1001 Dark Nights: Bundle Seven

by Shayla Black

  “If that was true, he wouldn’t have berated me for belittling you in front of the rest of the staff.”

  Brooke pulled in a sharp breath. That’s what this was about. Keaton standing up to her in public. Keaton taking Brooke’s side over Jillian’s. Keaton doing exactly what Brooke had asked him, told him, not to do.

  Now her anger had a whole new target. And her pain dug deeper.

  “You know me, Jillian. You know I would never do something so hurtful. And Keaton was having a bad day. The movie was behind when he stepped on the set. He’d just received word your stunt double wasn’t going to make it. He was already tired from his previous job. He simply lost his patience.”

  “Neither of you looked the least bit unhappy when I walked in.”

  She collected tolerance she didn’t even know she had—for Tammy and Justin. “I understand that you’re angry right now, but I wish you would just sleep on it. Just let your temper settle. Once you consider all the circumstances I’m sure you’ll see things differently.”

  When Jillian remained unmoved, Brooke resorted to pleading. “You know how much I need this job. I just found out Justin got into the children’s research program for the bronchial thermoplasty treatment. He’s just a little boy with a long life of struggle ahead without this procedure. Please don’t take that away from him. I’ve been a good assistant.”

  “I’m taking nothing from your nephew. You alone are responsible for that, Brooke. You and Keaton.”

  “I won’t see Keaton again.” She pushed the words out, confused with all the emotions swirling inside her—loss, pain, anger. But none of that mattered now. Justin had to come first. “Please give me another chance.”

  “If you want that letter,” Jillian continued, dismissing Brooke’s plea, “make a clean break with Keaton. Make sure he understands that what you had was a fling and that it’s over. And you’re not to contact him again while he’s working on this set. I’ll give you ninety minutes to get your things together and hunt Keaton down to say good-bye. He’s probably out at the bars with the crew, hitting on the hottest woman within reach. Then Henry will take you to the airport.”

  Brooke panicked. Everything that mattered was crumbling around her. “Please, Jillian. Can’t we discuss this?”

  “We have.” She turned and sashayed down the hall toward the bedroom. “And the discussion is over.”

  Fury consumed Brooke. Fury and fear.

  “Fine,” Brooke said. “But since you aren’t willing to consider my wants or needs, I’m not willing to consider yours.” Jillian stopped in the hallway. After a moment, she spun slowly to face Brooke. And the woman’s hate-face was cemented in place. Brooke’s stomach fluttered with anxiety.

  “Excuse me?” Jillian said, her voice ice-cold and cutting.

  Brooke’s heart thundered in her ears and pounded in her chest. “Your letter of recommendation means nothing. We both know you’ll be badmouthing me behind my back. We both know that when you feel betrayed, you’re irrational and vengeful. And that if you had your way, I’d never work in this industry again.”

  Jillian crossed her arms. Her eyes narrowed and her lips pursed. “You’ve certainly earned that by talking back to me.”

  Brooke’s emotions spiked past anger. Now she was livid. She took two steps toward Jillian before she forced her feet to stop. Before she forced self-restraint to kick in. “I’ve earned nothing but respect,” she told Jillian in a low tone dripping with finality. “I’ve done everything you’ve asked and more. I’ve gone above and beyond to be the best assistant you could possibly want.”

  “You’re the worst kind of assistant—the untrustworthy kind.”

  “And you’re the worst kind of employer—the narcissist. And let me tell you exactly what’s going to happen, Jillian. I’m going straight to Keaton, and I’m going to tell him everything. I’m going to tell him how you’ve treated me. I’m going to tell him what you’ve accused him of and exactly how you see him—as little more than a gigolo.”

  “Ha.” Jillian huffed a disgusted laugh. “As if I care what he—”

  “You should care, because everyone in the industry loves Keaton, and everyone in the industry hates you. Keaton is on every studio’s list of the most desirable stunt fighters. There are a lot of beautiful actresses, Jillian, but there’s only one Keaton Holt. So when a studio has to choose between you and Keaton because he refuses to work with you, who do you think they’ll pick?”

  Brooke was shaking with fury. But she was also bluffing—big-time. She had no control over Keaton. Nor would she ever tell Keaton those hurtful things. And she knew studios couldn’t care less about the bullshit that went on between actors. Brooke was just hoping Jillian was insecure enough to believe it.

  Her eyes narrowed; her jaw tightened. “You wouldn’t.”

  “I would, and I will.”

  “I’ll make sure you never work in this industry again.”

  “You’re already going to do that,” Brooke said, “so I’ve got nothing to lose.”

  Jillian fell quiet. Her jaw pulsed. “What do you want?”

  I want you out of my life. I want the last year erased from my mind and heart. I want to forget I ever met you.

  Brooke felt like she was going to shatter. She drew a slow breath and reached deep for the courage to make her final demand. “I want a letter. And I want that letter to tell ‘To whom it may concern’ that my employment with you is solid. I want that letter to say you have absolutely no intention of letting me go within the next year.”

  Jillian laughed, the sound condescending and nasty. “Never.”

  Brooke turned on her heel and took two steps toward the door.

  “Wait,” Jillian said.

  But Brooke didn’t wait. She was done taking orders from Jillian.

  She had her hand on the handle of the door when Jillian said, “Fine, you can have the letter.”

  Brooke paused, but she didn’t turn around, waiting for the other shoe.

  “But you’ll talk to Keaton first,” Jillian added.

  Brooke shook her head and pulled the door open.

  “Fine,” Jillian said, her voice rising with urgency and anger. “But here’s my final deal. I’ll give you the letter. Then you’ll sign another releasing me from responsibility for your salary for this fictitious year. And all this will stay between us. If you don’t go to Keaton tonight before you leave, or if you tell him you leaving was my fault, you’ll be hearing from my lawyer.”

  Brooke squeezed her eyes closed—in both relief and misery. Justin was safe, but Keaton would be hurt. She fought to shove her own loss aside, gather her frayed composure and turned.

  And she told Jillian, “You’ll write, print and sign the letter—right now.”

  Ten

  Keaton stared at the monitor above the bar in his hotel’s lounge, but he wasn’t watching the game. His mind kept twisting and spinning all the possible reasons Brooke hadn’t texted or called him back yet. His fingers wound around his phone in a death grip so he’d feel it vibrate in case he couldn’t hear it ring above the noise around him.

  Still, he kept checking the screen.

  Still, no contact from Brooke.

  He hadn’t decided if that was good or bad, but he was leaning toward the latter.

  “Stop with the gloom and doom,” Cam said before tossing another few kernels of gourmet popcorn in his mouth. “Cruella DeVille is probably punishing her by forcing her to polish all her shoes or making her clean out the chimney or something.”

  “That’s only one of the options I’m afraid of.”

  “When she calls, she’ll be a whimpering mess, and you can bring her to your room and make her feel all better. Think about that and stop pouting.”

  “I’m not pouting. I don’t fucking pout.”

  Cam laughed, turned his head to the woman sitting next to him, and said, “Hey, gorgeous. Do you have a mirror I could borrow for a second?”

  The woman grinned, her eyes b
right. She’d been waiting for an hour for one of them to notice her. “Um, I think so…”

  When she started looking through her purse, Cam said, “Good. I want to show this idiot what pouting looks like.”

  “God, you’re an ass,” Keaton told Cam. Then said to the woman, “He owes you a drink.” He glared at Cam. “Buy her a drink, you idiot, and apologize.”

  “That’s okay,” she said, drawing Keaton’s gaze. “I was really more interested in you. But I was hoping you weren’t quite so…nice.”

  A hoot of laughter rolled out of Cam and fisted in Keaton’s gut.

  He turned on his stool and faced the woman. “What the hell is it about me that makes you think, at first glance, I wouldn’t be nice?”

  The sweet exterior melted away as the woman pulled out her attitude. She slid off her stool, crossed her arms, and tilted her head as she approached. When it was obvious she had no intention of stopping until she was between his legs, Keaton put out a hand and stopped her at arm’s length.

  “That rock-hard body. The grungy jeans and boots.” Her hand took a fold of his light leather jacket between her fingers and rubbed. “The way you wear leather. The way you walk, the way you sit, the way you drink. Your scowl, those dark, intense eyes.” She laughed softly, sensually, with a small shake of her head. “A better question would be what about you doesn’t make me think rough, hard, screaming-great sex? Mmmm, and these scars. God, I love the scars…”

  She lifted one hand toward his face.

  Keaton grabbed her forearm, and her eyes widened a little. “Did I give you permission to touch me?”

  A low laugh bubbled up from her throat. A hot, I-knew-it, you’re-exactly-what-I’m-looking-for laugh that added fuel to Keaton’s anger and hurt to his impending loss. Because if he couldn’t work things out with Brooke, this was what waited for him.

  Superficial, hedonistic fucking for physical release.

  After experiencing the kind of connection he’d craved for years yet not even known he’d needed until he’d found Brooke, the thought of hooking up with strangers again left him absolutely hollow. The fact that his past and his actions today might have pushed him closer to that barren place tested his temper’s limit.

  “Yeah,” she said, her voice low and hot. “Just like that. But let’s do it upstairs—”

  He shoved her hand away and opened his mouth to tell her to go to hell.

  “Mr. Holt.” A man approached, breaking Keaton’s focus and defusing his frustration. He looked into the very familiar face of a desk clerk named Leroy. The man’s dark eyes held Keaton’s purposely, but the easy Southern air he always had was still in place. “A word?”

  Cam took over with the woman, buying her a drink. Keaton turned his back to the others. “Hey, Leroy. What’s up?”

  “You okay, son? You looked like you were about to start a fight off the set.”

  By now, Keaton was on a first-name basis with everyone at the hotel from the managers to the maids. Leroy might have been a decade younger than Keaton’s own father, but the man still called him son. “It’s just been one hell of a long day. What’s going on?”

  “This was just dropped off for you.” He held an envelope. “I saw you come in here, and I was on my way out, so I thought I’d swing it by on my way to the car.”

  Keaton exhaled and frowned, taking the envelope from him and looking at the smooth, swirly handwriting on the front. Even though the hotel was filled with movie people—production assistants, crew, minor cast members—only key people had his cell number. This could be anything from an interview request to a schedule change to a script modification someone wrote down at the last minute and asked their assistant to hand off to him.

  Even though there was only one assistant he cared about right now, Keaton pulled open the unsealed flap and drew out the folded paper inside. “Know who it’s from?”

  “Pretty little thing. She came into the lobby, asked to leave it for you, and…”

  Leroy’s words faded as Keaton scanned the note and focused on the signature: Brooke. A lick of alarm burned in his gut, and he was on his feet, turning toward the hotel lobby, even while he read the note.

  My time in Austin has been cut short. It was fun, but I’m on to my next adventure. Take care. Brooke

  “What the…?” He looked up and scanned the hotel lobby. “Where? Where is she?”

  “I don’t know,” Leroy said in that slow Southern drawl. “She was headed out when I started over here. Got waylaid at the door by one of those director types…”

  Keaton rushed to the opening between the hotel lobby and the restaurant, but Brooke wasn’t among those milling there.

  He scanned the front doors and sprinted that direction. He hit the metal bar on an exit door, slamming the door open and scanning the drive. A black Lincoln town car sat off to the left, the engine running.

  And Keaton caught the split-second sight of Brooke’s dark head disappearing inside. Disbelief clashed with confusion and exploded in anger. He sprinted to the car as the driver turned to look over his shoulder, preparing to pull away from the curb.

  “Stop!” he yelled at the same time he slapped his hand against the windshield on the passenger’s side. But he didn’t even pause to see if the driver looked his way before he lunged for the back door handle. “Brooke?”

  And when he dragged it open and found a stunned, borderline-angry Brooke staring back at him, the wall Keaton had erected to hold his hurt back crumbled.

  “What in the fuck is going on?” he demanded.

  “Hey,” the driver yelled back at him. “Get away from the car—”

  “Henry,” Brooke said to the driver. “It’s okay. I know him.”

  That—like everything at the moment—hit Keaton wrong. “You know me? What, like you know the valet? Like you know the desk clerk? What does that mean?”

  “Keaton, please don’t—”

  “What the hell is happening, Brooke? Why haven’t you returned my calls? Why are you leaving? And were you seriously going to bail with nothing more than a fucking note?”

  The truth showed on her face. She’d been about to do exactly that. But she didn’t look guilty. She released her seat belt and stood from the car with an air of let’s-get-this-over-with dread.

  And when she met his gaze, those beautiful blue eyes that had always held such a spark or passion or affection were now flat and resigned. The sight stabbed at his heart. And he knew instantly what had happened.

  “Jillian fired you, didn’t she?”

  Her gaze slid away, and she drew a deep breath to speak, but everything in her expression, everything in her posture, told him she was already gone. She’d already shut him out.

  “It was inevitable,” she said. “Bad timing, but there really wouldn’t have been a good time.”

  She was working that positive streak hard, but she still sounded miserable. As miserable as Keaton suddenly felt.

  “Why didn’t you call and tell me?” he asked, guilt flooding into his gut. “I can talk to her. If I can’t get her to change her mind, there are other avenues, Brooke, legal avenues—”

  “No.” Her rejection was sharp and resolute, and it sparked anger in the pit of his stomach. “You cannot talk to her. It’s over. She’s made up her mind.” Brooke lowered her gaze, took a breath, and softened her tone. “Look, our time together was great, but we both knew it was ending soon. Like I said in the note, it’s just time for me to move on.”

  “Move on?” The sparks inside him caught fire. He stepped around the door, took her by the arms, and turned her to face him. But even without the door between them, there were still barriers. Her barriers. “So you can find another adventure? Is that what I’ve been to you?”

  “Keaton, this isn’t a big deal.” But now she sounded a little more like Keaton felt, distressed and upset. She tried to pull away. “Tomorrow you’ll find someone new, and—”

  “Don’t.” He held tighter, desperate to get her to listen. To a
dmit she didn’t want to walk away from him. “Don’t minimize what’s between us. I know it happened fast, but you know it’s real. This isn’t you. This is her. Don’t let Jillian do this.”

  Brooke’s gaze cut to his, and a flash of hurt there burned so deep, it stole his breath. “No, Keaton, this is you. You did this.” Hurt gave way to anger, and she yanked her arms from his grasp. “You know what she’s like. I warned you what would happen. I asked you not to confront her, but you did anyway. And just like I said in the beginning, if she caught even a hint of favoritism toward me, I would be the one to suffer.”

  “I didn’t show favoritism. I purposely made a point to include her treatment of everyone on the cast and crew so I didn’t look partial. You think I’d do that?” That cut him. Deep. “You think I’d deliberately hurt you?”

  “Brooke, honey…” Their gazes both swung toward the driver, who was standing in the open driver’s door. “We have to go, or you’ll miss your plane.”

  She nodded and turned back around but didn’t meet Keaton’s gaze. “None of this matters…” Suddenly, she sounded broken, as if the bottom had dropped out of her fight, and another wave of guilt crashed through Keaton. “This is why I left you the note. Because I knew this would happen. Because I didn’t want to end things like this.”

  “Miss the plane, Brooke,” he pleaded softly, running a hand over her hair. He craved the feeling of her leaning into him. Yearned to hear the word “Yes” from her lips. “Let’s talk about this.”

  A sound escaped her, part exhale, part sob. She shook her head, straightened her shoulders, and met his eyes in a soldier-like way that left Keaton bemused. “Sorry, I can’t. I have to get home. I need to get back to my family.”

  Another stab cut Keaton, this one dead center through his heart. She turned away, but he grabbed her arm to stop her. “I’m only asking for enough time to talk this through, Brooke, because I already think of you as family.”

  A tremor passed through her small frame. Her free hand gripped the doorframe, and she turned back to him with the strangest expression, one he could only identify as a mix of agony and affection.