Chapter 6 Jack #2
She blinks, her eyes slide away from mine, and it’s both a relief and a disappointment. My body feels hectic—pulse quickening, temperature rising—and I shift in my seat, trying to settle myself.
Even after all this time, being around Cynthie Taylor still feels like clutching a live wire. I guess some things never change.
Cynthie makes a humming noise in her throat. She looks down at her hands, which are clasped neatly in her lap. “You don’t live in LA then?” she says finally, glancing around at the hotel room.
“No. The show I’m in films in New York so I have a place there, and then I’m usually in London for the rest of the year.”
She nods. “It’s been a while since I’ve been back to England,” she says. “It will be strange to film there again.”
“Does that mean you want to do the movie?” I try to keep the words neutral.
She hesitates. “The script is good,” she says finally.
“Really good,” I agree. The script was what hooked me in the first place, though when I read it, I thought there was a better chance of hell freezing over than of us ever making it. There was no way Cyn would sign on.
“And working with Jasmine would be great,” she hedges.
“Jasmine and Logan directing together again.” I huff out a laugh. “It’ll either be brilliant or a total disaster.”
A smile tugs at Cynthie’s mouth. “Entertaining, at least.”
“Oh sure,” I agree. “They were always that.”
We lapse into silence again.
“So,” I say, “if you’re considering taking the role, I guess that means you’ve given some thought to the studio’s stipulations.”
“The documentary,” she turns her big eyes on me, “and… you and me.”
“Right.” I take a swig of water, and when I put the bottle down, I notice Cynthie’s gaze dart from my throat to linger on my forearms. Her cheeks take on a tinge of pink. It looks like Nico was right. She frowns, as though annoyed.
“Well,” I continue, suddenly amused. “It’s not like we haven’t been here before.”
Her eyes narrow at the laughter in my voice.
“I believe last time, you said something about preferring to lose certain parts of your anatomy to being in a relationship with me,” Cynthie says tartly, and for the first time I catch a glimpse of her, the real her, underneath the layers of cool elegance.
“You weren’t exactly turning cartwheels over the idea yourself,” I point out. “It’s no use acting like I was the only problem.”
She huffs, glares at me for a moment. I swear, I don’t mean to do it, but I feel my smile widen like a challenge.
She shoots suddenly to her feet and starts to pace around the sofa. There’s more color in her face now, a flush climbing up her neck. It seems I can still get under her skin; it’s so easy to slip back to what we were. Maybe that’s the problem.
“This is stupid,” she mutters. “This whole situation is stupid. You and I…” She shoots me a look that is almost venomous.
“We barely survived last time,” I finish. I’d be lying if I said I didn’t share her concerns.
“ You barely survived,” she tosses her hair. “Because I almost murdered you.”
“I don’t know about murder,” I muse. “Though I do recall you had someone in wardrobe whip up a worryingly accurate voodoo doll.”
“Ha!” Cynthie gives a shout of laughter, falls back onto the sofa with her head in her hands. “I forgot about that.” Her voice is muffled.
“Oh?” I lift a brow. “And here was me thinking you’d probably spent the last couple of days sticking it with pins.”
She sighs. “I’m sorry. Not about the voodoo doll, which you fully deserved,” she adds quickly.
“But about this… today. I know why everyone thinks I should do this, but I have no idea why you’d even consider it.
I’m not sure if you’ve noticed, but I’m absolutely toxic, just about the most hated person on the planet right now. ”
“Oh, come on. Barely even top five.” I lean back, cross my arms.
She scowls. “You’re not taking this seriously.”
“I am, actually,” I relent and gentle my voice. “I can give you three excellent reasons why I’m considering this. First”—I count off on my fingers—“the script is incredible, and the team behind it is too.”
“On that we can agree,” Cynthie says cautiously.
“Second…” I pause and take a breath here. “I don’t know how much you know about the show I’m in? Blood/Lust ?”
She nods slowly. “I’ve heard of it.”
“Okay, well, we just finished up season five and the ending for my character is… ambiguous. We’re negotiating a new contract right now, and there’s a possibility they’ll decide not to bring me back.” I try not to wince.
In the past I’d rather have died than show her any kind of vulnerability, but if I want things to be different this time around, then I know I need to change our dynamic.
“I don’t want that to happen,” I say finally, keeping the explanation brief.
“I love the show, I want to make more of it. Signing on to this film will help with my visibility, but me and you in the press”—I gesture between us—“I’m not going to lie, that will give me a huge publicity bump right when I need it most.”
She only watches me carefully for a moment. “Okay,” she says slowly. “I can see that making sense.”
I was worried that she’d be offended by my less-than-chivalrous reasons for helping her out, but if anything she finally looks more comfortable.
Her shoulders come down a couple of inches.
She grabs a bottle of water to sip, while she thinks this over.
Then, she picks up a triangle of watermelon from the fruit plate in front of her and nibbles on it with a murmur of appreciation.
Her tongue flicks out to catch a bead of pale pink juice left on her lip.
All the blood in my body rushes immediately to my groin.
“What’s the third thing?” she asks.
“Hmm?” I manage, dragging my eyes away from her mouth and shifting awkwardly in my chair.
“The third thing,” Cynthie says. “You said you had three excellent reasons for doing this.”
“Oh.” I laugh a little too loud, willing my body to calm the fuck down. “That’s easy. It’s you. I think you’re an incredible actor, and I’d love the chance to work with you again.”
Cynthie scoffs. “ You think I’m an incredible actor?”
I wince at the disbelief in her tone. Jesus, twenty-four-year-old me really was a tremendous ass. “Yes,” I say, leaving it at that, but filling the word with as much sincerity as I can.
She crosses her arms, clearly not convinced. She taps her foot against the plush carpet.
“Right,” she says, finally. “ If I agreed to this… I think we’d need to come up with some rules.”