Chapter 9
Chapter Nine
Rachel
Fix this, the text from Orla read.
That was it. Two words. Simple, crystal clear, and deadly.
Career deadly, that is. Her career was over if she couldn’t get Lucinda and Boyce to sell, and Kell Luview had nearly destroyed her chances for that.
Nearly.
Her shower here at the trailer had been thorough, a quick internet search telling her that everything Kell said was correct.
Hot water opened the pores and let the poison ivy oil in.
Lukewarm showers with lots of soap were better.
Her post-hot-springs dip was followed by a shivering wash-off that left her wondering how bad the rash would become.
Fortunately, Dani made her a little travel kit for emergencies like this, a small bottle of Benadryl at the ready if she needed it, and she could make a hospital visit of it got bad enough.
Shoving her in the waters had been an act of caring, as sputteringly bizarre as it sounded.
And then there was that kiss...
Almost kiss.
Why were they always almost? If Rachel's entire life could be summed up in one word, it would be almost.
Everything felt like almost. She was almost successful. She was almost good enough. She had almost kissed Kell–twice.
Back at Stanford, she'd almost been included in a high-profile project. Almost been hired by bigger corporations than Markstone's.
Almost got her parents' approval.
Almost had relationships.
Every part of her life felt like it was close... but not quite.
Good... but not great.
Nice try.
Strong effort.
Real potential.
Always a runner up, never the winner.
And now, she'd almost clinched the Love You Chocolate deal.
Speaking of which, the bowl in front of her was half full. She popped another candy in her mouth and rolled the red foil into a tiny ball between her thumb and index finger, adding it to the growing pile in the center of the table.
Almost there, she typed back to Orla, hitting Send.
Message failed, the phone replied.
Might as well say YOU failed.
Rachel hit Send again and this time, it went through. Already, she was learning a few tricks. Internet in the trailer was fickle.
Like her mother picking a smoothie stand after hot yoga class.
As she logged into her work email, Rachel reached for the sad cup of coffee that tasted nothing like the one from Love You Coffee yesterday.
Yesterday.
Day one in town: glued to Kell.
Day two in town: thrown in the hot springs and soaped up by Kell.
And then there was that kiss.
Okay. Fine. Almost kiss.
Every breath she took reminded her of it, the feel of his shoulder under her hand, his chest rising and falling as the danger from what she’d done receded.
No one had ever insisted on protecting her so fiercely before.
An innocent mistake could have made her life miserable, and he’d seen that. Acted on it.
Made sure she was fine.
Some basic internet searches told her it would be days before her skin would erupt into the rash, so now it was all about waiting.
So much of her life was about waiting.
No way was she venturing anywhere near downtown today. Might as well hide in the trailer and work all day, no matter how dismal it was. Promising the Armisteads that she’d be in town until February 15 had been an impulse, way out of her normal paradigm for how to handle a failing deal.
Now she was stuck for nine more days in Maine, with spotty internet and possible third degree burns. The internet that blew hot and cold like her mother choosing lip filler, and the email from Doug with the subject line Performance Improvement Plan didn’t start day three off well, either.
Closing the laptop, she stood, three pairs of socks on her feet under her running shoes, a pair of sweatpants pulled over her pajama bottoms, and the down comforter wrapped around her, hair in a messy topknot.
Why did it matter what she looked like? Rachel was going nowhere and seeing no one. If she spent the day hermitting, without a single interaction with another living thing, it would be a glorious day.
Her phone rang.
Jumping out of her skin, she looked at the phone like it was Satan the Squirrel. Was it Orla, calling to chew her out?
Nope. Worse.
Mom.
“Um, hi?”
“Honey!” Portia said, her voice low and smooth. The sound of it evoked lilacs and sandalwood, her mother’s scent from Rachel’s childhood. “How did the deal go?”
Temporary amnesia struck. Rachel struggled to remember when she’d told her mother she was working on a deal.
“Deal?”
“You’re in Maine, right? Where we filmed my adorable little reality show, the one the stupid network didn’t appreciate because they lack vision. My wonderful friend Deanna reached out to me and promised she’d take good care of my little girl,” her mother gushed.
Rachel’s right temple started to pound.
Dani made sure she always had ibuprofen in her work bag, thank goodness.
“It’s all good,” Rachel lied, searching for her bag.
“You’re not eating too many of those chocolates, are you? I cannot fathom why you chose to work for a chocolate company, of all places, Rachel! Why couldn’t you have been hired somewhere useful, like a Botox company?”
The joke was ancient, but her mother wasn’t really joking.
“Ha ha. I’m more likely to drink the coffee here than eat the candy, Mom. You held out on me. Love You Coffee serves some of the best I’ve ever had!”
“I don’t drink coffee anymore, honey. I found caffeine pills. I get the buzz without staining my teeth.”
Conversations with her mother tended to suck any tiny bit of remaining fun out of Rachel’s life.
“So what’s up, Mom? You okay?”
“Of course I am! Why would you ask? I live a charmed life!”
That much was true. Portia met Rachel’s father, Stan, when she was eighteen and working in the secretarial pool of his law firm. He was ten years older and fell in love with the aspiring model quickly; the two of them were married within three months.
Her mother’s career jumpstarter was a poster that capitalized on the iconic 1980s movie, Ten. Posing in a revealing one-piece, long, dark blonde hair in cornrows, Portia’s image adorned the walls of every teenage boy’s bedroom.
And Stan had swung into action.
Turning Portia Starman into a television star had been her dad’s greatest achievement, not because he hadn’t succeeded in other ways, but because her mom wasn’t exactly a strong businesswoman.
Years ago, during one of many lunches with her mom and her mom’s agent, Morty, he’d commented that if Portia hadn’t married Stan and become an actress, she’d have been a clerk in a flower shop, or a career receptionist.
Her mother had simply said, “I’ve lived a charmed life.”
When Rachel had told her dad the story, he’d laughed and laughed and laughed, then mused aloud whether Morty wasn’t past his prime and it was time to switch.
“Mom?”
“Yes?”
“Why didn’t you tell me Kell Luview lives in Love You again? When you were here filming a few years ago, you must have run into him.”
“Deanna’s boy? Why would I tell you about that?”
It hit Rachel hard between the eyes, a memory of Deanna’s hug and how warm and welcoming it was intruding on her call with her own mother.
Portia Starman hadn’t bothered to say a word about Kell to Rachel because Rachel had never told her parents what happened back at EEC between Kell, Alissa, and her.
It had been too embarrassing.
“Oh, no reason.”
“He’s a hottie, isn’t he? Big old lumberjack… ”
“I really don’t know, Mom.”
Portia sighed. “This deal, Rachel–any chance we could revive my old reality series and do an episode on the chocolate company you’re trying to buy?”
And there it was.
Her mother was fishing for work.
“Uh, I don’t think so, Mom. Dad’s the expert on that.” Try as he might, Stan hadn’t been able to keep the TV show going. Networks knew a loser when they saw it, and no one had wanted Love You Springs Eternal beyond those first six episodes.
“Your father,” Portia said in an exasperated tone. “He thinks it’s time for me to accept reality and take mother roles.”
Those two words, mother roles, were anathema in their family.
“I might as well audition for grandmother roles,” her mom followed up, cackling as if that were absurd.
“Deanna’s a grandmother,” Rachel said without thinking. “And she’s about your age.”
Her mom sounded like she was choking on her own tongue.
“I am not Deanna’s age!”
“I think you are.”
“She’s at least ten years older.”
“Okay. If you say so.”
“Hmph.” A distracted sound, then a beep, meant her mom was texting. “Well, I was just checking in with my baby girl. Any new boyfriend opportunities? Not that you’d find your type there.”
“My type?”
“You always date movers and shakers, Rachel.”
Nico sure did move her money and shake her down.
“I do?”
“Like your father.”
“I do not pick men like my father!”
“Not lately. When was your last date, honey?”
Ouch.
Rachel wasn’t about to admit it was over a year ago. Nico had been an act of desperation. Hot as hell and built like one of those TikTokkers who wears an apron over a bare chest, with muscles bulging out the sides, Nico had been great in bed and not great for anything else.
“When was your last offer for a role that isn’t a mother role, Mom?”
An audible, pained gasp told Rachel her question hit the mark, too.
Yay. Now they’d mutually injured each other’s feelings, which meant they were family. The Hart-Starman version, at least. Rachel doubted that Deanna Luview traded painful barbs with her kids like this.
“Sorry, Mom.”
“It’s okay. I deserved it. I shouldn’t ask about your love life. I remember how hard it was being on the market.”
“You married Dad at eighteen.”
“That doesn’t mean the years before that were easy.”
“When? In high school?”
Portia ignored that. “Finding the love of your life is hard work. Maybe you’re in the wrong job, sweetie. Get a job at a law firm and you could meet a nice man who will take care of you. Worked for me!”
“I have an MBA from Stanford, Mom. I can take care of myself.”