by Stacy Wise
“I know.” I turn to him, feeling like a kid confessing to sneaking an extra cookie.
“You know? What, did Marnie give you my bio?”
“No.” I look at him sideways. “I Googled you the day I dealt with your compost bin.”
“Really.”
“Yeah. I was curious.”
He shakes his head and laughs. “So what else do you know about me? I’m sure you read plenty of dirt.”
“Uh, your favorite book is The Catcher in the Rye, and you’ve donated to a pediatric cancer charity.”
He grabs a Red Vine. “That’s what you found?”
“Yeah. Was there something else I should’ve looked at?”
He ties the Red Vine into a knot. “No. There’s just all kinds of shit that’s really easy to find, but you opted for the facts.” He clears his throat and takes a bite of Red Vine. “Have you seen any of my movies?”
“I saw Hard Rush. My dad loved that one.”
“What about you?”
“I liked it. I, um…it’s kind of weird to talk to you about movies that you were in. On the screen, you look like a movie star, but right now, you’re just you.”
His blue eyes land on mine, penetrating them. It feels like I’ve been laser-beamed, and I don’t know if it’s good or bad. “I didn’t mean that in a bad way. I just meant…”
“I didn’t take it in a bad way. What you said is really nice.” His jaw is tight, so I’m not sure I believe him. But then he reaches over and brushes a wayward tear off my cheek. “I think you have a good heart.” His eyes meet mine again, and before I can decipher what I see in them, he jumps from his seat and clicks off the screen. “Let’s get back upstairs. I want to check in with Phil, and you have boxes to unpack.”
I follow him as he jogs up the stairs, my good heart banging in my chest.
Chapter Eleven
Jack McAlister sits in the passenger seat of my freshly washed car. We reach the guard kiosk at Highland Studios and are waved through the gate. The guard doesn’t bother to ask me for a drive-on. “You obviously have a little more clout than Leo.”
“I wasn’t going to say anything,” he says with a grin, “but my clout is powerful—stronger than the average man’s clout. Leo can’t hold a candle.”
I choke back a laugh. “Hopefully you’ll be easier to get out of the car than he was.”
“You know it.”
Of course. He’ll probably leap from the car before I’ve come to a full and complete stop. Today is his chemistry read with Nichole Antocci. She’s available and interested in the role. The other actress, Elizabeth Crawford-Shaw, passed on the part, and Jack had his test with Rosa yesterday.
I pull into a spot directly in front of the casting director’s office. He steps out of my car, but the faint scent of him lingers. It doesn’t escape me that he has the swagger of a hot guy primed for an even hotter date.
Inside, an assistant greets us and offers us bottled water. “Jack, I’ll show you back. The guys are all here.”
“Thanks.” He turns to me. “Wish me luck.”
“Good luck.” He follows the casting assistant, and I peruse the framed movie posters on the wall. Seconds later, Nichole Antocci glides in, her assistant behind her. She’s wearing a midnight blue cocktail dress that hugs her curves beautifully. She looks elegant, with her gleaming dark hair pulled into a loose side bun. Her legs go on forever. She must be almost as tall as Jack.
“Hi, Nichole,” the casting assistant calls. “I’ll let them know you’re here. Do you want any water?”
“No, thanks. I have some.” Oh, geez. Even her voice is sexy.
She stands across from me, scrolling on her phone. Her nails are gelled in gold, shaped into slight points. She wears a serpent wrap ring that covers the entire bottom half of her right ring finger. It looks like it’s made with black and white stones—probably diamonds. I don’t mean to stare at her, but I’ve never seen someone this stunning in real life. It’s kind of alarming how pretty she is. I bet even Jack will transform into a stammering mess.
The casting director invites Nichole back. Once she’s gone, her assistant turns to me. “So, you work for Jack?”
“Yeah. I’m Jessica.”
“Sara,” she says and slumps into the chair next to me, her black Converse scuffing the ground. As glamorous as Nichole is, Sara is the polar opposite, with black leggings, a red flannel, and platinum hair pulled back in a scarf. “Oh my God. I’m so happy she’s in there doing her thing and away from me. She’s been an absolute terrorist today.”
“That bad?”
She gives me a look. “Yes. In the last four hours, we’ve had two wardrobe freak-outs, an emergency meeting with her personal psychic, a makeup malfunction, and oh yes, I can’t forget the organic coffee catastrophe. Let me tell you, you’re lucky you work for a guy.”
“Maybe you’re right.”
“Trust me. I’m right.”
She scrolls through her phone and sends out a few emails. I check mine, too, answering the ones that need immediate attention. Eventually, Sara clicks off her phone and turns to me. “Okay. Done with that. Now it’s your turn to spill. What’s Jack McAlister like? Any dirt?”
I ponder her question. It wouldn’t break our contract to mention the compost bin or his penchant for spinach smoothies, but the truth is, I don’t want to reveal anything. “Not really. I just started working for him. I don’t have any stories yet.”
“You’re lucky. Do you know what she had me do last week?” She pauses. “Well, first, you know to keep this private, right? I mean, we all know that, right? If we didn’t talk to each other, I think we’d be in therapy for life.”
“Yeah. I won’t say anything.”
“Okay. So she had me break up with her lover. In person.”
“You’re kidding.”
“Oh, no. She decided she couldn’t be involved with him anymore, so she sent me to go on her date for her. Can you imagine how horrifying it was to sit across from this French race car driver, telling him that he would no longer be fucking Nichole Antocci?”
I laugh at her candor. “Did he freak out?”
“No! He didn’t freak out. That would’ve been tolerable. He insisted I stay for dinner, poured me way too much wine, and asked me to go to his penthouse suite with him. He said his cock was twelve inches long. He actually said to me, ‘Oh, but I am a foot long, mon cher. You’ve never experienced anything like it,’ in his stupid accent.”
“That’s disgusting. What did you do?”
“I told him to put a shoe on it, and I got the hell out of there.”
“You did not!”
“Oh, I did. I knew I had to humiliate him enough that he wouldn’t try to contact Nichole. She would only send me to deal with him again.”
I laugh. “If Jack ever has me do anything like that, I’ll quit.”
“Oh, you say that now. But they keep throwing extras your way, and the birthday and holiday gifts are out of this world. They make it hard to walk away.”
My phone rings, and I glance at the number. It’s the florist for Jack’s party. I turn to Sara. “I’m going to grab this outside. It was nice chatting with you. I hope the rest of your day is better.”
Sara waves a hand and starts clicking furiously on her phone, seemingly unfazed that she just shared such intimate details of Nichole’s life.
An hour later, Jack steps back into the waiting area with Steven Lowi, the casting director, and a few producers. Nichole left twenty minutes ago. Steven claps Jack on the back. “Well done, Jack. We’ll be in touch.” They shake hands, and Jack looks over to me. He runs a hand across his mouth, pulling down on it. “Hey,” he says. “I’ve gotta get back. Let’s move.”
“Yep.” I scramble to keep up with him as I grab my keys. As soon as he gets settled in my car, he clicks on his phone. I try not to listen to his conversation, but it’s hard not to.
“Hey, Marnie. So it went great. I think they really liked what we did
. Steven gave us some notes on the art gallery scene. He wanted more meaningful gazes in the beginning, and by the time we kissed, he wanted the tenderness gone… Yeah. Like more animalistic…”
He chuckles into the phone, and I concentrate on pretending not to listen. I don’t want to hear the details of his love scene. He seems completely fine with the fact that he just had to kiss a stranger like an animal in front of a roomful of people.
“You know it… She was cool to work with… Any news on whether the execs watched my scene with Rosa? Okay. Keep me posted. You got it. Thanks. I’m going to run. My phone’s about out of juice, but Jess has hers.”
We drive in silence for a few minutes. I try to imagine what it would be like to have people scrutinize me as I make out with someone, and then hear suggestions on how to do it better. I’d die. “Is it weird to kiss someone you don’t really know? In front of people?” I say out loud.
He turns to me. “It wasn’t just about the kissing. We talked first. They wanted to see if we were easy with each other, or if there was an underlying awkwardness. Then we did the scene a few times.”
I focus on making my turn and clamp my mouth shut. I don’t want to hear anything more. I remember reading the script, and I remember the art gallery scene. It made me blush.
I’m thankful when Jack reclines in his seat and closes his eyes. I navigate my way to the 405 and sigh when I see the long line of cars backed up on the onramp. “Side streets, or freeway home?”
“I don’t care. Just be aware if anyone is following you. I’m going to catch a nap.”
I pull onto the freeway and settle in for the long drive.
As the sun is beginning to set, I pull onto Jack’s street. My phone blares, and I grab it from my cup holder.
“Hey, Aunt Marnie. You’re on speaker. Jack’s sitting right here.”
Jack rubs his eyes and pops his seat back up. “Marnie. What’s up?”
“We did it! You rocked the chemistry read with Nichole. Rocked it. ‘Sex in the air.’ That’s how Steven described it. Sex. In. The. Fucking. Air. The execs all saw the scene, and they’re, and I quote, ‘one thousand percent behind her.’ This is great news, Jack. You’re going to soar with this.”
“Yes!” He makes a fist and pulls his elbow toward his body. “This is fucking awesome, Marnie.”
“Congrats, Jack. This is big. The studio is going to publicize the hell out of this one. Be ready.”
“You know it. Thanks, Marnie.”
“Bye now.”
I click off my phone as I put my car into park. “Congratulations. You got your girl.”
He gives me a look that makes me feel like I somehow said the wrong thing. Geez. I was only trying to be nice. He finally nods and says, “It’ll be great working with Nic.”
I wonder when she went from Nichole to Nic. Sounds like they got up close and cozy really fast. I suppose animalistic kissing would achieve that.
Chapter Twelve
It’s hard to ignore the air of excitement in Jack’s house. We’re twenty-five minutes until party time, and I have everything staged so I’ll be able to make my escape before any of the guests arrive. The outdoor dining table is covered with a simple white tablecloth and a burlap table runner. Wood-wrapped square containers filled with celadon green hydrangeas and creamy white roses line the table. The lighting guy came this morning and installed small hanging globe lights across the backyard trees. The outdoor heaters are all working beautifully. I smile at the result of my hard work.
My parents had dinner parties when we were growing up, but they were potluck style. My mom would buy several bouquets of flowers from the grocery store, and I’d arrange them in whatever vases I could find in the cupboard. My brother and I would use folded index cards to make place cards. We’d decorate them with Crayola markers. He always drew sharks with jagged teeth, while I made patterns of flowers and butterflies.
In the kitchen, I confirm with Zoe, the head caterer, that she has everything she needs. She and her two assistants are so busy chopping and prepping they hardly notice me, and I take that as my cue to go. I’d be lying if I said I haven’t been waiting for this moment all day. I grab my purse and stride to the door, breathing a sigh of relief. I’ve escaped the possibility of seeing Jordan. I click the lock on my car and am about to step in, when I hear a wail that rivals Leo’s.
Marianne and Carla, Zoe’s assistants, charge through the open door, their faces pale. Carla’s hand is wrapped in a bloodied dishtowel. Oh, dear God. Zoe flies out behind them, her arms flapping as she squawks instructions. My hand rests on the door handle. It’d be so easy to get in my car and leave, but Carla’s crying yanks at my heart, and without giving it another thought, I rush over to them.
“What happened?”
Zoe ignores me, her focus on Carla and Marianne. “Go! Now! That cut is deep.”
Marianne nods, her eyes filling with tears. She helps Carla into the car and hastens to the driver’s side. They careen down the driveway, making me fear they’ll crash right into the gate.
Panic flashes in Zoe’s eyes as she turns to me. “Carla nearly sliced off her finger with the mandoline. I’ve told them time and again to be careful with that damn thing.” She storms back to the house, grabbing her phone from her pocket.
I stare after her and realize that with all my careful planning, and all my attention to detail, nothing I could have done would’ve prevented this. And now Jack’s important night is about to fall apart. There’s no way Zoe can handle the catering and serving herself. I shove my keys in my pocket and jog back through the house to the kitchen. “Zoe, what can I do to help?” As I say it, I remember I’m supposed to meet Meg for drinks tonight. I hate to cancel, but I have to.
She clicks off her phone and looks at me as though seeing me for the first time. “Have you ever worked a Hollywood party?”
“No. But I know my way around the kitchen, and I’m a fast learner.”
“Are you sure? Never mind. I don’t have much of a choice, do I? Wash your hands, and I’ll grab you a shirt. I have an extra clean one in my truck.”
“I’m on it.” She heads for the door, and I send a text to Meg, filled with apologies and the promise to reschedule ASAP. I pocket my phone and glance around the kitchen, wondering what the hell I’ve gotten myself into. My gaze drifts to the backyard. Jack is on his phone, pacing, with Leo following his every move. When he ends his call, he squats next to Leo, rubbing his back. Leo sticks up his snout, looking like the happiest pig on the planet. And I realize there’s no way I’m going to let Jack’s party flop. I’m certain Zoe can handle the serving, and I can remain unseen in the kitchen. God knows Jordan Kennedy wouldn’t dare to consort with the help.
With a new resolve, I scrub my hands and survey the trays scattered across the counters. It appears Carla was slicing sweet potatoes for the chili-spiked chips when she cut herself. I have no idea how to use a mandoline, nor do I really want to learn after witnessing the kind of wound it can cause. And then there’s the issue of it needing to be sterilized. I’ll let Zoe deal with it. God knows I’d probably chop off my entire arm if I touch it. I pull a clean knife from the block on the counter and get to work. My hand-cut slices are thicker than the ones the mandoline made, but I’m sure they’ll taste great. It’s seven minutes before the party officially starts. My phone dings with a text. I take a quick look—Meg’s response is three lines of sad faced emojis. It makes me feel awful.
Zoe returns and practically throws the white shirt at me. I catch it and jog to the powder room. After making a speedy wardrobe change, I pause to pull my hair back into a low ponytail and reapply my lipstick. I use the dark red shade that Jordan liked. Not because I want to attract him—I plan on avoiding him at all costs. But if he does happen to see me, I want him to want me. It’s completely perverse, I’m sure. When I imagine telling Meg, I can picture her high-fiving me, so I know it’s a bad idea. But I don’t care. He should know he blew it by letting me get away.
/> The doorbell chimes, and I run for the safety of the kitchen as Imelda greets the first guests.
Zoe places a tray of jerk chicken into the oven and turns to me. “I’ve got the main course under control. Now where are the dessert trays?”
I spin around the kitchen, searching for a tray of individual rum cakes but find nothing.
“Shit! Shit, shit, shit!” Zoe wails. “The dessert trays were in Marianne’s car.” She pounds a fist to her forehead. “Improvise. I need to think. I have berries. Will berries work?”
I hesitate. I’d Googled Jamaican desserts when Jack told me he wanted Caribbean food. There was an amazing recipe for a banana cake with a grilled walnut and brown sugar topping, and I know we have the ingredients here. I’ve slowly started to stock Jack’s pantry with some essentials that, quite honestly, no kitchen should be without. “You know what? I’ll whip up a cake. If you can do the hors d’oeuvres, I can get it started. It’ll bake while the guests are eating their first course, and we can serve it warm. It’ll be perfect.”
She raises an eyebrow at me. “You bake?”
“Yeah. A lot.”
“And people like your baking? This isn’t the time to test stuff out. Do you understand? This is important.”
“I understand. I’ve got this.”
“You have one chance to make it perfect. My ass is on the line here.”
“Mine, too. I hired you—and I’m the one who faces Jack tomorrow.”
Zoe looks slightly affronted but recovers quickly. “I’ll start with the hors d’oeuvres once a few more guests arrive. I’ll need you to help me when they’re seated for dinner. One note—be invisible. The idea is to feed, not distract.”
“Not a problem.” I only hope I can be invisible. No amount of worrying will help things now, though. I zip around the kitchen, and the tension that sparks through me begins to dissipate. The normalcy of baking comforts me. I don’t even flinch as Imelda ushers a few more people, including Jordan, who was too busy schmoozing Renee Wolfson to notice me, out to the patio.
