by Julie Kenner
“You look stunning,” Ryan says. “Professional, sexy, feminine and smart. All excellent qualities as far as I’m concerned.”
“I appreciate the endorsement,” I say, then accept his kiss, though I make him kiss me on the cheek so as to not muck up my lipstick.
The collar is on the counter where I left it before showering, and now I pick it up. I want to wear it, but it really doesn’t go with my camera-ready outfit. I’m about to say that to Ryan—to tell him why I’m not wearing this gift that so moved me—when he takes it from me.
“What are you—” I begin, but he hushes me with a single press of a fingertip to my lips. Then he uses a small pocket knife to remove the lock from the loop on the collar. He puts the necklace back, then presses the lock into my hand. “You hold the key to my heart,” he says as I melt just a little. “Keep it safe.”
I nod, then put the lock gently in the pocket of my jacket. The weight is minimal, but I can feel it there, and it bolsters my confidence.
As we are leaving the suite, a bellman arrives and hands me a valet ticket. “Your Ferrari, Ms. Archer.”
“Thank you,” I say, but I’m looking at Ryan.
“My guys brought it in,” he says. “The gas gauge is still off, but the tank’s full. I wanted to ask before I sent her ahead to Texas, but just so you know, you’ll be driving there with me.”
I smile. “Perfect,” I say. What I don’t say is that it would be perfect, except for the part where we leave each other at the end.
I drop the valet ticket into my purse for the time being, then follow Ryan to the elevator.
He goes with me to the interview, which is being held in Ward’s penthouse suite. We take the elevator to the top floor, then enter a suite that looks much like our own—only significantly more crowded.
My cameraman is already there, as are at least half a dozen people who must perform some function on the film, though I have no clue what. Another five or six people hover around a buffet that has been set up on the far side of the room, in front of the windows. A few more are huddled around a table spread with papers that I think are pages of a screenplay.
I do not see Ellison Ward.
A harried woman with pencils sticking out of her messy, blond topknot comes hurrying over. She glances at her wrist, says, “I’m Birgit, and we’re already running late,” even though I’m five minutes early, and hustles me to a small sofa. The cameraman leaves his post to come over and shake my hand.
“Leo,” he says. “I’ll shoot Ellison, and then we’ll go back and reshoot you asking the questions. Don’t wanna miss a chance of getting something prime on the celeb, so it works out best that way.”
“Fine,” I say. “Where is our celeb?”
Beside me, Birgit glances at her watch. “He better be on his way or we are going to be seriously off schedule.” She pulls a walkie-talkie off her belt. “Dammit, Carson, I need Ellison.”
“On our way,” comes the crackly reply.
A few feet behind Leo, Ryan leans against a pillar watching me. I catch his eye and smile. At that particular moment, everything feels right. The job. The man. Life in general. I wish I could bottle it and keep it tight against my chest.
But I should know it’s too good to last because when the double doors to the connecting room open, Ellison Ward and his entourage emerge. And there, standing right behind my subject, is Bryan Raine.
I must have reacted because Ryan takes one look at my face, then turns to look behind him. When he turns back to me, it’s clear that he understands. His face is hard, and I am quite certain that if he could kill Raine and get away with it, Ryan wouldn’t even hesitate.
Honestly, that feels kind of nice.
I have no idea why Raine is there—he wasn’t on the cast list of the movie I received—and I’m really not up to speculating. It’s bad enough that he’s hovering nearby like some huge, dark spider, just waiting to trap me and suck me dry.
But my fears are foolish. He may have entered the room, but he doesn’t stay, and when I look around for him, there is no sign.
I say a silent thank you to fate and the universe, then shake hands with Ellison Ward. He’s charming and polite and very properly British. He puts me at ease immediately and the interview seems to sing. He is honest and forthright, and I’m able to work in both the fluff questions and also dig deeper.
By the time it wraps, I am feeling incredible about myself, about Ellison, and about the world in general.
I say good-bye to Ellison, then sit while Leo has me run through my questions again. When he’s finished, Ryan approaches, and it’s all I can do not to throw myself into his arms.
“You were wonderful,” he says.
“She was,” Leo agrees. “Got a way with the camera, too. You’re gonna do good, Jamie. Hope we work together again.”
“Thank you,” I say, then invite him to join us for a drink in the hotel bar. He declines, and I’m secretly grateful. I would have been happy to have him along, but I’m happier to have Ryan all to myself.
“A drink,” he says as we ride the elevator down. “I had planned to buy you a celebratory trip to Paris, but if you’d rather have this instead...”
I laugh, then pull him in close for another kiss. I’m still laughing when we get out of the elevator car, and my good mood lasts until we reach the middle of the lobby.
It fades there because Bryan Raine is coming right toward us.
“Jamie,” he says. “Sorry I didn’t get the chance to say hello upstairs. I’ve got a part in Johnson’s next movie, and he wanted me to drive in and take a look at some pages. Maybe we can grab a drink? Catch up?”
I clutch Ryan’s hand tight. “No,” I say. “I really don’t think so.”
I continue walking, holding onto Ryan for support. “Asshole,” I mutter as we reach the lobby bar. “Look at me,” I say as we take a seat. “I was in a great mood, and he went and fucked it up.”
“Hey,” Ryan says, giving my hand a squeeze. “Forget about him.”
I nod. “I know. You’re right. Shit.” I stand up again. “Order me something fabulous. I’m going to run to the ladies’ room.”
I take off that way, then spend the next five minutes staring at myself in the mirror and asking myself what the fuck is wrong with me.
When I come out, I’m calmer—at least until I see Bryan standing by Hunter, looking about as trapped as a gazelle being stalked by a lion. Hunter says something else, and then Bryan takes off like a shot, not even noticing me as he rushes past.
“What the hell?” I say to Hunter as soon as I arrive.
“I told him to keep the fuck away,” he says, then takes a sip of his Scotch. “I got you a Cosmopolitan. It seemed like a fun treat.”
I, however, am not interested in the drink. “You just sent him away?”
“Yes,” Ryan says.
I shake my head, a little bit baffled, a little bit angry. Honestly, I’m not sure what I’m feeling other than a little pissed off. Hadn’t I already taken care of the asshole myself?
“I don’t need you to step in to play guard dog for me,” I say. “I dealt with the guy myself, didn’t I? I’m not one of your job responsibilities.”
“You’re right,” he says, and his tone is clipped enough that I can tell he’s irritated, too. “You’re not a job responsibility. You’re the woman I love.”
I freeze, his words hitting me with the force of a slap. Automatically, I shake my head. The woman I love.
I want to believe it—god, how I want to believe it. But it can’t be true. And even if it is...
I run my fingers through my hair. “Hunter,” I say. “Hunter, don’t.”
“I love you, Jamie. Stay. Don’t go to Texas. Stay with me.”
I am shaking my head, fighting to make reason take over, because if I run solely on emotion, I know I will be lost. That’s the old Jamie, after all. The one who fucks up. The one who gets all twisted around and makes a mess of her life and has to run home to
Mom and Dad to get her head back on straight.
The new Jamie thinks.
But damned if the new Jamie knows what to think about this.
He looks blurry, and I realize that I am crying. Brutally, I wipe the tears away with the back of my hand. How can I be so miserable, I wonder. This man loves me. And yet...
“You can’t possibly,” I whisper. “You barely know me.”
True. Yet wasn’t I falling in love with him, too? Hadn’t I told myself that already? Wasn’t I already trying to hide from reality?
“We barely know each other,” I add, this time speaking to the both of us.
“Why does it have to take time to fall in love?” Ryan asks. “If the push is hard enough, the fall is going to be fast.”
I only look at him, wanting to believe.
“And has it really been that fast, Jamie?”
“We haven’t even dated,” I protest.
“I’m not the least bit interested in dating you. Dating suggests an exploration. A process of discovery. But I already know you, Jamie. I know you, and I want you. And I love you.”
He takes my hand, and for a moment all is right with the world. But then I glance across the bar, across the lobby. I see Bryan Raine arguing with a bellman, and my stomach twists as I am reminded what a mess I am.
Raine is the epitome of what I am running from—bad decisions.
But how the hell do I know if Ryan Hunter is a good decision or a bad one?
“I’m sorry,” I say as I tug my hand free. I want to say he is everything I have ever hoped for. I want to say that I love him.
Instead, I say, “I have to think. I’m sorry, Ryan. I have to go.”
Chapter Twelve
The highway stretches out in front of me, and I keep driving, thinking that if I can just get a little farther, maybe to that next mile marker, I will figure it out. But the highway always stays ahead of me, and there is always another mile marker, and I fear that I am thinking too hard.
What am I doing?
I know the answer, of course. I’m running.
What I can’t figure out is why.
I tell myself that I am right to leave him. Maybe not forever, but for a while. While I get my head together. While I stick with The Plan.
Because isn’t the point of The Plan to keep me from doing exactly what has happened with Ryan—to keep me from getting twisted up with a guy?
That’s true—except it’s not.
Because Ryan hasn’t twisted me up. If anything, he’s untangled me.
I reach into my pocket and close my hand around the lock as tears sting my eyes. What am I doing? Who in their right mind runs from love?
Because I do love him. More important, I know that he truly loves me.
I lift my foot off the accelerator, cringing a bit when I realize that I’ve pushed the Ferrari past one hundred. But she really is a sweet ride.
I slow, planning to turn the car around and head back, but something isn’t right.
Once again, the car is making an odd noise, although this time when I listen more closely, I realize that the thwump-thwump isn’t coming from the Ferrari, but from somewhere outside the car.
Frowning, I glance at the land off the shoulder. It is mostly dirt, but that dirt is billowing now, blowing and blustering, forming small dirt devils that spin and spin.
A shadow passes over. And I slam on the brakes as a sleek black helicopter with Stark International emblazoned on the side lands on the shoulder ahead of me.
I kill the engine and race out of the car. I don’t see him, not yet, but I don’t slow. I know he is there. I know he came for me.
And then there he is, jumping from the helicopter to the asphalt below. He ducks to avoid the wind that the still-spinning blades are kicking up, and when he is clear, he makes a twirling motion and the helicopter ascends once again.
I throw myself in his arms. “You came for me,” I say, my voice soft with wonder.
“I will always come for you.” He kisses me. A hard, deep kiss that claims me as his own, and that I feel profoundly all the way down to my toes.
Even after we break the kiss, I cling to him, wanting to reassure myself that he is real. “I was about to turn around and come back.” I tilt my head up at him. “I needed to get to you. To tell you. I love you, too, Ryan Hunter.”
His smile lights his eyes. “I know.”
“And I found the answer,” I add.
“Who is Jamie?”
I nod. “She’s yours,” I say, and though I expect his answering smile, his words come as a surprise.
“No,” he says. “She is her own. But I am the man who loves her.”
His words move me, and I pull him close and kiss him again.
“Do you still want me to take you to Texas?” he asks when we reach the car.
I shake my head. “I’m going to call Georgia. I’m not going to take the job.”
He has opened the passenger door for me, but now he pauses and takes my chin in his hand. “You’re sure?”
“It’s a great opportunity,” I say. “But only if I want to be in Texas. But I don’t want to be there. I want to be in Los Angeles. I want to be with you.”
I meet his eyes as I say it, and he looks back at me with so much love and tenderness I think my heart will burst.
“Ever since she made the offer,” I continue, “I’ve been looking at it as a way to get back into the LA market. Looking past the job itself and to the future. But you’re my future, Ryan. You’re what I want. And so long as I’m with you, I can wait for the right job to come along. I can—”
“Shhh,” he says, and then crushes his mouth to mine once again.
“Mmm,” I say. “I can get used to that.”
“Then we’ll have to be sure to mix things up, won’t we? Wouldn’t want life to become predictable.”
“No, we wouldn’t. You know,” I add, still thinking about the job. “Maybe I’ll suggest that I be their LA correspondent. I’m pretty kick ass, you know. They’d be lucky to have me.”
“They would,” he says. “I know I am.”
Across the highway there is a billboard advertising a Vegas wedding chapel. Ryan nods toward it, then gazes down at me. “I’m going to marry you someday,” he says softly. The words and his voice send shivers of anticipation through me. And not even the slightest bit of fear.
“Yes,” I say, “you are.” And despite the fact that ours has been such a whirlwind romance it makes my head spin, I know that it is true. “But not like that,” I say, nodding to the sign.
“No,” he agrees. “Our wedding will be an event. A party.”
“A celebration,” I say, and then kiss him again simply because I have to. “I hope Damien pays you well,” I add with a laugh. “Because I just spent the last few weeks doing all sorts of wedding planning with Nikki, and that means I have lots of ideas.”
His mouth quirks into a smile. “Whatever you want, Ms. Archer.”
“All I want is you.”
“That works out well, then, because you have me. For now, for always.”
I sigh and slide into his arms, feeling loved and safe and centered.
Behind us, the highway stretches on, but I don’t need it. I know exactly where I’m going.
“I’m going to make you very happy,” I say.
“Kitten,” he says. “You already do.”
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Acknowledgments from the Author
I am grateful every day to all of the wonderful, incredible, amazing fans of the Stark Trilogy. Thanks so much for joining me on the journey. And a special thanks to Liz and MJ for helping me to bring Jamie’s story to all of you!
About J. Kenner
Julie Kenner (aka J. Kenner and J.K. Beck) is the New York Times, USA Today, Publishers Weekly, and Wall Street Journal bestselling author of over forty novels, novellas and short stories in a variety of genres.
