Chapter 28 Emmy
Chapter 28
I’ve got Matt Damon on speed dial.
Emmy
THE YACHT IS anchored just off the coast and rocks gently on the waves. We grab a couple 100 percent recycled-plastic bottles of water and head out to the bow to catch the tail end of a California sunset. I brace myself for Jason to confront me about the scene in the book. I don’t know what I’m going to say. I have no excuse, no explanation worth giving. But he doesn’t launch the attack right away. Instead, he leans on the rail, gazing out at the explosion of oranges and pinks and reds sinking into the sea.
“You have these, too, don’t you? West coast of Florida, right?” he asks.
I disguise my deep, heart rate–lowering breath to look like I’m enjoying the salt air. “I live near the water, so I get to see sunsets like this almost every day. I love them.”
“Social media marketing pays well, I guess.”
My first instinct is to agree, but I’m already weighed down with dishonesty. I don’t want to tell him any more lies. “The rent for my trailer hookup is only eight fifty a month.” My gaze drags from the horizon to the angles of his almost-too-handsome-for-this-world face surveying the water.
“You gonna stay there now that you’re a big shot author?”
I smile, partly with relief that he wasn’t shocked by my lowbrow lifestyle and partly because the wind off the water ruffles his curls in a way that makes me want to run my fingers through them. I don’t know where he’s going with this, but in my experience, adding humor never hurts. “I’ve got a call in to NASA. We’re gonna outfit the trailer for Mars and launch it on the back of an Atlas rocket. I’ve got Matt Damon on speed dial, so I’m feeling pretty confident.”
He chuckles, watching as the last sliver of sun is swallowed by the relentless ocean. The sky turns the color of avocado toast and magic. What’s happening here? Did Margarita tell him about the scene, and instead of being angry, he’s just disappointed? Or is he testing me? Giving me a chance to fess up? Did she say anything at all?
I take a deep breath. “What did you and Margarita talk about a minute ago?”
He turns to me. “We didn’t. This pair of physicists waylaid us to explain wave-particle duality. It was interesting, but I think a piece of my brain shriveled up.”
I feel a pang of inappropriate but totally justified jealousy. I’ve always wanted to have quantum physics explained to me by a physicist. “I’m sorry I missed that.”
If he’s telling the truth, that means Margarita didn’t throw me under the bus. Or, at least, she didn’t get a chance to. Crap, I shouldn’t have posted that photo! I need to tell him about it. I need to tell him everything.
“Do you ever think of moving somewhere other than Mars? Like LA?” he asks.
My confession evaporates on my tongue. “Wh-what?”
“You could finish what you started.”
I don’t know if he’s talking about us or my Hollywood dreams or both. Regardless, I’m knocked completely off base. I have a life back in Florida. A daughter. A home. Yes, it’s been my dream to move back out here, but I never got past the dreaming part. A physical move would be a big step, for a lot of reasons, one that wouldn’t be easy to undo. And if Jason is suggesting I come out here for him, what is he really suggesting? I can’t touch him in public because us being together is bad for his image. If I lived here, would that change? Or would it always be hot and cold, yes and no, like his relationship with Margarita? I have to consider what’s best for Peyton and me.
And, apparently, he still doesn’t know I screwed him over. Twice.
Jason waits for me to say something, but I can’t tear my gaze from the blurring horizon to give him something, anything . The pulsing music stops. Sean is on the mic again, introducing Miles to talk about the charity.
Jason stabs his thumb in Sean’s direction and gives me an out. “I’m probably gonna have to take my shirt off any minute now.”
I open my mouth to protest, but I’m interrupted by yelling.
“Oh my goodness! Oh my goodness!”
It’s Jason Ramirez’s lady friend with the papillon. Except she doesn’t have the dog in her arms anymore. She’s leaning over the edge, looking down. There’s a small, tan blur in the dark water.
“She just jumped out of my arms! Oh, Bellatrix!”
Jason and I exchange a look. “I’ll go get the captain,” he says, taking off.
“Just keep an eye on her,” I tell the woman. “Don’t let her out of your sight.”
“She loves to swim! It’s not a pool, Belly!”
It’s about twenty feet down to the water from where we’re standing. A small crowd is gathering at the railing. One of the onlookers is a greasy-haired kid wearing a blue-and-white-striped crew shirt.
“Hey,” I call to him. “You have to rescue that dog!”
His face registers boredom and a desire to be anywhere else but at work. “The employee handbook says we only have to go in for people.”
“So you’re just going to leave it out there to die?”
At my words, the woman’s face whitens, and she wails. “Bellatrix! Oh, my Bellatrix!”
I catch her shoulders. “He’s not going to do that.” I aim my next words at the kid. “He’s not going to do that , right?”
He shrugs. “I’m not jumping in.”
I look around. There’s no sign of Jason. Miles has been replaced at the mic by Jason Ramirez, also giving a speech. The sound system is fantastic. Even out here on deck, I can hear him telling my joke about the two guys in the bar on the top floor of a skyscraper.
I kick off my shoes and throw my leg over the railing.
“What are you doing?” The deckhand cries in a high-pitched voice.
“I’m saving the damn dog. What do you think?”
“Don’t do that, ma’am!” He lurches toward me. “Please don’t do that!”
Jason appears just as I’m leaning out over the waves. “Make sure that guy puts the ladder down at the back,” I tell him.
His eyes go wide, but I don’t wait. I jump.
It’s a long way down, and when I hit the water, it makes the Waldorf Astoria pool feel like a bathtub. I gasp as I surface. Luckily, Bellatrix is only a few feet away from me.
“Emmy!” Jason shouts down.
I give him a thumbs-up and then turn back to the dog, my teeth chattering. “Don’t bite me!” I mutter. But if Bellatrix saw me as a threat before, I’m her best friend right now. She dog-paddles toward me and lets me tuck her against my shoulder as I swim us toward the stern of the boat.
It’s kind of nice to be in the ocean, even if it is cold. The yacht is all lit up and beautiful. The sky is a cobalt backdrop. I can still hear the speakers as I kick my way aft through the dark water. Jason Ramirez has given up the mic. Now Margarita is up, which is strange because she’s not even a member of the Lost Star cast.
“Good evening, everybody. First of all, I also want to thank all of you for your support today. I know I haven’t been around to many of these events lately. I’ve been busy filming Hashtag Celebrity Crush . If you haven’t heard of it yet, I have the book right here. It’s a fun read, and the movie is going to be even better.”
I ignore the subtle dig at my writing skills and imagine her holding up the book I autographed for everyone to see. That’s nice of her—promoting my book. But why would Margarita do something nice for me? It doesn’t make any sense.
And then I have a terrible thought. What if she’s planning to read out of the book? What if she reads the bar scene out loud right now?
“The author of the book is here, Emmy Ellison. Where is she? She should come up. Emmy, where are you?”
I swim faster, but it’s not easy to do a breaststroke one-armed with a dog in tow, and the boat is over a hundred feet long. I scan the deck for Jason to no avail.
“What? She’s not here?” Margarita’s laugh echoes over the microphone, and if I didn’t know better, the sound would make me smile. “Well, never mind. I’m pretty sure she’ll turn up. She can’t go too far. It’s a boat, right?”
I turn onto my back and kick furiously, reaching behind me in a half backstroke. I have to get back on board. I have to stop her before she reads that scene in front of Jason and everyone else. The stern is still twenty feet of dark water away.
“Anyway, the real reason I’m up here is to share something with you. Many of you are my friends, and I wanted to take this opportunity to announce that… I’m pregnant.”
I miss my stroke and gag on a mouthful of salt water. What did she just say?
“Six months along. Thank you! Thank you! Jason, come up here. You should be up here, too.”
Why is she calling Jason up there? This can’t be right! I tread water, desperately scanning the deck for him. Finally, I spot him. His back is turned to me, still as a statue. I shout his name, but he doesn’t turn around. Instead, like an automaton, he heads toward the stage, disappearing from view.
Heart pounding, I paddle the rest of the way to my destination, where the deckhand is leaning over the ladder, waving me in like a frantic swim team mom. Beside him, the dog’s owner thanks me profusely and fans herself with one hand.
“You’re crazy, lady,” the kid says, stepping aside as I climb back on board. Bellatrix’s owner folds her into a towel, and as soon as I’ve released her, the dog proceeds to growl and show me her teeth.
“Really, Bellatrix?” I snap.
Out of the water now, I’m freezing, and Margarita’s announcement has turned my insides to ice as well. Someone hands me a towel, and I wrap it around myself and run barefoot up the sharp metal steps to the main deck. At the top of the steps, I halt, dripping. Jason is on the dance floor with Margarita, receiving congratulatory handshakes. His eyes are blank behind the occasional flat smile.
How can this be happening? I home in on Margarita’s figure. Her stomach in the white dress is slightly rounded, but only in the way of someone who forgot her Spanx. It’s still small for six months along. Maybe she’s not pregnant at all. Or maybe she is, but it’s not his. He said he hadn’t been with her for months.
This is ludicrous. I can’t just stand here. I need to say something. I start in their direction.
“Oh no you don’t, Ariel.”
The arm around my shoulders is strong, the voice melodious and self-assured and unmistakable. Sean O’Sullivan steers me not so gently around a corner and down the stairs to the piano bar, where a handful of introverts sip drinks on stools.
“Out!” Sean shouts. “Everybody out!”
I fall into a booth while he dismisses the bartender with a handful of bills and gets to work behind the shiny mahogany counter.
“She’s lying.” Without asking what it is, I accept the large, strong-smelling drink he serves me. “She’s jealous of us. There’s no way.”
Even as I say the words, I know I’m protesting too much. Jason never told me the last time he was with Margarita. Under my bare feet, the engines rumble to life as the boat prepares to head back to the marina.
“I wouldn’t put it past her.” Sean slides into the booth across from me. He’s ditched the yellow glasses, and his eyes are two emerald shards. “But you and I have something else to discuss: the photos you posted.”
“What?” I bury my face in a corner of my towel. Margarita just announced that she’s pregnant with Jason’s baby, and Sean is worried about my stupid smoothie picture?
Sean’s icy tone says he isn’t kidding. “Did you or did you not post photos of you and Jason at his house this weekend?”
“We posted a bunch of photos,” I say miserably. “Videos, too.”
He rolls his eyes. “ Provocative photos, Emmy.”
I scoff. “There was one that was suggestive maybe, but not provocative.” I rack my brain for something that will prove Margarita is or isn’t pregnant with Jason’s baby. “Oh my God, that face she made at the filming when I suggested the buffet! Was that morning sickness?”
“Emmy! Focus!” Sean’s palm smacks the table, and his face is as serious as a Reaver attack.
I scowl. “What’s your damage?”
“My damage? This is my damage!” He unpockets his phone and swipes around with his ring finger, the oddest way I’ve ever seen anyone swipe. He shoves the phone in my face.
Oh no, oh no, oh no.
I grab it from him. It’s the TMZ website, and these are not photos of my green smoothie with Jason in the background. These are photos of Jason and me on his patio last night. Multiple photos. In the hot tub and out of it. Both of us with our shirts off, our mouths pressed hungrily together.
A firing squad of expletives explodes from my mouth.
He snatches his phone back. “Are you trying to tell me you didn’t share these?” Sean’s voice is pissed now. Truly furious.
“It wasn’t me!” My voice catches in my throat.
“Who did then?”
“I don’t know! Nobody else was there. Maybe it was paparazzi.”
“Paparazzi don’t come to your house. By law.”
I can’t formulate a coherent explanation. My hands fly up in the air, not knowing what to do. Sean seizes them and lowers them to the table, and that’s when I notice how badly they’re shaking.
“Emmy, you need to understand something.” His green eyes blaze. “Jason is going to lose his job over this. So if you know anything about these pictures, you need to tell me. Now.”
“I don’t know! I don’t know! I promise!” Heat spreads through my body. Oh God, I’m going to spontaneously combust! I’ve read about that—people who just burst into flames. I yank my hands away so I don’t take Sean O’Sullivan with me. I’d never be forgiven for that.
“Stay here.” He holds a finger up and then disappears.
How are those photos even possible? I pull in deep breaths, forcing myself to think logically. We were on the patio. Anyone could have been outside with us, on the beach. But Jason has a pool cage and a lot of landscaping around his property, so we would have been hidden. The photos are close up and weirdly angled. It’s hard to tell from what direction they were taken. Could it have been a drone?
I sip the awful beverage Sean brought me. It tastes like a Long Island iced tea laced with strychnine. I push it aside. Someone took those photos. Who? And how?
I left my purse up on deck when I jumped in the water. Sliding out of the booth, I slip out of the bar and head for the stairs. I need my phone. And I need to talk to Jason.
“You’re not going anywhere.” Sean catches me before I get any farther. He shoves my shoes and purse into my hands.
“I need to find Jason.”
“Listen, Emmy, this is for your own good. A lot of people on this boat love Jason and hate you right now.”
“Does he really think I did this? How could I? I’m in those pictures, too!”
Sean’s face is stone. “Oh, I don’t know. A strategically placed phone with a video app? Fifty bucks and an accomplice? Shouldn’t be too hard for a social media expert to figure out.”
My voice is small. “But I didn’t.”
“Here.” He replaces the wet towel over my shoulders with Jason’s old Hadron jacket. “You won this in the auction. You can make the donation through the website.”
I thread my arms through the sleeves. It still smells like him: citrus and musk. It might be all I have left. Sean steers me back to the bar and pushes the drink at me again, but I don’t want it. I should go back out there, face the hate, find Jason, and defend myself. I didn’t do anything wrong! I don’t deserve this!
No, that’s a lie.
This is what I was planning to do to him all along. Use him. Exploit him. Climb him like a ladder, complete with foot in face, all the way to the top. Of course he believes I posted those terrible photos. It’s only a few steps up from what I actually did. I’m no different than any of the talking heads and internet trolls and know-nothing gossip column junkies that are always trying to make him into something he’s not. Except what I did was worse because I was supposed to be on his side. I was supposed to care about him.
I drop my head onto the table. I never meant to hurt Jason, but I had to fight for my dream. Nobody was going to hand it to me. Not Rhett. Not Hollywood. Not Jason Connor. And why am I trying so hard to hold on to Jason anyway? We were never going to be a real, normal, happy couple. Relationships don’t work when both people are too busy thinking about themselves.
Nose pressed to the tabletop, I roll my gaze toward Sean until the smooth lacquer cools my cheek. “What now?”
His reply is gentler than I expect, his hand on my head kinder than I deserve. “I’m taking you to the airport, Emmy. You’re going home.”