Chapter 19 INT. HOTEL BALLROOM—NIGHT
Chapter 19
INT. HOTEL BALLROOM—NIGHT
Two Weeks Later
Zoya stood just inside the entrance to the party in a black column dress, chugging from a full bottle of champagne.
“I see you all got started without me,” Cole said as he walked in.
“Cole!” She flung her empty arm around his waist and pressed her cheek to his shoulder. “Glad you could make it! Congratulations!”
He could hear the exclamation points in her voice. She was already hammered—which, fair. She’d worked harder than anyone else over the last four months, and her drudgery was only beginning. Cole hoped she had one heck of a breather planned before postproduction.
The last couple of weeks of principal photography for Waverley had been about what Cole imagined mud wrestling in August would be like, with the mud getting thick and stodgy and the grapplers more and more exhausted. They weren’t at the mercy of the weather in the studio, so there hadn’t been any interruptions. It had seemed like Zoya found entirely new pockets of time—early midmorning before your second coffee, and after the dinner break but not quite night—and they filmed around the clock. Shot by shot, they’d gotten what she needed, and they’d finished just after lunch this afternoon.
“Thanks.” He rubbed her back. “You too.”
She released him and took another swig from her bottle. “It’s the best work of your career, you know.”
He really wanted to believe that, but he didn’t. He couldn’t. It felt almost too scary to think his attempt at getting his career off the ground again was over, and he wouldn’t know if it had worked until the show debuted.
He shrugged and tried to play it off. “You have to say that.”
“I do not. Take Dale. This was not the best work of his career. He was kind of crap, actually. We’ll cut as much of him out in editing as possible and blame the studio.”
“Champagne is like truth serum for you. Good to know.”
“Oops.” But Zoya didn’t seem particularly regretful.
“Your secret—well, secrets —are safe with me.”
“Yeah, don’t tell Dale. It’s true, but it’s kind of bitchy. From you, though”—she kissed her fingertips—“amazing. Everyone’s going to have so much fun watching you fall.”
This felt like tempting fate, and he’d always been a little superstitious.
“Well, I couldn’t have done it without you.” That was vague enough to say safely ... he hoped. “Thank you for believing in me. For giving me this chance.” Cole signaled to Esme, who was leaning against the wall, casually keeping one eye on her boss. “She’s going to need a minder. And maybe don’t let her near Dale.”
Zoya said, “Pfft,” and took another swig of champagne.
“On it,” Esme assured him.
“Have you seen Maggie?”
The assistant tipped her head knowingly. “Not yet.”
Now that filming was over, in the tiny window before he had to get back to LA, Cole had only one thought: Maggie.
She hadn’t been on set today, as there had been no intimacy in the final day’s sides, but she’d promised him she would be at the wrap party. His entire plan for the evening involved finding her and getting out the words that he’d tried to say at the botanical gardens: he was wild about her.
The timing was crap. Cole didn’t need to be jumping into a relationship right as his career comeback finally hit—assuming that it hit. But this had gone from something he’d thought Huh, maybe about to being the only thing in his life he knew with 100 percent certainty.
He was in love with Maggie Niven.
There wasn’t any way he couldn’t not tell her. And since she’d almost moaned when he’d grazed the back of her hand at the greenhouse, he was pretty sure she felt the same way.
So despite the bad timing, he had to come clean. Falling this hard, this completely, for someone this perfect didn’t happen every day. In Cole’s life, it had never happened. It was unique. She was unique. That surely outweighed something as trivial as how and when they’d met.
Cole made the rounds: shaking hands, distributing good words, and taking selfies. And when he’d begun to worry Maggie was going to stand him up, he finally spied her, chatting with Ryan by the snack table. The tension in his shoulders eased, and he knew he was smiling like a loon as he wove across the room.
Not trusting himself to touch Maggie, he greeted the stunt coordinator first, bumping Ryan’s fist with his. “Hey, man. You don’t usually hit these things.”
Ryan was all about the job and tended not to mix with the talent and crew much, unless—
“I see you’re here too.” Tasha’s expression was pure boredom, as if she wasn’t glad to be done and didn’t care about any of this. She held a glass of white wine loosely in one hand. If she’d paired it with a cigarette in the other, she would’ve been ready to play a jaded socialite.
“Gotta celebrate.” He , at least, was feeling festive, now that he’d found Maggie.
“Do we, though?”
Cole didn’t answer that. He just locked eyes with Maggie. He’d gotten used to her typical outfit: jeans and a clingy sweater with practical shoes. Very little jewelry or makeup, and with her hair held out of her eyes with a few bobby pins. He was a huge fan of her typical outfit.
But tonight’s black cocktail dress, with its deep V neckline? The high-heeled shoes? The smear of pink lipstick? The sparkle around the base of her throat? Yeah, he liked those too. Liked them a hell of a lot.
Maggie met his gaze and gave a little shrug, as if she was embarrassed by her effort and embarrassed by his staring. He couldn’t help it. She was the prettiest woman in the room.
“Maggie.” His voice was full of grit, like shoes after walking on the beach.
“Cole.” She took an awkward step toward him, her hand extended as if she wanted to shake.
But that felt wrong . Too formal.
Instead, he set his hand on her waist, so lightly he couldn’t feel her body under her dress. That was too intimate. Too far. But the fabric was warm and made him dizzy, and that was enough.
Maggie tipped her chin back to meet his eyes. The fear, the hope, the anxiety, the longing that were shining there: beat for beat, the same emotions were pinging around his chest.
You’re not alone in this, sweetheart.
Holding himself in check, Cole brushed his lips over her temple, and she sighed. If they weren’t at this party, if they didn’t have an audience—but they did. So after one more second, Cole released her and stepped back.
She looked as dazed as he felt. “How was the, um, last day?” she managed to ask.
“Fine. Kind of anticlimactic, if I’m being honest. I can’t believe it’s over.”
“You did such good work.” Maggie gave herself a shake and forced herself to face Ryan and Tasha. “ All of you did. I’m in awe.”
“My contributions made the show,” Ryan deadpanned.
“Hey, Tasha did some wonderful riding”—the woman in question choked on her wine at Maggie’s unintentional double entendre—“and Cole told me the sword fighting was awesome. And you didn’t kill Dale during the execution scene, so you pretty much did.”
“And you ,” Ryan said, “slayed your first solo job as an IC.”
“The junior IC,” Maggie corrected.
Ryan wasn’t convinced by this at all. “The senior one was where, exactly? You did all the work.”
“Hey, he was recovering from a broken leg, and he did help.”
Cole knew that she had emailed, texted, and talked to Bernard almost every day.
“Uh-huh. Welcome to life as a Hollywood assistant.” Ryan took another pull from his beer. “Take the compliment, and when the reviews come out, remember it’s your work they like.”
Maggie, ever humble, waved this off. “We’ll see what the critics say.”
“Oh, no, fuck the critics,” Tasha scoffed.
“Take the compliment, Niven. You were awesome,” Cole agreed.
And that was when all hell broke loose in the form of Beth Russell and Vincent Minna, strolling arm and arm into the ballroom.
Rage flamed in Cole’s gut, faster and hotter than when you dumped an entire container of charcoal starter on the barbeque. But as he tried to shield Tasha from those assholes and to catch Ryan’s eyes so they could go do something about this situation, she pushed him aside.
The first time Vincent had appeared somewhere he shouldn’t have been, Tasha had shattered like an egg dropped from a second-story window onto a concrete patio. But now, she drew herself up and shot through the air, elegant and deadly as a thrown dagger.
It was much better to see her in weapon mode than cowering.
With his soldier’s reflexes, Ryan was on Tasha’s heels, with Cole and Maggie right behind.
“What the fuck, Mom,” Tasha said. “What are you doing here?”
Cole shouldered Ryan to the side so they could form a wall of backup together. He wanted Vincent to understand that whatever he might try to do to Tasha, he was going to have to do it to Cole and Ryan too.
Over Tasha, he could see her mother. The resemblance between mother and daughter—both blonde; both blue eyed; both with lithe, sporty figures—was powerful. So much so, it almost stung.
Despite having several decades on her kid, Beth Russell was still beautiful. Tonight, with her hair piled up on her head in her signature America’s–sex kitten style and a white sequin-spangled dress, she was the embodiment of a MILF. But Cole knew her, and that shattered the illusion. The woman was poison.
“We’re here to celebrate your accomplishment,” Beth said, her voice smooth and innocuous, as if Tasha’s question didn’t make sense. “Yours and Vincent’s.”
Next to Beth, Vincent was smiling as if the crowd were happy to see him. The guy was a decent actor, given that Ryan looked feral and everyone else was stony faced.
“Vincent didn’t do shit,” Tasha said. “Actually—he did lots of shit. But it isn’t worth celebrating. You need to go.”
“Yes.” Zoya had handed her bottle of champagne off to someone, and she was in full showrunner mode. “This is a closed party.”
“Paid for by the production, and I am the production,” Vincent said.
“Let’s talk about it out in the hall—”
But Tasha interrupted Zoya’s attempt to end this quietly. Looking Vincent directly in the eye, she spit out, “Don’t you realize you’re the shit in the punch bowl? You’re so used to being the most powerful man in the room, you can’t see how things have changed. You don’t have the same kind of clout you once did. You’re not on top anymore. Without the constant string of hits and new Oscars every year, you’re just a creepy, decaying producer, like dozens of others in Holmby Hills. You can’t smother all the whispers, not with social media. It isn’t like in the old days, when the magazines and the papers didn’t want to risk pissing you off. Those whispers are a gathering storm, and you know it. That’s why you’re scared under that suit. So get out—and while you’re running, know I’m done being quiet.”
Vincent did look scared, and while Tasha talked, his complexion got greener. Everything Tasha was saying? He knew it was true.
But Beth Russell didn’t seem to understand, or she was better at bluffing. When Tasha finished, she scoffed. “Can you believe I raised such an ungrateful child?”
Tasha shot her mother a lethal glare. “I can’t even look at you. Him? Him I get. I mean, he’s evil, but I understand. He thought he could get away with it. The way you served me up on a platter for him, though? That’s unforgivable.”
“And we’re done.” Zoya stepped in between Tasha and her mother and signaled to security. “Vincent, Beth, please leave.”
The security guys began to approach, but Vincent clearly understood that he’d lost this battle, if not the war, and he tugged Beth along with him toward the door. As he went, he made a hand motion of curt dismissal to Tasha, to Zoya, to the room. But the gesture only seemed pathetic, because he was the one leaving. He was the pimply kid at the door of the club, screaming that he hadn’t wanted to go anyhow when they wouldn’t let him in.
When the door closed behind the monsters, Zoya melted away, conferring with Esme, probably to figure out the security situation and to get herself another big bottle of champagne. This left the little knot of Cole, Maggie, Tasha, and Ryan alone again.
“Do you want me to take care of that?” Cole gestured toward the door. “Or I could back Ryan up while he takes care of it?”
Actually, letting him take the lead seemed like a better idea. Ryan looked as if he was about to explode.
Tasha set a hand on Ryan’s arm. The message was clear: You are not, under any circumstances, allowed to follow the predator .
“No, it’s okay,” she said to both of them. “You’d just get sent to jail.”
“It’d be worth it.” Besides, Cole had an excellent lawyer on speed dial, a relic from his younger and more irresponsible days. The guy could earn his retainer.
“Trust me, he’s definitely not worth it.”
As hard as it was, Cole needed to respect her wishes. Being the bigger person sucked sometimes.
He knew Tasha would want him to keep things light, so Cole said, “You were really impressive. This chapter in your memoir is going to be amazing.”
Ryan, though, wasn’t able to make a joke. His voice was gruff when he asked, “You okay?”
Tasha looked between them. She took a deep breath, released it, and then drained her glass of wine. “I’m actually fine. Good, even. Now it’s a party.”
At this declaration, Cole had to laugh. “That’s all it takes? A solid-to-excellent brush-off?”
“Not all.” She set her glass on one of the tiny tables ringing the room. Then she flung her arms around Ryan’s neck and planted her mouth on his.
The stuntman rocked back on his heels, but then he got with the program and set about kissing Tasha back. Really, really kissing Tasha back.
Cole locked eyes with Maggie. Her smile was wry ... and maybe a little bit jealous.
If that’s what she wanted, he’d be more than happy to oblige.
But before he could raise his brows in a question, Tasha broke from the kiss and asked Ryan, “Do you want to get out of here?”
“Hell yes.”
Taking Ryan’s hand, Tasha gave Cole a brief glance. “Make my apologies to Zoya.”
“Will do.”
For Cole’s ears only, Ryan said, “I’ll take care of her.”
“I know you will.”
After tonight, Cole hoped that the job would belong permanently to Ryan. Cole would always be there for Tasha, but he’d happily take the demotion if it meant she finally had a partner who was worthy of her.
They left, and Maggie turned to take in the rest of the party. Conversations were getting started again, but everyone was still agog, staring at the space where Tasha, Vincent, and Beth had been a few minutes before. It was going to be extremely hard to keep a lid on this. Libby was going to have to get her story finished soon if she wanted to break the news about Vincent.
And the cat had not just escaped the bag on the Tasha-and-Ryan stuff—it had vaporized the bag for good measure. Everyone on earth was going to know they were together by tomorrow. But he suspected Tasha had been aware of that when she’d kissed Ryan. No one was more aware of being watched at all times than Tasha.
“I honestly can’t believe that happened,” Maggie said. “I can’t believe Vincent had the nerve to show up here. And with her own mother? Horrific.”
Since Cole had previously met both Vincent Minna and Beth Russell, he was less surprised. “Beth Russell is one of the most selfish human beings on earth. And Vincent Minna? He might not even be human.” But Cole didn’t want to talk about them, not right now. “I’m going to check with Zoya, make sure she has everything under control, and then I’m going to head out.”
He probably ought to chat with some more folks and distribute more thanks, but after that scene, any possibility of having a normal night had vanished. All anyone was going to want to talk about was Tasha, and Cole had no intention of gossiping about his best friend.
The only conversation he wanted to have was with Maggie.
She looked wistful. “Sure. Of course. It’s been a long four months.”
“Ride back with me.”
Okay, so he hadn’t been as direct as Tasha with Ryan. He hadn’t kissed Maggie, but that was mostly because when he finally got his hands and his mouth on her, he wasn’t going to take them off for a long, long time. And while Tasha might be ready to take things with Ryan public, he doubted Maggie was.
Maggie watched him, weighing what he was offering. They both knew it wouldn’t be just a car ride if she said yes.
After what felt like an eternity, she whispered, “Sure.”
At that, Cole could breathe again. “Give me two minutes.”
Cole touched base with Zoya and Esme, and once he was certain they were good, he headed to a side door. He locked eyes with Maggie and tipped his head. Maggie had said she couldn’t get involved with someone she was working with. He didn’t want to cross that boundary by leading her out of the party by the hand. Not until she was ready for that.
Maggie met him in the dark, quiet hallway a minute later.
“I texted Phil. He’ll meet us out back.”
They didn’t talk while they waited in the alley. What kind of small talk could they have made? The words they needed to say to each other, they weren’t light.
When the town car arrived, Cole opened the door for Maggie, and inside, he pushed the button to put up the divider between Phil and them. With the tinting on the windows, it felt as if they were in their own private bubble.
Maggie looked at him quizzically. “Another secret?”
“Kinda. I wanted to ask you a question.”
“Shoot.”
If she’d said “Action,” it would have been better because he would have had a script for this. Would have known the ending. He was all alone here, hopeful but not certain.
“In the last few months, we’ve gotten to know each other pretty well. And there have been times when I ... that is, we’re friends?”
“Yes?” She seemed confused, probably because he’d made it into a question.
“You’re amazing. You’re smart and hardworking, and you make everyone around you better. The entire production is better because of you. But it’s not just about the work. It’s really not about the work at all. Because I like hiking with you, and relaxing after a long day with you, and taping props back together with you . These last few months, you’ve been ... everything to me. And sometimes I look at you, and it’s like there isn’t enough air. And I—I think we might not only be friends.”
“We’re coworkers?”
Maybe she didn’t understand what he was saying—which would be fair; his words were pretty incoherent—or maybe she was deliberately pretending she didn’t understand because she didn’t feel the same way.
But he was in this now. He had to finish it. “Were. We were coworkers.”
“Because my contract expired at five p.m.”
“Yeah.”
Maggie licked her lips. Most of her lipstick was gone, but they were still stained berry. It took every bit of restraint he had not to lunge for them.
“Some days,” he finally managed to get out, “kissing you is the only thing I want to do. Filming, eating, getting in my reps—none of those things matter. I just want to kiss you.”
A pause. An endless, endless pause. Then, “ Cole .”
He could’ve slurped the relief down like ice water after a marathon. “Tell me I’m not imagining this.” Because as inevitable, as obvious, as right as this felt to him, he didn’t know what Maggie wanted.
He knew that at the end of a long day, she wanted french fries and thought it was a tragedy that you couldn’t find proper seasoned fries in the UK. He knew her Wordle starting word ( READY ), and her favorite indie band of the aughts (Stars). He knew she was smart and strong and sarcastic but that it hid her soft heart. He knew her in every way you came to know someone when you worked hard, stressful hours making television together.
But despite all those details, he didn’t know if she wanted him enough to overcome her doubts—her reasonable doubts—about how they’d met.
She was playing with the hem of her skirt and not giving him her eyes. “You aren’t. But ...”
“Let’s go back to ‘You aren’t.’ I liked that better.”
Her gaze shot up to his, amusement lighting her expression. “You couldn’t have thought it was all in your head.”
“I did. So tell me.” He didn’t normally feel this needy. But because it was Maggie, because he was in so deep, he wanted the words. The assurance that her heart got as tripped up as his did when they were together.
“When we met, I thought you were sweet. Impossibly sweet, especially because you’re so hot. I couldn’t figure out how you could exist in this industry. But now I know, it isn’t an accident. You made yourself this way because it was the best and most honest way to be. Because of whatever mistakes you think you made when you were young, you made yourself better. And I think that’s why I find you so hard to resist. Your goodness is intentional. It comes from discipline and values. When I see you working so hard to make sure Rhiannon keeps herself safe and Tasha is protected, you make me want to be better at my job. To be more ... fierce.”
Thank God it was dark, because he was smiling like a loon. “You can’t resist me?”
“I should . Because this won’t be easy, Cole. I see the way you’re looking at me—”
“Like I adore you?”
“Yes. Like if I were to crawl into your lap right now, it would all work out.”
“It will.” He simply couldn’t believe that something that felt this good with someone who was this good could be wrong.
For years, after the mess that was his days on Central Square , Cole had distrusted his feelings. When you were selfish and good at rationalizing, you could do some dumb and destructive stuff, thinking it was okay. But he’d thought this one through, from front to back, and he couldn’t see how it hurt anyone. The production was over, and he and Maggie weren’t going to work together again. This wasn’t anyone’s business but theirs. The only risk was to their hearts, and he was going to treat hers like gold.
So Cole let the strength of his feelings leak into his voice. “Let’s make it simple. This is about us, Maggie, you and me. You either want that, or you don’t.”
“And if I do?”
“Then come kiss me.”
Her hands were shaking when she unbuckled her seat belt, but that tiny act of assent was all he could take. Cole pulled her across the back seat and into his lap.
The lights of the city streaked passed the window, painting white and yellow light over her face. Over her cheekbones and the slope of her nose. Over the accent marks of her eyebrows and the line of her chin.
Carefully, she rested one hand across his nape, her fingertips shifting into his hair. He pushed into the contact. She was touching him, intimately, on purpose. Finally, finally touching him.
The car went around a corner, and her nose grazed his. A streetlight lit every ridge of her irises, every curl of her lashes—and he wanted to drink them all in.
At least after he got to taste her.
“Sometimes,” he whispered, “I think you’re the only one who sees the real me. Not whoever I’m playing. Not whatever mistakes I made in the past. But me, the way I am now.”
“You hide in plain sight, wearing a Cody Rhodes costume,” she agreed.
“And you strip it off.” Hopefully literally.
“All I can see is you. Even on set, it got to where I couldn’t see your performance. Only you.”
“You see me, and you still want me?” It was scary, being seen for himself without any buffer. But he would learn to live with it, if he got Maggie in the bargain.
“Of course I do.” She resettled, bringing her mouth closer, but she still hadn’t crossed those final millimeters.
Patience. He needed patience here. Cole ran his hands over her thighs, the curve of her hip, the dip of her waist. All PG-13 touches, but because it was with her, nothing had ever been hotter.
“Can we really make this work?” she asked.
“Yes.”
“No doubt about it?”
“None. It’s us.” If he wasn’t breathless and aroused and anticipating, he’d say it better. Say that he knew it wouldn’t be easy, but it would be worth it. But he’d already come damn close to begging here, and ultimately, the end point would be the same.
When he kissed Maggie, he wouldn’t be hoping that maybe she’d be the one. He’d know she was. And that made whatever speed bumps lay ahead worth it.
A beat passed. Another.
Then very softly, she said, “Okay.”
The first touch of her lips to his was like falling asleep in the sun. Every cell of his body went heavy and warm.
She moved her mouth over his slowly, like a surveyor wanting to understand every inch of the topography. Her kiss was careful, so gentle his eyes watered behind his lids.
Being known was . . . intense.
Maggie parted her lips and clung to the corner of his mouth, breathing hard. But now that the starting bell had sounded, he was in this.
He threaded his hands into her hair—so soft—and kissed her. His efforts were clumsy in comparison to hers. Plodding and clumsy and ... wet. The next time they did this, he’d be better. More restrained.
Except Maggie didn’t seem to mind. She matched him stroke for stroke. Moan for moan.
Cole got bolder then, exploring the curve of her ass, the swell of her breast. She pressed herself into his lap—because the same hunger that was gnawing in him was in her. His body was hard, straining. Revved up by this, but not satisfied by it. Not by a long shot.
A sharp corner had Maggie shifting on his lap, but he hadn’t taken off his seat belt, so he stayed in his seat. He sunk his fingers on her to keep her anchored.
Maggie tipped her chin back with a gasp, and he set about kissing her neck, her collarbone. All the parts of her that he’d watched so many times and wanted to kiss. Now he had, and it was better than he’d dreamed.
“Should I, um, go back to my seat?”
“Nope.” He ran his hand down her stomach and over the juncture of her thighs.
She twisted against him like a live wire. “Cole.” It was a plea, it was a warning, and it was almost desperate.
But they weren’t alone.
Cole lifted his hand from her body and his mouth from her shoulder. “Will you spend the night with me?” He was asking a lot more than that, a hell of a lot more. And Cole knew that Maggie understood.
Silence.
Then, unsteadily, she answered, “Y-yes.”