“I’m with Jax,” Alex chimes in. “I think the surprise element is called for in this situation. Given a choice, Jaz might slam the door in our faces, or refuse to answer at all.”
“Fine,” I concede. “But if she calls the police, you two are on your own because I’m going to hotfoot it down the street to Keanu Reeves’ house.”
“Keanu? Really?” My ex is incredulous. “The man’s always so unkempt, even on red carpets. I don’t think he showers.”
“Doesn’t matter. His sexiness transcends personal hygiene.”
“She’s right,” Jax concurs. “I see him speeding through the hills on his Ducati all the time, beat-up leather jacket, hair blowing in the breeze, looking like he has zero fucks to give. That dude’s the shit even if he is like sixty now.”
“Neo can’t be that old!” I protest.
“Pretty close. Here, I’ll Google it.” Jax swipes the display screen on his phone and starts typing the question.
“Can we adjourn this meeting of the Keanu Reeves Enthusiasts until another time and focus on the task at hand?” Alex gestures impatiently at the front door.
“Yeah, right. Sorry.” Jax looks sheepish before glancing down at his phone. “Fifty-seven,” he stage whispers to me.
“And he can still get it,” I declare, which earns me a glare from Alex.
“Unlock the door already,” he tells Jax who obediently taps his phone.
We hear the click of the deadbolt being disengaged, and Jax grabs hold of the brushed stainless steel pull, which opens the large metal door that’s a tarnished dark gray. He steps gingerly into the foyer, and we’re right behind him.
“Jaz?” Jax calls out. “It’s me.”
The only response is dead silence, which is eerie. Also adding to the creepiness is how dim all the recessed lighting in the house is, casting ominous shadows on the walls and white oak flooring.
Jax moves deeper into the cavernous living room, which is dominated by a gray leather sectional and a curved glass-topped coffee table resting atop a stainless steel sphere that looks more like a work of art than furniture. “Bookie Bear, are you here?” he shouts again.
“Bookie Bear?” I mouth the words to Alex because I’ve never heard Jax refer to his wife by that name before.
Alex lifts both hands, palms up, as if to say, “Beats me.” So this term of endearment must be new to him too.
I’m about to speculate that Jaz is upstairs, taking a bath or watching TV, when I hear the sounds of jingling metal and increasingly loud panting. The source of the noise, a monstrous black dog who appears to be a cross between a Great Dane and a hellhound, barrels toward us. I squeak and hide behind Alex, not knowing if this beast means us harm or not. If he’s any type of guard dog, he should attack strangers coming into his home.
Showing no fear, Jax drops to his knees so that he’s on the same level as the rescue animal who stops a few feet short of him. In a pleasant voice, he says, “Hi there. You must be Jet. I know your mommy.” He extends a hand to the dog who tentatively sniffs it, then plops down on his sizable rear. “Who’s a handsome boy?” Jax queries in a singsong voice as he scratches Jet under his chin, and the dog leans into his touch.
“Aw, he likes you,” I observe, thanking my lucky stars that my client appears to have an affinity for four-legged creatures.
“We’re going to be great friends, aren’t we, Jet?” Jax is now giving the dog a two-handed back massage, and a blissed out Jet’s tongue is hanging out of the side of his mouth.
“Maybe Jet can lead us to his owner,” Alex says.
Gazing into the dog’s big, brown eyes, Jax asks, “Can you do that, Jet? Can you take us to Jaz?”
When the dog’s tail wags furiously in reply, Jax rises to his feet and we trail our canine guide as he leaves the living room and lumbers into what looks to be a game room. There’s a custom pool table with a silver finish and black felt top and the entire back wall is mirrored with smoky gray glass and inset with a row of three flat-screen TVs. Jet ducks under the pool table to retrieve an orange rubber ball, which he offers to Jax with a hopeful gleam in his eye.
“I promise I’ll throw the ball for you as soon as I speak with your mom.” Bending over, Jax claps his hands on his knees and urges in a higher-pitched voice, “Come on, Jet! Show us where Jaz is!”
The dog’s ears perk up because this sounds like a fun game and he’s excited to play. Doing an about-face, Jet takes off. Although I’m not wearing the right shoes for this, I, along with the guys, chase the dog through a second living area with a sleek stacked stone fireplace that climbs to the ceiling and a formal dining room until we finally come to the kitchen where Jaz is perched on a stool at the far end of a white marble island, getting ready to shovel in a humongous bite of frosting-covered chocolate cake topped with chocolate ice cream.
When Jaz spots the three of us, she shrieks in surprises, drops her fork, and bursts into tears. “Go away!” she cries, burying her face in her hands. “I don’t want to see you, or talk to you, Jax. I mean it!”
“I know, but please . . .” He walks toward her, holding out a conciliatory hand. “. . . just listen to me for a—”
“No!” Her head pops up, and she shoots daggers at him with her leaking eyes. “You suck, and I hate you! You’re a liar, and a cheater, and pretty much the worst person I’ve ever known. It’s your fault our marriage is over and . . . and . . .” Jaz struggles to think of something else to blame him for. “I have a huge zit on my face . . .” She points at the rather sizable, red bump that’s erupted on her chin and is the only flaw on her otherwise perfect skin. “. . . because of all the stress you’ve caused me and now I can’t leave the house because I’m such a hideous freak.” With a sob, she picks up the fork she lost her grip on earlier and squeezes some Hershey’s syrup from a bottle on top of the ice cream and cake, then administers the overdose of chocolate.
“You look as beautiful as ever to me,” Jax assures his wife, taking a few more tentative steps toward her while Alex, Jet, and I hang back.
Jaz laughs bitterly and wipes her snotty nose on the long sleeve of her Henley lounge top, which she’s wearing with floral drawstring pants that are a crumpled up mess. “You’re so full of it. My mother told me not to fall in love with an actor since lying is second nature to them, but did I listen? Noooooooo. I thought I knew better. I thought our love was so strong that it could last forever and I could depend on you not to hurt me. I’m such a stupid, gullible fool.” More tears stream down onto her cheeks, and it’s really, truly heartbreaking. The poor girl looks completely bereft.
“I screwed up.” Jax sounds appropriately contrite. “And I take full responsibility for that, but you don’t know the whole story.”
Sniffling, Jaz brushes aside some white blond strands of hair that have escaped the messy bun affixed to the top of her head with what look like takeout chopsticks and digs her fork into the half-eaten, four-layer cake in front of her. “I have no interest in hearing any more of your excuses,” she says with haughty indifference, but her quivering lower lip belies this attitude.
“Then listen to me,” Alex urges as he and the dog move forward to flank Jax. “Because you’ve been misled and taken advantage of—”
“By the two of you!” Jaz gestures at them with the hand holding the fork and flings a chunk of cake across the island, which she then picks up with her fingers and puts in her mouth. “My husband has an affair with some skank, and it’s your job to convince everyone, including me, that what he did was no big deal. You want me to forgive and forget so that Jax will stop getting negative press and his next two movies won’t have scandal attached to them. That’s all you care about, Alex. Not me, or my feelings.”
Expelling a sigh because he knows these arguing humans won’t be playing catch with him anytime soon, Jet lays down and rests his head on Jax’s feet.
“Traitor.” Jaz scowls at the dog.
“Jaz,” Alex and Jax say her name pleadingly in unison,
but it’s obvious they’re not going to get anywhere with her as she is very anti-men-who-aren’t-Delucca at the moment. Can’t say I blame her considering what she’s been through the last few weeks.
“Go!” she orders, directing them out of the kitchen with a chocolate-covered finger. “And you can take your new BFF with you, Jax. We’ll see how long you last cleaning up his elephant-sized poops and having your shoes turned into chew toys.”
The men are just standing there, frozen in place with stupefied expressions on their handsome faces, so I sweep past them and say, “Hi, Jaz,” lifting my hand in greeting. “Clearly, you’re not in the headspace to have anything else dumped on you right now, especially by these guys.” I jerk a thumb over my shoulder while also tossing them a look I’m hoping will convey the message that they need to back off. Alex understands because he takes Jax by the elbow and makes him retreat several feet. “And I get it. But I can’t, in good conscience, leave here without telling you what I know, and I’m confident that once you have the facts, you’ll view everything that’s happened through a different lens.”
Jaz’s brow crinkles with confusion. “Who are you and why is any of this your concern?”
“Oh, right, sorry. I forgot to introduce myself.” My lips tilt up on one side in an embarrassed half-smile. “I’m Vanessa Hart.”
Narrowing her ice blue eyes at me, she says, “You look familiar.”
I imagine she’s remembering the first time we met when I was in disguise as Véronique Le Coeur and I’m about to come clean when she snaps her fingers and says, “The red hair and last name—you must be related to Dr. Hart, the host of Love Is on the Air. That show is my jam! I listen to it whenever I have time to kill in my trailer.”
Great! Since she’s a fan of my mother’s, maybe Jaz will give more credence to what I’m about to share with her. “I’m Victoria Hart’s daughter and I’ll be sure to pass on that you enjoy her show.”
“Your mom really does give the best advice. Whenever I’ve had a moment of weakness and thought about taking him back. . .” She glowers at her husband. “. . . I’ve said to myself, ‘Self, you’re better than that. You need to kick that deceitful, womanizing, hotter-than-any-man-has-a-right-to-be . . .,” Jaz trails off as she gets choked up with emotion and fresh tears begin to spill from her eyes, but she rallies quickly, swiping her wet face with the back of her hand before declaring loudly, “. . . colossal jerkface to the curb!” Grabbing the bottle of syrup once more, she screws off the cap, turns it upside down, and dumps what’s left of the liquid chocolate into the tub of Blue Bunny Super Fudge Brownie.
“You’re absolutely right. You do deserve better, but there are multiple jerkfaces in this scenario and none of them are Jax.”
“Mere rot?” Jaz mumbles the question because her mouth’s now stuffed with cold, syrup-drenched ice cream.
“No. Do you mind if I sit?” I indicate the stool next to her.
Jaz shrugs dispassionately, which I consider to be progress. At least she’s not yelling and ordering me out of the room like she did Jax and Alex.
Taking a seat, I pull my phone out of my purse, then drop the bag to the floor. I lock eyes with Jaz and say, “This is a complicated situation that involves a trio of crafty, despicable people. So I’m going to start at the beginning and walk you through it if that’s okay.”
“Want some cake?” Jaz queries, shoving the dessert toward me, which feels like acceptance to me.
Women do their best bonding over sweets, right?
CHAPTER 30
“I really appreciate you sharing your experience with me,” Jaz tells the brunette she’s been FaceTiming with on my phone.
“No problem,” Bree says, pacing back and forth in front of her phone with a sleeping baby in her arms. “Quinn’s already ruined one marriage; I’d hate to see another couple be collateral damage in her quest for money and power.”
After showing Jaz the video of Georgina and Delucca’s skirmish in the garden followed by the recording of my conversation with Quinn, I thought I should provide a character reference from another victim of my former employee. And I got a twofer with Bree Thorne because she filled Jaz in on Quinn’s underhanded way of doing business and vouched for me being a decent human being.
“I’m so sorry for everything you’ve been through,” Jaz sympathizes.
“Back at you. I can’t imagine dealing with a personal crisis of this magnitude while having the press reporting on every second of it. The fact that you’re not curled up in the fetal position somewhere is a testament to how strong and resilient you are.”
“I don’t know about that,” Jaz demurs. “I’ve been crying so much lately I’m probably dehydrated. And my assistant has had to push me out the door and into a Town Car every day so that I’d go to work.”
“Doesn’t matter how you got there. You went and you did your job under very trying circumstances, so give yourself some credit.”
Sitting up straighter, Jaz squares her shoulders and says, “I will. Thanks for the pep talk. If there’s ever anything I can do for you, please don’t hesitate to reach out. As I said earlier, I’m happy to babysit that little cutie of yours anytime.”
“A gorgeous, world-famous celebrity playing peekaboo with my son?” Bree chortles. “He’ll get a lot of mileage out of that when he’s older.”
“Well, it’s an open-ended offer.”
“And I just may take you up on that now that I’m dating again.”
“How’s that going?” I interject, hanging over Jaz’s shoulder. I haven’t wanted to harass Bree about this, but I’ve been dying to know if Jacqueline’s matchmaking has been a success.
“Not bad,” answers Bree with a hint of a smile and a twinkle in her eyes. “I wasn’t feeling the first few guys Jacqueline set me up with, but then I met Raul. He’s creative director at a big ad agency here in town, and he’s just . . .” She pauses to exhale a sigh. “. . . really special. It’s still early days in our relationship, but I really like spending time with him and being around someone so imaginative and passionate about what he does has made me think about revisiting some career dreams I let fall by the wayside when I got married. I just signed up for a screenwriting workshop on a weekend when the baby will be with Ezekiel and I’m really excited about it.”
“That’s amazing!” I exclaim, thrilled to hear that she’s on the road to finding both personal and professional happiness.
“And you’ll be giving me first crack at any screenplay you write, won’t you? You never know, I might get my Reese Witherspoon on and open a production company so that I can start developing my own projects,” Jaz says with a sassiness I haven’t heard from her before.
“You should totally do that!” Bree enthuses. “The entertainment industry needs more smart, talented women like you running the show.” The baby stirs in her arms, and she crinkles her nose. “Uh oh, someone needs a diaper change, then hopefully he’ll go down for the night.”
“If he wakes up screaming because of the teething pain again, try giving him a cinnamon stick to chew on. My mother swore by it when my sisters and I were babies. Apparently, cinnamon has anti-inflammatory properties.”
“I’ll give it a shot since he seems to hate putting anything cold in his mouth. Thanks, Jaz, and good luck with everything!”
“You too. Bye!” Jaz waves at Bree and her son, and I do the same. After she’s disconnected the call, Jaz hands me back my phone.
“Babe . . .” Jax, who’s been skulking in the background while I’ve been giving his wife the lowdown on the conspiracy that led to their breakup, approaches her with his arms outstretched like he’s going in for a hug.
Holding up her hand, she stays him with a stern, “Don’t even. I’m still mad at you. And even though I now have a better understanding of why all this bad stuff happened, that does not absolve you.”
Jax drops his hands and takes a respectful step back. “Of course not. I just want you to know that I’m willing to do whate
ver it takes to save our marriage: go to couples counseling, swear off alcohol forever, get Property of Jaz tattooed on my junk.”
Alex and I exchange a wince of imaginary pain over that last one.
“You name it, and I’m down for it,” Jax vows.
“First things first. I need to take care of the person who just bumped you out of the top spot on my Needs to Be Pushed Into a La Brea Tar Pit list. Where’s my phone?”
Jaz scans the surface of the island, pushing aside the chocolate treats she was devouring to see if her cell is being hidden by any of them. When she can’t locate the device, she hops off her stool and pads over to the counter where an apple green Fendi baguette sits. Unsnapping the purse’s gold metalware, she dumps its contents out on the marble.
“Dammit!” She glowers at the assortment of girly items—lip gloss, hair brush, tampon, hand lotion, cat-eye sunglasses—which does not include her elusive phone.
“When’s the last time you had it?” Jax queries in an attempt to help her.
“I don’t know!” she shouts in frustration.
“It’s okay. I’ll call you,” he says soothingly, pulling his phone out of the back pocket of his jeans and tapping the display screen to bring up her number.
A couple of seconds later, we all hear Billie Eilish say, “Duh,” then some finger snaps and the instantly recognizable opening notes of . . .
Jax gapes at his wife. “Your ringtone for me went from TSwift’s ‘Lover’ to ‘Bad Guy?’”
Jaz shrugs. “Seemed appropriate when I changed it.”
Moving over to the drawer closest to their massive Sub-Zero fridge, she yanks it open, which causes the silverware inside to clang, and extracts her phone. She swipes until she gets the screen she wants, then she hits the microphone button and lifts the phone to her mouth.
“I know what you did, you despicable, cold-hearted, self-serving prick! I can’t believe I ever trusted you as my manager, much less my confidant and friend. You are dead to me, you sonofabitch, and I hope you go straight to hell where Satan shish-kebabs you and roasts you over a white-hot fire for all eternity!”
Straight from the Hart Page 28
