“The anonymity of a burner phone will only protect your true identity for so long,” Alex asserts while we’re stepping out into the lobby. “Delucca may be a horndog, but he’s not stupid. If he’s contemplating taking Véronique on as a client and/or bedding her, he will do his due diligence and Google her name to get more info.”
“I can save him the trouble and send him Véronique’s headshot and CV, both of which my staff can fabricate. I’m sure Nick won’t care where Véronique played Cécile in Les Liaisons Dangereuses, just so long as he sees an impressive list of roles.”
“Vampy Véronique playing that naive flibbertigibbet Cécile? Doubtful,” Alex declares as he stalks toward the hotel’s front entrance and I struggle to keep up with him because the length of my stride is greatly restricted by the slim-cut skirt of my dress.
“For all you know, Véronique could have great range as an actress,” I call after him. “Maybe she plays against type all the time.”
Stopping short a few feet away from the automatic glass doors that lead from the lobby to the outside, Alex spins around and says in exasperation, “Stop creating a backstory for this character! You’re a romance concierge, not an actress, and we are done with Véronique, comprendes-vous?”
“Comprendes is Spanish, not French.”
“You know what I mean,” he bites back. “We don’t need to complicate this situation any further by adding another player, especially a fictional one, so leave spying on Delucca to Aimee and swear to me that neither you, nor Véronique, will contact him.”
“Mmmmm . . .” I chew on my bottom lip as I weigh the pros and cons of making this deal. I guess Alex does have a point about me sticking to what I do best, which is working behind-the-scenes. On the other hand, if I can help the cause more by entering the fray under the guise of a French femme fatale—
“Agree, or I’ll confiscate that wig,” Alex threatens, and from the steely look in his eyes, which look more gray than blue at the moment, I think he might be serious.
“You’re no fun,” I pout, “but since you are the one who hired me for this job, I will comply with your wishes.” Thinking our business has been concluded, I move to walk around Alex.
“Not so fast,” he says, staying me by gently wrapping his hand around the bare skin of my upper arm. “So that you won’t be tempted to break your promise,” he dips his head down so that his lips are almost touching my ear when he commands, “hand over Delucca’s business card.”
I don’t know what makes me madder: Alex ordering me around or him thinking I’m untrustworthy and might renege on our agreement.
“That won’t be necessary.”
“Oh, but I think it is. The last thing I need to worry about right now is you running some sting operation on Delucca behind my back. So are you going to give me that card, or shall I retrieve it myself?”
The thought of my ex’s nimble fingers getting anywhere near my breast makes my knees go weak and my heart pound so hard I wonder if everyone in the lobby can hear it. I can’t believe that after all this time, my body still has such a strong reaction to Alex.
“Fine,” I concede through gritted teeth and pull the business card from my bra, being sure to expose a sliver of the black lace that trims the cups of the La Perla lingerie.
I’m rewarded for my efforts by the sound of a sharp intake of breath in my ear.
Ha! I knew I’d get him with that peek at my unmentionables. Alex always was a sucker for sexy lingerie. I amassed quite a collection of bra and panty sets, along with a few teddies, bustiers, and garter belts, in a variety of colors and styles when we were dating. If he was having an especially long and tiring day on the job, Alex’s favorite game to play was, “What’s Nessa got on underneath her work clothes?” I would tease him with clues via text and he’d send me guesses as well as some fantasy scenarios involving me wearing those titillating items, knowing I’d “reward” him later that night if he was correct.
“Thank you,” Alex murmurs as he plucks the card out of my hand, leaving me to wonder if he’s grateful to me for turning over what he wanted or the free peep show I just gave him.
Releasing my arm so that he can shove the highly coveted card into the inside pocket of his suit jacket, Alex looks very pleased with himself because he thinks he was the victor of our little power struggle. I hate to burst his bubble, but— No, actually, that’s a lie. I’m going to enjoy the hell out of this.
“There’s a lot you seem to remember about our time together, but I think you forgot one very important thing. Just like my grandmother who can learn her lines by heart after just one read-through of a script, I can commit things to memory very quickly.” I tap my forehead with my index finger, then proceed to recite all of Nick’s contact info on that business card, “NicholasJDelucca at DandRTalent dot com, that’s his e-mail. And his cellphone number, which I can send texts to if I ever feel like it, is 323-287-9544.”
Alex gapes at me, which is incredibly satisfying. As I’d like to leave him dumbstruck, I say, “I have business to take care of on this side of town, so I’m going to order an Uber. See you at Jax’s later.” I pull my phone out of my purse and strut off with a smile on my face.
CHAPTER 21
“God, this is the longest monologue ever!” Jax proclaims, then groans with frustration and collapses back onto the pillows of the plush couch where he’s seated between Alex and me.
Maybe watching Late Night on this live stream wasn’t the best idea since the man has next-to-no patience. Like most coddled celebrities, he wants what he wants now.
“It’s over. Look . . .” Alex points to the super-sized flat-screen TV mounted on the wall of the swanky hotel suite’s living room. “. . . a commercial break.” He gives Jax’s knee an encouraging pat.
“Ugh, I hate commercials,” Jax whines, throwing his arm over his eyes.
He really is out of sorts tonight, and who can blame the poor guy? Things seemed to be moving in the right direction for him and Jaz, and then this news about Georgina’s interview broke and all of his hopes for a reconciliation were dashed.
“You know what I hate?” I ask, lifting the sweaty glass of Diet Coke I’ve been nursing for a couple of hours. “When the ice in your soda melts and your drink gets all watered down, so it tastes gross. Do you think you could get me some fresh ice from the machine down the hall?” Grabbing the bucket on the coffee table, I shove it against Jax’s chest, sloshing some of the liquid inside onto his white tank top, which is already stained with tomato sauce from the large Margherita pizza he had delivered for dinner.
He eyes me suspiciously, but still wraps his arm around the bucket and straightens up. “You’re giving me something to do to kill time until the interview starts, aren’t you?”
“She’s also trying to get rid of you so that we can talk about you while you’re gone,” Alex retorts.
“I am a pretty fascinating topic of conversation.” Jax cracks a little bit of a smile for the first time all night. “All right, fine. I’ll go. It would be torture to sit through whatever comedy bits are coming up next anyway.” Rising to his bare feet, he trudges toward the suite’s entryway.
“Do you have your key card to get back in?” Alex calls after him, and Jax stops to pat the front and back pockets of his Fear of God jeans with the ripped knees every male under the age of thirty wears because he thinks they make him look cool. In Jax’s case, they actually do.
When the actor comes up empty, Alex says, “Take mine,” and holds his key card up in the air until Jax snatches it out of his hand with a snarky, but affectionate, “Thanks, Dad.”
As soon as the door closes behind our client, I turn to Alex and query anxiously, “You’ve got bad news, don’t you? You’ve been pinching the bridge of your nose ever since I got here, which means you have a tension headache and those only crop up when you’re totally stressed.” I know this because once upon a time I was the one who would massage his forehead to make the pain go away.
A
lex pushes the mute button on the TV’s remote control and slides over a cushion so that we’re a lot closer than I’m comfortable with, especially since he’s wearing this torso-hugging sweater in slate blue that’s a perfect match for his eyes as well as a showcase for his toned arms and pecs. I’m so used to seeing him all buttoned up in a business suit now that it was something of a shock when he greeted me at the door of the suite clad in casual wear—crewneck sweater with black, slim-cut jeans and Chelsea boots in the same color.
He looked so much like my Alex, the one who could relax and have fun and didn’t live in a tie and three-thousand-dollar suit, I felt as though I’d been transported back to 2015. That’s when his phone rang and he walked off to speak with someone from Entertainment Weekly who was looking for a quote from Jax about Georgina’s upcoming interview, leaving me to stand in the doorway—a good reminder that unlike the man I fell for, NuAlex’s top priority is, and will forevermore be, his job. Despite that, I’m still not entirely immune to how gorgeous he looks in that sweater and having him within reach makes my insides feel dangerously squishy.
“It’s not bad news per se,” Alex says,” but I gave the Late Night segment producer who does most of the pre-interviews with the show’s guests a call earlier. I thought I could catch Stefanie before the taping started and feel her out as to what we could expect from this interview. My hope was that Georgina might take the high road like Jax did and say their hookup was all a big mistake that she regrets, then shed a few tears to try and garner sympathy, and that would be the end of it. Unfortunately, Stefanie didn’t answer my call or respond to the multiple texts I sent, even though she read all of them, which indicates that Georgina intends to throw Jax under the bus.”
I frown. “I don’t see how she can do that. The facts are the facts, and Jax already admitted he got smashed and slept with her.”
Alex heaves a weary sigh and drags his fingers through his blond hair. “There are any number of ways she could spin this in hopes of lessening the damage to her career and image. Or she might be launching a smear campaign for strictly personal reasons. You know the old saying about a woman scorned. Georgina could be pissed off that their one night of drunken screwing wasn’t enough to make Jax transfer his affections from Jaz to her.”
“The woman is seriously delusional if she thought that was going to happen. I know true love when I see it, and Jax’s heart has Jaz’s name imprinted on it for life. Even if things don’t work out with the two of them, I doubt he’ll ever feel as strongly about anyone else again.”
With a grimace, Alex says, “That’s equal parts romantic and depressing. Do you really think people only have one shot at love?”
“I think true love works differently for everyone. Some are lucky enough to get it right the first time. For others, it’s trial and error and they have to go through several relationships and partners until they find their one and only.”
“Like your mother and Garrett.”
“They’re an excellent example. Neither of them was particularly interested in a meaningful, long-term relationship, then they met each other and BAM!, they knew they were meant to be together. Finally, there are those who lose true love, but their hearts remain open and they’re eventually able to connect with someone else.”
“And which of those categories do you fall in?” Alex asks, leaning forward and staring deep into my eyes as if he’ll find the answer there. He won’t because I’m not even sure what it is myself.
I’m not about to admit that what we had was the real deal and I’ve yet to find anything comparable. And saying Ian is my soulmate would be a big, fat lie that might anger the gods of love who could smite my business or curse me to eternal singlehood. In the end, I decide to deflect by replying tartly, “Definitely not the first one.”
You’d think Alex would be stung by my flippant comment, but he doesn’t draw back or say something hurtful in return. Instead, he murmurs, “Nessa,” and places his hand tenderly over mine.
I’ll never know what Alex would have said or done next because Jax picks that moment to fling open the door of the suite and rush toward us. “I didn’t miss it, did I?” He plops the now full ice bucket down on the coffee table. “I ran into some girls in the hallway and they wanted to take a couple of selfies with me—”
“Please tell me you didn’t,” Alex interrupts.
“I’m not stupid,” Jax claims. “I knew it would look bad if pictures of me with cute randos taken outside my hotel room popped up on the Gram right before Georgina’s interview aired, but I felt bad saying no. So I chatted with the ladies for a few minutes and signed some stuff. And before you ask . . .” He holds up a hand, which makes Alex snap his jaw shut. “No, I didn’t autograph any boobs.”
“Thank God,” Alex mutters.
“Hey, guys, I think it’s happening,” I say, gesturing at the TV before picking up the remote so that I can turn the sound back on.
“—came to everyone’s attention with her small, but memorable, performance in the British indie, Bog Standard, last year,” Seth Meyers begins his introduction of the show’s first guest. “And she just completed work on the Joanna Hogg-directed romantic drama, Heart on a String—a movie that’s already stirring up controversy and receiving lots of press, but I’ll let her tell you more about that. Please join me in welcoming from across the pond actress Georgina Knight.”
Jax steps over me so that he can repossess his spot on the couch, momentarily blocking my view of the television when Georgina is walking out on stage. I hear polite, but not particularly enthusiastic, applause from the Late Night studio audience.
“She’s not showing any skin,” Jax notes once he’s squeezed his lanky frame in between me and Alex and gotten a look at the curvaceous instrument of his doom.
“Does she normally?” I wonder, and Jax snorts in response.
“Georgina serves up so much breast and thigh on the reg she could be a bucket meal from KFC.”
I glance over at Alex, and he confirms, “She does like to display her assets.”
Not so tonight. She’s all sweetness and modesty in a raspberry-colored A-line dress that has three-quarter length sleeves, a bow-tied stand collar, and a conservative hemline that hits right below the knee. Opaque black tights cover her legs, and her feet are clad in Mary Jane pumps. Georgina’s makeup is minimal and her chin-length, bleached blond hair has been styled in a crown braid with soft wisps framing her heart-shaped face. She looks much younger than her twenty-four years and for all the world like some wide-eyed babe in the woods. Now let’s see if she can sell this persona . . .
“Thanks for being here tonight,” Seth says after he’s greeted Georgina and they’ve both taken their seats. “I know you’ve had a difficult week.”
“It’s been the worst one of my life,” Georgina replies in a plummy British accent that sounds very affected (I’m guessing she picked it up in whatever drama school she went to). She then presses her puffy lips together as if she’s trying to stifle a sob.
“How so?” Seth queries.
“That video of me sharing a private moment with my co-star was released, and I was branded everything from a harlot to a homewrecker.” Her chin trembles, and a single tear escapes from one eye and rolls slowly down her cheek.
“I’ve been bullied relentlessly by the public and the press,” Georgina continues her tale of woe. “All the offers I had on the table for future projects have been rescinded, and I’m now receiving death threats.” She swipes at the tear, which is about to drip off her jaw. “My life is a shambles, and I didn’t even do what everyone’s accusing me of!”
The waterworks really start flowing now, and Seth reaches beneath his desk to pull out a box of tissues and gallantly hands one to his weeping guest.
“So you’re saying you did not hook up with Jax Reid the night of your wrap party as has been reported everywhere, even by Jax himself?” Seth asks while Georgina blots her eyes delicately with the tissue, probably so that she doe
sn’t mess up her eye makeup.
“Have a one-night stand with a married man?” She feigns horror at the concept. “That is something I would never in a million years do, at least not knowingly. For two months, Jax and I were involved in what I thought was a caring and committed relationship that had a future.”
“What the fuck?” Jax blurts out.
Twisting the soggy tissue in her hands, Georgina tearfully confides, “He told me he loved me, Seth. That his marriage had just been for show for years; that he couldn’t even remember the last time he and Jazmin weren’t fighting and miserable; that they planned to announce they were divorcing as soon as he got through promoting his summer release.”
“Lies!” my client shouts at the television angrily.
“So you’re saying Jax misrepresented himself to you in order to facilitate an intimate relationship?” Seth probes.
“Yes.” She nods, sniffling. “And I was fool enough to believe all his pretty words and romantic gestures—the flowers, the poetry he wrote for me, the weekend getaway to a cozy cottage in the Cotswolds.”
“How could I write a poem when I failed English twice in high school? And I don’t even know where the hell the Cotswolds is! This chick has totally flipped her lid. Someone needs to call the men in white co—”
I stop Jax in mid-rant by clapping my hand over his mouth. He has every right to be upset about Georgina’s slanderous story, but we really need to hear the rest of what she has to say.
“Mwes mull mov mwit mand mime mowing moo mwue mer!”
“I don’t think suing her is the way to go,” Alex replies, somehow managing to understand Jax’s muffled threat. “We are going to have to disprove all of her scurrilous claims, though. Shouldn’t be too hard since she made a serious tactical error in giving so many details about your supposed affair.”
“No more talking! We’re missing half the interview!” I scold both of them.
“Sorry.”
“Mwowwy.”
I drop my hand from Jax’s mouth, giving him a chastising glare, then return my attention to the TV screen where a commercial for Burger King is now playing.
Straight from the Hart Page 20
