“Wow. This is… Thank you. Could you come by and do this every day? Both of you?” I said.
The Frenchman laughed. “You could not afford me, but merci, chéri.”
Mr. Lieberman came over then and went over the final rundown of what would happen. They’d already done the daytime interior and exterior shots, as well as filming my staff in action, so it was almost time for the final part—the interview.
As I greeted my friends with my new look, which they oohed and ahhed over, I casually let my eyes drift over the rest of the shop, looking for the one face I’d been hoping to see but wasn’t surprised not to. I knew he’d been by this morning because I’d found the keys he’d left on the bar counter when I went to let the TV crew in. That should’ve been sign enough, I guess. He hadn’t waited to bring them by when he came tonight; instead he’d snuck in and left them without having to see me.
But maybe there was a good reason. He might’ve left a message…
Ducking into the kitchen, I took my phone out of my purse and scrolled through the “good luck” messages from friends and family, including Cameron. But there was nothing from Hunter. Not a call, not a text—
My phone pinged with a new message alert. I opened it, and, like he’d known I was thinking about him, it was from the man I’d been wishing was here.
Good luck tonight. I know you’ll knock ’em dead.
I quickly typed back a “thank you, wish you were here” message and waited, hoping he’d respond and tell me he was on his way or maybe explain why he wasn’t coming. But my message never went through, “message delivered” never popping up. Out of curiosity, I called his phone, and it went straight to voicemail, like he’d turned off his cell directly after sending the message.
He wasn’t coming. He really really wasn’t coming. The last bit of hope, the one I’d been clinging to like a lifeline, fell away. Tucking the phone back in my purse, I walked numbly back into Licked, and when my friends caught sight of my face, they ran over.
“He’s not coming,” I said, and then gave a limp shrug.
“That sonofabitch.”
“I will rearrange his arse with his face.”
“Give me two minutes with that guy and I’ll make him wish he were dead.”
I waved my hand as they continued to curse Hunter on my behalf. “Thanks, guys, but it’s fine. Really. I’ll…you know, hopefully be super busy when I kick this show’s ass, right?”
“That’s the spirit,” Paige said, her arm going around my shoulders. “The poor bastard will be sorry he ever let you go.”
No, he’s probably doing a happy dance somewhere out there.
“Ryleigh?” Mr. Lieberman called out from the entry. “We’re ready for you.”
After a group hug, we went over to the After Dark, and I was instructed to sit in one of the two chairs lit up with what looked like spotlights. The girls all gave me thumbs-up signs from where they were seated in director’s chairs behind the camera crew, and I took a deep breath.
Don’t think about him. Think about the shops you’ve worked so hard on for the last few years. Think about making your friends and family proud. Don’t think about the one who doesn’t want to be with you.
As one of the crew members attached a small microphone to my outfit, placing it so it would be out of the camera’s view, I let my eyes roam around the space. It was still hard to believe this was mine, and I doubted I’d get used to it anytime soon. There were two new vertical wall hangings on either side of the exit that hadn’t been there yesterday. A couple of the final pieces Hunter had come to put up this morning, I guessed. They were of Grace Kelly and Dorothy Dandridge, both fully decked out in glamorous gowns with cocktails in hand—fantastic additions. I’d meant to look for all the last-minute touches earlier today, but the place had been swarming with people on both sides, and I hadn’t gotten a chance.
Tony, the lighting director I’d met two weeks prior, stood to my right, fiddling with a light, and I held my hand up to shield my eyes. When he finished his adjustment and moved out of the way, a picture just above the center booth behind him was revealed, and it had the breath rushing out of me.
“Oh my God,” I said, unable to tear my gaze away. Standing up, I walked over to the booth, and the closer I got, the more I couldn’t believe what I was seeing. The final piece, the one Hunter had waited until today to install, wasn’t just any picture, and it definitely wasn’t one I’d picked out along with the others. No, this one was personal. An artistic rendering of a photograph taken not long ago, of a couple in happier times, decked out in full fifties flare. The girl was swooped up in her lover’s arms, both laughing. Happy. The Last First Date was scrawled across the bottom.
My legs were going to give out. I grabbed on to the side of the booth as Quinn dashed over.
“Are you okay? You look like you’ve seen a—” Quinn stopped and squinted at the picture. “Is that you and—”
“Can you get me my phone?” I said in a breathless rush. “In my purse in the kitchen.”
She didn’t ask any questions, just ran out of the room and was back in less than thirty seconds. “Here,” she said, handing it to me, and with shaky hands, I took it from her.
There were no missed calls, no response from Hunter to the text I’d sent, but it didn’t matter as long as he answered the phone now.
But again there was no ringing, just the automated recording as the call went straight to voicemail. I hung up and tried again. Same thing. This time I left a quick message.
“Hunter, it’s Ryleigh. Please call me when you get this.”
After hanging up, I dialed a different number.
“Hey,” Cameron said, answering on the second ring. “Aren’t you supposed to be—”
“Sorry, but is Hunter with you? It’s urgent.”
A hand touched my elbow, and I whipped around. I must’ve had a crazy expression on my face, because the assistant backed up.
“Sorry, but they’re calling for places now,” she said, her thumb pointing back at the chairs where the host was already seated and getting miked.
“Cameron, hang on.” Covering the phone with my hand, I said, “I’m so sorry, can I just have a second, please? It’s an emergency.” Then I turned and put the cell back to my ear. “Hello? You there?”
“Yeah, I’m here, but no, he’s not with me. Is everything okay? I thought you were filming.”
“I am, but I…” How was I going to explain that I knew what the picture meant? It wasn’t over. He’d never have put that up if there wasn’t hope of another chance. “I just need to find him. Please.”
“Ryleigh…” he said. “I don’t know how to tell you this, but he’s gone.”
That one four-letter word had me leaning against the booth for support. Gone? What did he mean gone? “Well…where did he go? He was just here this morning.”
“He left for the airport a few minutes ago. Back to Chicago.”
“What?” I shouted. I could feel the weight of everyone’s stares on me as they turned in my direction, but in that moment, I couldn’t care less.
“I’m sorry,” Cameron said. “I thought you knew.”
“No…no, no, no, no, no. Why would he do that? He left the picture, that means…” Well, fuck. I thought it meant… Well, maybe it didn’t mean… Oh God, even my thoughts weren’t making any sense.
“Ryleigh, we need to get started.” Mr. Lieberman was at my side, a stern expression on his face as he checked his watch.
“Right. I’m coming.” As he ushered me back to my chair, I asked Cameron, “Burbank airport?”
“LAX,” was all I heard before Quinn was in front of me.
“I need to take this,” she whispered, and I let the phone go without a fight.
“He’s leaving,” I said, my voice barely audible.
“Hunter?” Her brows knitted together. “Where?”
“LAX…” I shook my head as I passed, walking in a daze back to the set.
“All right, there she is. Are you ready?” one of the co-anchors of Wake up America, Sheila, asked in a perky voice as I sat down. “Oh, don’t be scared, I promise to go easy on you.”
He’s leaving. He’s leaving me. Permanently?
Mr. Lieberman’s voice rang out: “Can we get someone in makeup? She’s looking a little pale.”
The makeup artist was there in a flash, touching up my face and lips.
If he just left for LAX, I could be there before him…
A clapperboard went off, followed by the word “Action,” and it jolted me back to reality.
Sheila gave me a pleasant smile and said, “Ryleigh Phillips. As the owner of Licked, an eccentric ice creamery in West Hollywood that specializes in delectable desserts with flavors not suitable for children, you must get asked often where the inspiration for your shop came from. Could you tell us a little background?”
But even if I went to LAX…what airline? What time is his flight?
I swallowed, my throat constricting and blocking off my air supply. Beads of sweat formed on my brow, and all I could focus on were how bright and hot the lights were, and that Sheila still had a smudge of lipstick on her front teeth.
“Uh…” Breathe and answer the question. Wait, what was the question? Names…uh…desserts? Inspiration? Trying for a smile, I said, “The uh…inspiration comes from…um.” My gaze wandered toward the camera, and I could see the faces of my friends staring at me with encouraging expressions. “I’m sorry, can you repeat the question, please?” I asked.
Quinn still had my phone in her hand, and my eyes were glued to it while Sheila repeated the question. Which I missed. Again.
It was hot, so damn hot, and I wiped above my upper lip with the back of my hand.
“Cut,” the director shouted, and then Ms. Watts added, “I can see the sweat dripping down her face, so can we please get someone with a mop and bucket sometime this century?”
The makeup artist quickly ran over to powder me in an effort to keep the thick layers of paint from sliding off, but I had a feeling there was no amount of makeup that could help in my current state. “Just calm down a bit, sweetie, and it’ll stay on better,” she said, and then lifted my chin to make sure she got it all before heading back to the sidelines.
Calm down… How could I calm down? My nerves were shot, and as much as I tried to keep my focus on how amazing this opportunity was, my mind kept drifting to Hunter. He was getting on a plane, and once he did that, I’d lose him. I can’t lose him. Not without telling him how much he means to me.
He’d been the one to pursue me, and now it was my turn. I hadn’t fought hard enough… Hell, I hadn’t fought at all. The one time I’d had a chance to make him listen and I’d frozen.
What if this is my only chance?
And that was when I knew. There wasn’t even a choice.
Holding up my hand to shield the light, I squinted, searching out Quinn. When I found her, the look on her face was one of sympathy.
“Quinn…” I couldn’t get the words out, but somehow she understood.
Nodding, she mouthed, On it, and pulled out her keys from her jeans pocket, whispering to Paige before running out the door and hauling Shayne with her. Then Paige headed straight for me.
“I’m so sorry,” she said to the producers as she took my arm and helped me to my feet. “But there’s been a family emergency, and we have to leave.”
“Leave?” Ms. Watts repeated, scoffing from where she’d been sitting and picking at her long, manicured nails. “You can’t just leave. We’re in the middle of a shoot.”
“We apologize for the inconvenience,” she said as she wrapped her arm around my waist and walked us to the exit. “Thank you for the opportunity.”
As she pushed the door open, Ms. Watts called out, “You leave and none of this airs—” Then the door shut, cutting off her threats.
Quinn’s black sports car was already at the curb, and Paige pushed me inside the backseat before rounding the trunk and getting in on the other side.
“Let’s go,” she said, and the car squealed as Quinn hit the gas.
I TOOK DEEP breaths, and as my body temperature cooled off under the heavy air conditioning, the realization that I’d just walked out of the show taping to chase after Hunter hit me. It was as if under the lights my brain had melted like ice cream left in the sun and was now solidifying back together. “Oh fuck me,” I said. “Did I just… Did we leave the taping? Did that just happen?”
“Yep, and en route to rescue your man so you can make your big declaration of love,” Quinn confirmed.
A jackhammering began in my chest. “But…we don’t even know which airline or what time or anything. He could already be gone. Oh shit. Shit shit.”
Shayne turned around in the passenger seat and held up my phone. “Actually, Cameron just filled me in, and he said Hunter is on the nine o’clock American Airlines flight to Chicago. We should catch him just in time.” She eyed the dashboard and raised an eyebrow at the forty-five miles per hour Quinn was currently doing. “Maybe.”
“This is crazy,” I said, and began to laugh deliriously. I was losing my mind. “Who does this in real life?”
“You do, and we’re helping. Quinn, can you maybe push on the gas up there?” Paige said, as she dumped the contents of her makeup bag in her lap and rummaged through until she found what she was looking for. Then she twisted toward me and blotted under my eyes with a sponge. “I thought you were gonna pass out up there. Your face was literally sliding off.”
As she touched up my skin, I began to panic. “I just left all those people in my shop… I forgot my purse…”
“I got your purse on the way out, and I’m talking to Zoe now. She’s going back to close things down,” Shayne said, the phone pressed to her ear.
“That’s better,” Paige said, as she looked over her handiwork. “Now start thinking about your speech.”
“My speech?”
“Yes, the lovey-dovey romantic speech that’s gonna convince him to stay. Let’s hear it.”
Swallowing thickly, I thought back to the reason I’d made such a rash decision in the first place. The picture. The one of the two of us in front of the Hollywood Bowl marquee on our first date. It was the final, missing piece of the After Dark, and so was the man in the photo who had stolen my heart.
“Don’t you dare get on the 10. We’ll never get there in time,” Paige told Quinn. I usually hated when she became a backseat driver and dictated directions, but at that moment, I was grateful. I just needed to get there faster.
Paige leaned forward between the front two seats. “No, no, no, it’ll take us to the 405 and it’s a fucking gridlock. It’s quicker just to go Fairfax to La Cienega.
“I know the way to the airport, Paige, don’t make me pull over,” Quinn said.
“I wouldn’t have to tell you how to get there if you didn’t drive like my granny.”
Quinn’s eyes narrowed in the rearview mirror. “Hey, Paige?”
“Yeah?”
“Fuck off.” With that, Quinn swerved into the left lane, switching gears and slamming her foot on the accelerator.
Paige whooped in the backseat and jumped up and down as Shayne and I both grabbed the handles above our heads and held on for dear life. Quinn drove with the speed of a racecar driver, and, surprisingly, just as smooth—not that it made me any less apprehensive about running headfirst into a tree.
“Where the hell did you learn how to drive like this?” Paige asked. “You’ve been holding out on us. Damn government agent.”
Quinn stuck a choice finger in the air and then jerked the car back to the right lane, passing a trio of slower cars taking up the fast lane. “Move it or lose it,” she called out as we sped by.
But as we neared the airport terminal drop-off, we hit a wall of traffic. A big wall.
“Oh no,” Shayne said. “Do you think you could make a run for it in your heels from here?”
“Fuck no
, she’s not running for it,” Quinn said, and then wrenched the car half onto the sidewalk to bypass the long line. When she couldn’t go any farther, she began laying on the horn and rolled down Paige’s window. “Do your magic, woman.”
Paige stuck her body halfway out the window, directing the cars to move or stop, but it was when she flashed one carful of guys that they immediately veered off to the side to let us in front of them. When she pulled herself back into the car and rolled up her window, I laughed. “I appreciate that you just flashed half the city to get me there faster.”
“Oh, please,” Quinn said, and I caught her shaking her head in the mirror. “You know she likes to show them off whenever she gets a chance. We just did her a favor.”
With the worst of the traffic behind us, it only took a few minutes to get to the drop-off for Terminal 4. When we finally pulled up to the curb, I jumped out amid their catcalls and shouts of encouragement, and then they went off in search of parking.
Here we go.
I sprinted inside, my eyes searching for the man who would not be getting on that plane today. Of course he’d chosen the airline with the biggest presence at LAX. There were more than a handful of counters, and they were packed with passengers. My anxiety mounted as I realized that I could’ve come this far and might still miss him. After searching the line at the first counter, I dashed off to the second. He wasn’t there either, and with the time of his flight drawing nearer every second, my chances of finding him were running out like sand through an hourglass.
No sign of Hunter in the third line either, and as I turned to run to the next one, I hit a brick wall. Well, not literally a brick wall, but it sure as hell felt like it.
“Can I help you, ma’am?” The security guard I’d smacked into was looking down at me with suspicion, an eyebrow cocked, his voice gruff and no-nonsense. “Do you have a boarding pass?”
“Uh, no,” I said, breathless. “I don’t, I’m just looking for someone.” My eyes continued to search around the guard. Please be here. Please let me find you.
Licked (L.A. Liaisons Book 1) Page 19
