by Tracy Ewens
“And you determined this in the what? Week you’ve known me?”
She was trapped between what she thought she saw and what he was willing to share.
Meg changed directions. “What organizations do you work with? I honestly didn’t keep reading the Outside article when the reporter asked you your favorite color.”
His shoulders relaxed in laughter. Full and hearty without regard for the onlookers surrounding him. There he was, the guy who’d helped her fumble through the dark in complete discomfort.
Meg had photographed hundreds of animals, many of them closed off and protected for good reason, but she’d never encountered a man quite like the one now paying the bill across from her. Pissed when she insinuated he was less than brilliant and insistent that he was no more than a Disney character at the same time. She had spent her entire life being curious despite the bite or the scratch. Her father used to say she was a deadly combination of “daring and patient.” As West stood and pulled her chair out for her as if he’d been raised that way, Meg wondered if he had any idea what he was getting himself into being her best friend forever.
“UCLA. I majored in geography, but don’t tell anyone,” he said softly.
She walked past him as he held the door for her and did her best not to notice he smelled like green grass.
Best friends forever. Meg had never counted on anything forever.
Chapter Seven
The chocolate birthday cake was a hit and shut his brothers up, at least for the weekend, but that hadn’t kept them from putting West to work moving equipment and painting the new Tap House. Cade, the second youngest brother, would oversee the new addition to Foghorn Brewery once things were up and running next year. Although West had been happy to help, even happier to spend time at home, he’d returned to the hotel after midnight and was dead tired when his alarm went off for his first breakfast meeting with Meg Jeffries. And yet now, walking out behind her, he felt a second wind coming on.
He signaled for the car waiting across from the café and turned to find Meg already walking down the street.
“Where are you going?”
“Oh, I thought you walked here too. I need to get going, so thank you for breakfast.”
Unbelievable. She was some sort of otherworldly being. “You walked here?”
“I did. It’s a gorgeous day.”
West looked up and felt the warmth on his face. He needed to do that more, he thought. As if on cue, his driver, Vince, opened the door. Meg’s expression could have been the lead-in to a romantic comedy.
“We spent more time talking about your Google search than our smart house gig, so I can drop you somewhere and we can talk in the car.”
“I… prefer open space. You could walk with me.”
“That’s not a good idea. Where do you need to be?”
She adjusted the bag across her chest and stepped closer. “Nowhere, sadly. I mean, I should go to the grocery store. I’m out of almond milk, but it can wait.”
West laughed and hoped like hell she was going to get in the car. He wasn’t ready to let her walk away yet.
A lively group left the café. He put his head down, resigned to disappear and let Meg leave, but to his surprise, she slipped past him and into the car. He followed and the door closed right as he heard, “Excuse me, do you mind—”
Vince waited patiently in the front of the car until West finally told him to drive the street art route.
“You seemed anxious to leave the café. If we still need to discuss things and we can’t walk, why didn’t we stay at our table?”
“I know the owners. It’s usually busy and seems only polite to let them turn over the tables as quickly as possible. I tend to eat and run when I’m there.” The explanation sounded lame to his own ears, and Meg appeared equally confused. Why hadn’t he recommended a place they could sit at for a while? Truth was, he didn’t know many of those places. He was so used to getting in and out unless he was behind the walls of his suite or in some secure conference room. She’d casually asked if they could meet somewhere near the foundation, and West relished the normalcy of the request so he picked the only place he knew in the area. How was he supposed to explain that to her?
“I realize this is a bit unconventional for a meeting, but it’s a pretty cool driving tour. I take it at least once a week. Have you seen all the street art in this city?”
“I have not.” She looked out the window as they pulled into traffic.
“Well, there you go. I’m going to take you some places you’ve never been. Tough to do, right?”
Meg smiled. The plush interior of the backseat stood in stark and stifling contrast to her. West caught himself wondering how long Next Generation would need the two of them. Sitting beside her, he was sure he could spend a good deal of time with Meg Jeffries.
“When are you heading out again?” he asked, needing to remind himself this was a job for both of them.
She seemed surprised by the question, as if she wasn’t used to talking about herself. “I don’t know if… I’m not sure. I might leave in a few months. Maybe back to Uganda.”
West tried to look unfazed and failed miserably. She returned to looking out the window.
“What’s in Uganda?”
“I think there is interest in doing another update on… mountain gorillas.” She was twisting her hands again like she had before they clasped her index cards at the convention center. It was entirely possible she had no idea how extraordinary she was compared to the general population. West was filled with an urge to help her see herself.
“Incredible. I know you’ve photographed them before. Are you thinking of doing anything different if you go back?”
She glanced at him as the car stopped at a light.
“What? I have Google too.”
She blushed, full bloom and completely unassuming. Something warm and foreign rushed through his body. On paper, she was one of the more accomplished people he’d met in a long time. In person, she was… it was hard to explain. She was an early-morning campsite right after zipping open the tent. She was fresh and full of a kind of life West had to keep reminding himself existed.
“Incredible shots,” he said after a minute of silence.
“Thank you.”
“What’s it like in Uganda?”
“There are no words. That’s why I take pictures.”
The driver honked, changed lanes, and pulled over for their first stop. This one was famous. An entire wall of daisies with a rhinoceros sitting in the center.
“Green and moist, quiet. It’s real on a level that is both sadness and elation,” Meg answered before he could push the button to roll down the window. She appeared to swallow back emotion and West recognized the longing.
He touched her hand, not surprised by the warmth.
“I was raised in Petaluma. Do you know where that is?”
Meg nodded, still looking out the window as if collecting herself. Vince would stay parked in front of the rhino until West was ready to move on. That’s how it worked every week.
“It is probably the only place where I get to be myself. The place, my family, practically demands it,” he said.
Meg finally faced him and let out a slow breath.
“I looked at a lot of your photographs last night. I would miss being out there too.” He took his hand back and was glad his eyes were hidden behind his sunglasses. When he was around her, he found it difficult to keep his usual distance. The feeling that she saw right through him and that he, in turn, understood her discomfort was strong.
West needed to keep himself together. Women like Meg did not date men like him. Holy hell, where had that thought even come from? Please try to remember you are a movie star. He could hear Hannah now, but West had never figured out how to do that.
He hit the button that rolled Meg’s window down. “Well, we are still in San Francisco, so this will have to do for now. I give you our first stop. I call this one Rhino.”
She leaned out the window, taking in the entire painting, and chuckled. “I can see why you chose that title.”
“Right? This one was painted by two brothers. One of them does the outlines and the other splashes in the color.”
“Amazing. Any idea what they were trying to say? The likeness of the rhino is spot on, but the daisies must mean something.”
West shrugged. “I guess we are supposed to come up with our own meaning. I have looked at it dozens of times, and all I come up with is rhino.”
“Some things are that simple, I suppose.”
She turned to him, the joy of the unexpected still dancing across her face, and West held his breath. Where had she come from, and why did being with her somehow accentuate how lonely he’d been?
Shit, he needed to drop her off. They could discuss things over the phone from now on because he was losing his mind. Scrambling for something, anything that took his mind off the way freckles bridged her nose, he said, “Is that a poncho?” He touched the fringe.
“I guess. It’s a sweater without arms, so yes. It’s a poncho.”
“Where would someone find one of those?”
“Peru.” She ran a hand across the knit.
“Christ.”
“What’s wrong with Peru?”
“Nothing at all. I’ve been there. I didn’t want to leave. You’re a walking United Nations.”
“It’s my job, or it was my job.”
“What does that mean?”
“Nothing. I’m doing this stuff right now.”
“I’m sure you’ll be running back to your job after a few weeks with me.”
There it was again. The air seemed to leave the car when their eyes met.
“Why is there such an interest in my clothes?”
“Hey, you started it. You were obsessed with my jeans.” West couldn’t remember the last time he’d teased anyone other than his brothers.
Meg shook her head in annoyance and looked back at the rhino. He reined in any further thoughts about her clothes or her body. The only saving grace so far was that he’d barely seen her figure under all those layers. Best to keep it that way, he thought, at least until he got his head together.
“Next stop,” he said to Vince, and they thankfully were moving again.
By the fourth stop, the one with a row of brown paper bags on fire, they had managed to discuss who was going to do what on Friday. West had already been inside of the smart house, so when he suggested that he could talk about the ease of using a smart house and Meg could touch on how reducing energy trickled all the way up to the Arctic and allowed other countries, some without electricity, to share in the consumption, she agreed. When Vince opened the door in front of her apartment, West was back to being a professional, sort of.
You are going to liar’s hell, Meg’s conscience chastised all night as she tossed and turned, trying to get him and the way he made her feel, both good and bad, out of her mind. There are not enough hours of meditation to undo using Africa or the precious endangered gorillas for your sick ego-balancing act, her conscience had continued while she dressed.
He was a fascinating combination of interested and aloof, but the world he lived in made her uncomfortable. She didn’t know how to compete with fame and adoration, so she found herself pumping herself up with her work and the places she had been. None of that ever mattered before and she certainly wasn’t one to brag, but all this hype and being paired with him was making her crazy.
I lied, Meg thought as she poured herself some orange juice. Feeling backed into that car and his life, she bolstered the one thing she felt she had going for her—adventure. It was the right decision stepping back from fieldwork, but since that first night when he’d guided her on stage, she felt nothing but awkward.
She didn’t belong, proof being the moment West asked when she was returning, despite her steadfast life rule of honesty for the people in her life, she had lied.
Westin Drake wasn’t technically in her life, she rationalized as she rinsed the dishes in her sink. She had done nothing wrong, and yet she felt off balance, as if all the insecure parts of her were ruling her present. That pissed her off. She didn’t need to be guided anywhere, so why was she driving around in town cars and sitting patiently while he appeased people who didn’t even know him? Why had she allowed herself to be talked into this PR stunt anyway?
Meg was a professional and her intent in coming home was to find another outlet for her creativity, one that allowed her to spend more time with her family. It was never her intention to be a movie star’s sidekick. She needed to talk with Amy—this wasn’t going to work. She wasn’t interested in some glammed-up campaign based on public opinion. She would not be able to create that way and after one car ride with West, she couldn’t seem to stay true to herself either.
If this was the only avenue to pay her bills, she would have to rethink things. The easy answer was to leave. It had worked for her in the past, but she had a niece and a nephew now. Anna was getting married and their parents weren’t getting any younger. Meg wanted to be in their lives, but she’d been away for so long she wasn’t sure how to do that anymore.
Not feeling any better, no matter how much she talked to herself, Meg turned on Vivaldi’s Four Seasons and sank onto her couch with her laptop and a bag of popcorn. She used to buy the caramel-and-cheese mixture, but in the interest of less anxious clothes shopping, she’d downgraded to plain.
It was unfortunate, she thought, typing in her laptop password and grabbing a handful of boring.
Her top e-mail was from Hollis, her oldest and often impossible to deal with sister. Meg clicked on the link and felt the deep bond of family that she could never explain, nor could she shake it. Her screen filled with images of her nephew Ansel. He was a little over a year old now and was the image of his dad, Matt, the only man brave enough to melt Hollis’s heart. Ansel did have the Jeffries gray-blue eyes, though. Dressed in jeans and a sweater, he was beautiful and confident, much like his mom.
There were seven years between oldest and youngest, but Meg always felt there were more. As far back as she could remember, Hollis had been an adult. When Meg forgot to brush her teeth, Hollis flossed twice a day. She was the ultimate untouchable big sister, which explained why she was forever lecturing and pointing out Meg’s shortcomings. Meg supposed she could thank her sister for planting the seed of home deep in her heart, which meant she could also blame her if she fell on her face trying to live a different life.
Meg had never set out to be a “runner” or a “wanderer” as so many had called her over the years. She simply grew tired of being left behind and decided the best way to remedy that was to be the first to leave. She knew it sounded ripe for some therapy couch, but it was the truth.
When she told David she couldn’t—wouldn’t—marry him almost two years prior, that was a clear decision. She regretted hurting him, but there was no way she was going to leave her job at that point, and certainly not to become his wife. She cared about David, but that wasn’t enough to turn her life upside down.
Family was another story entirely. She loved them with a force that was at times unexpected and painful. When she was eighteen, she left for college and never looked back, never thought anyone cared honestly. By the time she moved up to Berkeley, her sisters were all gone and her parents had a renewed interest in their small architecture firm. Meg was the last remaining “have to” in her parents’ lives, at least that’s how she saw it at the time.
The month following her early-morning epiphany, Meg told her boss she would be taking an indefinite leave from assignments. He’d been so shocked he’d blurted out, “What? I didn’t even realize you had a family.”
Ouch, Meg had thought, but it only served as further confirmation that she needed to find some balance. Which explained why less than six months after her little face-to-face with Hollis, she was now sitting in her apartment, tearing up again. This time over her sweet baby nephew and the hope t
hat she had what it took to stay put for all of them.
Chapter Eight
West received the latest script for Full Throttle 5: Floor It via courier, at around nine that morning. Fifty pages in, he stopped after reading his line—“More money than you’ve got, cuz.”
Is it too early to start drinking?
He flipped the remaining pages closed and tossed the packet on the table. Needing to get away from his suite before the walls closed in, he went down to the lobby.
“Does that deli deliver?” he asked Towner once she finished handing a young couple one of her famous black envelopes and they’d left. Lucky bastards had tickets to something.
She nodded in response and produced a one-page menu from somewhere behind her orderly desk.
“Are those two on their honeymoon?”
“Good eye. Yes, they were married on Saturday.”
“What completely sold-out entertainment did you procure for them?”
“Hamilton at the Orpheum,” she said with a nonchalance only she could manage considering the accomplishment.
“Nice. Were they appreciative?”
She shrugged. “The husband mentioned naming their first child after me.”
West laughed.
“Would you like me to order you some lunch?” Towner asked.
“Only if you order something for yourself too.”
“I already—”
“Yeah, whatever you already have will keep in the fridge for tomorrow. I’m buying you lunch.”
She pursed her lips, narrowed her eyes for no more than a beat, and then she gave in. “Very well, but I’m not having the chopped liver. It is too rich for every day and I have the Lithograph Society’s monthly meeting later today. Onion breath is simply not acceptable for them.”
“I’m surprised onion breath is ever acceptable.”
Her nose scrunched in a way that West thought made her look like a genie. There were definite superpowers present.
“So, what are you having then?” he asked.
