by Ava Claire
"You handled the situation in Venice like a pro," Claudia answered. "Just make them an offer they can't refuse." She smiled right through my leery gaze. "You can do this, Leila. I know you can.”
She said it so simply that I rose up and took the paper with a confidence I didn't feel, strutting out of her office like I was the one with my name over the door. It wasn't until I was pulling into downtown traffic, steering toward JNS, that it hit me.
I was scared shitless.
No amount of psyching myself up helped dull the fact that I was about to face the very people that I painstakingly avoided. Photographers. Paparazzi. Locusts whose sole goal was to snap and devour anything that could make them a quick buck.
A shot of an overly thin starlet stuffing a greasy slice of pizza in her mouth. A suave leading man in his Sunday worst, looking nothing like the drool worthy eye candy women flocked to the cinema to see. The seasoned actor and family man snuggled up to someone that was definitely not his wife. Or a fish out of water girl who had the attention of two celebrity suitors, cementing her place on the shit list of females all over.
I pulled into a parking space at the grungy looking building on Eighteenth Street. It was the kind of building that gave off a bad vibe, the aged concrete and steel more of a prison than a place of business.
There were no pictures hung with care or guard watching the comings and goings. There was no one to get rid of the homeless guy that followed me inside, like harassment would empty my pockets.
An older woman with gray hair and a no-nonsense stature stopped shuffling through her mail a few feet away, peering at us over the rim of her glasses.
"Jimmy, I think the young lady told you no,” she growled.
He gave her a gummy smile, flipping his personality like Jekyll and Hyde. "I didn't mean no harm, Jules."
"Uh huh," She crooked her thumb at the door. "Get outta here before I whip out my taser."
The man practically kowtowed, throwing me one last look of disgust before hustling out the exit.
"Thank you so much," I told her, relaxing with a sigh.
"No prob," she said nonchalantly. "You gotta be firm, honey. Otherwise people can smell the fear on ya."
I wasn't sure what to say to that so I just gave her a nervous chuckle and glanced down at my paper. Sweat blurred the suite number so I scanned the lobby for a directory. I found what was left of one and JNS wasn't even listed.
"Whatcha looking for?" she piped behind me.
"JNS?"
She folded the papers under her arm. "Well ain't that a coincidence? I'm the J in that acronym." She gave me the once over before settling on my face. "Julie Kaplan." Before I could even say my name, she cut right to the chase. "What firm you work for?"
I swallowed. "Whitmore and Creighton."
She let out an impressed whistle and started down a narrow hallway, moving with a surprising speed for her girth. She was practically to the elevator before she turned around and looked back at me like I was a kid doing something ridiculous like eating glue.
"Whatcha waiting for? I know you didn't drive all the way here to get felt up by our honorary doorman." She pulled up the elevator gate and made a grand flourish. “After you.”
We slid into the old elevator and it crept upward at a snail’s pace. I gave my skirt a futile smoothing, shifting my weight from foot to foot.
“So what picture is Jacob trying to get rid of?”
I froze. I wasn’t sure where Jacob and I stood or what I was going to say to the photographer, but I was pretty sure that he didn’t want his name to be anywhere near this situation.
“I, um--” I looked at the floor indicator, willing the elevator to move faster so I could get off the hook. I glanced down at the paper, a name jumping out at me. “Mike Warsaw. I wanted to see if he took a picture of a…client.”
“Warsaw’s out of the office today, but if it’s juicy enough for you to come down here, I’m sure I could help you. Who’s the picture of?”
“An actor and a—” I cleared my throat and decided to be vague as possible. “Local girl.”
She scratched her chin, forehead winkled as she thought it over. She snapped her fingers, just as the elevator shuddered to a stop on our floor.
“The action guy, right? Cade Wallace?”
I nodded, my whole body tensing.
She stepped out of the elevator. “That picture sold this morning.” She frowned. “I still don’t understand why you’re here though.”
I swallowed the knot in my throat. I was so close. “I was hoping we could settle it before you sold it to a magazine.”
“We didn’t sell it to a magazine,” she said, crossing her arms. “We sold it to Cade Wallace.”
****
I dove head first into work. I fleshed out client dockets, updated calendars and delivered all messages to their appropriate recipients, trying to keep it together. Jacob still hadn’t talked to me in two days. And then there was the whole Cade thing. Why would he buy the picture? What did he have to gain?
I turned my attention back to the task list on my screen, forcing Cade from my mind. Naturally, the next thing on the list was contacting Lisa Jones, Cade’s personal assistant.
I begrudgingly clicked open a new tab, searching for Lisa’s contact number.
I put the phone on speaker and dialed the number. I was being silly. It wasn’t like I had to deal with Cade. The third ring ended abruptly and a voice much too deep to be Lisa’s flowed through the speakers.
“Lisa Jones’ phone.”
My throat tightened and my eyes nearly bulged from my head.
“Helloooo?” Cade held the o, trailing off suggestively. Taunting me.
I needed to say something because calling right back would be infinitely more awkward than the first time around, “Hi.”
My voice was tiny, a hoarse, pathetic whisper. I coughed and gave myself a swift kick in the ass before I said it again. With feeling. And not like I was still that girl gazing at the contours of her favorite actor’s body. “Hello, this is--”
“Leila,” I heard him rearranging, giving me his full attention. “What’s up?”
I closed my eyes, gathering my wits about me. “Mr. Wallace--”
“Cade.”
“Mr. Wallace,” I said pointedly, ignoring him. “I was trying to reach your assistant. Is the number on her card was incorrect?”
“Nope,” he said smoothly. “She’s right here.” He let out a chuckle. “Giving me the evil eye for answering her phone. When I saw Whitmore and Creighton flashing, I thought it might be you and--”
“Could I please speak with Ms. Jones?”
“Well I can tell you she likes that Mr./Mrs. stuff even less than me.” After he realized his chuckles weren’t contagious, he got serious. “What’s up? I know you called for Lisa, but I’m the next best thing.”
My first thought was to stand my ground and refuse to carry on a conversation with him, but I realized that the quicker I just spit it out, the quicker I could disconnect. Ask him about the pictures!
“I’m just confirming the schedule for tomorrow night,” I said, ignoring the stifling curiosity. Inquiring minds did NOT need to know. The pictures weren’t on TMZ and that’s all that mattered. “I wanted to advise you about--”
“I took care of the picture.”
I gulped, not sure what to say. Not sure what he expected from me.
“Hello?” he snapped. “Still there?”
“Y-Yes,” I turned my chair to the corner and dropped my volume. “What do you want me to say?”
“Thank you, maybe?” he bit off. “I did it for you.”
I fingered the phone cord, hating how his last sentence made me feel. I couldn’t go there. I wouldn’t.
“To be honest,” he continued, not letting me clear the air, “I figured the guy would fare better with me. Whitmore would have probably threatened the poor guy for just taking a couple of harmless pictures. Busted kneecaps, horse’s head, financial
ruin or something like that. He seems like a fairly creative guy.”
“Are you being serious right now?” I found zero amusement in his shootout to The Godfather or transparent efforts to take Jacob down a peg. “You don’t even know him. And not that it’s any of your business, but I was going to talk to the photographer. I was going to take care of it.” The line went silent but I knew we were still connected. “I didn’t ask for your help. I don’t need your help.”
He finally found his tongue. “Is that right?”
“That’s right.”
“And how were you planning on taking care of it? Wielding the mighty Whitmore and Creighton bank account? Or maybe you were going to wear something deliciously low cut?”
I tightened my grip on my phone, trying desperately to choose my words wisely. First, he insulted Jacob and apparently I was next in line. The guy I’d gotten to know was playful, but this wasn’t fun and games. He was being downright mean.
“If there’s nothing else,” I said icily. “I have other things to take care of and I’m sure you’re a busy guy.”
“Would it really have been so horrible?”
I slackened my grip, expecting something sarcastic, but the change in his voice caught me by surprise. “What?”
“If we had kissed.”
“Yes,” I didn’t miss a beat, even though my heart was pounding. “It would have been horrible. I have a boyfriend, Ca--Mr. Wallace. I shouldn’t have met you for coffee in the first place.”
“Then why did you?”
“Because…” I faltered, unarmed and unprepared to answer his valid question. It was one I’d asked myself. One Jacob asked with his glare when I came clean. And I had an answer. “Because I’m a fan of your work.”
“Bullshit,” he scoffed. “You can tell your billionaire playmate that lie, but I was inches from you. Close enough that I could really see, Leila.”
My nostrils flared angrily. I just wanted to hang up the phone, to throw it across the room, but I didn’t. I listened to him poke holes in my logical explanation, peeling back the layers until he got to the chilling truth beneath.
“You like me, Leila.”
“As a client,” I hissed stubbornly. “I’m not interested in anything more than that.”
If memory serves, Lay had quite the crush on him.
I pushed away my mother’s voice. Pushed away the past. Had a crush. Past tense.
I expected Cade to push the issue, bringing up some other twitch or a lingering smile that he could use to support his argument, but the line was quiet again.
“Hello?” I said gingerly, licking my lips. “Cade?”
“Miss Montgomery?” The voice was lighter, the soft timbre distinctly female.
He’d given the phone back to Lisa.
“I’m sorry about all of that. Cade is just in one of his moods.” She let out a nervous giggle that felt like nails raking down a chalkboard. She and I both knew this was more than a sour mood.
I quickly ran through the itinerary and a list of contacts just in case they needed any assistance outside of the staff provided by the studio then hung up. Ending the call didn’t bring me an ounce of relief. I’d been doing so well all morning, efficient and earning my keep, but I was undone by his jab. A low cut V-neck top? Really?
I could understand that a guy like Cade Wallace didn’t take rejection well. ‘No’ just wasn’t a word that a walking, talking Adonis heard very often. But I thought he was different--that even though he had the looks, the fame, he wasn’t just a jock with a Hollywood star.
Two knocks sounded at the door and I drew a steadying breath before swiveling back to the front, expecting to see Natasha holding even more papers for me to file, but instead, it was Jacob standing in the doorway.
God, that man could wear a two piece suit. Every Armani clad inch of him screamed style and power. His dark hair was shorter than the last time we were together, tapered and cut to bring out the sharp attractive lines of his face. His bright, blue eyes flickered over my face, drinking in my surprise.
“Expecting someone else?”
I was flustered, pulling down my pencil skirt as I popped up. “I definitely wasn’t expecting you.”
His gaze deepened and I could have sworn we were transported in time, to a period with sprawling castles, trumpets and great iron thrones. He commanded me with one single look and I found myself stripped and exposed, wanting nothing more than to drop to my knees at his feet.
I kept my distance, still not 100% sure that I could handle being close to him and keeping my hands to myself. “I called you a couple of times.”
One dark eyebrow vaulted. “A couple?”
“Fine, I’m crazy. Is that what you want me to say? I’m wrong? I’m completely out of my mind?”
“Completely out of your mind works for me.” He moved toward me with predatory-like grace. Close enough that I could reach out and touch him, but far enough away that I ached for him. He freed my bangs from behind my ear, spilling dark curls into my eyes before sweeping it back with his fingertips. His touch was like a kiss and I closed my eyes, savoring it. “I want you to say you’re completely out of your mind without me.”
There was longing in his words and I searched his face, not believing that I had that effect. Not when he didn’t even mind not speaking to me for two days.
His light caresses sent a ripple of desire through me. I needed him to tell me all was forgiven, that I would never feel that throbbing loneliness again. But I would say what he wanted, even though I thought a million texts and voicemails said it pretty plainly.
“I’m completely out of my mind without you,” I murmured.
I’d imagined what our kiss after the argument would play out. I expected some healthy manhandling as he crushed my body into his, reminding me who was in charge. Who had the power.
It would have been a good thing that my desk was clear, the space just the right dimensions for my body as his hurt, his frustration, melted away along with our clothes. He’d have his way and in his arms, I’d have the thing I prayed for when I fell into a restless sleep. I’d have Jacob and everything would be as it was supposed to be.
But when he brought me in, his hesitant touch didn’t deepen as our lips met. The kiss had no time to grow into something more because when I brought my hands to his waist, he yanked away from me like I shot him with a volt of electricity.
He brushed his fingers across his lips, like he was wiping away my taste. “I’ll let you get back to work.”
“What?” He couldn’t be leaving. Not after that lackluster kiss. But I couldn’t deny what I saw with my own two eyes—and he was practically out the door. “Jacob!”
He stopped, turning slightly. Giving me a spark of hope before he snuffed it out.
“I can’t do this, Leila.”
I couldn’t breathe. He’d just yanked all the air from my lungs. “Do what?” My gut tightened. “Us?”
I knew I should have let him go, but space was obviously not helping anything. The kiss we’d shared was barely G-rated. It wasn’t one you shared with someone you loved, someone you wanted with every fiber of your being. It was the kiss of death--or the walking dead. It was the half-hearted obligatory kiss of a couple too lazy or afraid to admit things were over.
Were we over?
I wasn’t sure how that question was impossible to say out loud, but the next flowed from my lips with my next haggard breath. “Do you still love me, Jacob?”
He spun back to me, his face a storm of emotions. There was a key one that made my chest tighten.
Fury.
“Did you really just ask me if I loved you?”
I reached out, ignoring my racing heartbeat. Ignoring the fear that I’d just stepped on a land mine. “If we could just--”
“Don’t touch me,” he snarled, looking at my outstretched hand like it was the most appalling thing he’d ever seen. “Do I love you? Do I love you? You have that wrong--do you love me, Leila?”
I took a step back as I felt the hurt funneling from him. “Of course I love you!”
“Ah I see.” His voice was calm, the volume lowered, but I saw his corded neck and the way his body trembled with suppressed rage. “So this whole Cade situation...you told me after the fact because you were trying to protect me. Like you ‘protected’ me in Venice?”
I took a step backward. He was pulling out Rachel Laraby? That was low. “I apologized for that, Jacob. And I tried to apologize for not telling you about Cade.”
“You don’t get it,” he spat. “You don’t understand what it meant for me to let you in.” He took a few steps from me, looking at me like I was a stranger. “I thought we were…I was going to…” He threw up his hands.
I was sinking fast, grasping for anything to keep me from drowning. “Of course I get it. But you have to understand that--”
“I don’t want to hear it,” he interjected angrily. “Everything is on your terms, Leila. I’m not included. I’m a child that needs to be eased into things, only told what you think I can handle. It’s bullshit and I’m be damned if I let you--” His voice cracked, chest heaving his eyes flashing with a pain that broke me.
What had I done?
He turned on his heels, leaving the room without another word. I hated myself for hurting him.
I hated myself for letting him go.
****
Rudy’s Diner had a reputation for being bad news for anyone remotely concerned about their health. Their grilled cheese came on a glistening bed of butter and grease. Their bacon was hearty, not shriveling to nothing when fried. They had friend twinkies on their menu, for crissakes. Luckily, I was in the kind of mood where a burger the size of my head and a milkshake with a gazillion calories sounded like a great idea.
Megan wasn’t so enthused. “Well, that’s a first. They don’t have a salad anywhere on this thing.”
“I think jalapeno poppers are under ‘sides’ on the back,” I offered.
“Jalapeno poppers?” Even though I had my eyes on the menu, I knew hers were narrowed in disgust. “I guess I’ll just grab something on the way home.”
