“This is staged?” she asks, not believing it.
“No.” No sense in throwing up a smoke screen she won’t believe for a second. “Not for me.”
“Jackson.” Pity seeps into her voice. I’d rather her rail at me and tell me I was an idiot. Maybe I shouldn’t have told her.
“Don’t.” My voice is stiff, unwavering.
“Kids!” Mom yells. With no time to argue with Jules and a healthy desire to avoid this conversation completely, I stand and start walking into the dining room.
“Jackson, you’re playing with fire.”
Julieann’s assessment stops me cold. She joins me where the living room connects to the dining room. A big bowl of brown rice and an enchilada casserole rest in the center of the table. No parents, but I hear them discussing whether or not to make guacamole “real fast” in the adjoining kitchen.
“I don’t want her to hurt you like she did the first time,” my sister says under her breath.
“Despite our parents talking to us like we’re still ten years old, I’m not a kid anymore, Jules. I know what I’m doing.” I squeeze her shoulder. “You don’t have to worry.”
“Stop trying to console me.” She squeezes my shoulder and now we’re facing each other in an awkward hand-to-shoulder standoff. “I’m not the one in danger of having my heart re-broken.”
“She didn’t break my heart.” I drop my arm, but Jules catches my hand and holds it like I’ve just been diagnosed with a terminal disease and it hasn’t sunk in yet.
“Jax. I saw what you went through.”
“Which was what exactly? You’ll have to enlighten me because I don’t remember having an overwhelming reaction to Allie’s leaving.”
“Oh, it was terrible,” my mom comments as she bustles in and sets a tub of sour cream on the table. “You really don’t remember moping around?”
“The guys at work giving you hell and habañeros because you were moping around?” my dad supplies as he places a cloth napkin on each plate.
Of course I do, but it’s a blow to the ego that Jules—and apparently Mom and Dad—believe I could crash and burn again when it’s been over a decade since it happened. It’s insulting.
“He’s seeing her again,” Julieann tells everyone. The traitor.
I let out a growl.
“That’s wonderful!” Mom brightens.
“He needs to be careful,” Julieann says as she takes her seat.
“He’s a grown man.” We hear from Dad.
“Thank you. Yes. That.” I give him a supportive two-handed back-slap as he sits and then I take the seat next to him. “I’m not a teenager. I’m an adult and this is my business.”
I wince. Nothing sounds less grown-up than inferring the phrase “it’s none of your business.”
“It’s the nature of the beast, I suppose.” Mom slices the casserole into squares even though the rolled and stuffed enchiladas are clearly divided into vertical rows. “You two were in love when you were teenagers and she’s making you feel young again. It’s romantic.”
I bristle at the word “love” and more at the word “romantic.” I’m not sure which one’s worse coming out of my mother’s mouth.
“Except that she’s using him,” Jules grumbles.
“I’m not being used!” Except I thought that same word yesterday. And I’m defensive and my voice is high like a preteen’s. Great. I’m regressing. I only felt used because I didn’t know that the kiss was for the camera. I’d assumed she’d say something like “Action!” or “Now!” and not be so…convincing. I thought she was reacting to me—turned on by me. I thought she wanted me.
“You’re upset that she’s not responding to you the way you’re responding to her,” Julieann says carefully.
Mom and Dad both regard me with raised eyebrows. I scoop out the rice and pass the bowl, going for the enchiladas next, refusing to honor them with a response. If what Jules is saying is true—that I’m alone in feeling the tug in the center of my chest, that Allie’s stringing me along, well…I’ll have to show her that I’m not the boyfriend she left behind.
“How was everyone’s week?” I ask, changing the subject.
Julieann is still giving me that pitying look. I meet her gaze and use my Wonder-Twin powers. Help me out here.
“I’m up for a promotion,” she chirps after receiving my telepathic request.
Thanks. I shoot her a quick smile.
Her lips quirk. You owe me.
Chapter 13
THE NIGHT OF THE OSCAR-NAPPING, MILLIE DUNCAN’S MANSION
AMERICA’S SWEETHEART ROBS MILLIE DUNCAN OF HER TITLE AND HER OSCAR
I had no idea that was going to be the Sunday morning headline when I stepped into the three-time Academy Award–winning actress’s mansion on Saturday night.
“I can’t believe I’m here,” I whisper to my date, the one and only Xavier McCormack. Heartthrob extraordinaire and the envy of literally every one of my friends. Especially other actors who pretend to be my friend to my face and then sneer and gossip behind my back. In Hollywood, cutthroat competition is encouraged.
I curl my hand over his tuxedoed forearm. I’m in a jade-green floor-length gown by Michael Keith, and a pair of strappy sandals by MK as well. Michael gave them to me, marveled at how beautiful they were, and that’s exactly why I’m wearing them. They’re pinching the life out of my left big toe and I haven’t been able to feel my right pinky toe since I slipped them on.
“Stick with me, baby,” Xavier leans over to say, his crisp cologne swirling around me. He’s very obviously sexy. His generous mouth forms an almost permanent smirk, his chocolate-brown eyes are expressive and have a way of caressing whatever they land on. And when they landed on me at the audition for his next film, I felt the blast of heat from them like I was standing in front of a furnace.
When he asked me out, I didn’t hesitate saying yes. Who turns down Xavier McCormack? To be totally transparent—a rare occasion in this business—I don’t feel a blip of attraction to him. General appreciation, sure. Dazzled by his obvious charm and the ability to make women worldwide green with envy just by being photographed with him, absolutely.
But as far as chemistry between us? Zip.
It’s one of the main reasons I wasn’t cast as his love interest at the audition. I was offered a smaller role that I politely turned down. It wasn’t the one I wanted and as my agent keeps telling me, the end of America’s Sweetheart doesn’t mean my career is over. She testifies that it’s just starting. Which is an exciting prospect…if she’s right.
Xavier and I stroll arm in arm toward Millie’s massive mansion, the grounds bedecked with tall manicured bushes and dotted with a billion twinkle lights. A red carpet leads to the front door, and I have the thought that maybe my agent is right.
I clutch tightly to Xavier’s arm as we’re greeted by celebrities who would make my jaw drop if I didn’t have to maintain a healthy amount of decorum. Seriously. I want to fangirl so bad right now. I spent the last ten years working my ass off on a television show that was widely lauded, but I’m also still a girl from a midsize Ohio town agog at the idea of shaking hands with the elite in this industry.
As I spot one of my biggest male idols of all time, Hank Shales, I say a silent prayer that he’s as nice as he seems. I’ve met at least one other actor who has let me down. People aren’t always who they seem to be on the screen. Hank has been a role model for as long as I can remember and working with him is on my bucket list.
Right under winning an Academy Award—every actress’s dream.
Given the difficulty of rising to the top of a mountain of other talented actors, and knowing the type of role I’d need to land to be nominated for the coveted man in gold, I probably have another ten to twenty years to go before I’m close. Even though Xavier, who’s two years yo
unger than me, landed his with what looked like hardly trying.
He truly makes fame look easy. From the careless shag of his dark hair to the scruff on his jaw that seems permanently five hours old, to the way he handles talking to the most famous people on the planet like he’s one of their oldest friends.
He’s incredible. And incredibly safe. Which is why, when things advanced from dating to seriously dating, I stayed close. What we have may not be butterflies and heart-eye emojis, but he’s stable and normal, and as good of a prospect as a girl can hope to find in this town.
Until Xavier, I’d never been invited to parties. Awards shows, yes. America’s Sweetheart took an Emmy years ago, and I was even onstage to accept with the show’s team. But parties are for the actors on the inside of the trust circle.
My agent didn’t mince words when she said that sticking with Xavier was good for my career. My insistence of “that’s not why I’m seeing him” fell on deaf ears. It’s not why I’m seeing him…entirely. As I said before, he makes me feel safe, and I genuinely like him. Like is a huge feat, considering I haven’t found anyone remotely worth having a cup of coffee with since I moved here.
There is only one guy I’ve ever felt that deep, true, real love for. A guy back home. It didn’t work out, and that was probably for the best. This life isn’t for him. He doesn’t need the limelight or attention or people begging for his autograph. And he doesn’t wear concealer to cover up razor burn, I think as I glance up at my date.
Millie, shining in a silver sequined gown, stands in the center of her own cocktail party. She waves when we come in and rushes over to kiss Xavier on the cheeks. She played his mother in the film Legends and Bygones, which is the film for which he won the Oscar. Millie’s rumored to pave the streets with gold. It’s joked that if you work with her, one of the two of you will win an Oscar, and three times it’s been her. It’s not that funny of a joke, because it feels true.
Her sweet, famous smile lands on me and she clasps my hand in both of hers, gives me her full attention, and says to Xavier, “Do introduce us.”
“Millie, this is my girlfriend, Nina Lockhart. Nina, Millie Duncan.”
I’m starstruck so suddenly it’s almost blinding.
“Nice to meet you, Ms. Duncan.”
“Millie. Please. Let me show you around. I have to get out of this room. It’s choked with ass-kissers.”
Just like that I’m wowed. And later when she invites me to her patio for champagne and asks if I’d also like to kick off my shoes and dip my feet into the pool, I’m in love.
LATER THAT EVENING
“I’ve never had champagne that good.” I’m hanging on Xavier’s arm after enjoying one too many flutes of said good champagne. His tuxedo coat rests over his other arm, his white shirt open and his bow tie free.
“You done good, baby,” he says to me, his words slurring. I had one too many glasses, true, but he had all the rest. “When it’s that expensive and delicious, you drink all you can hold.”
“I’m going to regret it tomorrow,” I groan.
“You won’t,” he assures me. “I’ll make you my classic hangover remedy.”
“If it involves a raw egg…” I shudder with disgust.
He tugs me roughly against him outside Millie’s door. Tall hedges surround us and inside the party rages on.
“I have a surprise for you,” Xavier says. My strappy and incredibly uncomfortable sandals are looped in my fingers, but I still have trouble standing upright when Xavier clumsily pulls me closer. “You’ll like it,” he promises, alcohol thick on his breath.
“Whoa, bud.” I give him a gentle shove, and giggle. “You drank more than your fair share.”
His laugh is a little loud as he turns me and corrals me to the walkway. Then he stops suddenly and spins around, eyes wide. “Wait! Hold out your arms.”
“Why?”
“Do it, baby. I have something for you.” He grins that million-watt smile and I stop walking, hold out my arms, and wait.
“Close your eyes,” he says.
“Why?”
“Do it.”
I do it. Just to appease him.
He positions my arms and then lays his tuxedo jacket in the crook, but it’s heavier than I expect and whatever’s inside it feels as if it’s slipping free of the material.
“Hold it safe like it’s an infant,” he says as we start walking again.
“Xavier, what—”
“No looking!” His shout startles me and I jerk. “We’re changing your life today.”
He pulls away and grins before calling for the valet. A young guy with blond hair pokes his head around the hedges, offers a “Yes, sir” and waits for instruction, his hands behind his back.
Xavier sweeps me close and kisses me—drunkenly. I regain my footing and he promises to fetch our car (complete with driver, thank God), and reminds me not to peek.
Whatever. I’ll look when I’m sure he’s gone. He’ll forgive me. I take one step, then two, juggling my sandals, cradling Xavier’s awkwardly heavy jacket, when a pair of photographers peek around the corner and snap photo after photo. I remember to smile—not too big—and narrow my eyes sexily so I don’t come off like a deer in headlights. I’m human and startled by their sudden presence, but I’ve honed the skill of pretending not to be. Like it’s totally normal for people to spring out of the bushes and take unsolicited photos of you.
My life is weird.
I turn to the side for Michael’s sake so that they can catch the back of his fabulous gown, when I catch a flash of gold peeking out from the tuxedo jacket.
Time slows. I know exactly what that flash of gold is and there’s no need to turn over the base to check for Millie’s name or her Best Actress engraving. Millie showed me to her sitting room where the three trophies stood on a mantel. She didn’t invite me to touch one but Xavier asked, and she swatted him and refused in that sweet, charming way she has.
And then, apparently, he’d stolen one.
I’m unable to hide my stunned reaction as I tuck the Oscar under the jacket between shutter clicks, but the damage is done. If that peek of gold caught my eye, it wasn’t invisible to the paps, either. They pelt me with questions that confirm my assumption.
“Where did you get the Oscar, Nina?”
“Did Millie let you borrow it?”
“Nina!”
“Let’s see it!”
My mind blanks and the world goes fuzzy. Xavier races back to retrieve me but too late. His well-trained face melts into an expression of mortification when he sees the photographers and his eyes go to the jacket.
THE NEXT EVENING
Xavier’s leg is bobbing up and down like a sewing machine needle. His publicist and agent are on speakerphone. My agent is seated next to me on the sofa. I’m still nauseous over the photos that went public last night, and even more so when I consider what Millie must think of me.
Xavier has been on the phone with his agent and manager all day. He’s cranky from his hangover—and I from mine. We’re in his ginormous mansion, where I spent the night. We didn’t sleep much. He was pacing and fretting and swearing, and I was shaking, my stomach tossing. This morning I managed to keep down some water and a couple Advil, and I’m glad. My head was a throbbing, pounding mess.
“Meredith?” Xavier’s agent caws through the speakerphone.
“Here,” my agent answers, impatience in her tone.
“The best course of action for everyone involved is for Nina to tell the public she took Millie’s award.”
Mer snorts and asks, “Oh, is that what’s best for her?”
Dick—yes, that’s his real name—argues his case. It involves a lot of skewed reasoning, but I’ll summarize. He’s been suggesting I admit to stealing the Oscar, since Xavier’s film is about to release and the fi
lm can’t handle “the bad press.”
Meredith argues fervently in my defense that the press would be bad for me, too, especially because I’m out of work. She shoots me an apologetic head-tilt as if to reassure me that she doesn’t believe I’m unemployed. I manage a brittle smile.
Negotiations continue and I flash a glare laced with hurt at Xavier, who doesn’t mouth I’m sorry but emotes it on his disgustingly handsome face. Then he pairs it with a shrug that’s too careless for the situation.
When the conversation comes to a close, I offer to take the blame, and Xavier offers me a part in his next feature film.
“I’ll refuse to be in it unless Nina has a starring role,” he says, his eyes glimmering with hope. He nods in my direction. “I’d do that for you, baby.”
I’m not sure if I’m more disgusted that he believes he’s doing me a favor, or that I’m tempted to take the offer. He has that power, and I’m ambitious enough to want a shot at the silver screen that I’m willing to part with a tiny piece of my integrity in exchange for it.
“Nina?” Meredith shakes her head, then sighs when she sees the determination on my face. “I’ll do what you want.”
“I want an Oscar,” I say. “One with my name on it.”
“Done. Next starring role is yours, Nina. With me. We’ll handle the haters together.” Xavier nods.
Dick shouts triumphantly, and my stomach tosses violently.
It’s the beginning of the end, and the end-end for Xavier and me. It bothers me that it’s all handled with our agents present, but he doesn’t seem to care. He’s been forged in the gleam of the brightest lights. His sights are on his film release and the success of his next. I’m collateral damage. Dick mentions rehab and my agent holds up a hand to stay my reaction. Then Dick mentions a public reconciliation and Meredith’s eyes light up. She likes the idea of us reconciling.
I don’t.
Chapter 14
PRESENT DAY, MY PARENTS’ HOUSE
I hear the slam of a truck’s door and my heart gallops to life. I quickly scold it, reminding myself that every other day of the week I heard that slam, a second slam followed.
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