Chapter 8
I toss back the rest of my water and send the empty bottle skidding to the stage.
I know we just started, but I’ve been dancing with Helga for weeks.
For some stupid-ass reason, I let Artie’s enthusiasm rub off on me.
Maggie’s great. She’s a fantastic dancer, but she’s not a magician.
She can’t just wave a wand and transform my two left feet.
I pull my phone from my back pocket and frown at my dad’s name lighting up the screen.
Can’t talk now, I text. Call you later
I have plans later but you should probably call your sister. She’s pretty upset about your little trip.
Fucking dick. I swear to God.
I dial him back and put the phone to my ear.
“I knew that would work,” he says, smug as always. “You’re such a pussy when it comes to that girl.”
“That girl is your daughter. What do you want? You have one minute.”
“Actually, son, I’ll take as long as I damn well please. And if you’re too busy to speak with your father, I’ll just relay the message to Hannah. That girl always takes my calls.”
“Because she’s scared of you,” I mutter under my breath.
“What’s that? You’ll have to speak up. Bad connection.”
I clamp my mouth shut and stare at the ceiling. “We spoke yesterday. What could you possibly have to talk to me about today?”
“Ah, that’s better. Articulate, son. You’re an actor!” The familiar squeak of his desk chair filters through the line as he sits. “My secretary put a hold on your calendar for the rescheduled lunch. Did you see it?”
“No, I didn’t see it. I’ve been busy.”
“Then you’d better get un-busy, because it’s next month and I need to know I can count on you.”
“You’re blackmailing me,” I say flatly. “What do you think?”
He lets out a boisterous laugh. “Blackmailing you? What a sense of humor you have. Must’ve gotten that from your mother.”
“Must have.”
“Look, son. I’m not fucking around. Open your calendar and confirm with Paige.”
“Paige? What happened to Carly?”
“She was late. I don’t put up with late.”
I snort. “Really, Dad? Usually when one of your secretaries is late, you marry them.”
“Watch it, kid.”
I head toward the stage to grab my water bottle. “I do this, and you’ll leave Hannah alone?”
“Leave Hannah—son, what’s gotten into you? Nobody’s messing with your sister.”
His chair squeaks again, and I picture him leaning back, hoping today’s the day it finally gives. “Just confirm with Paige, and I’ll make sure she takes Hannah shopping for new luggage.”
And with that, the call drops.
“Sure, Reinhold,” I say through clenched teeth. “I’ll confirm with Paige.”
I rear back and kick the hell out of the bottle, watching it sail across the dance floor—this time landing at Maggie’s feet as she exits the restroom.
Son of a bitch.
She bends to pick it up. “Everything okay?”
“Yeah, everything’s—shit!” My phone buzzes again. I glance down at the screen and sigh.
Did Dad call you?
“I need to answer this.”
“It’s fine,” Maggie says, waving me off as she leans against the wall, those ridiculously sexy boots crossed at the ankles.
My eyes drag up the curve of her thighs to the frayed edge of her denim shorts and linger there.
Christ.
“Uh, thanks,” I manage, voice rougher than I’d like. “Just give me a minute.”
I start pacing, my steps unconsciously carrying me toward the far end of the hall as I text my sister back.
Just got off the phone with him. Why?
He said ur supposed to send him something. Did you?
My shoulders sag. The asshole loves taunting her. Not yet but I will
Please hurry
I said I will
OK HOLDEN! she fires back, and I feel like a real jerk. She’s only a kid. Too young to understand any of this.
Sorry, Han. Just tired. You at the office with—I start to type Carly but catch myself—Paige?
Yes and I’m bored. I miss Carly. At least she talked to me
I stop in front of a window, wondering if closing it might help at this point. Can you keep a secret?
Yes! :)
Dad said Paige might take you shopping for our trip so play it cool OK?
Really?
Really. I spot Maggie’s reflection as she walks toward me. Gotta run but I’ll call you tonight
OK. Love you big bro
Love you too Banana
“You good?” Maggie asks, stepping up beside me.
“Yeah, um, let me just find the song.”
I open my music app and scroll past “Take the Bull by the Horns” more than once, Hannah pulling my focus.
My little sister is stuck with our father—scratch that—our father’s staff.
He hardly sees her, and when he does, it’s for his own benefit.
I’m convinced the only reason he even shares custody with Cara is for the power it gives him.
It’s just one more thing he can lord over her.
And me.
I hit play, but I don’t move from the window. Instead, I close my eyes, press my forehead to the glass, and turn the volume way up, hoping to drown out the noise in my head.
“Holden?” Maggie rests her temple against the wall beside me, her soft gaze taking me in. “Are you having some sort of nervous breakdown? Because we hate this song.”
I bark a laugh and silence my phone. “I think maybe, yeah.”
“Anything I can do to help?”
“Actually…” I turn, and those striking blue eyes knock my train of thought clean off the rails. It takes me a second to find it again. “I think I’m just hungry.”
“It’s almost eleven thirty. You want to call it?”
“Already?” We’ve been at it for over three hours. Practices with Helga never made it past two, and every minute had been torture. “Time flies, huh?”
She picks at the threads on her cutoffs. “We don’t have to. I can keep going if you can.”
I slip my phone in my pocket and lean back against the windowsill. “What are your lunch plans? Did you bring anything?”
“I was in too much of a hurry to get here on time,” she says with a sheepish grin. “In hindsight, not packing a lunch made me late.”
“Are there any restaurants around here?”
“You want close or good? Because those are two very different things. Good is about twenty minutes that way,” she says, pointing east toward what locals call “town.”
“It can take twenty minutes just to circle a block in LA. Longer if you’re walking, which I’d prefer not to do in this heat. You fly, I buy?”
“Sure,” she says. “But it’s Texas food. Deep fried, dairy-laden, sauced or gravied. They have a salad on the menu, but I did the math once. You’re better off ordering a cheeseburger.”
“Why, Ms. Calhoun, do you think just because I live in California, all I eat is lettuce and tofu?”
“No, I think because you look like that”—she waves her fingers up and down at me—“all you eat is lettuce and tofu.”
Her mouth twitches, and I realize she’s not flirting. She’s just shamelessly direct. And whether it’s a compliment or simply an observation, I couldn’t say. My breath still falters.
“Thanks?”
She laughs. “Come on, then. Let’s fatten you up.”
“I’m going to need the lowdown on this car,” I say as Maggie pulls onto the main road. Anything to distract me from those long legs working the pedals.
“The lowdown?”
“Obviously it’s refurbished. The interior’s too pristine. But whoever rebuilt it is a purist, because the paint looks factory. Don’t tell me…” I tap my chin. “Midnight Blue? No, Night-something. Nightwatch Blue!”
Her head snaps sideways, sunglasses sliding down her nose. “How do you—oh, wait, what am I saying? You probably have a garage full of classic cars at your Beverly Hills estate.”
“There you go, generalizing again.”
“Tell me I’m wrong.”
“You’re wrong.”
“Okay, what do you drive then?”
“No way. You’ll just laugh.” I aim the vent at my damp shirt. “And you wouldn’t believe me anyway.”
“Laugh?” Her smile teeters on the edge of a grin. “Fine. I promise I won’t laugh.”
“I drive a Civic.”
“A Civic? As in a Ferrari Civic?”
“Cute. But no. A Honda Civic.” I shrug. “It’s a really nice one.”
Maggie slows behind a tractor, and I find her patience commendable.
“Do you do these indie roles for free?” she asks. “Because now that I think about it, you don’t really dress like a celebrity. Not that I know what celebrities dress like. Or you, obviously. And what’s with the callused fingers? You do construction on the side?”
My head tips back with a laugh. Her concern for my financial well-being is adorable.
“I get paid,” I assure her. “I’m just very independent for a celebrity. I prefer to drive myself when I’m home, and a car like this would draw too much attention, which I’m sure you’re familiar with.”
The lane opens up, and we’re able to pass.
Maggie waves. “Around here, people are pretty used to it, but I know what you mean. I can’t even stop for gas in Austin without getting approached.”
I’d bet that’s true, GTO notwithstanding.
“I’ve never been into muscle cars or classic cars or any kind of car, for that matter.
” Her fingers glide reverently over the dash.
“But my mom drove her when she first came to Texas. She wasn’t much more than a pile of scrap back then.
” She takes a slow breath, like the next words might sting.
“Mama passed, and my uncle refurbished her for me.”
Guess that’s something we have in common.
“Sorry about your mom,” I say, my throat tightening. “Do you have siblings?”
“I have a twin brother.”
“A twin? Really? Was he jealous you got the Goat?”
“He’s tall like you,” she says, glancing to where my hair brushes the headliner. “Too tall for a car like this. He’s more of a pickup guy, anyway.”
“Yeah, I get that. Helga has a truck, and she let me take it for a spin in Houston. First time I’d ever driven one that wasn’t a movie prop. Loved it.”
“Tell me something,” Maggie says as she slows to make a turn. “Is Helga her real name?”
My face heats. “No, it’s Cynthia. And honestly, she wasn’t that bad. Just…not a great fit.”
“So why Helga? Is she burly or something?”
I laugh. “Actually, she’s tiny. A little wisp of a thing. But anytime she got frustrated or impatient, which was often, her voice would drop and get really loud.”
“Can’t wait to hear what you come up with for me.”
“I’m kind of partial to Magnolia.”
“Please,” she says, giving me a look over the rim of her shades. “I think you can do better than that.”
“Nah.” I shake my head. “I think Magnolia suits you fine.”