Damaged In-Law

by Masters, Colleen

  Chapter Seven

  The elevator spits us out on the top floor of The Rogue Hotel. I have to hustle in my three-inch heels to keep up with Jack’s long stride as he leads me down the hallway, toward a door marked “Penthouse”.

  Naturally.

  Jack slides in his key card and wrenches the penthouse door wide open. He turns to me with an over-the-top sweep of his arm, making a big show of holding the door for me. I storm into the room, arms so tightly crossed across my chest that I can feel my heart hammering against them, as if trying to escape. The lights switch on all at once, and sheer awe is added to the heady cocktail of feelings whirling inside of me.

  I’m standing in the middle of the sprawling penthouse, gaping at the enormity of the space. You could easily fit four of my apartment under this suite’s impossibly high ceilings. The main area features a sunken living room, fully-stocked kitchenette, and three separate flat screen TVs. But the most amazing feature of all is the floor-to-ceiling windows lining the penthouse’s far walls. Through the length of windows, a panoramic view of midtown Manhattan is on display. The Empire State and Chrysler buildings shoot up from the skyline, glamorous and iconic. Far below, the bustling streets of SoHo are just coming to life for the evening.

  If this were any other night, the elegance of the Rouge’s penthouse would render me speechless. But tonight, it barely even registers with me. I whirl away from the stunning view of Manhattan, squaring off against my old friend as he shuts the door firmly behind him.

  “There,” he says, marching toward the well-stocked bar across the room, “Now you can get all hysterical on me without some asshole recording the whole thing on his smartphone.”

  “I’m not getting hysterical,” I tell him, refusing to let my voice rise any louder in pitch or volume. I need him to actually hear me, not just write me off as some crazy chick. “And I’m not in the mood for another round.”

  “Too bad,” Jack replies, turning his back to me as he fixes a couple of drinks, “Because I’m not continuing this little talk without a glass of whiskey in hand. And I’m not about to drink alone, so...”

  He strides over to me and places another vodka tonic in my hand. I can feel myself submitting to his will, letting him get away with being a macho asshole. Why don’t I just leave? Tell him to fuck off? It’s like his bad behavior is magnetic, or something. The more he ramps up the chest-pounding, the more drawn to him I feel. It’s like my brain has been rewired or something...or maybe my heart’s just overriding my common sense at every turn.

  “So?” Jack goes on, strolling past me to the sunken living room where he settles onto a leather sofa. “You were in the middle of dressing me down, weren’t you?”

  If only, I think before I can stop myself, letting my eyes linger on his fine form in repose. I give my head a shake to dislodge the dirty thoughts and boozy fog alike.

  “Well? Come on down here and let me have it,” he presses, patting the sofa beside him.

  A low, throbbing pressure starts rising in my core as I think about letting Jackson Cole have it. I have got to yank my mind out of the gutter, right this instant.

  Focus, Benson, I think to myself, taking a deep, steadying sip of my cocktail and following Jack into the sunken living room. I stand before him, planting a hand on my emerald-clad hip as his eyes skirt down the length of my body. He doesn’t make it easy for a girl to keep her head on straight, that’s for sure.

  “What the hell were you thinking, springing this on me?” I ask him firmly. “You led me right into your trap with all that long-suffering, guardian angel crap. And all along you were just priming me to accept your job offer? What the hell?!”

  “Actually, I was thinking you might like a shot at being a movie star,” he replies, resting his elbows on his knees. “I wasn’t trying to trap you. Everything I said is absolutely true.” I catch a glimpse of his sculpted pecs as the top button of his shirt comes undone. Good goddamn.

  “Jack, come on,” I mutter, averting my eyes as that pulsing want at the very center of me begs for attention.

  “What do you mean ‘come on’?” he presses, “I thought you would be thrilled, Callie. Do you know how many actresses out there would kill for this kind of opportunity? I’m basically handing you an acting career on a silver platter, here. What’s the problem?”

  “The problem is that I have no business taking this part!” I exclaim, “You’re only offering it to me because I look like Avery. This has nothing to do with me.”

  “So what?” Jack replies, exasperated, “Who cares why I’m offering you the part? The important thing is that it’s yours, if you want it. And I know you want it, Callie.”

  “Really,” I laugh shortly, “You think you know what I want all of a sudden?”

  “Damned right I do,” Jack shoots back, setting down his empty whiskey glass, “I know you had dreams of being an actress, Cal. And I know you never followed through with them, even though you desperately wanted to.”

  I stare back at him, trying to figure out if he’s bluffing. “How could you know a thing like that? Supposing, hypothetically, it was true?” I pry.

  “Please,” he laughs, rising to his feet, “With all the time I spent at your house when we were kids, you honestly think I never noticed you play-acting up in your room? Or all the scripts on your bookshelf? Or you looking on all dreamy-eyed from the costume shop while we rehearsed the school plays? You’re not that hard to read, Callie, no matter what you might think.”

  I take a sip of my drink, thankful that the low lights of the penthouse are hiding the blush in my cheeks. He’s spot on, of course. I did always dream about being an actress. I even tried to be one, for a hot second after college. I had no idea he was paying that much attention to me, when we were kids. I figured he only had eyes for Avery, most of the time.

  “It just seems wrong, is all,” I mutter, gazing down at my feet as Jack takes a step toward me. I can feel my thighs clenching involuntarily as he moves closer to me. My mind may be upset with Jack, but my body is having a grand old time being alone with him.

  “Why would it be wrong?” he asks, his voice quiet and husky. I watch his fine leather shoes come to a stop just in front of mine, lift my eyes tentatively to his gorgeous face. He’s standing right there before me, close enough to touch. Close enough to kiss.

  “Because I don’t...I don’t...” I stammer, feeling my breath catch in my chest. “I don’t deserve it, Jack.”

  For the first time this evening, for perhaps the first time since I’ve known him, Jackson Cole actually looks shocked.

  “You don’t think you deserve...what?” he asks, placing his hands firmly on my bare shoulders. “You don’t deserve a shot at being successful? You don’t deserve to have some fun for once in your life? You don’t deserve to be happy?”

  Every inch of my skin that Jack touches is sparking with electric heat. I stare up into his dark blue eyes, laid bare by his intense gaze. How can he possibly see me so clearly—my every ambition and insecurity alike? Before yesterday, it had been years since we’d seen each other last. And yet, standing here alone with him, with the most important decision of my life hanging in the balance, I feel like he knows me better than anyone ever has.

  I feel like I can trust him.

  “This is insane,” I whisper, draining the last of my vodka tonic. The room has started to spin ever-so-slightly. Probably should have done something about dinner before downing three cocktails, I suppose.

  Jack takes my empty glass and sets it down, bringing his hands once more to my shoulders. His fingers run down the length of my bare arms, and I can only pray that he doesn’t notice the goosebumps that spring up in their wake. I focus on his sexy, crooked grin to keep from falling over. Between the vodka and the insistent want throbbing between my legs at his closeness, I’m feeling a bit overwhelmed, here.

  “What’s insane is going through your whole life thinking you don’t deserve anything good,” he says, his voice low and rasping
with earnest intensity. “Living without risk, without going after what you want with or without permission. That’s insane to me, Cal.”

  “What are you, some kind of guru all of a sudden?” I ask, my own voice dipping low in my register.

  “No,” Jack admits, his grin growing wider, “But I have played one on TV.”

  I laugh at his hammy turn of phrase. Jack’s always known how to lighten up even the heaviest moments. It’s one of the things I love about him. One of the many things.

  “Jack,” I say softly, lifting my eyes to his once more, “It isn’t that I don’t think I could do a good job with this role. I’ve always loved telling stories, acting, and awesome pulpy noir flicks. It would be amazing to be a part of a real film. I mean, of course it would. But do you really think this—me stepping in—is what Avery would have wanted?”

  Jack’s grin falls away, as an expression as serious as I’ve ever seen him wear comes over his stunning face. He takes my hands firmly in his, and I feel like his support is the only thing holding me up.

  “I do,” he tells me, point-blank. “I think that, if Avery could put in her two cents here, she would absolutely want you to take this opportunity. But you know something? That’s still beside the point. The most important thing is whether you want this. It has to come down to you.”

  “B-but,” I stutter.

  “No ‘buts’,” he says fiercely. “No excuses. You have to decide what you want, Callie. Come on, now. What do you want?”

  Before I can stop myself, I’ve brought my hands to Jack’s firm, sculpted chest. My entire body is aching to give in, fold up into his arms and let him sweep me away into a life of glamour, and comfort, and absolutely earth-shattering sex. What do I want, above all else? In this moment, what I want is to be with him. Whatever that entails.

  I feel Jack’s hands skirt down the sides of my trembling body, coming to rest firmly on the points of my hips. I’m pressed flush against his perfectly balanced form, exactly where I want to be. It would be so easy to lift my face to his, give myself over to whatever this night could hold in store. But as much as I want him with every cell in my body, I know that I can’t have him tonight. Not if I don’t want to ruin twenty-six years of friendship and possibly the next phase of my life. Not three drinks in, steeped in grief, and in the middle of an argument.

  Not like this.

  “What I want,” I finally manage to say, taking a reluctant step away from his incredible body, “Is a little time to think.”

  Jack hangs onto me for just a second longer than seems entirely chaste, reading my face like an open book. Finally, he begins to nod, satisfied by my response.

  “OK,” he says slowly, that signature grin returning, “That I can deal with.”

  “How generous of you,” I chuckle bashfully, taking a dizzy step toward the couch. I plunk down onto the buttery soft leather, the booze hitting me hard. “Hey...D’you mind if I take these things off?” I ask, kicking my stiletto-clad feet.

  “Be my guest,” Jack chuckles, sinking down next to me on the couch.

  I nudge the heels off my feet, groaning with delight as my toes are liberated. That heated moment that passed between me and Jack was barely more than an embrace, but I feel as giddy as if we just rolled out of the sack together. I pay instantly for imagining Jack in bed with a sweeping surge of lust that leaves me hastily crossing my legs.

  We sit side-by-side, looking out at the gorgeous view of New York City. Suddenly, it’s like we’re sixteen again—just two kids chomping at the bit to start the next exciting phase of their lives. Only this time, we have the chance to do it together, as a team. All I have to do is accept his proposition.

  “Do you like being an actor, Jack?” I ask, keeping my eyes trained on the skyline.

  “I love being an actor,” he tells me. “It’s all I’ve ever wanted.”

  “Yeah...But does it make you happy?” I press.

  He pauses for a moment, considering. “I don’t know if it makes me happy,” he says, “But before I started acting, before I had started on this path, all I had in my life were a bunch of things that made me unhappy. My mother, who couldn’t bother to be a mom. My dad, who ignored me unless he was drunk. And then...Never mind. What I mean is, this new life of mine is the best I’ve ever had. So far, at least.”

  “I didn’t realize things were so shitty for you, too...” I murmur, “I thought me and Avery’s folks had the Most Terrible Parent title all sewn up.”

  “Oh, they totally did,” Jack chuckles, “But mine were definitely solid runners-up.”

  “Y’know what?” I murmur, leaning against Jack’s sturdy side. “I, uh...don’t think I should be driving tonight.”

  “No shit,” Jack laughs, slinging an arm around my shoulder.

  “Could I maybe just...like...sleep on your couch or something?” I ask, “I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but this’s a really nice couch.”

  “No. That’s not gonna happen.” Jack says lightly, bursting my bubble into a thousand little pieces.

  “...No?” I blink up at him, taken aback.

  “I just mean, that won’t be necessary,” he goes on, his eyes gleaming with mischief. “I took the liberty of getting you the room next door for the night. Well, actually, the studio’s footing the bill. I figured that, once you accepted my proposition, we could start getting you up to speed on the movie right away...”

  “Jack...” I say slowly, sitting up to look him in the eye, “You just went ahead and assumed that I was gonna accept your offer...to put my entire life on hold, move into a hotel room, and shoot a movie without a script, or talk of a salary, or finding someone to water my house plants?”

  “Yeah. Pretty much,” he grins back at me.

  “You, sir...are incor-gib-able. In...Incorrigible,” I manage to say.

  “And you are wasted,” he laughs, helping me to my feet. “Come on. Let’s get you to bed. You can keep berating me for giving you the opportunity of a lifetime in the morning.”

  Chapter Eight

  Eight Years Earlier

  The Benson Home

  From what I’ve seen on TV, cast parties for high school plays are supposed to be happy, sweaty, impromptu affairs. The cast and crew members should show up covered in smudged makeup, holding unwieldy bouquets of roses. Pizza and soda should abound as everyone celebrates a job well done. At least a few people should end up getting way too into a game of seven minutes in heaven. Happy tears should flow freely, along with the showtune sing-alongs.

  But of course, that just wouldn’t do for our town.

  As the female lead’s mother, Sylvia offers to throw the closing night party for our high school’s production of Romeo and Juliet. On the one hand, this gives me ample time to make as many Lady Capulet jokes as I want. But on the other, it also means that our cast and crew party ends up as just another Benson Family soiree, complete with salmon puffs, Perrier, and a bunch of my parents’ stuffy friends (most of whom didn’t even see the damn show).

  Most of the kids involved in the production only show up at the party for a hot second tonight, after the curtain comes down on the final performance. They’re all headed off to celebrate together while Avery and I are stuck at our parents’ house, mingling with their friends. At least Jack is stuck here, too. His own parents are in attendance, watching him like a hawk to make sure he doesn’t embarrass them by bailing too soon.

  Jack and I stand at the edge of the great room, trying not to look as bored as we feel. Before us, a sea of middle-aged guests chatter on in their usual droll manner. A couple of them talk about how lovely the play was (“but what a sad ending!”). It really was a great performance, in my opinion. Jack was amazing as Romeo, bringing a fiery sense of determination to the role. Avery was stunningly beautiful at Juliet, even if the language was a little bit too heavy for her to handle at times. She was pretty great, for a first-timer, and Jack made sure to really take care of her during their scenes. But what else is new?

>   “Psst,” Jack hisses in my ear, sending a thrill down my spine as he leans in toward me. “Go into the coat room,” he whispers conspiratorially. “There’s a flask in my jacket. These sparkling ciders could use a little kick, don’t you think?”

  I try not to grin at him like an idiot as he draws me into his plan. I’ve missed this mischievous scheming of ours. Our dynamic has never been the same since the night of my sweet sixteen. Maybe Avery is right—maybe that was my window of opportunity. The question is, is that window still open, even a crack? The way Jack is smiling at me tonight, I’d almost dare say that there’s hope.

  “Who knew Romeo was such a lush?” I grin back, snatching Jack’s cup and acting casual as I walk through the crowded room, making for his stash of booze. I glance back at him as I walk away, and catch him staring as I make my exit. What can I say? These curves of mine may be petite, but they still do the trick.

  None of the adult guests seem to notice me as I move among them, but that makes sense. I’m sure most of them don’t even know what the occasion for this party really is. In an hour or so, Avery and I will make a break for it with our getaway driver, Jack, and find the real party. But in the meantime, a little nip from Jack’s flask should make this thing a lot more tolerable.

  The chatter of conversation dies out behind me as I make my way toward the coat room. The guests’ belongings have been stashed at the far end of the ground floor, far away from the party. For some reason, the door to the little cubby is closed. As I reach for the handle, I hear a muffled sound from within. I freeze with my hand clutching the knob, straining to hear through the door. Two voices are arguing heatedly in hushed tones, and I feel my blood go cold as I recognize the two voices.

  “Let me go,” Avery insists tearfully, “Get your hands off me, or I’ll tell my father that—”

  “We both know who Howard will believe in a game of ‘he said, she said’,” replies the smug voice of Daryl Hellman from within. “Besides, you’re eighteen now. What’s the problem? Don’t you like your uncle Daryl anymore?”