Chapter 7 Jane
JANE
Cupping my face in his big palms, Roman plants a quick hot kiss on my lips, hands me my phone, and grabs his from the couch. “Pal would go for this, but first, let me get Hilary Montrose on the line.”
“Who?”
“Hil owns the Montrose PR agency. I’m a client. Well, the entire Kingsley family is, actually.”
Busily, he punches on his screen, and I swallow back the rising panic, not comprehending what he’s doing. “Roman. I don’t—”
“One sec.” He holds up a finger, and in the next breath, a ringing emanates from the phone only to end when someone answers.
“Roman, thank you for calling.” A pragmatic female voice fills the room. “We need to talk.”
“Hilary, before you rip me a new one, I’m way ahead of you and have a solution. A way to fix all of this.”
“Roman, we’ve talked about this before. It’s my job to deal with things like this.” Her placating tone, polished and even, suggests she’s used to handling clients like him, the ones who think they’ve got it covered and don’t need a publicist or crisis manager.
He chuckles as if he hasn’t a care in the world, and while my idea is a good one, it isn’t without flaws, and anything could go wrong.
“Seriously, I’m on it and have a solution, or actually I should say Jane Hastings does.”
“Jane? Who? What are you talking about?” While Hilary Montrose is just a name, given the way she fires her questions, she doesn’t have the time or patience for whatever she thinks this is.
This makes me wonder just how many phone calls her office must have received from the media because of those photos.
“Jane’s the woman in the pictures.”
A long sigh precedes her voice. “With all due respect, unless you’re going to tell me she’s now your wife and you’re on your honeymoon or better yet, she’s your future wife and you’re engaged—that I can work with.
I could easily sell it as the Hollywood wedding of the year.
Roman Kingsley finally settles down. Other than that, I doubt you have a solution. ”
“Funny, but no. Hear me out, Hil. I’ve got Jane with me, and I want her to take you through this.”
“What?” The one word flies clear from my throat like a squeak, and he smiles and nods like that’s enough encouragement to get me to talk to this stranger.
Nerves aside, I clear my throat and ignore my shaking hands. “Uh, hi, Hilary.”
There’s no answer from her end of the line, and my nerves ratchet up, twitching and burning throughout me. He rolls his hand quickly, in a go on motion.
Somehow, with way too many ums and ahs, and sadly a few cringe-inducing stutters, I manage to lay out my thinking for her.
She doesn’t need to know me or what I look like. She’s seen the photos online, and hopefully, now that I’ve pointed out my resemblance to Palmira, she’s able to fully grasp the possibility of this wild idea.
Silence ensues, and with every breath and every beat that passes without a word from the PR guru on the line, hundreds of miles away in Los Angeles, I slowly shrink. It’s annoying because I don’t know this woman and shouldn’t care what she thinks, and I don’t. This is more about Roman. Helping him.
He’s as on edge as I am, tapping his foot, until eventually he can’t take the waiting any longer. “Hilary, you there? Before you say it won’t work, I think it will.”
Finally, she breaks her silence. “Hang on.” But that’s it. Another round of beats of nothing pass, and I’m about to throw up. We look at each other, not sure what to make of it.
“This is brilliant. Jane, that’s your name, right?”
“Um, yes.”
“This is an excellent idea, and we can work with this. Roman, you call Palmira and float this by her. If she isn’t on board with our plan, call me stat.”
“Hil, we won’t have a problem there.”
“If we do, remind her of Pinwheel.”
I raise my eyebrows, surprised by the insinuation or is it more a threat? And who is Hilary to suggest such a thing when it’s Roman’s project? Yet he seems unfazed and nods even though she can’t see him.
The woman barrels on, “We’ll need to get her to Houston ASAP.
I’ll get someone on my team talking to her assistant.
I want the two of you seen out tonight. Dinner, fancy, romantic, then maybe a club.
I’ll call the hack who covered the initial story to express our outrage.
What kind of journalism is this? Don’t they do research?
They’ll apologize and grovel by the time I’m through with them.
Then we’ll also reach out to a few media in Houston, only reputable outlets, and let it drop where the two of you will be tonight.
We’ll squash this outrageous idea of a mystery woman and today’s story will become a distant memory. ”
Her words are rapid-fire and said with such confidence that I now believe Palmira is in the pictures and feel somewhat sorry for the poor schmuck who wrote the story.
“Sounds good.” Roman looks less stressed, relaxed even.
“Roman, there’s also the matter of your father.”
Immediately, tension jumps on his back, now rigid and ironing-board straight. “I’ll call him.” He rakes a hand through his hair and readies to end the call when Hilary says, “And Jane? What do you do for a living?”
The question punches me in the throat.
It’s straightforward and shouldn’t be hard to answer, but it’s my ultimate humiliation.
“Um, I-ah, I’m not…” I can’t think fast enough to make myself sound impressive, and I hate lying. “I don’t do anything. I mean, I’m a waitress but I wouldn’t call it my career or anything.”
My lips smack shut as I force myself to stop talking. My cheeks redden. Again, my response doesn’t pull a negative reaction from her.
“You might want to think about a career change. PR sounds like your calling. You’re a natural. Roman, text me once you’ve spoken to Pal. Talk later.”
Then she’s gone and he mutters something about being right back as he marches toward the bedroom with his phone. I guess he’s calling the actress, but funny how he doesn’t want me to hear that conversation.
All doubts and worries are shoved to the back of my mind. I can’t begin to understand Hollywood and though I desperately want to believe that there’s nothing going on with him and Palmira, there may very well be.
And truthfully, as much as it sickens me to think he may have been unfaithful, that I may be the other woman, I don’t know what kind of relationship they have. It could be an open one, and Roman does this kind of thing all the time.
Oh, God, I can’t think like that, or I’ll vomit for sure.
We never promised each other anything beyond this weekend, and I agreed to this. I wanted it, even.
Although, the idea of being just one woman among many doesn’t sit right with me. In fact, I feel downright dirty. I guess I’m not cut out for this kind of thing.
He enters the living room in under fifteen minutes, beaming. “Jane Hastings, get your ass over here.”
He rubs his hands together, and his easy grin, the one that’s all for me, brings a sweet flutter deep in my chest. Before I can say a word or even get off the couch, he’s on me.
His lean, muscled body crowds me, fills my nostrils with his heady, masculine scent, and the feral, possessive gleam in his stare sets my insides on fire.
I giggle, anticipation fizzing through my veins, and his mouth crashes onto mine. His hands undo my robe and his lips trail kisses from my face to between the valley of my breasts, down to my belly button.
My head swims, sensations squashing all thought and reason. Yet I have too many questions and I need to know what happened. Reluctantly, I push at his shoulders as his mouth presses into my pelvic bone. I can’t believe I’m stopping Roman Kingsley from eating me out. This man is a master at it.
“Wait.” I brush my hair out of my eyes. “What happened?”
He chuckles against my flesh, hot breath skating over my nether regions and causing me to quiver.
“Really? That’s what you want right now?” He arches a brow.
Maybe it’s the way he asks, or truth be told it’s simply him—this man—that snaps some sense into me. “No. No.” My fingers weave into his thick hair as I push his head down to my sex. “Tell me later.”
And later he does.
We lie entwined on the couch, Roman at my back when he breaks our blissful silence. “So Palmira’s on a flight from New Orleans and should be here within the next hour or so.”
“Just like that? You call her and she shows up.”
“She was flying in tomorrow anyway, so it’s a little easier than asking her to drop everything.”
“She was supposed to be in Houston tomorrow?”
He plays with my hair. “Yeah.”
“What did I miss? You expect me to believe there’s nothing between the two of you, but she was always going to be here with you.” I try to get off the couch.
Lightning quick, he grabs the ends of the ties to my robe and twists them around his hand, drawing me closer.
“Jane, come on. I thought we were past that. She’s my secret weapon for the Pinwheel meeting. The writer had an actress in mind for the lead role when she was writing the script.”
He pauses and it takes me a bit to put two and two together. I’m too focused on how close we are and if I should be pushing him away or falling into his arms.
Then it clicks and the fog lifts from my mind.
“Oh…I see.”
To be sure I’m following, his voice rumbles, “I’ve already secured Pal for the role, but only if AKS produces.”
“That’s—” I nervously laugh, suddenly feeling silly for jumping to the worst case scenario.“—brilliant.”
“No, you are, and like Hil said, you really should think about it. PR might be your thing. That’s a rare compliment. She doesn’t give out many of those and for her to give you kudos, you should take it to heart.”
“Not a chance.” I snort and will the heat creeping into my cheeks to evaporate. “I’d have to go to college, and I can’t afford it. Now that things are over with Monty, I have to go home.”
I don’t want to think about going home. There’s nothing there for me.
My mother died when I was in high school, and my father remarried within the year.
His new wife didn’t care much for me and wanted me gone.
I was the cause of many an argument between her and my dad.
Luckily, I had Monty, and when he got drafted into the major league, I left with him.
Now my father’s older, needs more care, and he’s in no position to fight with her if I were to ask to stay with them. Even if I go back to Marathon, I’m not staying with them.
There was one time when Monty said he’d help with college, but it never came to pass. Whenever I brought it up, he’d say he wanted me with him. That I didn’t need a job. Against his wishes, I got the waitressing job so I’d have my own money and something to do.
Roman’s question pulls me back to the hotel suite. “Where’s home?”
“The Florida Keys. Marathon.”
He nods. “Money aside, you should give it some thought. You’re young. You could still do college, and there’s always scholarships or grants.”
“I don’t know. There’s a lot to think about, and I’m not sure I could stomach all the underhandedness around PR.”
“It’s like anything—you don’t have to conduct yourself that way. I mean, look at what we’re doing now with the pictures. We aren’t hurting anyone and this situation wasn’t our doing. Someone else wanted to make a buck, and we’re trying to lessen the fallout from that.”
“What about your father? Did you talk to him?”
He nods, lips pressing into a grim line. “Yeah, it’s fine.”
“That’s all you’re giving me.”
“You’re not going to like what I said to him.”
“Tell me.”
“I told him what we’re telling the media. I’m with Pal.”
My heart hurts, and it shouldn't. It isn’t true. Roman is here with me. But even so, he felt the need to lie to his father in order to make things right. That saddens me—mostly for him, as I get the sense he’s been trying to please his father for most of his life and continually falls short.
I’m also disheartened to think that while I’m never going to meet Alexander Kingsley, something tells me that I’d fall short, too.
As soon as Roman leaves for dinner with Palmira, I head to Monty’s room to gather my things. When Roman guessed I was going to do this while he was gone, he almost canceled tonight’s plan. He wanted me to wait until he came back so we could go together.
I didn’t want to wait. Besides, going later would only increase our chances of running into Monty.
So we compromised. If I was going without him, then I had to text him once I left Monty’s room. But that wasn’t enough. Roman also made me promise to call him if my ex showed up or if I simply needed him for anything at all.
Overwhelmed by his genuine concern for me, I almost lost it in front of him and broke down and cried. He was sweet and as much as I needed to know he was there for me, I wouldn’t jeopardize his dinner. And fortunately, there was no need for him to be worried. Nothing happened.
Once back in the suite, I call Gail, a friend from work in Philly. I need a place to stay once I get back, and she’s the only one I’m close enough with to ask. It also helps that she isn’t Monty’s friend.
The conversation isn’t long. It’s hard enough admitting to myself what Monty did and how much of a jerkwad he is, but it’s another kind of difficult to share it with Gail or any of my friends.
Fortunately, she readily invites me to stay as long as I want, and this eases some of the dread about leaving Houston.
Not long after that, news notifications about Roman start to appear on my phone, and quickly mushroom to the point that I’m forced to turn it off.
Deliberately, I don’t click on any of them, and instead fill my time repacking my suitcase, picking out what to wear home tomorrow, and soaking in the bath for a long time.
But I have only so much willpower and don’t know what to do with this sudden abundance of time. It’s as if time has stopped, if only to torture me, and eventually I cave.
As promised by Hilary, dozens of media sites cover their romantic dinner with headlines that set the record straight. Palmira Lamont and Roman Kingsley are on a weekend getaway and madly in love.
My insides are at war. My heart races with lightness and joy. It’s as if the photo debacle never existed, and I hope this means Alexander Kingsley is happy. Yet at the same time, my chest feels like it’s imploding.
It’s hard not to linger on the pictures of the two of them, even if they’re fake. Both of them are stunning and flawless. It’s plain to see they belong together.
By the time eleven rolls around, I’m on the couch, restless and nowhere near ready to sleep. I want to wait up for Roman. This is our last night together.