Chapter Twenty-Six
WE SAY OUR goodbyes the next morning, Sunday. The family comes to the front of the house where the car service is waiting. Dinah embraces her son and then holds his face and tells him something only he can hear.
“I will, Mom,” he replies, and then his dad takes his turn with a hug and tells him how proud they are of him. I feel like I want to cry.
“And you,” Jeremy booms. Suddenly, I’m engulfed by his arms. “Thank you,” he says in a low voice.
“Why…?”
“You know why.” He nods at his smiling brother. “Seeing him like that is better than Christmas.”
I don’t know what to say to that except that I’m scared of the million ways I might mess up Zach’s happiness, the least of which is doing something the world will hate that will reflect badly on him.
Dinah comes to me, arms outstretched. “So wonderful to have you, Rowan. Come any time.” She pulls back and touches my chin the same way she did to Zach. “Face of an angel, this one.”
Oh damn.
I’m already on emotion overload when it’s time to say goodbye to Paul Butler. He looks nothing like my father, but everything about him screams “Dad.” This entire trip, I’ve kept a safe distance, scared of what his kindness might do to me. Now, I can’t avoid it.
“Thanks for coming, kiddo,” he says, and then I’m immersed in a dad hug. The kind that feels warm and safe and ends with a little pat on the back. The kind that I haven’t felt in ages. The kind that makes me want to rest my head on his chest and tell him everything that’s happened in the last ten years.
“Come and see us again soon, okay?” Paul says as he lets me go.
I nod, jaw clenched. “Yep. I will.”
I catch Jeremy’s eye, and he reads my face; I’m about eight seconds from losing it.
“Alright, Zachariah,” he says loudly, dragging his brother into a hug and drawing everyone’s attention. “Don’t be a stranger now, and next time, bring your damn Oscar. Or however many you’ll have racked up by then.”
“It will not be that long,” Dinah declares. “And the holidays…” she adds with a meaningful glance from him to me. “Maybe consider joining us this year?”
Good lord, I try to imagine the holidays with this family when I’ve only made it through this weekend by the skin of my teeth.
“We’ll do our best,” Zach says. “But I won’t let so much time go by.”
Finally, the bags are loaded, last goodbyes said, and I mouth a thank you to Jeremy. He nods back, solemnly, and then Zach and I are driving away.
It’s late afternoon when we arrive back in LA. Throughout the flight home and the drive from the airport to my studio, I manage to suppress everything that the weekend with Zach’s family has brought up in me: bells ringing deep in my psyche, awakening memories, feelings, love that is long dead—my father, Josh, even my mother, whose death I pretend doesn’t bother me as much because she abandoned me to her own grief.
Guess I’m not so okay after all.
Zach walks me up to my studio. I want to cling to him for the storm that is coming. I want him to leave so he doesn’t see it happen.
“Dinner after work tomorrow?” he asks, ringing his arms around my waist. “There’s a great Italian place my assistant recommends. He says we have to try it immediately or he’ll quit and work for someone with better taste.”
“Sounds serious,” I say.
“You okay?” he asks. “You’ve been quiet the whole trip back.”
I nearly tell him I’m just tired, but he’ll see right through that. “It’s just…a lot. Being with your family was amazing, but I think I’m a little overwhelmed.” I manage a smile. “Nothing a hot bath won’t cure.”
His brows furrow, but he nods and kisses my forehead. “You’re amazing. They all loved you. I love you.”
“I love you, too.”
“I’ll see you tomorrow.”
I nod and he kisses me goodbye. No sooner is the door shut than the panic attack comes, like an invisible hand out of the sky, gripping and shaking me. I curl up on my bed and let it have me; everything I’ve been trying to feel pours out, and I wonder if it will ever end.
The next morning, I wake up to a text from Zach.
I’m seeing a house today to rent. Looks like a winner. Tonight, I want to take you to Leggara. Check out the menu. If you like, I’ll pick you up at 7pm. Miss you already. Love, Z
My eyes, already puffy from the night before, sting again. Despite the storm that wracked me, I feel better. The idea of giving into it, I realize, is terrifying right up until the moment it breaks, and then it’s a relief.
It looks great, I write back. Love you. xoxo
I do. I love Zach so fucking much. And I might even have a little left over for myself, and that’s why I confirm my next appointment with Dr. B and get ready for work.
I drive to the warehouse in Culver City for my shift. When I find my workstation in the massive, hangar-like space, someone else is in it.
I glance around to make sure I’m in the right place. “Excuse me, this is my station.”
The young woman, mouth full of pins, doesn’t look up. “Don’t think so. Been here for three days.”
Three days? When I called Dottie, my supervisor, to tell her I needed a long weekend off, she was disappointed but said my spot would be waiting for me.
“But I kept things at this workstation,” I say. “My sketchpad, for instance…” My voice trails as I remember running out with it when the March Hare panic attack hit. I crashed into someone—a woman—and then Zach came for me. I recall a few random papers in my studio but that’s it.
I’m heading back to the front office, when a sewing pattern on one of the other workstations stops me. I stare at the new sketches. The designs look familiar. Because they’re my designs. The ones I’ve been doodling during my breaks, letting my imagination run as if this were my production.
“What the hell…?”
At the front office, the manager clacks his keyboard when I tell him my name. “Says here you’ve been terminated.”
My stomach drops. “Since when?”
“According to payroll, your final shift was last Wednesday.”
The day of my breakdown.
“That can’t be right. Dottie James okayed my time off.”
He shrugs, clearly done with me. I bite my lip, thinking. Dottie promoted me to lead background. Maybe I’m supposed to be in that section of the shop? Which has a different pay system for some reason?
It’s a longshot, but I head to another building in the complex. This one looks more like one of those fashion competition shows, with costumers working at worktables, pieces of cloth and lace everywhere, and models standing around in their underwear waiting to be fitted. Only these aren’t models; they’re the actors for Avignon. And the designs they’re wearing are mine.
Avignon is a period piece set in the early 1800s. Laurent Moreau’s designs were fine but—in my mind—boring. In my recent sketches, I drew the empire-waisted dresses with puffed shoulders and long sleeves, but then got a little crazy with exaggerated elements. I added embellishments of colors, lace, beads, and feathers. My designs are historically accurate but visually kind of wild and fun which makes sense to me for a movie like Avignon— it isn’t a sweeping epic in need of a serious aesthetic. It’s a humorous romantic film like Emma and Pride and Prejudice. There’s room for fun, but Laurent stuck to convention.
Until now.
I notice Tessa Carlyle from the infamous pool accident, standing with Laurent. The head costume designer is about forty, a tall man, slender, with a thick head of black hair and light blue eyes. He’s chatting with another designer who is taking measurements. A third is placing huge, plumed hats on and off of Tessa’s head for Laurent’s approval.
I consider walking right up to Laurent and demanding to know why he stole my ideas and how he got them in the first place, but I’m paralyzed. Anything I do now could affect Zach. I can just see The Scandal Sheet : “Zachary Butler’s Nobody New Girlfriend Throws Wild Accusations at Noted Fashion Designer.” Who would believe me?
I stare dumbly as Tessa Carlyle is outfitted in a traditional Regency dress, but the sleeves are puffed like soufflés, and her headpiece sports a train of feathers down her back. The dark purple skirt splits down the front to reveal layers of lavender silk. It’s beautiful, having come to life when a few days ago, it had been only pencil scratches in my notebook. Since I was a kid, I’ve dreamed of my designs making it to the costume department of a Hollywood movie, and now it’s happening.
Just without me.
“What are you doing here?”
I jump and turn to see Dottie James staring at me sternly. Her red hair is piled on her head in a beehive and she’s wearing earrings in the shape of yellow airplanes, but her expression is deadly serious.
“I…I…”
“Laurent was kind to let you go without a scene. But if you don’t leave now, he might not be so merciful.”
I regain a few of my senses, most notably, anger. “Merciful? Those are my designs. I lost my sketchpad before I took a few days leave. He must’ve gotten a hold of it somehow.”
“Just what are you suggesting?”
“I’m not suggesting anything.” I point to where Tessa is being fitted and measured. “That’s my dress. Think about it, Dottie. When did the artistic direction shift to all these new ideas? Just after I left, right?”
Dottie leans in. “Laurent Moreau doesn’t need to steal ideas from anyone. He’s a world-renowned designer. A legend in the business with a lasting reputation that many people have tried—and failed—to shake. You aren’t the first.”
“Maybe there’s a good reason for that.”
She crosses her arms, and I can see she’s fighting with herself. “There are literally a hundred people from the warehouse who saw you run out of here last week with the sketchbook in your arms.”
“I wasn’t…” I scrub my face with my hands. “It’s my sketchbook.”
“Can you prove it?”
I think back to my sketches. I never signed or initialed them. Because they weren’t official. I didn’t think they were ever getting off my desk.
“Nothing on paper. But I can walk you through every idea and how I envisioned it…”
She shakes her head, her tone softening. “I’m not bringing this to him. And neither should you. He can survive your accusation. You can’t. You need to leave. Trust me, you don’t want a scene.”
“Dottie, you know I would never—”
“I like you, Rowan. That’s why I’m not making this worse.” She nods her head at the exit. “Go.”
I hesitate, stuck between standing up for my work and knowing that it won’t do me any good. But it will cause pointless headaches for Zach. Because Dottie’s right. Laurent has power and I don’t. And rarely do the powerless get anywhere fighting the powerful with nothing but their word. Even when the word is the truth.
“I like you too, Dottie,” I say, shouldering my bag. “But you should believe me.”
Outside, I suck in a few steadying breaths.
What the hell do I do now?
I’m about to head to my car when a young woman calls out to me.
“Hey, wait!”
Tessa Carlyle, clad in yoga pants and a T-shirt comes chasing after me. “Rowan, right? We met at Jerry Bruckheimer’s pool. Or rather, in his pool.”
“I remember.”
“I just wanted to make sure you’re okay. The last time we ran into each other, you were pretty upset.”
I pull my gaze to her. “What? When?”
“Last week. We literally ran into each other.” She frowns at my expression. “We crashed on the sidewalk here. You don’t remember?”
“Oh, right,” I say. “Yeah, I wasn’t having a good day.”
“I’m sorry to hear that.” She brightens with a beguiling smile that is sure to charm audiences all over the world very soon with this movie. “But you must be feeling better now? Working so closely with Laurent on the new designs? I love them so much. So unique from what we’d been put in before. It’s like the entire movie got a makeover.”
“What are you talking about?”
“When we crashed, you dropped a sketchbook and ran off before I could give it back. The designs were just so good, I assumed you were working with Laurent, so I gave it to him.”
“You gave it to him?”
“Yes,” she says slowly. “I told him who you are and what happened. He took it, said thanks, and I didn’t think anything else of it.” She bites her lip. “I thought I was helping. Why do I feel like I did something wrong?”
For half a second, I entertain the idea of calling Tessa as my expert witness to testify how Laurent took the sketches as opposed to me racing out with them like a villain in a movie. But Tessa needs this film. Her big break , she’d called it. Bringing a high-profile accusation could jeopardize that for her. And in the end, it would still be Laurent’s word against ours.
“You didn’t do anything wrong, Tessa,” I say. “I have to go.”
“Why? Aren’t you working on these costumes? What happened?”
“Nothing, it’s fine. Don’t worry about it.” I give her a small smile. “Good luck with the film. I know you’ll look beautiful.”
At my studio, I lie on my bed and stare at the ceiling for a solid hour until my phone rings with J.J.’s number.
“Tell me something good, J.J.”
“I broke up with Edison.”
I shoot up to sitting. “What? When?”
“This morning,” J.J. says, sniffling.
“Oh my God, babe. Why? I thought you two were…” Perfect. I don’t want to say it and twist the knife in the wound.
“I thought we were too, but I’m just not feeling it. Isn’t that the worst? I’m just not feeling it. As if he were tacos and I’m in the mood for pizza.”
“Your feelings are valid, Jess. But do you really think there’s no salvaging it?”
“There isn’t. I’ve felt this way for a while. No electricity. It’s like we’re an old married couple except we’re not old or married.”
“I’m so sorry,” I say. “Do you want to come over for ice cream? Wine? Both?”
“No, I have to finish this dissertation if it kills me. I just wanted to let you know in case I’m quiet over the next few days.”
“Okay, but I’m here. Anytime you need me.”
“Thanks, Ro. I appreciate it. And speaking of ice cream, I saw The Scandal Sheet with you and Zach in St. Louis. I’m ridiculously happy for you. It made me cry so hard and that’s how I knew I had to break up with Edison.”
“Not sure I feel good about that… ”
“I just mean that the way you and Zach were looking at each other… That’s what I want. And until I get it, I think I’m going to fly solo for a while.”
“Okay, babe,” I say. “I love you. Call me anytime.”
I suddenly have a lot of free time on my hands.
Twenty after six, and I’m dressed in a dark blue dress, heels, my hair pulled up. I even put on makeup, which I’m usually too lazy to bother with, but I’m probably going to be photographed tonight whether I want to be or not. I want to be pretty for Zach.
When he arrives, I literally swoon, bracing myself on the doorframe. He’s absolutely devastating in a dark suit, dark shirt open at the collar, no tie, and a gazillion-dollar watch on his wrist that draws attention to his large hands and that sexy vein that runs along his thumb…
“Rowan?”
I blink and give my head a shake. “Sorry, I was objectifying you but now I’m back.”
“I know the feeling,” he says, pulling me in close. “You’re stunning.”
Zach bends his tall frame to give me a kiss that I feel in the deepest part of me. As if he kisses me with his entire being so I feel it in my entire being. I return it with equal fervor, and we have to wrench away, breathless.
Zach whistles softly. “Well hell, we can skip dinner altogether if you prefer…”
“No, I need to tell you something. I need a nice dinner to make it less horrible.”
“Horrible? What happened?”
“It’s just work stuff.” I take his hand. “Let’s go.”
The car service takes us to Leggara, a swanky bistro in Beverly Hills. The flashbulbs start going off as soon as Zachary steps out. A dozen paparazzi are milling around the street and sidewalk in front of the restaurant. His personal security—a huge dude named Ezra who rode shotgun in the car with us—carves a path for us to get inside. I shield my face with one hand against the lights and grip Zach’s with the other.
Inside, we’re ushered to a private room where several other high-caliber celebrities are dining at various tables. They smile and acknowledge Zach as we come in, and I have to remind myself that to me, he’s just Zach. The kind, funny, generous man I’m ridiculously in love with. To everyone else, he’s Zachary Butler, currently the world’s hottest movie star, ranked number one on the IMDb StarMeter. The world is in love with him too, just in a different way.
“How did they know you’d be here?” I ask as we’re seated at a window table with a glittering view of Los Angeles—like a field strewn with a million lights.
“Who? The paparazzi?” Zach asks. “They don’t know we’re coming; they just hope for somebody and stake out until they get them.”
“They don’t know that we’re coming,” I say with a smile. “You’re so cute.”
The waiter, in black and white with a black vest and tie, arrives to take our drink order.
“Let’s do a bottle of the 2018 Chateau Lafite-Rothschild,” Zach says.
“Very good, sir.”
The waiter departs and I give Zach a look. “Isn’t that the wine that I jokingly thought you brought me at the hot tub? And isn’t said wine like thousands of dollars?”
“Yes and yes,” Zach says, taking my hands from across the intimate table. “Not something I’d normally splurge on, but I feel like celebrating.”
“What are we celebrating?”
“You,” he says, and his hazel eyes are so beautiful in the dim candlelight. “Us.”
Oh, Zach.
Love for this man floods every pore and cell in my body. “Stop it. I put on actual makeup tonight.”
“Come here.”
We both lean over the table and share a kiss. Chris Evans is at the table on our right, Taraji P. Henson is on our left, but the world tends to fade out when I’m kissing Zachary.
“I’m afraid I don’t have much to celebrate tonight,” I say when we settle back into our chairs.
His expression morphs into concern. “Tell me about this something horrible that happened at work.”
I relay the whole sordid mess from earlier, and Zach grows angrier and angrier as I go.
“But it’s fine,” I say. “Or, it’s not fine, but I don’t know what I can do that won’t cause more problems than it solves.”
Zach doesn’t seem to have heard me. “Laurent Moreau. Fucking hell.”
“You know him?”
“I know of him. He’s Eva’s best friend. Or lover. Or I don’t know what.”
My jaw unhinges most ungracefully as the waiter returns with the wine. When he’s finally done with the presentation, Zach spits a curse under his breath.
“Do you think it’s connected?” I ask. “Laurent and Eva? No…the speed in which Laurent appropriated my work didn’t seem like he’s acting on orders. In fact, I think he’s done this before.”
“Maybe, but I’m sure Eva saw us in the latest Scandal Sheet. ” Zach says. “ She eats that shit up like popcorn. I wouldn’t put it past her to ensure that Laurent ruins your career.” He scrubs his hand through his hair, mussing it up. “I can’t believe this. After everything… I can’t fucking believe this.”
“It’s not your fault,” I say, taking his hand again. “I’ll get another job. I’ll start initialing my work. I won’t be so careless next time.”
“And when Avignon releases and your designs are paraded onscreen with his name on them? That’s bullshit. I need to fix this.” He shakes his head, jaw clenched. “Goddamn Eva. I’ll talk to Laurent. I’ll—”
“ No. ” I give his hand in mine a squeeze. “All it takes is one Scandal Sheet article accusing me and I’m screwed for life. I’ll figure it out. And I don’t want you swooping in and getting involved as if I can’t fight my own battles. You’ll just wind up with negative press when you have this dream project coming up. I don’t want to mess that up for you.”
“You won’t,” he says, cradling my hand in both of his. “But I can’t let Laurent—or Eva—hurt your career.”
“I’ll handle it,” I say, and offer a smile. “I’ll outsource the problem to my therapist. She’ll tell me what I need to do.”
Zach doesn’t smile. “I hate this. I fucking hate this.”
“I know. But let’s not let it ruin tonight, okay?”
He blows out a breath. “Right. Okay.”
But I know it’s not okay. None of this is okay, but I don’t have any idea how to fix it, or for how long Eva intends to interfere in Zach’s life. And maybe mine now, too.
We settle into perusing our menus, when “You Need to Calm Down” emanates faintly from Zach’s jacket pocket. He looks at his phone, brows knit.
“A new Scandal Sheet has dropped. Courtney sent the link.”
I bite my lip, waiting. Then watch as the color drains from Zach’s face.
It’s happened already. Laurent is accusing me of stealing from him. My career is over before it even began.
“What is it? Zach…?”
The phone tumbles out of his slack hand onto the table, and he sits back in his chair, his expression unreadable. I snatch his phone and read, and the blood drains out of me too.
“Oh no…”
I glance up at Zach, at the devastation materializing on his face, and I wonder how my heart can shatter into a million pieces for him while pure, white-hot rage rampages through me for that woman who won’t stop hurting him.