The Monday Girl (The Girl Duet #1)

by Julie Johnson

  “Speaking of space aged…” My lips twist as he pulls out into traffic, his darkly tinted windows concealing us from the paparazzi lurking outside the AXC gates. “Tell the truth, do your socks currently have stars and planets on them? Or are you changing it up, going for something a little more unique today — unicorns and rainbows, perhaps?”

  His smile turns almost sheepish. “Hate to break it to you, but they’re nothing exciting. Just plain black. I try to save the good patterns for the weekends — I only have a few pairs, so I have to pick and choose my days.”

  “You have a million-dollar car, yet a limited quantity of patterned socks.” I shake my head, baffled. “You’re an enigma, Dunn.”

  “Glad I’m such a mystery. Now, tell me where I’m going.”

  I hesitate. Do I want Grayson to know where I spend my nights? Even the paparazzi haven’t discovered my condo yet. It may be a shit-hole, but it’s the only stronghold against this bizarre Hollywood world that I have left…

  “Oh, come on. You know where I live,” he points out. “Fair trade. I even promise not to stalk you.”

  Grudgingly, I give him my address. He pulls into the right lane and exits onto the highway.

  “You know, you really didn’t have to drive me,” I say after a moment of stilted silence.

  “I wanted the chance to talk to you. Figured, this way, you can’t dodge me unless you actually hurl yourself into traffic.” He glances over at me. “Don’t do that. I refuse to stop on The 405, even if you change your mind. This car is not about to be slammed by some soccer mom in a mini-van who’s too busy yelling at her kids to pay attention to a car on the shoulder.”

  “Yes, that would be the true tragedy of me hurling myself into oncoming traffic. The car getting slammed.”

  He strokes the steering wheel lovingly.

  I snort.

  “Anyway.” He clears his throat. “I felt like I needed to apologize. You know for…”

  “The drunken dancing?”

  He blinks slowly. “I danced for you?”

  “Drunk,” I confirm. “And naked.”

  “Jesus.” The car swerves a little as he loses momentary focus, staring at me.

  “Hey!” I bark. “Eyes on the road!”

  Twin spots of red appear on his high cheekbones. It’s endearing to see someone as cocky as Grayson embarrassed.

  “Now I definitely need to apologize.” His hands tighten on the wheel. “I’m sorry about the drunken naked dancing. I don’t even remember that part. Mostly, though, I’m sorry for making you take care of me and Ryder. I realize we were…”

  “Shitfaced?” I supply. “Wasted? Blasted out of your minds? About as easy to herd through the streets of LA as two feral cats?”

  “Exactly.” He laughs. “Also, I vaguely recall getting into a brawl with your boss. Pretty sure I only remember that portion of the evening because there’s a large bruise on my lower back… as though I got into a fight. A fight I lost .”

  “Yeah… that wasn’t so great. Vince threw you into a pile of bar stools.” I wince, remembering.

  “Ah. That would explain the bruise. But why did I pick a fight in the first place?” His brows pull together. “I’m usually so affectionate and affable when I’m plastered out of my mind.”

  “You were, uh…” My voice drops low and the words come out so fast they slur together. “Defending my honor.”

  “What?”

  I force myself to annunciate. “You were defending my honor. My boss didn’t react well when I told him about the movie. He started yelling, grabbing my arm, shaking me… You stopped him.”

  He looks over at me, eyebrows raised, and grins at my scowling expression.

  “And you’re clearly pissed off about it,” he says happily.

  “No, I’m not.”

  “You are.” His grin widens as my scowl deepens. “It’s killing you that I did something nice, because it’s harder to hate me now.”

  “It’s not harder to hate you,” I lie. “You got me fired! And it’s a good thing I have this movie gig, because I doubt I’ll be getting a job recommendation from Vince after the stunt you pulled.”

  “Kat, I seriously doubt you’ll have to work in a bar ever again.”

  “Maybe I like working in a bar,” I say just to be mulish.

  He shoots me a look.

  “Okay,” I admit. “I don’t like it. I won’t miss it at all.”

  “So contrary.”

  “So cocky.”

  His eyes gleam. “Ryder won’t shut up about you, by the way. He thinks you’re pretty much the greatest person he’s ever met.”

  “That’s only because I bought him fast food at three in the morning. He’s an easy mark.”

  “No, it was more than that. He thinks you’re funny and badass.”

  “Badass?”

  “His words, not mine.” He laughs, but it fades quickly. “It was good to see him happy, though. He’s been having a tough year, since his band fell apart. His fiancé Felicity was his songwriting partner, and he’s pretty much been on a bender since she disappeared.”

  “That sounds rough. He seems like a nice guy.”

  “He is.”

  We’re quiet for a moment.

  “Listen…” I see his Adam’s apple bob as his throat works. “I also want to pay you for driving us back to my place and buying us food and everything else you did—”

  “No,” I say flatly. “I’m not taking your money, Grayson.”

  “Why?”

  “It was a favor amongst—”

  “Friends?” he finishes wryly. “I thought we weren’t friends.”

  “We aren’t.”

  “Face it, Firestone. You’ve seen me naked. You’ve seen my dance moves. You’ve seen my solar system socks. There’s no going back, now.”

  I laugh, despite myself.

  We drive for a few moments, Grayson expertly weaving through the light traffic, going well above the legal limit. We’re making good time — we missed the worst of rush hour, getting out so late, but we’re still at least five minutes from my place.

  I figure it’s now or never.

  “Can I ask you something?”

  He glances over at me. “No, I will not give you my autograph. Honestly, stop asking, it’s getting embarrassing. “

  “Hardy har har.”

  His grin is distractingly handsome. “You can ask me anything, Kat.”

  I glance out the window at the highway flying by. “Do you think this movie will be a success?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I mean… you and me. Mostly just me, actually. Do you seriously think audiences will pay money to see me on the big screen?” I bite my lip. “I just have a hard time imagining it.”

  “Are you serious?”

  “Yes.”

  “Kat, I think you’re going to be amazing. I watched you today — the way you embody the character on screen, the amount of attention you give to Sloan, the dedication you offer to your craft… I have no doubt you’ll be incredible.”

  I bite the inside of my cheek so I won’t do something stupid, like burst into tears. I’ve never felt this way before — emotionally frayed. Jagged at the edges. As though at any given moment, someone will tug on a loose thread and this whole dream will unravel into nothing but another disappointing spool in the tapestry of letdowns that make up my past.

  I’ve never been the girl who needs validation.

  The world wants to be an asshole to me? That’s just fine. I’ll be a bigger asshole.

  Fuck you, world.

  Except this time, things are different. This time, I actually give a shit what happens to this movie. To this character. To my future. And, abruptly, I’m clinging to my cavalier, cool-girl composure with nothing but my fingertips, praying no one looks too deep beneath my surface for fear they’ll notice I’m barely keeping it together.

  Grayson and I don’t speak as we exit the highway and drive through the crappy neighborhood
surrounding my condo, the Bugatti fitting in about as easily as a porn star at the Oscars.

  “Up here,” I say softly, pointing at the turn for my building.

  We pull into my parking lot and my eyes lock on a truly horrifying sight.

  “Oh, shit!”

  “What?” Grayson asks, alarmed. “Paparazzi?”

  “Worse!” I hiss, ducking low in my seat as we roll past the familiar bright green Cadillac parked outside my apartment. “It’s my mother!”

  “Shit,” Grayson repeats.

  “Don’t stop , you idiot!” I smack him on the arm. “She’ll see us!”

  “Ow! Okay, okay, I’m going!”

  I stay crouched down in my seat as he turns the wheel, feeling the slight bump of the tires over the curb as we pull back out of the lot onto the main road. My heart is thundering, my palms are sweaty, and there’s a queasy, nauseous feeling in my stomach, the kind you get when you slam on your breaks and miss smashing into the car in front of you by barely a millimeter. A near-miss with death.

  “You can sit up, now,” Grayson says, smirking at me. “She’s gone. Though I’m pretty sure she noticed the Bugatti peeling out of your parking lot.”

  I push into an upright position.

  “I take it your relationship with your mother is…” He searches for the right word. “Complicated?”

  “You could say that.” I push a lock of hair behind my ear. “Or, you could also say that she’s a controlling, manipulative, former pageant mom gone mad with power, who now attempts to manage not only every facet of my acting career, but my entire life.”

  “Don’t hold back.” He laughs. “Tell me how you really feel.”

  “Hungry, if we’re being honest. But I’d rather starve than go back there and face her.” I sigh. “Just drop me off somewhere on the block up ahead, I’ll kill time until she leaves and it’s safe to walk back.”

  “I’m not abandoning you on some random street corner, Kat.”

  “The chivalrous card doesn’t suit you, Dunn.”

  “I’m not being chivalrous. I just think it’ll be a real pain in the ass if we have to re-cast your role again because you get mugged and murdered by drug dealers.”

  “This neighborhood isn’t that bad,” I protest. “It’s up and coming . Apparently.”

  He looks at me skeptically.

  “I’ll prove it. Take your next left, at the light.”

  His expression is wary, but he follows my directions. After a few moments, we reach our destination — my favorite park in the area, complete with running trails, a thick copse of trees, and a small, muddy-banked pond, built a few years back in an attempt to break up the grid of condominiums and convenience stores with some much-needed green space.

  “Wait here,” I say, pushing open my door and hopping out before he can object. I jog across the parking lot to the food truck idling by the sidewalk and order two burritos, loaded with rice, beef, beans, and cheese. I fork over a few bills and seconds later they’re in my hands, radiating warmth through their aluminum foil wrappings like mini nuclear reactors. When I slide back into the passenger seat, I find Grayson staring at me with both brows raised.

  “What?”

  “You cannot eat those in here. I just had the leather interior detailed.”

  “First of all, I’m not planning to eat both of them. One of them is for you — or, it was for you, until you decided to be a prick.” I roll my eyes. “Secondly, why would I want to eat in your stupid car? Drive.”

  He’s still muttering under his breath as I direct him out of the parking lot, around a bend, and deeper into the park. We pull to a stop beneath a stand of giant eucalyptus trees and walk to a picnic bench looking over the pond. It’s getting dark — the park is empty of its usual daytime strollers. In another hour the sun will set entirely, but for now there’s nothing but dusky twilight shining across the calm water’s surface.

  I pass Grayson his foil-wrapped burrito and we settle in on the bench. He takes a massive bite and groans.

  “Oh my god,” he says around a mouthful of rice.

  “Told you.” I smirk and unwrap mine eagerly. I’m starving.

  We both devour our dinners in record time, leaning back in satisfaction when the last bites are gone. Grayson burps loudly.

  “Cute ,” I drawl.

  “Damn, that was good.”

  “You’re welcome.”

  “I can’t remember the last time I had a burrito. My trainer has me on this damn high-protein, gluten free, dairy free diet. It makes me want to die.”

  “That’s the cross you bear for baring your six-pack on the front of every magazine in the country.”

  “Not every magazine.” He grins. “Only the fitness and health ones.”

  “So, what you’re saying is, if I’d snapped a picture of you eating that burrito, I could’ve sold it to TMZ for thousands while simultaneously ruining your image as a fitness freak?”

  He nods. “Thank god you’re not smart enough to think ahead.”

  “Ah, well. There’s always next time.”

  “Next time?” He waggles his brows. “There’s gonna be a next time?”

  “Don’t ruin it, Dunn.”

  He sighs and looks around at the park, as though seeing it for the first time. “It’s pretty here. Peaceful. Do you come here often?”

  “Sometimes.” I shrug. “I run the trails around the pond when I’m feeling masochistic. I used to feed the ducks but last time I brought them my stale bread, a lady yelled at me. Apparently Los Angeles citizens have become so intense about their condemnation of gluten, even mallards aren’t allowed to enjoy the occasional carb.”

  “Doesn’t surprise me at all.” His eyes are on the weathered old chess board by the edge of the pond. Usually, there’s a duo of old-timers occupying the stools, maneuvering the pieces from dawn until dusk, but the seats are empty at the moment. “You ever play?”

  “Not since I was little.”

  The last time I played chess was against my mother’s second husband, the investment banker. For the two years he lived with us, he insisted we play a few times every week. I used to think it was his way of attempting to bond with a child he shared neither common interests nor biological correlates with. Looking back, I’m pretty sure it was just his way of seeking sanctuary from Cynthia’s company, if only for a few hours.

  “Come on,” Grayson says, pushing to his feet. “Let’s play.”

  “I’m no good at it.”

  “Neither am I.” He holds out a hand. “Come on, Firestone. What are you afraid of? That I’ll kick your ass?”

  I stand, ignoring his outstretched fingers. “No. I’m afraid I’ll drown in the river of your tears that pour forth when I whoop your ass.”

  “Those are fighting words. This means war.”

  “Oh, I’m so scared.” My words drip sarcasm. “I mean… famous actors are known for their stunning intellect and savage logic.”

  “…Said the famous actress.”

  “I’m not famous.”

  “Soon-to-be famous, then.”

  “I don’t know about that.”

  He pauses and his eyes grow serious. “I do, though.”

  I swallow and turn away, to break the tension. “Are we playing, or what?”

  “Bring it on.”

  We settle on the stools, staring at each other over the cracked, chipping chessboard. The small side-drawer barely wrenches open, warped from too many days left in the elements, but we manage to get the pieces out and make quick work of setting up the board. When the pawns and rooks and kings and castles are all lined up in sequence on the black and white squares, our stares lock.

  And hold.

  The board seems to shrink down to nothing. He’s far too close. I can smell his aftershave, see the tiny scar on the edge of his jawline, make out the flecks in his irises like gold glinting at the bottom of a stream. Quite suddenly, I realize that perhaps this game was a bad idea. In fact, perhaps agreeing to do any
thing with Grayson Dunn outside the parameters of work was a bad idea.

  His voice is so soft, it makes me shiver — but not with cold.

  “Your move.”

  I drop my gaze to the board in front of me, so I’ll stop looking into those eyes that make my head spin, and push a pawn out two spaces at random. He moves his knight, in a far more strategic move, and I force my mind to empty of everything except the board in front of me. There’s no way I’m going to let him win.

  He wins anyway.

  I put up a valiant fight — our game stretches on for nearly an hour, before he manages to checkmate my king with his rook — but in the end he defeats me.

  “I like playing games with you, Kat,” he murmurs as we make our way back to the car later that night, when the sun has faded into full darkness and the moon has peeked out from behind the hills.

  I wish I’d realized then — he wasn’t just talking about chess.

  Nine

  “ M aybe someday , when the timing is better.”

  - A guy who could not be less interested in ever seeing you again.

  G rayson drives with none of his earlier haste on the way back to my condo. In fact, it’s almost as if he’s pushing the pedal as lightly as possible to preserve this moment. For once, we aren’t fighting or snapping or trying to outwit each other with banter and insults. A rare peace has settled over us, since we played chess in the growing darkness at the edge of that muddy pond, and I must admit, it feels rather nice.

  Cynthia’s green Cadillac is blessedly missing from the lot as we roll to a slow stop in front of my blocky condo complex. Unbuckling my seatbelt, I grab my purse off the floor and reach for the passenger handle without looking over at him.

  “So, I guess I’ll see you tomorrow.”

  “Kat.” He says my name in a terrifyingly soft voice that demands my attention more absolutely than any shout or scream or curse ever could. “I know you probably don’t want to hear this, that I probably shouldn’t say it… but I had a great time with you. In fact, I had one of the best nights I can remember in I don’t know how long.”

  “You should get out more.”

  “I get out plenty.” When our stares meet, there’s something dangerous stirring in the depths of his. He’s looking at me with those startling green eyes — eyes in which I once saw nothing but shallow self-obsession, yet now seem to contain a whole, unfathomable universe.