Chapter 22 EXT. PARKING LOT
Chapter 22
EXT. PARKING LOT
Cole was leaving the gym when his phone rang. It was Drew.
For once, his agent couldn’t have any complaints. The early buzz about Cole’s work on Waverley was terrific, Brett had been scheduling all kinds of interviews and photo shoots Cole wouldn’t have been offered two years ago, and Cole had taken the job Drew had wanted him to take—he had the sore muscles and the Boston-accent coach to prove it.
Applause had to be coming, right?
“Hey,” Cole answered, trying not to sound smug. “Long time, no—”
“You knew about this Vincent Minna hack job, and you didn’t tell me?”
In all fairness, Cole hadn’t talked to Libby recently, and in his last conversation with Tasha—who’d spent the two weeks since filming had ended hiding out in the Azores with Ryan—she’d said it would probably drop before the end of the month.
Which was, like, next week.
Damn it.
Cole glanced around. No one was near him on the street, and since the story was apparently close to dropping, there wasn’t much risk if he had this conversation here and now. The avalanche might not be coming down the mountain yet, but the snow was shifting under the hardpack. Destruction was inevitable. Cole had helped make it so.
“I get that you’re pissed, but ... I thought you’d try to talk me out of it.” Cole was important to Drew, but he would never be as important to his agent as one of Hollywood’s top producers. It was a simple question of math.
Cole got why Drew opposed drama, but not all drama was equal. This wasn’t getting into some dumb feud with an ex or starting a fight at an Oscars party. It was supporting his best friend as she came forward about one of the industry’s biggest villains. Helping Libby tell Tasha’s story was the right thing to do. Period.
“Of course I would’ve said not to do it!” Drew shouted.
So Cole had been right.
They’d fought a few times in the years they’d worked together. Or more precisely, Drew had been snide to Cole about what he’d wanted and why until Cole had given in and gone Drew’s way. But this was an entirely different level of venom.
“I did talk to Quinn and Brett.” His lawyer and his publicist. “But bringing you in? I don’t really see the career angle here.”
“You don’t see the career angle?” Drew didn’t bother to hide how angry he was. “Vincent Minna is one of the most powerful men in Hollywood. Don’t you get what you’re doing?”
“Was. He was one of the most powerful men in Hollywood.” At least if Cole had anything to do with it.
“Don’t be stupid. There may be time to kill your quotes. I’ve heard they’re still a few days away from publishing. Let me call this Libby Hansen person, and—”
“I don’t want to kill my quotes.” Drew’s reaction was just so beyond the pale. While Drew certainly did have a stake in Cole’s career, it was still exactly that— Cole’s career. “I stand by everything I said.”
Drew inhaled, and then didn’t say a thing. Maybe he had finally realized that this particular time, Cole had found his backbone, and Drew wasn’t going to be able to sway him.
“But do you have to talk?” Drew finally asked.
So much about life was confusing. Was happiness real, or just a chemical reaction? Where were people before they were born? What the hell did the phrase act naturally mean?
Look, Cole didn’t know if he’d ever have all the answers. But this—it had been so easy.
“Yes. I know that you’re trying to take care of me.” At least that was what Cole was hoping this was about. “But this conversation, it isn’t your job. Let Brett and me worry about the publicity angle.” Even if the publicity angle was awful, Cole didn’t care. There were situations that demanded you act in a certain way, even if you had to pay a high price. Standing by Tasha: it wasn’t something he could choose not to do.
Maggie had asked why he wanted this, and as he stood next to his car, he knew for sure why he didn’t want it. Cole might not be an A-lister—maybe he wouldn’t ever be one—but success was absolutely freaking meaningless if it stopped him from speaking up.
After a few more seconds, during which Cole was certain Drew was searching for another line of attack, Drew finally said, “Okay.”
But Cole suspected they weren’t done with the discussion.
For the better part of two decades, Drew had said jump, and Cole had jumped and then asked if that had been high enough. He’d taken Drew’s advice like a habit, one that might not be so good for him anymore.
Well, okay, that wasn’t fair. Drew had picked up Cole when there had been very little benefit in doing so. Cole was certain he’d been a drag on Drew’s books for a long time. And if it hadn’t been for Drew and his advice, Cole wouldn’t have booked Waverley , and he wouldn’t have met Maggie.
Drew had been caught off guard, that was all. And even though Cole knew he’d done the right thing, it was a big thing. Vincent Minna had been the most important producer in Hollywood for a long time, and opposing him had been unthinkable for years and years. That was exactly why he’d been able to be a monstrous asshole for so long. But once Drew got used to the fact that Cole had gone public, he’d come around.
Cole was almost certain of it.
EXT. THE HOLLYWOOD HILLS
On Saturday morning, Maggie contemplated the trail she had, quite ridiculously, agreed to tackle with Cole. “You’re really confused about the whole ‘What is a mountain?’ thing.”
“Aren’t you from Oregon?”
“Yes, but I didn’t go hiking there. I’m a drama nerd.”
“So am I. Besides”—he gestured at the vista—“we’re still in the city.”
“That doesn’t preclude this from being a mountain.”
“‘Preclude’? Maggie Niven, how dare you talk dirty to me when I can’t do anything about it?” From the twinkle in his eye, it was clear he was only half joking.
Cole had explained that Runyon Canyon was a popular trail, and so if they didn’t want to start any rumors, he’d need to keep his hands to himself. It was the same reason they’d eaten at his house every night. The same reason she’d told the director of The Mid List , her current project, that she was “staying with a friend” and had omitted who it was and, oh, that he was making her come every night. It would’ve made her feel like a dirty little secret, but she was the one who didn’t want to go public.
She needed to talk to Bernard, and one of these days, when her mentor was praising her in glowing terms, saying how she really didn’t need him anymore, she was going to do exactly that. Oh, and by the way, I’m dating Cole James. Cue the explosions.
But she wasn’t at that point, and she might not be for months. Once this news was out, there wasn’t going to be any stopping it. So she had to be absolutely sure, and absolutely secure, before they let that cat out of the bag.
“Are you properly sunscreened?” Cole was absolutely fanatical about SPF and fancy chemical sunscreens. Maggie hadn’t even realized there were different types.
“Yup.”
“You have your hat and sunglasses?”
“Check and check.”
“And we have plenty of water.” Cole’s backpack was sloshing. He’d filled it with canteens, more water than Maggie drank in a weekend, saying something about how he needed to get in some strength training.
Better him than her. As Maggie’s strength was more of the inner variety, it needed no training.
“After you.” Cole waved his arm gallantly to usher Maggie forward.
What she hadn’t realized about the mountain they’d climbed in Scotland was that they’d done it in the spring. Early spring, and Scotland wasn’t that far from the Arctic Circle.
Now it was September, which was still basically summer thanks to global warming, and LA was suspiciously close to the equator—not to mention located in a desert. Maggie was sweating before they’d made it ten steps. By the half-mile mark, she might as well have been melting.
“I feel like the Wicked Witch after Dorothy gets her with the bucket,” Maggie groused as they started up the trail again.
“Except you’re just beautiful without any wickedness.”
Maggie didn’t even have the energy to roll her eyes. As she stumbled up an incline, she stuttered out, “I’ve always, always appreciated that even as she’s, you know, wasting away, the witch has healthy self-esteem.” She stopped, breathing hard.
Cole ran his fingers up her spine, which was a definite violation of the no-touching rule, before he set about digging in his backpack. “You’d expect that from a supervillain.”
Maggie held one of her hands out, and he placed a canteen of water in it. She suddenly appreciated that he’d frozen these last night. He really was perfect.
She chugged, grateful. When she felt vaguely human, and not like a desiccated mushroom, she said, “And see, I would think—”
“Oh my gosh, you’re Cole James!” a woman with a long blonde ponytail squealed.
Cole rearranged his features into what Maggie recognized as his Cody Rhodes face. “That’s me.”
“Team Cody forever!”
“Yeah.” He reached out a fist, and the fan bumped it.
“And you and Tasha Russell are back together—wait, is she here?”
“No, no, I’m with a friend.”
Maggie gave a little wave, but the woman didn’t even see her. She only had eyes for Cole. Maggie tried to remind herself that was a good thing. That the last thing she and Cole needed was for news of their relationship to leak out before she was ready for that. So what if her heart protested at the word friend ? This was the way she wanted it to be.
“Well, I can’t wait for Waverley ! I have no idea why people were saying you were miscast.”
Cole winced. “Thanks.”
But so starstruck was the fan that she didn’t notice. She, like so many others, saw the brand, not the actual man. “This is so cool. God, I love LA.”
“Yeah.” Cole was still smiling, but it was hollow. “We should, probably, um—” He gestured to the trail.
“Oh, of course. See you!” She waved and kept hiking.
Maggie was annoyed. But wanting the fan to be out of listening distance before she spoke, Maggie turned her attention out across the view. The trail was sandy, bordered by scrubby green brush. Where the mountain tumbled down into the valley, the city grew up, all red roofs and a wash of gray and white and blue buildings in a neat grid. The towers downtown might as well have been a play set; they didn’t look real. Like so many things about Maggie’s life in the last year and a half, for all that this seemed to be an illusion, it wasn’t. It was every bit as real as the man next to her.
When the fan had made it far enough away, Maggie gestured at her retreating back. “How often does that happen?”
“Sometimes. More now than a few years ago.”
“And you want it to happen more?” she asked, because that hadn’t exactly seemed like a pleasant exchange for Cole.
“Not for its own sake. I promise, getting clocked in public is not my favorite. But I want ... what it represents.”
So they were back to why he was invested in his career comeback again. Maggie had been grateful the other day that he hadn’t turned her question back on her. It had kept her up at night, actually, pondering what motivated her.
She’d never been an ambitious person, at least not as far as her parents were concerned. Ambition had always seemed like a dirty word to her. The reward of high school theatre was in the doing. Fame and riches weren’t in the cards, and most of her students would never do another play in their lives. Maybe they were building some self-confidence and public speaking skills, but mostly, she’d wanted them to understand the arts better. To understand themselves better.
When that had been taken away from her, she’d been focused on basic questions: affording her mortgage, her health insurance. But those were no longer immediate concerns, at least not this morning. So what the heck did she want, and why did she want it?
She shot a look at Cole’s profile, so handsome against the blue sky. Maggie wanted him because she loved him. But as delightful as their relationship was, it didn’t pay her bills. It was the best thing in her life, but for so many reasons, it couldn’t be the only thing in her life.
When Zoya had first offered Maggie a job, it had solved the champagne problem of how she was going to feed herself. But now, it was more. Maggie wasn’t going to get rich or famous as an intimacy coordinator, but she had made a difference to Tasha, to Cole, to Rhiannon. To the actors in her current project, and perhaps to the ones in her future projects.
The meaning of art was in making it. The meaning of life was in living it.
Maggie wanted Cole, and she wanted to do work that mattered.
Okay, she was ready for the damn test.
Maggie started back up the trail. The faster she got to the peak, the faster they would get to the coming-down part—and hopefully a big plate of french fries. “If you don’t like getting recognized, why are we on what’s clearly a super-popular trail?”
“Well, I normally arrive at dawn and jog, so I get stopped less.”
“Hey, it’s not my fault that you wanted to—”
“Yeah, I know.” He gave Maggie’s own, much shorter, ponytail a tug.
“You’re not very good at the whole keeping-your-hands-to-yourself thing.”
“I’m complete crap at it.”
And she didn’t want him to get better at it. She wanted to be confident enough that them being together wasn’t a problem.
“Let’s finish this damn thing so you can take me home and be crap at it some more.”