I just need a few minutes,” I assure her.
“Can’t we do this inside?”
Rather than explain the why, I decide to tackle the what.
“Steele is being blackmailed. He’s already paid once, a relatively small amount, but this week he was contacted again, this time for substantially more.” If I weren’t already sure she had nothing to do with the extortion, the expression on her face would have made it crystal clear.
“You’re shitting me...” she whispers, shocked.
“I shit you not.”
“But...” I see the wheels start turning as her eyebrows pull into a frown and her eyes drift off into the distance. “Who else would know?” She’s barely finished the thought and her gaze snaps back, eyes slitted. “You think it’s me.” It’s more a statement than a question, and she shifts her body instantly, pressing her back against the door.
“Not even for a second,” I tell her with conviction, reaching over to grab her hand.
“Does your boss?”
“He doesn’t think it’s you, necessarily, but he still wants to talk to you, just to clear a few things up.”
“Oh my God—do they think because I haven’t been at work...?”
“Yanis and Dimi both know what happened to your mother, so no, they don’t think anything of the sort. But they have a client—with over sixty mil riding on this—who needs to be satisfied on that front too. Hence making sure they can eliminate you from suspicion, right off the bat.”
I pull her on my lap the moment I see her lip tremble.
“This has been a really fucking shitty day,” she mumbles, her face pressed into my neck. “Nothing like I’d planned for. I haven’t even started my shift and already I’m exhausted.”
“Do you have to go in?”
“I already told them I’d be there.”
“Call in sick,” I push.
“I could lose my job,” she counters, but I can hear capitulation in her voice.
“Would that be so bad?” I suggest carefully. “I realize this job may give you a sense of stability, when your world’s been spinning on its axis, but isn’t this also an opportunity to find something you really want to do? For you?”
She lifts her head and looks me in the eye, a smile playing on her lips.
“You just want to get me home and back in bed.”
“That too,” I admit, grinning. “That too.”
In the end she goes inside to talk to her manager, while I wait not so patiently in my truck. I hop out when she comes back out fifteen minutes later, with her shoulders a little straighter, and walks straight toward me.
“Well, he wasn’t too happy with the short notice,” she says, slipping her arms around my waist. “But he said they’d manage. One of the girls on days apparently has been wanting to go on nights. He says if I want, we can do a straight switch, but he’d prefer I take a few days to consider and make sure. Says to let him know by Monday.”
She lifts her much more relaxed, smiling face up at me, and I cover her smile with my mouth.
“My place or yours?” I ask when I finally come up for air.
“Yours,” she answers with a grin. “We both fit in your kitchen at the same time and your bed’s bigger.”
CHAPTER 16
ROSIE
“I have to get to going.” Jake sits on the edge of the bed and brushes the hair from my face. I quickly wipe the back of my hand over my mouth in case of stray drool. “With the entire film crew invading the hotel again, I need to make sure security is in place.”
“Okay,” I mumble, still tired. Almost ten hours of sleep hasn’t made much of a dent in the fatigue that feels like it’s settled bone-deep.
Jake had thrown together a taco salad when we got to his place, while I talked to Grant, who was already blowing up my phone to find out where I was. By the time I ended the call, Jake was walking in from the kitchen, carrying two metal mixing bowls and handing me one. I teased him about the interesting presentation of his culinary creation, to which he pointed out he was just being practical.
I fell asleep halfway through an episode of Person Of Interest he put on, and somehow dreamt that Jim Caviezel carried me to bed.
“Honey,” Jake’s voice drags me back from the edge of sleep. “You’re welcome to stay in bed all day, in fact, I’d fucking love knowing you were waiting here for me, but you don’t have wheels here in case of an emergency.”
I groan, but still shove the covers off and swing my legs over the side. Somehow I ended up wearing one of Jake’s shirts. His doing, I’m sure, since I can’t remember much beyond falling asleep to Jim Caviezel’s sexy rasp.
“I’m wearing this home,” I tell him, tugging on the hem of his shirt, which nicely covers my butt.
“Fine by me.” He grins while I put my uniform pants back on.
I’ll have a shower when I get to the apartment. With a bit of luck, I’ll catch Grant making breakfast before he crashes for the day.
“I need to brush my teeth,” I announce, running my tongue along my fuzzy teeth. God, I hope he didn’t get a whiff of that. My mouth tastes like old taco salad. Not appealing at all.
“Check the third drawer by the sink. I usually throw the crap they give me at the dentist in there. Should be a spare toothbrush somewhere. I’ll pour a coffee to go for us.”
“The dentist?” I question. For some reason it strikes me as so ordinary, when nothing about this man really is. He turns around at the door.
“Twice a year for cleaning.”
“Sorry,” I mumble at his hint of sarcasm. “I just couldn’t imagine your badass self in a dentist chair, that’s all.”
“I got one set of teeth, I’d prefer to keep them as long as possible. Now—third drawer,” he orders, pointing to the bathroom. “I’ll get the coffee.”
IT’S ALMOST NINE BY the time I pull my PT in the driveway next to Grant’s car.
I expect him to be asleep already, but when I peek in the kitchen window on the side of the house, I’m surprised to find him still awake and behind the stove. His head shoots up when I knock on the window, and he motions me to come inside.
“I didn’t expect you back this early.”
“Jake had stuff to do at the hotel and my car was still there,” I explain, stealing a few pieces of the apple Grant is meticulously slicing wafer thin. “What are you all doing? I half-expected you to be in bed already?”
“I felt the need to cook,” he says, blinking his eyes innocently. It takes me a moment, but then I clue in when one side of his mouth tilts up in a suggestive grin.
“Ah, you heard,” I conclude with a grin of my own.
“I heard, although not from the man himself. He’s been pretty quiet these past few weeks, busy from what I understand, but in his last message he said he’d been dreaming of my apple tarts.”
“And so you’re making apple tarts.” I look around the kitchen where it’s obvious he�
�s been busy already. “To go with the quiches and the...what are those?” I poke my finger at the mounds on a baking tray that appear to be rising under a towel.
“Don’t poke them!” He slaps at my hands. “Those are Bapao, they’re rising.”
“But what are they?”
“It’s a stuffed bun. I put some of my Cajun pulled chicken in there, but from what I gather, you can fill it with just about anything. They’re supposed to be steamed.”
“Your first time making them?” He looks a bit sheepish at my question.
“Got the recipe off a Dutch cooking website, and don’t look at me like that.” He points a finger in my face when I grin.
“How am I looking at you?” I tease. “Like I just deducted, quite smartly I might add, that your boyfriend is not as we assumed Scandinavian, but Dutch? And that you are aiming to impress with your culinary skills?”
“Whatever,” he grumbles, turning back to his apples. “I discovered they’re originally Indonesian anyway.”
“What is?”
“The freaking buns!”
Grant is testy, and other than the fact he hasn’t slept yet, I’m guessing he’s testy because he didn’t hear from the man himself that he’d be coming back to town today. I’m thinking I might be pissy too.
“Here, move over,” I tell him, grabbing one of his man-sized aprons off the hook and putting it on; mostly to protect Jake’s shirt, which I’m really starting to love. Grant gives me a look, top to bottom, before stepping aside and grabbing another paring knife from the block.
“You peel, I slice,” he grumbles. “And for God’s sake, don’t cut your finger off. I don’t want blood all over my kitchen and have to throw all this food out.”
“So noted.” I nod affirmatively, biting on my lip not to grin.
“Nice shirt, by the way.” He bumps my hip with his, without taking his eyes of his hands.
“Right?” I grin wide. “It’s Jake’s.”
“Nice. Would look better on him, though.”
“Grant?”
“Hmmm...”
“Bite me.”
“Wrong flavor, Rosebud.”
I DON’T HEAR FROM JAKE until I walk out onto the nursing home parking lot, late afternoon.
“Hey you,” I answer, a smile already on my face.
I’d finally convinced Grant to at least take a nap, since he’d have to work again that night, and headed up to my apartment to have a shower and finally change. I left Jake’s shirt folded and tucked under my pillow. I’d be sleeping in that baby tonight.
Visiting with Mom had been rather one-sided since she was sleeping a lot. The nurse told me it could be a result of her medication, and they would have the doctor take a look in the morning.
My plan was to maybe splurge on a couple of steaks, grab some baking potatoes and sour cream, and use Grant’s grill and backyard for a nice meal. I have the fixings for a salad in my fridge.
“I was just thinking of picking up some food and cook for you. I assume you like steak? I think Grant may have inspired me, I found him cooking up a storm this morning. He heard Olaf was coming back today. Is everyone back at the hotel yet?”
I realize I’m rambling and he hasn’t said a peep yet.
“Jake?”
JAKE
The only saving grace today was finding out that this coming week will be the final week of shooting.
There is something about the air of entitlement these movie people collectively carry, that just rubs me the wrong way. Shortly upon arriving to the hotel, Steele caused a ruckus when he insisted on settling in the bar, presumably to catch up on any drinking he may have missed out on the past couple of weeks. All it took was one groupie to spot him, snap a picture, and plaster it all over social media, and within ten minutes the bar was overrun with a mob of fans. We finally had to extract him and he had the fucking balls to get upset. The day went downhill from there.
It’s only been two weeks that the cast and crew were on location, but apparently it was enough for everyone to forget security protocols. It wasn’t only Steele who went looking for some diversion, after spending two weeks in a trailer down a canyon. I spent the day tracking down and collecting more folks, who were eager to break free for a couple of hours. One of the other actors got into an altercation in a restaurant and ended up needing a ride to the emergency room to get stitches.
I just dropped him back at the hotel when I find Yanis waiting for me in the lobby.
“A word?”
He tilts his head in the direction of the coffee shop, and I follow behind, ordering a plain coffee when we get to the counter.
“That was the one and only time you get a pass for taking off like that,” Yanis says, in a deceptively calm voice, when we take a seat at a corner table. “I can’t have my people running off in the middle of an assignment because of a temper tantrum.” I have to bite my tongue not to jump in and defend myself, but the truth is; he’s right. So I suck it up and let him get on with ripping me a new one. “I have to be able to trust every member of my team implicitly, or things go to shit. I can’t have one of you go off on a tangent and leave the rest of the team hanging. If you have an issue with an assignment, with me, or anybody else, you fucking talk it out, you don’t bail.”
Being accused of bailing on my team hits a nerve with me. If the three tours in the Middle East taught me anything, it’s you’re only as strong as your weakest team member. I bet Yanis knows it would hit home, but that doesn’t make it any less true.
“Agreed.”
He looks at me to make sure I’m not just blowing smoke before he prompts, “So fucking talk to me.”
“It’s wrong,” I start after a pregnant pause. “We protect Steele’s guilty ass at all cost, and yet don’t think twice about throwing accusations at an innocent, hard-working woman who devotes her time taking care of her ailing mother. That’s fucking wrong.” I expect him to jump on that, but all he does is nod. “I’m having a hard time justifying that in my head—and not just because I happen to be involved with this particular woman.”
“Involved?” Yanis bounces back with a grin. “Anyway,” he continues, his expression turning serious. “I hear you. The sooner we can wrap up this assignment, the better. One more week of feeding inflated egos, and making sure we fulfill our contract, then our responsibilities end. But for now we’ve gotta please the customer, even if it’s not always pleasant...which brings me back to Ms. Perkins.”
“I’m guessing you want to talk to her?”
“Look,” he says, leaning over the table so he can keep his voice down. “Drexler and his sidekick, that Berry guy, are impatient to shut this blackmail issue down. I’ve not mentioned Rosie, but Drexler is no fool; he will eventually wonder about her if he hasn’t already. I’d rather be ahead of the game, before he decides to take matters into his own hands. Sixty plus million dollars is a heck of an incentive to play hardball and not care about who gets bowled over in the process. I don’t want your girl to be at the receiving end of that, so give me a chance to clear her name off the list of suspects.”
I walk outside for some privacy when I call Rosie, who answers instantly. Her upbeat chatter puts a smile on my face, and I hate having to bring down her good mood.
“Jake?” I hear her ask.
“Still here. Steak sounds great, Rosie, but how about we do that tomorrow, unless you don’t mind an extra mouth to feed?”
“Extra mouth?”
“Yanis wants to clear things up with you, as soon as possible, and I thought maybe we could grab a bite somewhere? Neutral ground? Unless I bring him over...whatever works better for you.”
“Oh.” The single syllable, and the silence that follows, hold many messages. I don’t prompt her but quietly wait her out. “I guess maybe going somewhere public might be best then?”
“Want me to come by and pick you up? You think of someplace you want to go, and I’ll let Yanis know.”
“We could do Mexican at that pl
ace down Main Street? I’m actually just getting in my car, I’m up at St. Mary’s, I’ll just drive myself there.”
I’d rather pick her up, but I’m not going to argue about that now. “I know the place. Fifteen, twenty minutes?” I suggest instead.
“Sure.”
Yanis is where I left him, sitting at the table in the coffee shop, except Drexler is standing next to him. The two seem to be in a rather heated discussion when I walk up and fall silent the moment they spot me.
“I have a conference call in a few minutes,” Drexler announces. “We’ll get back to this later.” The last is directed at my boss, whose face is blank, but I can tell from the scathing glare he throws at the man, he’s not a happy camper.
“What was that all about?” I ask Yanis when Drexler walks away.
“What you’d expect, the man wants answers I don’t have. Not yet.” He watches as Drexler gets on the elevator before turning to me, switching topics. “And? Is this a good time?”
“She’ll meet us at that Mexican place down the road in fifteen. It’s not even a ten minute walk from here.”
“Then let’s walk. I could use some fresh air.”
WE’VE BEEN SITTING in a small booth in the back of the restaurant for fifteen minutes, talking shop, when the waitress stops at our table again.
“I’ll just leave these here,” she says, dropping menus on the table. “In case your guest doesn’t show up.”
Getting worried, I pull out my phone to check on Rosie when I spot her walking in the front door. She finds us easily and shoots me a repentant smile as she approaches.
“Sorry,” she apologizes, right off the bat. “I couldn’t find a spot and ended up parking the car at the hotel. I just walked over.”
Yanis jumps up and offers his hand in introduction. “Not a problem. Parking around Main Street is a nightmare in the summer,” he says, clearly trying to ease the tension coming off her. Still, Rosie smiles nervously as she slips into the booth beside me. I wink and give her knee a little squeeze under the table in support. “Your mom doing all right?” he asks, as he takes his seat across from us.