Chapter 19 Jack
The day after karaoke brings a fresh supply of disasters.
That whole scene by the fire has completely messed with my head, and honestly, I was barely clinging to my sanity long before that.
She’d been so open with me, had let her guard down for the first time, and—miraculously—I had too.
I said things to her, this woman who an hour before I would have called my worst enemy, that I’ve never said to anyone else.
And then we nearly kissed. So nearly, that I can still taste the breathy little sigh she made against my mouth. I had to physically run away to keep myself from leaping on her—had practically left a trail of smoke behind me as I tore out of there.
Hours later I’m still vibrating with want, a need that threatens to choke me, but I know I did the right thing, that I pulled back just in time.
She was drunk and stoned and vulnerable, and she’s my costar.
There are rules, rules I have for a good reason.
My brain knows that I can’t even entertain the idea of kissing her.
But try telling that to the rest of me.
Shit.
The phone is still ringing, and I grab for it.
“?’Lo?” I manage, voice husky. As someone who doesn’t usually drink much, the mix of tequila and beer has left me feeling rough.
“Jack?” Marion’s voice is a direct contrast to mine, crisp and efficient—even though the last time I saw her she’d been playing beer pong on the pub’s pool table with the entire sound department.
“We’ve got a bit of a problem with the property schedule, and we’ve had to shift things around.
I need you on set as soon as possible. We’re going to film scene forty-five today instead of later in the week. ”
“Scene forty-five,” I repeat, trying to pull the schedule up from the dark, dusty recesses of my brain.
“Yes,” Marion agrees. “So get caffeinated and get moving. Your car’s on the way.” She hangs up without any further ado.
I sit up, scrubbing my hands over my face.
It’s far from unheard of for the schedule to change suddenly due to weather conditions or the availability of cast members or locations.
In fact, it’s only Marion’s iron will—which I’m convinced extends to controlling the weather—that has kept us perfectly on track for almost three weeks.
Staggering over to the desk where my filming schedule is laid out, I try to get the letters to stop jumping around in front of my tired eyes.
When I finally make sense of what I’m looking at and get to scene forty-five, I stand very still, staring for a long moment before I let out a string of impressive curses. Someone out there is seriously fucking with me.
Because it looks like I’m going to spend today kissing Cynthie Taylor, after all.
WHEN I REACH SET AN hour later, it’s to find that I’m not the only one having a tough morning.
“Please,” Patty whimpers, face down on the sofa in my trailer. “Close the door. The light! My god, the light!”
I pull the door closed, shutting out the weak morning sunshine. “Patty,” I say evenly. “What are you doing in my trailer?”
“Whaaa?” comes the muffled response, her head still buried in the cushions.
“My trailer,” I try again. “Did you need me for something?”
Finally, and with visible effort, Patty lifts her head, twists her neck to look blearily up at me. “Your trailer?” she says, then she seems to finally take in her surroundings. Her eyes widen. “I thought I was in hair and makeup.”
“Right.” I glance around. Pause for a moment. “But hair and makeup doesn’t have a sofa.”
Patty frowns. “I’m on a sofa?”
I’m not sure what to say to that, but she staggers to her feet.
Her red hair is pulled up in a ponytail and her face is pale.
She’s still wearing the same clothes she had on last night, although her T-shirt does seem to be on inside out.
And back to front. Finally, she grins at me.
“Good night, eh?” she says, wobbling a bit and then righting herself.
As the last time I’d seen her she was trying to detach her jaw and swallow Arjun whole, I smile back.
“You certainly looked like you were having fun. Where’s Arjun this morning?”
We’re interrupted by a knock on the door, and then the man himself strides in. “Oh, hey, Jack,” he greets me, before turning to Patty and holding out a brown paper bag. “I got you a bacon sandwich.”
Apparently such a romantic overture cannot possibly be ignored, because Patty launches herself at him, wrapping her legs around his waist and kissing him hungrily.
I stand frozen, but when neither of them looks like they have any intention of stopping, I clear my throat noisily. “Er… still in my trailer, guys.”
They break apart, and Arjun regards me with stars in his eyes. “Oh, hey, Jack,” he says again, blankly.
“There you are, you horny trolls,” Cynthie’s voice interrupts from the open doorway. She’s already in her costume, but the historical effect is slightly ruined by the enormous pair of sunglasses she’s sporting.
“Patty, Liam says they need you now.” She turns to Arjun, a smirk pulling at the corner of her mouth. “And I think your walkie-talkie must be off.”
“What?” Arjun’s eyes widen and he removes his hands from Patty’s ass. “Oh shit,” he mutters, pulling the radio from the back of his belt and fiddling with the buttons. “Sorry, babe, got to go.” He presses another hard kiss to Patty’s mouth and then sprints outside.
Patty just blinks.
“So.” Cynthie’s tone is teasing. “You two had a good night then.”
Patty licks her lips, her expression one of deep satisfaction. “Let’s just say, I was wrong… That is definitely not a nice boy.”
Cynthie laughs, pushes the sunglasses up onto the top of her head revealing tired eyes. “Well then, come and give us all the gossip. Liam’s practically climbing the walls.”
“Cynthie,” I say. “Can we have a quick word?”
She impales me on a glare, but nods, jerkily. “I’ll catch up,” she says to Patty. “Just don’t spill any of the good stuff until I get there.”
After Patty leaves, I hesitate for a moment, not exactly sure where to start. “About last night,” I say finally. “I’m sorry if I gave you the wrong impression…”
I know her well enough now to see the flare of temper in her face. “You don’t need to apologize,” she grinds out. “We’d been drinking. I was stoned. I didn’t know what I was doing.”
“But that’s exactly why I owe you an apology,” I try again. “I shouldn’t have let it get so far.”
“Let what get so far?” Her laugh is brittle. “Nothing happened.”
Even though that is technically true, it doesn’t feel true.
“Look,” Cynthie carries on impatiently. “We called a truce, right, and obviously that was a mistake, but it’s over now. Everything can go back to normal. We don’t need to talk about it.”
“I don’t think the truce was a mistake.” I frown.
“Yeah, I bet you don’t,” she finally snaps, and for a horrible second I think tears glitter in her eyes.
“I’m sure you just loved it that I was spilling all my secrets and giving you more ammunition for this stupid fight we’re trapped in.
Can’t wait to see how you’re going to use all the tragic little details of my sad life against me. ”
“Wait.” I hold up my hand. “Where has that come from? I wouldn’t—”
“Of course you would!” Cynthie exclaims. “I’m just the fool who forgot who you were for five minutes, but don’t worry, it won’t happen again.”
I rake my hands through my hair and a rumble of frustration escapes me. My head is pounding. I need someone to inject espresso directly into my bloodstream at this point.
“You are impossible .” I sigh, finally. “I don’t know why you’re so determined to turn me into some sort of Disney villain, but fine. Fine . Let’s not talk about it anymore. That’s probably for the best, given we’ve got scene forty-fucking-five to get through.”
“Right,” Cynthie agrees, her face carefully neutral. “So, I’ll see you on set.”
“Sure,” I mumble, but she’s already out of here.
“Hey, boss!” Scott shouts as he passes Cynthie on the steps. He’s reaching toward me with a bucket-size cup of coffee, and I fight the urge to fall, weeping on his neck.
“Some night, last night,” Scott says cheerfully, looking absolutely none the worse for wear.
“Yeah,” I mutter, burying my face in my coffee. “Some night.”
THE SCENE WE’RE FILMING TODAY is a big one, and it’s set up on the long lawn in front of Darlcot Manor, with the building looming in the background.
There’s already a mist machine on set, a big cylindrical thing strapped to the back of a truck, kicking out huge clouds of soft, gray mist, which roll across the lawn looking atmospheric.
An enormous, collapsible tank of water is positioned nearby to supply the stands of the rain machine, which loom high overhead.
Everyone is running about, looking damp and harried in waterproof gear. Cynthie is deep in conversation with Jasmine. She’s wearing the sunglasses again, as well as an enormous puffy anorak. As Reckless Ed is involved in the shot, Hannah is nowhere to be seen.
The horse stands looking mildly interested in the mist machine but largely unbothered by the chaos around him. Today, it seems, he’s chosen professionalism.
“Jack!” Logan rushes up to greet me. “Sorry to call you in on short notice like this.”
“It’s fine,” I say.
“So,” Logan pulls me to one side. “I want to have a quick word before we get started.” His gaze slides toward his sister, and I brace myself.
Jasmine and Logan often disagree on how a scene should be handled, and it’s a weird balancing act trying to juggle their conflicting expectations.
“This is a big scene, and I know Jasmine is going to have some notes for you, but I want you to take them with a grain of salt.”
“What do you mean?” The ache in my head pulses harder.
He grimaces. “Well, much as my sister might not care to admit it, we’re making a film for an actual audience, and—frankly—sex sells.”
I’m totally thrown by this. “Sex sells?” I repeat slowly.