One True Pairing: A Geek Girl Rom Com (Fandom Hearts)

by Cathy Yardley

  Ask them why, he told himself. Make your case. Get this done.

  Don’t be a dick, he reminded himself, grinning as he thought of Simon. But don’t back down.

  “Hi, Veronica, Phil,” he said. “Your, um, admin said you’d be here.”

  They looked at him, their expressions puzzled. Phil held out his hand.

  “It’s great to see you, Jake,” he said. “I have to say, we’re sorry to see you go, but we understand that that’s how things sometimes work out.”

  For a second, Jake was too shocked to respond. The hell? Was that Hollywood speak . . . like corporate speak? “We’re going in a different direction” or “you’re being downsized.”

  They fired him, and now they’re sorry to see him go?

  “I wanted to talk to you about that, actually,” Jake said. “Why am I going? Precisely.”

  If they looked puzzled before, now they looked downright confused. Veronica started looking pissed. “We had this runaround with your agent already, Jake. We did everything we could.”

  “You did everything you could?” He couldn’t help it: the bitterness came out. “I went out and boosted my Q Score. I did everything I could to fulfill my contractual obligations. I did everything I could. But apparently, that wasn’t enough!”

  He ran his fingers through his hair, fighting to keep it together.

  “I don’t know if you understand this, but I loved your show. I’m a huge sci-fi and fantasy fan,” he admitted, feeling irritated when Phil grinned. “I was a geek in high school. I frickin’ loved this shit. When I read the script, I had to push my agent to put me up for it. I work really hard, even when I know you guys just had me on there as eye candy and I didn’t have as many lines . . .”

  “You never said anything,” Veronica protested. “We were trying to figure out how else to use you, but you never agreed to any discussions on your character!”

  That stopped Jake up short. “Wait, what?”

  “We would’ve talked to you directly, but your agent made it quite clear that you don’t deal with producers, or writers. Everything went through her.” Phil’s look was one of dawning awareness. “What did she tell you about those meetings?”

  “She didn’t tell me anything,” Jake said, feeling an icy pit in his stomach.

  “We hired you because you did a good job with Rick, and we thought you could do more,” Veronica said, more gently. “We offered as much money as the budget allowed, but your agent made it clear that you had other offers. She turned us down.”

  Susie.

  Now that icy ball in his stomach was the size of a grapefruit. She’d lied to him. Tricked him.

  Betrayed him.

  “I told her I wanted to do the show, no matter what,” Jake said, finally. “I’m just now hearing about all of this.”

  They looked at each other. Phil’s grin widened.

  “I thought you were going off to film some movie in South America,” Veronica said carefully.

  “My agent—my ex-agent,” Jake corrected, “wants me to do that film, yeah. I haven’t even signed the contract yet, though.” He paused dramatically. “And I won’t . . . if I can do the project I really want to do.”

  Phil gestured down the street, toward a nearby coffee shop. “Well now, let’s go sit down, have a cup of coffee, and talk about that.”

  Jake felt a bubble of hope. “Yeah, let’s talk about that.”

  * * *

  “Excuse me?” Hailey said, straightening and taking a step back. Now that she was really paying attention, the woman had crazy coming off her like mall perfume.

  Shit, shit, shit.

  Rainbow Scarf guy and his Midwest friend were staring. She saw the guy take out his phone, and prayed for a quick second that he was calling 911 and not, say, taking a . . .

  The flash on his phone went off. “Crap,” he muttered to his friend. “I meant video. This should be good.”

  Because of course getting this on YouTube is more important than calling the cops. It’d be funny if she wasn’t right in the middle of it.

  She got a good look at the knife. It was a big, Crocodile Dundee survivalist thing. That said, the woman didn’t look like she was that heavy—she probably couldn’t drive that thing very far into a person’s body. She could get some lucky slashes in, but it’d be just that—luck.

  Of course, she’s crazy, Hailey reminded herself, looking around quickly for a weapon of her own. That meant she was probably stronger than she looked.

  Shit, shit, SHIT.

  “Listen, if this is about me and Jake—we broke up,” Hailey said quickly.

  “He’s Rick. And he’s mine,” Ghost Blonde said, moving forward slowly, the knife staying surprisingly steady considering it looked heavy and the woman’s whole arm was as thin as Hailey’s wrist.

  “Well, he ain’t mine, so go nuts,” Hailey said, then winced. Probably a bad choice of words.

  Ghost Blonde picked up on it immediately. ”You think I’m crazy, don’t you?”

  “I’m not judging you. The guy’s wicked hot,” Hailey said, looking over at the tourists. Call the police, you idiots!

  The guy finally seemed to get the picture—both literally and figuratively. The woman he was with whipped out her phone. “Hello, police? I’ve got a situation,” she said, then squealed when Ghost Blonde swung her knife around. They both fled out the front door.

  Hailey saw the chance, and went to tackle her, but the psycho was quick—too frickin’ quick. She sliced Hailey’s arm and chest. It wasn’t that deep—at least, Hailey didn’t think it was, but she had enough adrenaline in her system to bench-press a bus—but it still had her moving back, heading for the kitchen if she could . . .

  Ghost Blonde cut off that avenue, no pun intended. Hailey picked up a nearby book.

  “I’m going to kill you,” Ghost Blonde hummed, weaving slightly.

  “But why?” Hailey said. “We’re not together! We only knew each other for like a week. It’s not like we were in love!”

  “That’s a lie!” the woman screamed. “I saw you two. He’s never looked like that, at anyone. NOT ANYONE!”

  Hailey blinked.

  “You think you can understand him, but you don’t. You don’t know him like I do! I understand his secret soul! I know his pain! I know everything about him!”

  Bleeding, hurt, scared, and pissed, Hailey felt frustration bubble through her. She was not going out this way. Not at the hands of some twiggy little psycho.

  “Oh, yeah?” she said, hoping to press her into making a mistake—and anger her more. “You don’t even know his real name, for Christ’s sake! He’s not ‘Rick,’ he’s Jake Reese! He’s an actor, get it?”

  “He’s a Mystic Knight!” The knife slashed out, and Hailey dodged. Ghost Blonde’s blue eyes were foggy but furious. “He and his brothers are trying to SAVE THE WORLD! They need women who understand the sacred mission they’ve been given. Women who will support them. I have powers . . .”

  “Yeah, I’ll bet you do,” Hailey muttered.

  “I can take care of him. He was just dallying with you,” Ghost Blonde said. “When you’re dead, he’ll need me more than ever.”

  “Fuck’s sake, lady, when will you get it through your thick skull?” Hailey let her fury loose. “He’s not even going to be on the show! He’s going to South America or wherever, he’s going to be ogling those A-lister women with no waists and huge tits and he’s going to forget all about this crappy show, do you get it? It’s over! He’s gone!”

  Ghost Blonde now paused. Then she smiled wickedly.

  “You’re lying. And jealous. He left you.” Her tone was triumphant. “You were just a receptacle for his seed, and then he moved on. Just like he always would have. Did you really think a slut like you could keep him?”

  That hit Hailey so hard, it was like getting the wind knocked out of her. Knife or not, she felt rage, like a bonfire. She grabbed nearby books blindly, throwing them at the blonde. They bounced off her sho
ulder, causing her to screech.

  “FUCK. YOU.” Hailey threw another.

  “How dare you?” Ghost Blonde demanded.

  “Are you kidding me with this?” Hailey dodged another stab, then wrestled with her. She got another lucky slash in, this time against Hailey’s collarbone. She gasped. That had hurt—and was a little too close to her throat.

  The fury, the fear, all dropped away as she clicked into a ready state: just this side of numb, hyper-alert.

  Survive. Protect Cressida. Look for your opportunity.

  “You’ll never love him like I do,” Ghost Blonde shouted. “I will NEVER let him go! I would give up EVERYTHING for him!”

  “That’s not love, that’s fucking insanity,” Hailey said quietly. Goading her. Heading toward the door—away from Cressida. Get her out of the house. “So, who’d you fixate on before Mystics started? No way you just started this with Jake, if you’re already at the stalking and stabbing stage. Who got you started?”

  “There’s only ever been Rick,” Ghost Blonde countered.

  “If you really care about . . . Rick,” Hailey echoed, “why trash his room? Why send him hate messages? Why try and kill me?”

  “If you love someone, you sacrifice for him,” Ghost Blonde said.

  “If you love someone, you protect them.” Hailey said, her voice sharp. Just a few more steps.

  She was almost to the door . . . and then tripped. Fucking tripped on a pile of paperbacks that tumbled beneath her feet, making her heels slip out from under her. She screeched.

  Ghost Blonde hovered over her, knife in both hands.

  “He’s mine.”

  Hailey tensed, putting her arms up defensively.

  Then, suddenly, Ghost Blonde got clocked as a big tome hit her right upside the head. She grunted, her eyes rolled back, and she fell to the ground.

  Hailey grabbed the knife away from her and stood up, looking Cressida right in the eyes. Cressida was panting, and held the heavy book in two hands.

  “It’s the Hamiltome,” she said, her breathing uneven. “Thank you, Lin-Manuel Miranda.”

  “I always knew that damned show would save my life,” Hailey said, then touched her slashes and wounds. “Ouch.”

  “The police are going to be here soon,” Cressida said. She grabbed a nearby extension cord and tied the woman up. “You need to get to the hospital, get that . . . fixed. That looks like a lot of blood.” She sounded weak.

  “You okay?”

  “I’m fine,” Cressida said. “I’ll probably break down a little later, when I’ve got my bearings. But yeah.”

  “I’ll say,” Hailey laughed, sinking down, hoping she wasn’t going into shock. “You saved my life.”

  Cressida stood straighter, her eyes staying trained on the knocked-out blonde on the ground. “Guess I did. Told you I can take care of myself . . . even if I can’t leave here.”

  “You can,” Hailey said. Her body went cold, clammy. “You totally will.

  “But even if I have to stay here—I swear, Hailey, if you stay, and think we’re going to be two spinsters with a bunch of cats or something when we’re eighty, you’re out of your mind,” she said. “Yeah, I love the house. And you love me. But I want you to be happy, sweetie. You can’t just stay safe. That’s like saying jail is safe. You’re meant for more than this.”

  Hailey started shivering. “I just want you to be taken care of.”

  “And I want to take care of myself,” Cressida said. “I’m not thirteen anymore, Hales. I’ve got this. So do you.”

  The police came in. They took Ghost Blonde away, and Hailey was taken to the hospital in the ambulance. As they rode off, Hailey realized that Cressida was right.

  She was through playing it safe. For somebody who talked a big game, she’d been running scared—hiding behind the very people she swore she’d protect and love.

  She wasn’t doing them any favors. She wasn’t doing herself any favors. It was time to stop hiding.

  That meant dealing with Jake.

  Chapter 12

  Jake stopped off at his room at the lodge. He’d had a really productive talk with Phil and Veronica, and now had a contract. He was having an entertainment lawyer look it over, but he knew that unless there was something really hinky, he was going to be signing it . . . for another three seasons. He was also excited about Mystics relocating from Vancouver, and the direction they wanted to take his character.

  It was just what he wanted: the show, the role. Settling down in the Pacific Northwest. He knew that he’d love it here. There was hiking. He could kayak in the sound; he could fish, something he’d enjoyed with the guys. He’d get to hang out with Simon and Miles even more now, solidifying their friendship.

  Most of all, though, it gave him the chance to do what he knew he really, really wanted to do: win Hailey. Convince her that he wasn’t going to leave—that he was a guy that stayed. And that she was precisely what he wanted.

  Don’t be a dick, but don’t back down.

  His phone rang, and he glanced at it. Susie.

  He’d emailed and messengered over a termination notice to his agent/manager. Jake wasn’t surprised at all that she was calling. He just wasn’t sure what he was going to say. He picked up the phone.

  “Susie. The notice was clear. You are no longer my representation.”

  “What happened, Jake?” Susie said, sounding unnerved. “You’re supposed to be in South America! I emailed you the plane reservations, along with PDFs of the contracts—you can DocuSign them. Was there some other problem? They’re filming this week. This is just what your career needs. You’ll be perfect for it, show them what you’re really made of.”

  “I’m not going.”

  “What the hell? What is all this?” Susie said, her voice shaking, sounding pissed and confused . . . and maybe, just maybe, a little bit guilty. “I gave Bernardo my word you’d be on a plane . . .”

  “Your word?” Jake snapped. “What about your word to me? I told you what I wanted. I wanted to be on Mystics. It was all I wanted. And you told me that the producers refused to pick up my contract. That they didn’t like my character, and wanted to replace me!”

  Susie sighed impatiently. “Sweetie, I say this with love: that show was all wrong for you. They didn’t appreciate you, and never would. They just wanted you to be a beefcake, a pretty face. They never quite knew what to do with your character, anyway,” she said, and her voice was so soothing, and supportive—God, she was a better actress than he’d realized. “I’m sorry, Jake, but you’ve just got to move on. You’re going to be a huge star, and you’re going to laugh off your days on a little network paranormal series.”

  He remembered Hailey’s words. I’m a lousy actress, but I’m a hell of a liar.

  “I talked to Phil and Veronica today,” Jake said, pulling Susie up short. “They told me that they’d offered more money . . . and you turned them down.”

  “Hon, you know you’re supposed to let me do the talking,” she said, inanely, sounding defensive and angry and obviously regrouping. “It’s like good cop, bad cop. If the stars talk to producers too much, they come off as pushy. I asked for more money. I’m an agent, that’s what I do. You just let me do the talking.”

  “Apparently I let you do the thinking, too,” Jake said. “That’s on me. But I’m not making that kind of stupid choice anymore.” He shut his eyes. “Damn it, Susie. I trusted you.”

  She was quiet for a minute. “I only had your best interests in mind.”

  “You’re fired,” he said, feeling more tired than angry. “You’ve got it in writing and electronically. We’re done.”

  “Your father is going to be furious,” Susie said. Then, softly, “He put me up to it.”

  Jake was about to end the call, but he caught her last statement. “Wait. What did you say?”

  “Kurt never wanted you on that show,” Susie said, sounding miserable. “He didn’t want his son on some . . . some teeny-bopper crappy sci-fi sho
w. His words, not mine. It was bad for your reputation, for your career.”

  And by proxy, his, Jake thought. “Do you work for him, or for me?”

  There was silence.

  “For him,” Jake said, feeling stupid as he answered his own question. He rubbed at his temple. “Always. All the guidance, all your helpful advice . . . you were always doing what he told you to.”

  “He wants what’s best for you,” Susie tried to argue weakly.

  “No, he wants what’s best for his image. He wants to live through me,” Jake said. “And that’s over.”

  “Jake, for whatever it’s worth . . . I’m really sorry.”

  “Good-bye, Susie.” He clicked off, then dialed his father.

  His father picked up the phone immediately. “Congratulations!”

  “What are you congratulating me for?”

  “The film, of course. I heard about the director—they’re saying he’s the next Scorsese. Wouldn’t mind working with him myself, down the line. The studio threw a lot of money at him, and they’re expecting big things.” His father sounded unbearably smug. “This is the sort of work that’ll break you out, kid. Not that little TV show.”

  “Dad . . .”

  “I mean, I know television is where it’s at, but they mean HBO, Showtime . . . that kind of thing. But basic cable? Really?” His father scoffed. “Trust me. You’ll get much better offers. And you can always do a sci-fi film. Look at Chris Pratt, right?”

  “Kurt.”

  His father stopped. “What did you call me?”

  “I called you by your name,” Jake said. “Because I want you to listen to me. I appreciate that you’re trying to help me. But you don’t do that by pulling strings to get me on a film I don’t even want. You don’t do that by having my agent run my jobs past you, and then go against my advice and turn down stuff I tell her to negotiate.”

  “Jesus.” His father growled. “Tell me. Tell me you are not fucking this deal up.”

  “There is no deal.”