Wanting Mr Wrong

by Avril Tremayne

  Jack leaned forward. Close, so close. I swallowed, mesmerised by the intensity of his eyes, which were just so … well, so green. His lips parted, like he was going to … no, surely not. Surely he wasn’t going to … kiss me?

  No. Crazy, crazy, crazy. Craaaaazy. All this talk about underwear and getting laid had scrambled my brain. But I still shot to my feet like a scalded cat. ‘So – Stormy Sunday. What’s it about?’

  Two vertical lines appeared between Jack’s eyebrows. But then he seemed to shrug off the weird moment and got to his feet. ‘It’s about a man who gets rejected by the same hard-arse woman time after time.’ Then he grinned. ‘But he gets her in the end. Anyway, I’d better go.’

  I hurried over to the door, opened it, willed him through it. ‘Thanks for the DVDs,’ I said.

  He stopped, right on the threshold. ‘And the getting laid thing?’ he said. ‘Not tonight, Evangeline.’ He flashed the quicksilver smile. ‘Keep the score at zero until you’ve seen Stormy Sunday. It’s a very sexy play – bound to give you some ideas for igniting your dormant spark.’

  A moment later, I was alone, wondering what the hell Stormy Sunday had to do with my spark, and dreading having to go and find out.

  CHAPTER TWO

  Sadly, I remained unlaid for the whole week, and was not at all in the mood to see Stormy bloody Sunday, given Jack was the one who’d jinxed me.

  And yet there I was on opening night, shoving my way through the throng in the theatre foyer alongside Drew and Chloe, being jostled and getting agitated, waiting for the theatre doors to open. Getting more and more nervous as I saw the calibre of people milling about, spotted the TV cameras, counted the photographers.

  ‘Tell me again why we have to do this?’ I asked as my pulse started skittering out of control.

  ‘For Jack,’ Drew said simply. He looked at Chloe over my head. ‘People have been begging me to get them an invitation for tonight, but is she even the tiniest bit grateful?’

  ‘I would have killed you if you hadn’t scored me a seat,’ Chloe said. She grabbed Drew’s arm. ‘Look – Hugh Jackman! It is. I can die happy.’

  I did my famous eye roll. ‘This from someone whose goal is to interview the Prime Minister of Australia.’

  Chloe returned my eye roll with her own famous gimlet eye. ‘As it happens, I am so versatile, I can interview the PM one day and Hugh the next without having one of your crises of conscience, Mother Teresa.’

  Drew waded in with his famous wild-eye. ‘God, Chloe, don’t mention any nuns! My job is hard enough as it is.’ He gave me a one-armed hug. ‘Come on, Evie, there has to be someone here whose bones you’d jump. And don’t bother with the whole a-Parker-with-a-celebrity? horror act because I happen to know your mother has her favourites – Gerard Butler, David Boreanaz and Jamie Foxx, for starters. Lise, too – unless I only imagined her swooning over Henry Cavill. And don’t get me started on your father and Angelina Jolie.’

  ‘It’s different for them.’

  He raised his eyebrows. ‘Why?’

  ‘Because.’ Yeah – I already said I wasn’t the brainiac of the family.

  ‘Because …?’ Drew prompted.

  ‘You know why!’ I said. ‘They’re already doing their bit for humanity. But I’m the corporate sell-out, so the only way I can contribute is by dating a world-changer. Being the woman behind the man. Better than nothing.’

  ‘The woman behind the –?’ Drew choked on a laugh. ‘Yep, still as mad as a box of frogs. Anyone would think a perfectly responsible job in sponsorships for a telco – and one that supports a lot of charities as I recall – was the equivalent of being a drug mule.’

  ‘It’s not that,’ I said, squirming.

  Chloe’s turn. ‘Or that one of Jack’s co-stars was going to seduce you into a life of hedonism just because you had the audacity to see a play.’

  Drew jumped straight back in. ‘But if it really bothers you, dream ahead to the day you land a job at Red Cross or UNICEF or Amnesty International or wherever. Then you can put the bite on Jackson J Stevens to be an ambassador.’

  I must have looked aghast at that because Drew laughed and gave me another quick hug. ‘Yeah, maybe not. That would take some balls after everything you’ve said to him on the subject of celebrity.’

  ‘I’m perfectly happy to see the play,’ I said, disgruntled. ‘Perfectly! I just don’t see why it had to be at such a … thing. Party thing. Media shindig. Tonight.’

  ‘Because,’ Drew said, in his best I’m-being-extra-patient-because-you-are-crazy voice, ‘Jack specifically wanted us here tonight, for the play and the after-party, and all the other nights are now sold out. And you know Jack – he always gets what he wants. We all accept it in the Stevens family, and you’re family. Now snap out of it, get over yourself and do whatever you have to do to be on your best behaviour. Or I will strangle you, I swear to God.’

  I made one last ditch effort. ‘How about if I do the play but skip the party?’

  ‘Evie, you’re staying,’ Chloe said. ‘And I’m getting tempted to strangle you myself so, as Drew so eloquently put it, get the hell over yourself.’

  I tossed my hair over my shoulder. ‘Strictly speaking, Drew didn’t put a “hell” in there.’

  Chloe fixed me with that gimlet eye. ‘Strangulation. Just saying.’

  Stormy Sunday was my first experience of Jack in his professional capacity – and I have to say, he was a revelation. Proud and wounded and defiant and despairing and romantic all at once. I was so involved in his performance, I almost cheered when he did indeed get the girl, as he’d told me he would.

  The almost-cheer was not like me. And it reminded me that I hadn’t exactly been myself with Jack last week, either. Which made the thought of seeing him up-close-and-personal – at any moment now, with the prospect of a paparazzi audience to boot – more than a little alarming.

  ‘You’re very quiet,’ Chloe said to me, as the three of us waited alongside the VIPs and other hangers-on in the foyer, which had been transformed with expensive lighting and soft drapery into a party space. The place was throbbing with anticipation.

  ‘Bracing myself for the onslaught of saccharine when the stars arrive,’ I said, reaching for the cynicism expected of me even though I was rigid with fear.

  ‘Evie, be nice,’ Drew warned.

  ‘Best behaviour, I promise,’ I said.

  Drew straightened the collar of my black silk blouse. ‘Well, you look hot, anyway.’

  ‘Stop trying to butter me up. We both know it’s wasted on you,’ I said.

  Drew winked at Chloe. ‘At least Jack will appreciate the tight skirt, crazy hetero that he is. Can you even fit underwear under there?’

  Yikes! Underwear. Not what I needed to hear, even as a joke. ‘Jack will be hijacked before he gets within viewing distance,’ I said. Please God! ‘Did you see those girls, Chloe?’

  Chloe fluttered her eyelashes. ‘Hey – I’m one of those girls!’

  Drew bumped her. ‘Um – remember a guy called Marcus? Your boyfriend Marcus?’

  Chloe smiled serenely. ‘Marcus is safe. I’m only looking – tonight, anyway.’

  Drew tried out a leer. ‘When you tire of the hunky footballer, Chloe, tell him I’d be happy to let him buy me a drink.’

  ‘Not your type.’

  Drew blinked innocent eyes at her. ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘Aside from the “crazy hetero” thing,’ Chloe said, ‘he’s not enough of a pushover for you. You might not get your own way for once.’

  ‘Ooh, now I’m really interested.’

  Chloe spluttered something indistinguishable through a crack of laughter, which Drew missed because he was staring eagle-eyed at one of the entrances. He pointed. ‘But for now, girls, we’ll have to make do with my brother, who – despite being of no romantic interest to any of us – is on his way over.’

  Jack was wearing expertly tailored black pants and a plain but perfect white shirt with the cuffs rolled
up precisely once, and looked about as handsome as a man could look. And then he arrived – there was no other word for it – in front of us. He was sizzling with energy.

  A slap on the back for Drew, a kiss on both cheeks for Chloe, and a fleeting touch of my hand. ‘What did you think?’ he asked.

  Drew and Chloe went into gush mode as I breathed a sigh of relief. No kiss for me. Back to normal. I was officially putting the weirdness of my last meeting with Jack down to an overactive imagination. I really, truly must need to get laid if I’d started to imagine Jackson J Stevens wanting to kiss me!

  A waiter carrying a tray of champagne appeared on Jack’s left, between him and Chloe. Jack moved closer to me to make room for the drinks tray, and we each snagged a glass. I did a quick visual sweep of the vicinity, looking for media. The coast seemed clear but I tried to edge a little further away, anyway; Jack was tonight’s strongest media magnet, and I didn’t want to magnetise by proxy.

  ‘So, Evangeline, how’s Spy Time going?’ Jack asked, moving straight into the sliver of space I’d just created. Not helpful.

  ‘Halfway through series two, still in lust,’ I said, and managed another tiny shift.

  Jack took a sip of champagne. ‘Then you’ll be glad to hear I have another DVD for you. A period drama. Guy isn’t the star but he gets a lot of screen time and I’m reliably informed he is all things wonderful.’

  ‘It’s depressing how excited I am by that.’

  Jack moved again, so close now he brushed against my hip.

  Hmmm. Didn’t this classify as one of those times Jack was supposed to keep some distance between us to protect me from prying paparazzi? Not that I could see how it would be possible to do that in this sardine-can situation. And not that anyone could seriously believe a small dab of a girl like me would be of more interest to him than the elite selection of glamorous celebrities circling, shark-like, as they waited for an opportunity to take a bite out of him.

  And not that Jack seemed to think there was anything amiss with being practically plastered against me or he would be moving, right?

  I glanced at Drew and Chloe, saw they were supremely unconcerned – in fact, they were busy star-spotting. Jack and I were effectively cocooned.

  ‘I really am enjoying this crush of yours,’ Jack said as I looked nervously around again – still no media nearby, thank God!

  ‘Oddly enough,’ I said, bringing my attention back to him, ‘providing you with a continuous source of entertainment is not one of my life goals.’

  ‘Not that it isn’t entertaining,’ Jack said, with a low laugh, ‘but what I’m really getting out of it is … hope.’

  Hope? Huh? ‘Hope?’

  ‘Hope that us poor old actors will get a reprieve from the cutting and slashing.’

  Snort. ‘Did they put something extra in your champagne? Because I think your brain cells are scrambled. You, poor? And old? Are you telling me you’re actually forty-two and Botoxed and not the twenty-five you admit to?’

  ‘Botox-free, I promise, so I’m still in the frame for a twenty-two-year-old.’

  ‘Well, we twenty-two-year-olds salute you and your Botox-free face.’

  Jack touched the small of my back – just once, very briefly. ‘Want to come to my dressing room and examine me for wrinkles, just to be sure?’

  I felt a tingle spread from where his fingers touched for that half-moment right up my back and into my hair. Managed another desperate edge away from him despite the worsening crush. ‘No examination required,’ I said. ‘You frown at me so often, I can tell there’s maximum forehead mobility. Unless it’s just Botox-resistant disapproval.’

  ‘It’s not disapproval, Evangeline.’

  I looked up at him quickly. Swallowed. Realised my fingers were nervously twiddling the button on my blouse and forced my hand down. Head. Bolted. Into. Place. This was Jackson J Stevens. Not interested in me – only in the challenge.

  But enough was enough.

  ‘Well, it’s good to know you won’t be turning up looking like a House of Wax escapee any time soon,’ I said, and jerked my head towards a woman standing behind Drew. ‘Now, there’s someone – just there – who looks as though she’d love to check out your wrinkles. Why don’t you put her out of her misery and talk to her?’

  I turned determinedly to Chloe and Drew, interrupting without compunction a heated exchange about which of the Hemsworth brothers was hotter. ‘Guys, I think the three of us had better take ourselves off and let Jack mingle.’

  Jack put his hand on my arm to keep me where I was. He smiled, so very pleasantly. And then – zing. ‘What was I talking to you about the other day, Evangeline?’ he asked. ‘Ah, yes, the value of publicity across five continents.’

  I blinked up at him. He wouldn’t. Wouldn’t, surely. ‘Um … Um …’

  ‘So stay.’ Smiling, but narrow-eyed. ‘There’s something I want to ask you.’

  Lungs. Not. Working.

  Could. Not. Speak.

  ‘It’s an invitation,’ Jack said – to all three of us, since I’d unwittingly drawn the focus of Drew and Chloe. ‘To a fundraising event.’

  I opened my mouth to say … Actually, I have no idea what I was going to say. Because at that moment, I saw a photographer barrelling through the crowd towards us. I pulled back sharply, dislodging Jack’s hand but also managing to knock into someone behind me and have champagne glugged down my back.

  ‘No thanks,’ I said hurriedly to Jack as my shoulder blades clenched together in reaction to the cold champagne. ‘I mean, I – I can’t. I’m busy.’

  Jack’s jaw hardened. ‘For the rest of your life, or do you want to know when it is first?’ he asked.

  ‘Okay, when is it?’ Charmless. Rude. Obnoxious. Cow.

  Jack took a visible breath. ‘Sorry – where’s my head at? An event arranged by a group of good-for-nothing actors isn’t your scene, is it?’ he asked.

  ‘Definitely not my scene.’ I heard the words come out of my mouth but couldn’t quite believe I’d said them, and in that snotty tone. Panic, it had to be panic. Because the photographer was only a few steps away. But I felt wretched nonetheless when Drew’s mouth tightened and Chloe’s russet eyebrows climbed almost into her hairline. My hand came up to shield my face as the photographer reached us, and Chloe finally understood, sliding between me and Jack just in time for the camera flash.

  Saved.

  I breathed a silent sigh of relief – until I realised Jack’s eyes were still trained on me. He looked ready to murder me.

  Chloe, looking from Jack to me, came to the rescue again. ‘Jack, I have a confession to make,’ she said.

  Jack seemed not to hear her, or even see her, for a moment.

  I lifted my chin, gave Jack a cool smile for the sake of appearances. At least, I hoped it was cool. Because I didn’t feel cool. I felt hot and kind of squirmy, and ashamed of myself. Bad. Just bad.

  ‘Jack?’ Chloe asked again.

  At last he turned to her. ‘Sorry, Chloe, what?’

  ‘I have a confession. A friend of mine has been asking me about you. A journalist friend, who’s dying to interview you. I said I’d introduce you tonight – but no promises.’

  ‘That’s fine, Chloe,’ Jack said. ‘Easy.’ This with a sharp look at me.

  Chloe leaned up to kiss his cheek. ‘You’re such a darling.’

  ‘Who is she?’ Jack asked her.

  ‘Rowan Petersen. She’s the new presenter on Your World Today. Major league.’

  Drew took my arm, a little too firmly. ‘You ready to move on, Evie?’ he asked through his smile. ‘Because I want to talk to you about your “best behaviour”.’

  I gulped, because the look on his face promised a verbal savaging, but nodded. I’d take a verbal savaging any day over a multi-continental kiss in front of a photographer.

  He reached out and touched Chloe’s hand to get her attention. ‘Chloe? Evie and I are off. You coming? We can look for Rowan if you like.’
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br />   Chloe shook her head. ‘No need, I can see her. Over there, and looking my way. I’ll do my duty here, then come and find you.’

  By the time Chloe had caught up with us, I was desperate for an escape route, or for the floor to open up and swallow me – I would have accepted either.

  ‘Good. Reinforcements,’ Drew said.

  Reinforcements? I whimpered. Not finished, then.

  ‘I’ve been telling her –’ this with a tossed head in my direction ‘– to cut the anti-actor crap. It’s getting old and Jack doesn’t deserve it.’ He turned fully to me as I drew breath to defend myself. ‘And don’t tell me again about the photographer stressing you out.’

  ‘Well, he did stress me out.’

  ‘Then do something to get over it. See a psychologist. Take out a contract on Sam Worth’s life. Get laid. Something!’

  ‘I’m voting for the contract, either side of you getting laid,’ Chloe put in. ‘But, Evie, whatever the circumstances tonight, you could have been a little more gracious to someone asking you out on a date.’

  Massive, massive snort. ‘If you mean Jack, it wasn’t a date.’

  ‘Then what was it?’ Chloe asked.

  ‘Probably something to do with sponsorship,’ I said, pushing my hair over one huffy shoulder. ‘He’s likely looking for money and I’m the shortcut.’

  Drew’s eyes practically bulged with temper. ‘Well it is a fundraising event, and people do ask for sponsorship in those situations. I’d have thought that was right up your holier-than-thou alley, Evie. But if you want to talk shortcuts, being Jackson J Stevens, he could go straight to your Chairman if he wanted money. You know what? I’m going to get him to invite Chloe, just so you can be proven wrong.’

  ‘And I will accept,’ Chloe said.

  I frowned at her. ‘But you don’t know what you’re being invited to.’

  ‘Didn’t stop you turning him down, won’t stop me accepting. Anyway, I want to keep an eye on Jack now I’ve introduced him to Rowan. I like her, but she’s a predator.’