by Meg Maguire
LEIGH’S MANAGER OUGHT to be crowned the cell phone quick-draw champion of Los Angeles. By midafternoon nearly everything had fallen into place, thanks to Angela’s efficiency. An interview offer had been selected and confirmed, lawyers consulted, contracts forwarded.
In three days Leigh would be appearing on one of the major networks’ more respected talk shows for a live satellite interview. Angela already had Leigh’s personal assistant arranging the technical details with the resort. Between now and then, all she needed to do was find an appropriate outfit and get her story straight.
Oh, and call Dan. Yes, how could she forget?
But her to-do list was finite, miraculously, and she no longer feared her phone. She glanced at it, sitting innocently on the counter next to her fourth cup of coffee.
With a deep breath, she picked it up and held the 2 button.
“Leigh.” Dan sounded breathless. He sounded like a stranger somehow, after only a week’s separation.
Leigh kept her own voice casual, though she knew she wouldn’t be able to do it for long. “Hi, Dan.”
“Oh my God, what’s going on?”
“My mother hasn’t talked to you?”
“She did, but she didn’t have any answers. Why did you take off?”
Leigh wandered to the couch, feeling more tired than anything. “I sort of think you know why I took off. Do you want me to spell it out? She starts with an A, if I’m not mistaken.”
A long silence. “Leigh. Don’t jump to conclusions about anything you might have heard.”
“Do you even know what I heard, Dan? Do you even know that after you ended your conversation with me that morning, I was still connected when you thought you’d switched back to the other line? Which, incidentally, was not a call with your brother.”
More silence.
“I don’t need any details. I don’t want any. I know you’re in love with somebody else, and I don’t know if you were marrying me for the exposure or the money or what, but I don’t care. It’s over. Go be with her. But we need to talk about the press.”
“I haven’t told them anything.”
Any chance of an apology? “That’s good. I don’t plan on telling them anything about it, either. I want this to blow over, as quick as possible. I’m going on the Jen Landis Show in three days to explain my runaway bride act.”
“Okay.”
“I don’t know exactly what Angela’s going to suggest I say, but nobody knows why I really ditched you. Only you and I know that.” Plus a pilot I slept with last night. “I’m probably going to say we’ve been having problems for a few months, and I realized that morning that I couldn’t do it. Not a meltdown, not some horrible secret. Not even a lie. Since we were having problems.”
“Okay.”
“Is that the only word you’re capable of?”
“I’m sorry, Leigh.”
Ah, there it was—the sting in her eyes.
“I’m sorry about what I did, and the way you found out. I never meant for it to happen, and I thought... I thought it’d be less embarrassing for everyone to deal with it after the wedding. So something like this wouldn’t happen.”
So I’d spend our honeymoon still hoping that we were finally going to reconnect? That hurt far too much, so Leigh steered them to practical, manageable concerns, and they hashed out a plan. Dan could deal with the condo—keep or sell it, just get Leigh’s name off the deed and send her her half of the money, get her things moved to her parents’ house. As for the press, they’d tell everyone the rift had been growing for some time. She’d keep Dan’s indiscretions secret and he’d tell anyone who asked that he understood her decision.
Leigh stood by the plan, as much as it burned. “You are so freaking lucky I’m not there right now. I could strangle you, this is so unfair—that people are going to think I was the asshole in all this.”
“I can only say I’m sorry, Leigh.”
“Keep saying it, then. Just don’t make me sound like a crazy person.”
“I can do that.” After a pause, he added, “I am sorry, Leigh.”
“I believe you. But that doesn’t make it okay.”
“Of course not.”
“Anyhow. I’ll probably be in touch, for one thing or another.”
“Okay. I’ll talk to you later.”
Leigh hung up. She lay on the couch, crying and deep breathing, forcing herself to feel everything. That call had gone as well as she could have hoped. She’d been afraid that he’d deny it, tell her it was a misunderstanding, or that he’d grovel and want her back and confirm her fears that he’d only ever loved her for her fame.
What he’d told her would make it easier to forgive him. Someday.
* * *
WILL WAS NAUSEOUS all that afternoon and the following morning over the state he’d left Leigh in. He’d never cheated on anyone, never caused a breakup that was anything beyond the ordinary, the excusable.
But this.
He hadn’t been the one who’d wrecked her sense of security, tattling to the press, but he could’ve been, so, so easily. And he felt helpless, with no hope of figuring out who’d told the tabloid about the party. He’d even called his erstwhile contact at the paper and demanded a name, but of course the man refused. All Will got was a sore throat from cussing the jerk out a second time.
Will was sitting on the edge of the dock in the afternoon, waiting for any passengers who might show for the two o’clock flight to Bridgetown. A perfect, gorgeous day worthy of a postcard, but all he could see were clouds. Somewhere nearby, Leigh was hurting, and his hopes for getting the bar open and his dad down here were back to square one. The view from square one was awfully bleak.
He’d been staring off over the water, and the vibrations of footsteps on the dock snapped him to attention. His heart stopped as he spotted Leigh, but strangely, it had nothing to do with the residual guilt. All at once he could feel the sunshine on his back, smell island blossoms on the breeze. Goddamn.
She offered a wave, a small but warm smile. She’d be okay, he realized. His heart eased, making room for those perplexing, pleasurable feelings she let loose in him.
He got to his feet. “Heading to civilization?”
“Yeah, if you’ve got room.”
“Got nothing but.”
She walked with him to the plane and took the copilot seat in the cockpit. Will got them in the air and halfway to Bridgetown before either spoke.
“I’m hoping I could charter a special flight, for this evening,” she said over the engine’s drone. “Around seven, if that’s not too late.”
“That’s absolutely fine. What are you up to, in town? How did it go, talking to everyone back home?”
The longest sigh he’d ever heard answered him. “Well, I made a bunch of phone calls, and decided it’s probably best that I do a TV interview, to put an end to all the rumors. So I need an appropriate outfit.”
“Well, you seem very calm, considering.”
She shrugged. “Actress.”
They fell silent, not speaking until Will helped her down from the plane in Bridgetown.
“I’ll see you at seven?” she asked.
“You will, but be punctual—sun sets around eight. Jackie usually locks up at five, so don’t bother with the terminal. Just come around to the plane and I’ll be waiting.”
“Sounds good. I’ll be early, if I can. Enjoy your afternoon.”
“You, too.” He watched her walk down the dock, plainly on a mission.
He spent an hour cleaning and refueling The Passport, then dawdled, chatting with Jackie until it was clear no one was flying back with him. No sense wasting the fuel to head home, when he had to be back for Leigh’s special trip at seven. He told Jackie to head out to get ready for a date, and did all the tidying and lock
ing up around the terminal.
What to do for the next couple hours? Grab dinner at one of his usual haunts, maybe. But no. Nothing would taste good in this mood. He knew where he had to go, the only place that could screw his head on straight, get him focused on finding a new solution, and dispel the fog that these feelings for Leigh had created in his brain.
Will’s destination was only fifteen minutes on foot, and it was the perfect weather for a stroll. But he stopped in his tracks when he made it to the main road, and saw Leigh emerging from a taxi, a large shopping bag draped over her arm. She waved to him as the cab drove off.
“Wow, you’re very early,” he said.
“I found exactly what I needed in the first store. I didn’t really feel like being around all those people, so I figured I’d just hang out on the dock while I waited for you. But here you are.”
He nodded. “No takers on the three-thirty flight.”
“Should we just head back now?”
They should, but Will’s heart was set on his little side trip, and he didn’t reply quickly enough.
“Did you have plans?” she asked.
“Not really.” He glanced down the road.
She smirked at him. “Yes, you did. Go ahead. I can wait. I told you seven, and I can entertain myself until then.”
He laughed and shook his head. “You’re the worst celebrity I’ve ever met—hopeless at being demanding.”
“Yeah, I know. But I really don’t mind.”
“It was nothing. I was just going to walk past that property I want to buy.”
“Oh. For the club?”
He nodded.
“Can I come with you?”
“No, you can’t, because I’m not going. I’m taking you back to Harrier.”
“I’d love to see it.”
Will would more than love to see it—he needed to see it. It felt like the only place he could find answers for this dilemma. “Don’t you want to get back, get ready for your interview? Get your head in the game?”
“That’s the last thing I want, Captain.”
He hesitated. His reality check would bring anything but clarity with Leigh in tow, but he couldn’t go without her, not without looking rude and suspicious. If she knew how badly he needed money, would she think him capable of doing a deal with the tabloids? It made him sick to wonder, and to know that once, briefly, he had been capable of it.
“Please?”
He sighed. “Yeah, okay. I’ll be quick. It’s just under a mile from here. Can you walk that far in those sandals?”
“No problem.”
“All right then.” Will stowed her shopping bag inside the terminal and locked up, and they headed down the quiet road.
“You seem blue,” Leigh remarked after a few minutes.
He smiled at that. She must be having as crappy a day as he was, yet she was perceptive enough—kind enough—to pick up on his gloom. “I am.”
“How come?”
“Oh, just... That gig I mentioned, the one I thought would give me enough cash to buy the place we’re going to.”
“It fell through?”
“It did. Wasn’t worth it.”
“That’s too bad.”
No, it’s really not.
“Dare I suggest you consider selling The Passport? Or is that on par with auctioning off a vital organ?”
“Vital or reproductive, and yes. I’d sooner sell most any bit of my anatomy before I let anybody get their hands on my plane.”
“Figured. Well, since your gig’s wrecked, you could probably make a nice chunk of change selling an interview of your own,” she said glibly.
A dagger sank into Will’s heart, the pain so sharp he actually winced. Terrible enough that he’d so nearly done as much. Worse still that she thought him above it.
She touched his arm. “Sorry. I was just making a joke. A bad one. I’m really sorry that your funding’s looking shaky. I shouldn’t have been so flip about it.”
Will’s throat was too tight to reply, so he nodded. Leigh rubbed a friendly hand between his shoulder blades, and he felt his heart break—a sharp snap in his chest that hurt worse than anything he could remember. How did people live with guilt like this, day in and day out? How had his mother been able to pick up and move on, lugging this feeling around with her, heavy as a corpse?
Neither he nor Leigh spoke until they reached the shabby neighborhood that was home to Will’s quickly fading dream. He waved to a couple of the locals he knew. To Leigh their leisurely loitering probably seemed like the enviable pace of island culture, but Will knew better. Far too many of this area’s residents were unemployed. If he ever got his dad’s club under way, he’d be proud to create a dozen new jobs, and to hopefully one day draw a steady stream of tourists to this otherwise forgotten corner of the city.
He led Leigh down a couple streets to a gravel drive.
“That’s it,” Will said, pointing. It was an old vacation home, once luxurious, now sun-bleached and patched with plywood.
“Wow.”
He managed a laugh. “I know it’s not much to look at, but it’s been standing since the twenties. Built to last.” He took her around the side to the real selling point, the gorgeous stretch of beach. Will had taken it upon himself to clear away the worst of the trash a week ago, when the tabloid had called and made this pipe dream seem possible.
“Oh my gosh.” Leigh stopped at the edge of the sand, taking in the view.
“You should see it at sunset.” Twice Will had forfeited the comfort of his bed to lie out here and nurse a few beers, dream about what he’d do with this property, fantasize about his dad’s face when he finally saw the realization of his wish.
Now, though...Will felt little hope. But his father had worked his ass off to give Will everything he could, and it seemed so obvious now that he couldn’t ever have repaid that selflessness with a gift funded with tabloid money, taxed so steeply at someone else’s expense. And not just someone—Leigh. Not just someone at all, but a woman who’d managed to burrow deeper into Will’s heart than any other.
He’d taken a huge gamble, opting to grant his dad’s wish the hard and slow and honorable way, but he could feel good about this place once more, even if it might not be his for two years or more. Two years his father might not have...
“So tell me about it,” Leigh said. “What’s your vision?”
“Where to start?” Will led her close to the water and they turned to stare at the house. It hurt to fake enthusiasm, but he put on a decent show, thinking she’d suffered enough disappointment for one day. “A huge porch or patio on the back, lots of seats, room to dance and have a live band. And I want two bars—one inside, and one right on the sand.”
“And food?”
He nodded. “Grill out here, as much local food as possible. Probably not a real dinner menu, but starter-type options. More emphasis on the music and drinks. If someone in the neighborhood wants to sell me on a restaurant idea in the future, I’m open to it. But I’ve never done anything like this before. I’d like to keep it simple to begin with.”
Leigh studied the house, as though picturing everything he was. “Would you be sad, giving up being a pilot?”
“Being a pilot was all about mobility, a job that lets me live someplace just like this.”
“But owning a business will ground you.”
“It will. But if I can manage to get my dad down here, I’ll want to be grounded, for as long as I’ve got with him. In the future, if my wanderlust comes back, I could always sell it, if it does well.”
“It’ll do well,” Leigh said firmly. “I can see it already.”
He smiled at her. “Me, too.” He could see it so clearly, even as it seemed to slip further and further from his grasp.
She sat down on the ground and Will followed suit. He checked his phone’s clock. “We can’t dawdle too long.”
“Just a few more minutes. Tell me what else you’ve got planned.”
“Well, lots of places to lounge. I want people to linger, and feel comfortable dropping in and shooting the shit for a few hours.”
“You’ve got great seating right here,” Leigh said, sifting the sand through her fingers.
“Indeed I do. And no televisions. No Wi-Fi. I want people to come and meet strangers and hit it off. Could be great for the neighborhood. I’ll need vendors and workers, plus a few people could make a killing driving tourists back to their hotels at last call.”
“The area did seem a bit rough when we were walking through.”
“A cruise line used to have a port just up the beach, until the year I moved here. Then they switched to one closer to downtown, and all the tourist traffic went away. I’d love to bring just a little of it back, and see this place the way it used to be.”
The conversation trailed off, and other thoughts tugged at Will. “I know you weren’t eager to talk about it earlier, but how are things? Back home?”
Leigh drew the sand into a pile before her, addressing it. “Complicated. But not as complicated as it felt when that gossip broke. It was good to bite the bullet and talk to my mom. And getting a plan in place with this interview, feeling like I’m in some control of the mess I left behind.”
“Good.”
“But I will have to talk about the party during my interview, I’m afraid. I won’t get anyone in any trouble, if I can help it, though. I’ll be honest about basically forcing you to let me come along. And I won’t mention you specifically. I’ll tell them I party-crashed, since I pretty much did.”
“I can’t tell you how much everyone would appreciate that. It’s not a firing offense—the staff know that letting the guests have their way trumps all other policies. But it sounds like you’re feeling better? About things back home?” Soon she might be missing her real life. And he’d miss her, he realized. What a strange sensation. Strange and vulnerable, a reminder of why he’d always endeavored to keep people at arm’s length, even those he occasionally welcomed into his bed.
