My mouth was half-open. Had he always been this gross? He disconnected the call and smiled as if he'd actually accomplished something worth feeling superior about. "Breakfast will be here in fifteen minutes. Make yourself comfortable in the meantime."
I released a deep breath that failed to drag my mounting tension with it and sat back on the couch. "Maybe we should just run our lines."
"All right." He pulled on a red Henley that had been lying across the back of a chair. Show's over, I thought as his bare chest disappeared from view. Then he sat next to me. Right next to me.
The scene was simple. We were paired in a straightforward romantic subplot: I was a woman in the marketing department, and he was the hunk in the mailroom that all the women in the office building secretly drooled over. In this scene, we were getting to know each other for the first time, and we happened to be stuck in an elevator.
I opened my script to the right page and set it on my lap. "So, we're trapped in an elevator."
"Help! I'm in an elevator!" He laughed and flailed his hands, pantomiming walls.
My stomach tilted in that way it does when someone tries too hard to be funny. I forced a polite laugh. "Right." I turned the page. "You have the first line."
"I do?" He craned his neck to read over my shoulder. "I thought you did."
I pointed to the page. "Right there. You're supposed to say, 'This can't be happening.' Then I say, 'Did you press the button? They were fixing the elevator earlier; it can't be broken again already.'"
"Huh." He snaked his hand behind me and tickled his fingers against the back of my neck. "Is that what it says?"
I scooted over and shut the screenplay. "I don't think you're serious about reading lines."
"I'm serious, I'm serious." He smiled sadly. "I guess I'm feeling a little distracted, that's all. This is going to sound strange, but I guess I can't believe you're actually here. With me." His right hand crept closer to mine. "I made some mistakes, and you have every reason to hate me, but…I miss you. You look so…great. Different, somehow."
"Griff." I pulled my hand back, trying not to look as repulsed as I was feeling. "What about Poppy?"
His lower lip jutted as he sat back in his seat. "We're over. She's not even returning my texts."
I thumbed the pages of the screenplay. "Maybe we should just run our lines."
My attempt to redirect the conversation fell flat. "Can I tell you something?"
He shifted his body and pulled closer to my side. I would have backed away, except I was blocked by the arm of the couch. "Okay."
"Poppy and I — we were nothing. We had a relationship that a lot of people probably wouldn't understand. A relationship that had more to do with appearances than feelings. Does that make sense?"
Until that moment, whenever I'd heard someone say that their blood had started to boil, I thought it was hyperbole. It turns out I simply lacked imagination, because when Griff started to explain his relationship with Poppy, I felt the blood in my veins begin a rapid simmer that threatened to spill over the edge. I was fighting so hard to not jump up and run right then and there that I could barely muster the energy to reply, "Oh?"
He groaned into his hand. "Now wait. Don't tell me you're going to do that thing where you get upset at me, okay? Because I'm being honest. That's a good thing."
I gritted my teeth and tightened my hands into fists, the better to pummel him with if he tried to make a pass at me. "You cheated. You don't get to tell me how to feel about it."
With a heavy sigh, he flung one arm across the back of the couch. "I guess that's fair. It's only — I got caught up in the sudden fame. I was thinking of my career, and I made a mistake." He glanced at me. "We were great together. I see that now."
I turned away. "So you and Poppy — what was the arrangement?"
He sat back with a heavy exhalation and folded his hands behind his head. "Strictly business. I was going places, and I needed to be seen with someone like her. She needed the same. It was totally wrong of me. Stupid. I was taking advice from the wrong people. And I'm sorry. Wren?" He made a grab for my hand, which I yanked away. "I'm sorry. It was a relationship of convenience, nothing real. I thought you should know that."
Wait, he was kidding me. He had to have figured out that Jax and I were engaged in a relationship of the same sort…right? But as I darted my gaze across his face, I saw that he was completely serious. There wasn't a trace of humor or irony in those eyes or in the straight set of his lips. "Relationships come in all shapes and sizes," I replied. I'd heard the same uttered many times by a guest psychologist on a particular talk show. Coming from my mouth, it sounded even more trite.
I folded my hands together in my lap, grinding my fingernails into my flesh. "It's over. I've moved on. Don't worry about it."
"Exactly. See, I knew you'd understand." He leaned back on the couch as if that were that.
"I've been in relationships of convenience, too," I said.
Something in my voice may have tipped him off, because he lowered his when he said, "What about Jax?"
"No. Not Jax. We're the real thing. For sure."
He didn't look convinced. Maybe he was convinced enough but undeterred, because he budged barely an inch. "Lucky Jax," he whispered.
"Yep."
He paused to rub at the side of his face before saying, "Maybe we weren't exactly perfect together." He looked at me then. "You never really got me, you know?"
What the ever-loving —? I was choking on my own rage. Seeing the proverbial red, the whole thing. So I had never gotten him? What about all of those kale smoothies I'd consumed in solidarity when he was dropping a few pounds for a screen test? What about when I'd picked up extra hours at a part-time job — my second job, mind you — so Griff could spend more time auditioning?
I realized my hands were locked in tight fists, and I rapped them against my thighs and forced a laugh that didn't sound at all good-natured. Then again, Griff wasn't one to notice these things.
"There are always two sides to every story," I said through clenched teeth. It was another insight I'd heard on that talk show from that same psychologist. I made a note to watch better television. "But I don't want to revisit this."
"Oh sure. I can't say I'm perfect either," he laughed easily. "Too much time in the weight room."
A loud laugh burst from my throat. "Ah yes, the weight room. I'm sure if I racked my brain in search of your imperfections, I'd cite that first. The fact that you cheated would come a distant second."
He blinked and turned away. "I see you're angry, but I apologized for cheating already."
"Oh for the love of —" I rose to my feet and rolled the screenplay, then pointed it at him. "I don't want to talk about our relationship. I came here to run lines. When you're ready to do that —"
"Poppy used me."
The words fell out, pressed by anger that was almost palpable. I opened my mouth, closed it. Opened it again and said, "Sorry?"
"I'd been cast in Brennan's movie, and she knew it. It's like she was first in line to see if she could get something from me, and I was stupid enough to fall for it." He drew his fingers through his hair. "Who was she? Just some girl from a reality television show. Then we started dating and the offers came in. Commercials. Cosmetics. Film. It was all because she was linked to me." He jabbed at his chest with his index finger. "And then what does she do? She goes and tries to find something better."
Now I was all ears, and it was my turn to shift closer. "Poppy…cheated on you."
His jaw tightened. "I just found out about it last week. She told me at the party. Can you imagine?" He shook his head. "She made this big scene, threw that engagement ring…I don't even know where. No one's found it. Do you know how much it cost me? A lot."
"She told you before she threw the ring?"
"After. After you saved her from the pool. I went over to check on her, and she said it matter-of-factly."
My breath was lighter. I couldn't miss a single
word of this. "What, exactly, did she say to you?"
"I asked her if she was all right. And I wanted to make sure she knew I hadn't pushed her." He looked at me with a shrug. "With Pops, you never knew what she was going to get in her head."
"And what did she say?"
"After I told her I hadn't pushed her, she looked at me, all calm, and said, 'I've been seeing someone else.' Then she got up and left the party. Same way you did, but without the running. If you ask me," Griff said glumly, "she ran off with him, whoever he is. That's where she is now, and we'll all hear about it soon enough. She's determined to make a fool out of me."
He set his head in his hands, and for a glimmer of a nanosecond, I considered reaching over and telling him the truth. That Poppy had cheated on him with Hodges Brennan, who'd used her, and given her a second-rate role in this very movie. It was like everyone had gotten their comeuppance, and it was all going to be all right. But that's not much consolation, and if I felt Griff's pain, it was only because he'd subjected me to the same public humiliation. I bit my lip and then said, "That kind of thing hurts like hell, doesn't it?"
"Yeah."
"It will get better. Trust me."
There was a knock on the door, and we heard George's voice announce, "Mr. Dannel? Your breakfast, sir."
I patted him on the shoulder. "We should eat. I'm starving."
I rose and went to the door, leaving Griff sitting alone on the couch. They say revenge is a dish best served cold, but maybe I'm too much of a softie. Griff had done his share of damage, but being cheated on? It's not something I'd even wish on him.
George entered with two small trays, one teeming with scones and muffins Jessie, Cash and I had baked last night, the other piled with small bowls of hard-boiled eggs, bacon and sausage. Griff's trailer was fancier than mine, and he had plenty of space for the trays. After a quick run back to his cart, George returned with two coffees in his hand. "Thanks, George," I said with a big smile.
"Anything else, Ms. Mallory?"
"That's all for now." I nudged the door closed with the toe of my left shoe and studied Griff's sad figure, still slumped on the couch. Without a word, I opened his coffee and added two packets of sugar. Then I replaced the lid and held it out to him. "Here. Chin up."
Griff had a sad look on his face. "You still remember that I take two sugars in my coffee."
"Yeah. I've made you a lot of coffee." I eased into the seat beside him and patted him on the shoulder. "Look, we're over. As in, over. Forever. You cheated on me and it was awful, and I have a shred of self-respect. But life is cruel, and now we're in this movie together and so we have to pretend to like each other. But Griff? It's purely make-believe, okay? The last thing I want is to get dragged into whatever jealousy-inducing scheme you have to get back at Poppy."
He turned his gaze to his steaming coffee and nodded solemnly. "All right."
"Wonderful." I smoothed my screenplay on my lap. "Let's run some lines, shall we?"
When I came back to my trailer, Jax was sitting on the front steps. He struck a match as I approached and held it up, watching me as I passed him and unlocked the door. "Where've you been? I was waiting."
I wrinkled my nose. "Are you an arsonist now?" With a quick breath, he blew out the flame and tossed the match to the asphalt. "Jeez, why don't you just litter the ground with some empties while you're at it?"
"I haven't had a drink in two weeks, sweet cheeks." He eased off the steps and collected the wooden stubs he'd thrown to the ground. "I'm not burning your charming dressing room, don't worry. I'm not a complete wretch."
He certainly didn't look like a wretch in his form-fitting charcoal tee. His dark hair was tousled, and he hadn't bothered to shave. He looked a little dirty. My eyes instantly went to his mouth — that wicked half-smirk that told me that he was thinking exactly what I was thinking. I looked away.
"An icy reception if I've ever seen one," he muttered to himself as he shut the door. "I was hoping we'd moved past all of this."
"All of what?" I pretended to be interested in the makeup on the desk.
"Your disdain for me." He actually sounded injured as he lay back on the couch. "I couldn't find you anywhere. No note. No reply to my texts."
"Sorry, I was with Griff, running lines. We're shooting a scene today."
"Oh." He was silent for a long time before he said, "How did that go?"
I picked up the eyeshadow brush, then tossed it back down to the table again. All of my resolve to distance myself from him, right up in smoke with a simple question. "God, Jax. I feel like I'm losing my mind right now. Why is that?"
"Fatigue. Drugs. General dramatic tendencies. One of them or in combination." He rested his arm beneath his head. "Was it that hard for you, to see Griff?"
"Not as hard as I thought it would be. It's been months now. I moved across the country, restarted my life. I'm over him."
Jax scratched at the spot above his bicep, where the tattoo circled his arm. "Griff's an idiot," he said. "He doesn't know what he lost."
My traitorous heart warmed ever so slightly. I turned my chair to look at him. "Thanks," I murmured. His tattoo caught my eye. "What's that design on your arm about, anyway?"
He pulled it back to look at it as if he needed to remember himself. "Chains," he said. "All the chains from the past. But see —" He turned his arm around. "They're broken. That's my future, right there."
"I like that. Chains of the past. Mistakes?"
"Mistakes. Origins." He kept his gaze fixed on the ceiling. "I was raised by a single mom, me and my brother. We were on food stamps, but that wasn't enough some days. We were hungry a lot. But now…"
He didn't finish the sentence. He was driving a Maserati around Archer Cove, hanging out on movie sets, and attending A-list parties. He was on the short list to be cast as the leading actor in what would surely be one of the biggest hits of the following year. "Now it's all different."
"Yeah. It should be, but deep down it's all the same. I'm still the same kid." He turned his head to look at me. "I used to wash dishes at a diner. I was twelve years old but I told them I was sixteen. They didn't ask for proof. It gave us grocery money, and I worked there for years. I eventually advanced to waitstaff. It's where I met the agent who gave me my break." He released a soft breath. "My mom is proud. She didn't like that I was working like that, so when I gave her that money, I told her it wasn't for food. I told her I was buying her a house. Last year, I finally did. Right on the beach, where she always wanted to be."
"Wow." I let it all sink in. "You're a real success story."
Jax had overcome so many odds — many more than I had. He might have a few rough edges, but I couldn't help but admire him. Not like my admiration meant anything. He set one foot on the arm of the couch and allowed the other to drop to the floor beside him.
"I'm some kind of story," he said. He paused. "What's wrong today, Wren? If it's about your performance last night, trust me — you were amazing."
My cheeks began to smolder. "No. Why does your mind always go there?"
"Why should it go anywhere else?" He grinned, taking obvious pleasure in my discomfort. "It's just that you surprise me. When I bring a woman to climax multiple times over the evening, she doesn't normally give me that 'drop dead' glare that you're giving me now."
"Good God." I smoothed my hands across my face. "You make me feel like a Puritan sometimes, the way you talk."
"Yes. I'm honest." He slid off the couch and stepped forward, dropping to one knee and slinging an arm across the back of my chair. "And when I said you were amazing, I meant it. And when I say that we should do it again —" He lifted my hand and pressed a kiss into the backs of my fingers. "That's because I want to."
I couldn't deny the surge he sent through me, or the steady hammering of my heart. My body had all but surrendered to him, loosening inch my inch as he trailed his hand higher up my thighs. "Jax. This is supposed to be pretend."
"Does this feel pretend to
you?" His voice was heavy with arousal. It was a non-answer, but my brain had shut off. He was teasing off my skirt, and I didn't feel like arguing about it.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
I arrived on set at one o'clock, but we didn't get shooting until nearly three. I'd heard horror stories about Alex Sherapovna, that he was a director obsessed with details, that it wasn't uncommon for him to require even the best actors to shoot a scene fifty times before he was satisfied. We must have gotten lucky, because he only made Griff and me shoot the brief elevator scene twenty-three times. Even then, I was nearly weeping with frustration by the end.
The scene ended with Griff pinning me to the wall of the elevator, my bare leg wrapped around his waist. "I don't see anything wrong with getting a little dirty while we're here, do you?" I crooned.
"And cut!" Alex called. "That's a wrap. Great job, you two."
I lowered my leg and released my grip on Griff. "Thank God."
"You're a natural," Griff smiled at me and gave me a clap on the back like we were old friends. Which we were, I suppose. "I really like the rawness you bring."
I had no idea what that meant, and I was operating on such little sleep that my patience was a small worn-out stub of what it usually was. "Thanks," I nearly growled. Someone waved at me from across the room. "I think I see my agent. I have to go talk to her."
"Sure. See you tomorrow."
I didn't even reply, instead working my way through the maze of people, wires, and machinery. Greta grabbed my hand when she saw me and led me to the side. "Look at you, Wren. Acting genius." She squeezed my hand. "What did I always tell you?"
"You said I should act," I mumbled, and unscrewed the cap from the bottle of water she'd handed me.
"I told you you'd be great, and holy cow." She beamed. "I'm brilliant."
I took a long drink, finishing off the water. My head had started to pound, and I was achy from fatigue. "I don't know how people keep up with these hours."
The Coffee Girl Page 15
