Shifters in Seattle: Box Set Books 1 - 5

by Thorne, Truli

  "No, but..." Frankie says but Cleo is already rushing away. "Congratulations."

  Cliff says nothing. He turns and storms through the lobby toward the elevator.

  Frankie turns to Diana. Now what?

  "Don’t shrink when it’s time for you to rise," Diana says, patting her arm. "And remember to have fun."

  "Fun? He’s such an asshole."

  "Sometimes being a grown-up means learning to deal with assholes, unfortunately. You can do this, Frankie. I know you can."

  Frankie nods, although she isn’t so sure.

  "Will you ask Lawton to text me?"

  "Of course," Diana says. "You must miss him so much."

  "I do." Frankie feels on the verge of tears.

  Cliff is a movie star with a bad attitude. And she has to spend the entire weekend with him? And drive him around?

  She knows he'll hate Jane Fonda Honda. She loves her car. It’s reliable. It never breaks down. It just isn’t pretty. She doesn’t want to see it through his eyes. She doesn’t want to see her life through his eyes.

  "Come on, Frankie Knightly," he yells back at her. "Let’s get you to your bed. We’ll inspect your chariot in the morning."

  She sighs. She realizes that if one spoiled movie star can stop her, she’ll never make it as a reporter.

  "I’m coming, geez." Frankie yanks up her dress and hurries after him. Honestly, she liked things better when he was sweet and he wanted to fuck her.

  She steps into the elevator beside Cliff, remembering the first time they rode the elevator up to his room. Remembering his hands on her breasts and his lips on her lips. She feels a flush and steps back toward the wall, standing as far away from him as she can.

  But she will not shrink. She has worked so hard for everything she has. Tears burn at her eyelids and she bites her tongue.

  No way.

  Frankie will not cry.

  She refuses.

  She grinds her teeth and stares straight ahead at the bronzed elevator wall, where her reflection is a blur and she can’t even see the movie star standing two feet away from her.

  "There’s no business like show business," Cliff says harshly, glancing back at her. "Just a steady stream of beautiful young people, eager to be fucked. That is, plucked, from obscurity."

  "What?" Her jaw drops.

  "Let me guess. You’re the beloved daughter of a Seattle technology tycoon. Love movies. You don’t strike me as the actress-type. But maybe that can work in your favor." He reaches back and lifts the sheet of blond hair off her back, then drops it back down. "Nice color," he says. "Natural?"

  Frankie yanks her head away and glares up at him. What a jerk.

  She never expected anyone to move so quickly from near-hookup to despised asshole.

  Then she remembers she has to interview Cliff for the blog. Mr. Michaels will still demand her article. She will just have to weave her questions into their conversation.

  "Let’s begin again. How did you get your start in movies?" she asks. Journalism is going to be her career. She needs to be professional, even with jerks. Or, at least, try.

  "I’ve always been a star."

  "You’ve always been an asshole is more like it." She gasps and her hand flies up to cover her mouth. She really shouldn’t be so rude.

  Frankie peers up at Cliff. He’s chuckling.

  That’s good. At least she won’t be fired. Not until Monday, that is.

  They both drop back into silence.

  Stay focused, Frankie tells herself as the elevator doors open and they step into the hall. You'll be on your way to Los Angeles in one week.

  "Wake me up at seven," Cliff barks as they storm down the hall. "Order coffee from room service—before seven—and knock on my door when it arrives—at seven."

  When they get into his hotel suite, Frankie walks straight into Billy’s bedroom and Cliff walks into his own.

  They both close their doors.

  Frankie needs this job. She can’t quit. Cliff liked her once. She will just have to find a way to get him to like her again. Even if she despises him. It’s her first lesson in being a grown-up, she decides.

  But how will she last the weekend with Cliff Tatum now that she knows what he’s really like?

  8

  In the morning, as they hurry to catch the 8:00 a.m. ferry, Cliff strides down the hall, his long legs spanning two of Frankie’s steps with every one of his. Inside, he feels like a hot mess. He hardly slept last night.

  Take her, love her, his so-called bear insists. Cliff can’t relate to the demanding voice in his head and in his heart. He wishes it would just go away.

  I am your bear. I’m not going anywhere.

  Cliff closes his eyes and rubs his head, which is already beginning to pound.

  Shut up, bear.

  Being back in the Pacific Northwest is fucking with him. That’s what he tells himself, anyway. All this rain and all these trees. It’s too green. Too damp.

  He’s got to get back to the desert of Los Angeles as soon as possible, where the only thing that matters is looking hot and acting well.

  Those things he can deal with.

  Dude, his bear tells him, you need to listen to me. You’re all fucked up. Just listen to me and you’ll be back to your old self in no time.

  But Cliff isn’t even sure who his old self is.

  Meanwhile Frankie walks beside him, bustling with energy and determination. She’s adorable in her high-heeled sneakers and sweater wrap, her long blond hair pulled into a high ponytail. He finds himself grateful for her presence.

  That’s because she’s our fated mate, dude. We’ve been over this. His bear won’t quit.

  The bear is making him crazy.

  Downstairs, Frankie leads him through the parking lot to her Honda Civic. The car is worse than anything he’s witnessed close up in years. It obviously has been in more than a few fender benders. "I see you’re not a spoiled princess, after all. No CEO would let his daughter drive a shit box like this."

  "I work for everything I have. Sorry if that’s not good enough for a big star like you," Frankie says with a sweet smile. "Anyway, Jane Fonda Honda is not a shit box."

  He laughs. Good for her.

  "I’m sure I’ll manage until Monday." He slides on his aviator shades and a baseball cap.

  He's one of those lucky movie stars who can walk around unrecognized, as long as he wears sunglasses and the paparazzi aren't following him like a pack of dogs.

  God, he despises paparazzi and the other bottom-feeders in Hollywood: entertainment reporters and gossip websites.

  Frankie busies herself with clearing out the backseat of her car, pulling out textbooks and boots and umbrellas and jackets and empty soda bottles and tossing everything into the trunk. Her ass is up in the air as she leans across the street. It takes everything Cliff has not to reach out and caress her.

  More evidence. Fated mate. His bear again.

  He checks his stocks on his phone.

  As soon as Frankie is done, he ducks into the backseat. He pretends not to notice the clutter;

  the dock is only a few blocks away. The ferry is a double-decker, with cars below and passengers and a snack stand above. They drive onboard without a wait.

  The car deck feels like a cave, dark and enclosed. Frankie parks and takes out her phone. The back of her car is private and quiet.

  "Yes, wireless!" she says.

  He lets out a sigh and closes his eyes.

  Cliff falls asleep as soon as they start moving and doesn’t wake up until he hears the ferry scraping against the dock at West Salish. Frankie sits in the front seat, reading something on her phone. He sits up.

  She turns back to him and smiles.

  "Thought you might need another coffee." She hands him a to-go cup. "Got this upstairs."

  He sits up and stretches. "How long was I asleep?"

  "Not long. Feel better?"

  "Yes, actually." His head has stopped pounding and his bear is f
inally quiet. He takes a sip of the coffee. It’s still hot. "Thanks."

  "You’re welcome." She rewards him with a smile.

  As soon as the gate is unlocked, the cars ahead of them inch forward to get off the ferry, but then stop. No one is making any progress. Cliff becomes aware of yelling and honking from the front of the line.

  "Get out of the way!" a woman hollers.

  "Let’s go!" someone else yells.

  "I’ll see what’s going on." Frankie walks toward the front of the line of cars.

  As Cliff loses sight of Frankie, he hears a furious scream.

  "You again!" It’s Elle’s voice. "I told you to get lost, you little slut!"

  Cliff jumps out of the car and races to Frankie.

  Elle has Frankie by the shoulders, shaking her back and forth.

  What the fuck. Cliff’s bear awakens with a mighty growl, and for once Cliff doesn’t shush it.

  He lets the power of the bear course through his body. It feels amazing. He knows he could shift, but chooses not to do it. He doesn’t want to scare anyone.

  He scoops up Frankie and places her gently away from Elle, shouldering Elle away.

  Elle stumbles and falls into the crowd, which is quickly gathering, excited and jostling for position. More people are above them on the passenger deck, which overlooks them above like a theater balcony.

  "Are you okay?" he asks Frankie.

  She nods but he can see she’s upset, her face is red and threatening tears.

  Cliff is infuriated. His blood boils. He turns to Elle with a snarl and finds Dave and his camera pointed straight at him, blocking his way to Elle.

  He shoves Dave aside and storms toward his former girlfriend. "What part of ‘We’re done’ can’t you understand?" he bellows. "We’re over!"

  "But, darling, if you’d just give me another chance!" She plays to the camera, bursting into tears. "Don't you love me anymore?"

  "No. I don’t love you."

  The crowd gasps.

  He holds Elle by the collar of her leather jacket and lifts her off her feet.

  "We’re over, got it?"

  He lets go and she lands firmly on her feet, but then collapses as if he had thrown her.

  Everyone gasps again.

  All around them, people are holding up phones, filming everything. He knows this will be all over the Internet within five minutes, and viral by noon.

  Nonetheless, he grabs Dave’s camera. "I’ll take this."

  Cliff tosses the camera overboard.

  The crowd cheers.

  Dave runs to the railing, but he’s too late. The camera sinks. He turns on Cliff. "That's destruction of property, my friend. You want to go to jail?"

  "Send a bill to my lawyer," Cliff says. "And tell her to start an invasion of privacy suit against you while she’s at it."

  Even though they all know it’s a game, it doesn’t hurt to keep the pressure on. Neither one will sue the other—it’s all for the fans, to keep Elle’s reality show in the news. The thing is, Cliff doesn’t care about that anymore.

  "Elle, listen to me. This is pathetic," Cliff says, loud enough so that all people filming them on cell phones can hear him. "We’re over. I’m not putting up with this shit. Move on."

  Elle pretend-sobs. Why did he fall for this for so many years? Why does anyone?

  The ferry captain moves into the crowd. "Okay, folks. Show’s over."

  Cliff turns away and takes Frankie’s arm. "You okay?" he asks her.

  She nods.

  The ferry captain continues to break up the crowd. "Ma’am, Ms. Hudson, you’ll need to exit the ferry. We have a schedule to keep." He herds Elle and Dave toward the exit, ignoring Elle’s fake tears and near-collapse. "Come on, folks, back to your cars. Geez. You get one film festival in town and the whole world falls apart."

  Elle grinds out a tight smile and marches past Cliff. "I’m Elle Hudson. No one dumps me," she says, her voice straining with quiet fury. "I’m going to destroy you."

  "Save it for the cameras."

  "Oh, you better believe there will be cameras," she says.

  Cliff knows there will be more drama, but right now all he wants is to get back to the car with Frankie and figure out why he feels like his head is about to explode.

  9

  The dark forest surrounding West Salish is thick with lush trees and the sounds of birds.

  Frankie pulls into the parking lot at the West Salish Hotel. The hotel is a small rustic building, surrounded by a cluster of private bungalows. Even though she has lived in Seattle her whole life, Frankie hasn't spent time on Salish Island outside of the community college.

  Her mom said islands made her nervous.

  The only dangerous thing on this island is Elle Hudson.

  Frankie parks and glances at Cliff in the rearview mirror, marveling at how he came to her rescue on the ferry. Maybe he isn't an asshole after all. He's been quiet since they got back to her car, inscrutable behind his sunglasses.

  "I’ll get the room keys," she tells him.

  He just nods.

  In the lobby, she discovers there’s no room available for her.

  Again.

  "I’m so sorry, miss," the elderly manager says. "Cleo Jones called and said that you’ll have to stay in Billy’s room. That’s the spare room in Mr. Tatum’s bungalow, right?" He points into the lobby behind her.

  "Yes, but…You don’t understand. Mr. Tatum isn't feeling well. I can’t stay in his bungalow." She glances over her shoulder. Cliff followed her and is sitting on a couch, hiding behind his aviators.

  "Sorry, miss. I wish I could do something. We’re completely booked." He shrugs. "Cleo said to tell you: same thing tomorrow night at the Sea Spray Inn too."

  Great. Frankie resigns herself to having to share Cliff’s suites for the entire weekend. At least they seem to be getting along better today.

  She pulls out her phone to text Cleo and Lawton.

  No reception.

  "Is there wireless here?" she asks the manager.

  "Yes, miss. We have room service from the dining room after four p.m."

  She shakes her head. "No. Do you have, you know, wireless Internet?"

  The manager shakes his head, his jowls dangling under his chin. "Sorry, miss. The Internet webs have gone down. We do have a pay phone by the elevator, though."

  No contact with the outside world?

  "Are there modems in the bungalows?"

  "Modems. Sure. Let me look around and find one for you," he says, but his expression tells her that he has no idea what she’s talking about.

  Soon you’ll be in Los Angeles, Frankie reminds herself. Maybe she really can turn Cliff into a friend. Or, at least, not an enemy.

  That’s all she wants.

  "Thank you." She takes the bungalow keys from the manager, and walks over to Cliff. "Bungalow Three," she tells him. "Next to the forest."

  He nods and stands.

  "Are you feeling okay?" Frankie asks as they head outside.

  Their bungalow is at the very edge of the cluster of buildings.

  "Headache."

  "Maybe you need to eat? They don’t have room service until after four, but I can go down the street. We passed a deli on the way here."

  Even though he’s unwell, Cliff looks perfect. Frankie glances up at him and feels her heart swell. His artfully ripped jeans expose powerful legs, his hair is sexily tousled, the kind of mess you want to run your hands through. His face is drawn, but still tender.

  He shakes his head. "Not for me. You go. Get something for yourself."

  She knows that Elle is in West Salish somewhere. What would it be like to run into that crazy TV star without Cliff by her side? She remembers Elle shaking her on the ferry.

  She’s not going to let anyone keep her from doing what she wants to do. Still, she isn't really hungry; she just wants to get out of the hotel. "I’ll go later," she says. "I had a donut on the ferry."

  She checks her phone while t
hey're walking across the parking lot. S Still no reception. She opens the printout the manager gave her.

  "I have our schedule. We don’t have to be anywhere until tonight at seven. I might go for a walk. There’s a trail down to the beach." She scans the forest but doesn't see signs of the trail.

  "I need to lie down until this headache passes." He grimaces.

  "Is it a migraine? I'm so sorry." It's amazing how a weakness like a headache can humanize even a movie star. "Do you get them a lot?"

  "Can we talk about my medical history later? Right now I need a dark, quiet room."

  "Sorry. I’ll go for a walk by myself."

  "The forests aren’t safe to walk in alone."

  "Safe from what? Bunnies? Squirrels?"

  He just looks at her. Frankie remembers their kisses and wishes that she could have him. He’s a movie star, though, and he seems to be barely tolerating her.

  "A walk sounds great," he finally says. "We’ll go together. Just give me twenty minutes."

  Frankie unlocks the bungalow door and they step into a huge room that opens onto a private patio extending into the forest. The living room holds a leather couch and chairs, a glass coffee table burdened by a giant snack basket, and a fluffy white rug spread before a fireplace.

  How romantic.

  Frankie walks into the smaller of the two bedrooms and drops her backpack on the bed. She checks her bathroom and finds a rain shower and a huge tub. Sweet. Staying with a movie star definitely has its benefits.

  "Goddammit." Cliff snarls. She turns to see him tossing his sunglasses on the sofa.

  She blushes. "Don’t you like the bungalow?"

  "I’m not feeling like myself," he admits to Frankie, sitting on the sofa and running a hand through his hair.

  "Headache?" She sits next to him.

  "Yes, but that’s not what I’m talking about."

  "What, then?"

  He sighs. "My career has stalled. That’s why I’m at this festival. So I can win an Oscar."

  "How will being here get you an Oscar?"

  "I’m up for a role in an independent film. The director, Antonio Ford, will be here tonight."

  "It’s a good script?"

  "Whoever plays this part will be nominated for an Oscar. It’s that good. My character dies. It would be a chance to show real acting chops."