It turns out the walk home takes forever when you stop in every dark shadow to kiss. I fell in love with his arms and back, with feeling the strength of his muscles below my fingers. He pressed me up against a wooden fence and kissed me deeply, his strong hands pulling my waist closer to his. "Wren," he groaned into my ear. "Do you know what you do to me?"
I closed my eyes, allowing my senses to be filled with him. The smell of his spicy cologne, the feel of his warmth, the sound of his breath, the taste of his lips. I reached up to touch his chest and felt his heart nearly escape from its confines. "Come on," I whispered. "We're almost there."
We barely made it, clambering up the back stairs to my apartment. I unlocked the door with trembling fingers, struggling to gather my breath. The fish fryers at Crabby Andy's were going at full blast and my apartment stunk, but I didn't care. From that point on, the smell of fried food would secretly remind me of Jax's skillful hands and the thrilling delirium of that long, sleepless night.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
If I'd ever thought I was in love before, I'd been wrong. This was different. I couldn't get the smile off my face, and I didn't even care.
"Oh my," Jessie commented when she saw me the next morning. "Things are getting serious."
They didn't feel serious. They felt…blissfully light and pleasant, even with the overcast morning. "Good morning," was all I replied.
Jessie burst out laughing. "Yes, from the looks of it."
We loaded the van and Emily and I set off to the movie set, parking the van in the usual spot. Lou wasn't waiting, so I walked the distance to my trailer. I needed the time to think. I grabbed a small plate of muffins to share with Jax and a cup of coffee for myself. I was so lost in thought that I didn't notice the figure sitting on the steps to the trailer until I'd nearly stepped on him. "Cash," I gasped. "What are you doing here?"
Reflexively, I held out the plate of muffins. He selected cranberry white chocolate chip while eyeing me coolly, like he was imagining himself to be a hotshot television detective. "Ms. Mallory. You're up early."
"'Ms. Mallory'? We were lab partners in chemistry, Cash. Also, I gave you a muffin." I set one foot on the stairs to the trailer and leaned against the handrail. "I'm here early because Hedda's is catering the set. I'm not getting much sleep these days." To illustrate, I took a sip of my coffee. Yikes — too hot. The tip of my tongue went numb.
"Sorry. You're right. It's just…" He paused and scrunched his face so that I could actually watch him collect his thoughts. "Look at all of the good fortune that came your way when Poppy Hayes disappeared: a role in a movie, a catering contract. And your ex-boyfriend is available again." He lifted his shoulders helplessly. "I've got to follow the leads."
"I understand. Mind if I eat?" I broke off a piece of a blueberry cobbler muffin without waiting for permission. "Look, I've told you everything I know about Poppy. Griff's not too broken up about it, either, but he didn't have anything to do with anything."
He pulled himself to his feet and struck a pose, resting one arm against the handrail. "But you see what kind of position I'm in? I like you, Wren, but from what I can see, you're the only person who's benefitted from Poppy's murder."
I coughed on my muffin, sending little crumbs flying. A few landed on Cash's shirt, and I watched him wipe them away. "Murder? Why do you think she's dead?"
"No one's heard from her." He folded his ham hocks across his chest and lifted his chin. "You seem surprised by that."
"Uh, yeah," I managed through the remaining muffin in my mouth. "Have you turned on the Internet lately? Poppy checked in from her vacation in Fiji."
I knew the check-in was likely invented, but it was worth it just to see the flash of shock on Cash's face. He quickly recovered, but the damage was done. "What news outlet is reporting this?"
"Oh, it's not a news outlet. It's a gossip blog. Celebrity Burn." I brushed my hand down the front of my blouse. "The blogger, Rubee, was around here yesterday. You should definitely ask her about that."
Yes, sic Cash on Rubee. With any luck, I'd be within earshot. I took a sip of my coffee to keep from smiling.
"Those blogs are unreliable," Cash said, sounding unconvinced.
"Well, what do I know? It's a thought. Maybe she knows something, or maybe she doesn't. If I'm not under arrest, though, I'd like to have my breakfast."
"Yeah, okay. Have a good day, then."
"You too."
I continued up the steps and into the trailer, locking the door behind me. An absurd conversation with Detective Cassius DeLuca was not the way I wanted to begin my morning. I nearly shrieked when I saw the man lounging on my couch.
"Oh, hey, Wren. I figured I'd let myself in," Jax said casually as he set a stack of papers down across his chest. "Are you two finally done talking?"
Beneath my hand, I could feel my heart hammering in my chest as I struggled to catch my breath. "You just let yourself in? You scared me half to death."
"Sorry about that. I was hoping to surprise you in a good way."
I couldn't be angry with him when he smiled like that. "No, you did. It's okay."
He pointed to the plate in my hand. "Are those all for you?"
I handed them over without another word. He selected a coffee cake muffin. "You'll be happy to know that I'm back in Hodges's good graces."
"Oh yeah?" I ducked to the dressing area in the back of the trailer and selected my designer clothes for the day. "Why is that?"
"The ink is drying on my contract to play Ben in The Rose Garden."
"Jax." I peeked out at him from over the curtain. "That's wonderful! Really, it's the best news I've heard in a long time!" I ran over to the couch and flung my arms around him. "You're perfect for the role. I mean it."
He chuckled and gave me a warm kiss on the lips. "Of course you had something to do with it. I'm now known on the blogs as Wren Mallory's boyfriend, but hey — I'll take it. They think you smell like roses, and I've become blameless by association."
I chuckled as I ducked back behind the curtain and selected a white tunic top and leggings. It wasn't my normal garb, but it looked comfortable, and I was craving comfort. "It's ridiculous, this fiction that's emerged about my life all because I date you and saved Poppy from drowning in a swimming pool. Those bloggers don't know a single thing about me."
"Don't question it, baby doll," he said easily. "Part of succeeding in life is knowing when to keep your mouth shut."
"Isn't that the truth."
I finished dressing and stepped around the curtain. I sat beside Jax, tucking my feet up and nuzzling my cheek against his shoulder. "You could've saved me out there, you know. With Cash."
"How would I have done that?" He broke off a generous piece of topping and dropped it into his mouth.
"I don't know," I admitted. "Kicked us off the steps, 'get-off-my-lawn' style? Better yet, you could've asked me to come in alone."
A slow smile spread across his lips. "Where's the fun of that? I was enjoying the drama of the scene. It's like something out of one of those cop shows."
I intertwined my fingers with his and groaned. "Did you hear him? He thinks Poppy is dead and that I killed her."
"I didn't say it was a good cop show." He set the muffin down on a napkin on an end table beside the couch and pulled the manuscript he'd been reading onto his lap. "You didn't kill Poppy. But I think you're close to killing with this screenplay. I mean that in the nicest way, you know."
The blood rushed to my feet in a rapid chill. He'd been reading my screenplay. "That — I didn't give that to you." I reached across and grabbed it out of his hands. "Jeezus. That's not cool, Jax. It's still a work in progress."
My fingers were trembling and my face was hot. I wasn't ready to share my screenplay yet, and he'd just let himself into the trailer and picked it up without permission. "Not cool," I repeated, softer this time.
Jax slung one arm across the back of the couch, his legs splayed, as he watched my discomfort. I e
xpected him to laugh or tell me how misguided I was for feeling the way I did, but he didn't. He tilted his head to the side and said, "I didn't know what to expect when we made our deal. There are so many aspiring writers with a screenplay. But you're actually good."
I wrapped my hands around the screenplay and held it against my chest, poor armor for whatever critical assault he was preparing to launch in my direction. "I don't want to talk about this. Not with you."
"Why not?" He lifted his shoulders. "I'm as good a reader as anyone else, and I like to think I know something about the business."
"I've put a lot of work into this, okay?" My voice was pinched. "I'm not ready to put it out for discussion."
My face was steaming hot, and I'd gone from enjoying the easy rapport with Jax to wanting him to leave so I could bury my face in a pillow and cry. As if he could read my mind, he said, "There's no need to be so sensitive. I'm not going to attack you. I liked the story, and I thought the writing was fantastic."
Perhaps I was being a little sensitive. I released my breath slowly, cautiously. "Then what's wrong with it?"
"It's not you, that's what's wrong with it." He leaned forward until his elbows were on his knees. "There's a time traveling element, and that's cool, but then there's all of this background drama, this person seducing that one, this third character trying to trick this corporate guy into giving her a job."
"I'm trying to add layers." I hated that I sounded so wounded, but I needed to defend myself. "It's supposed to enhance the story."
"Yeah, but it ends up detracting from the heart of the story. The romance." He watched me from below his brows. "It's there, but it's like you don't want to face it. You second-guess it."
I chewed on my lower lip as I considered the question. He was right — the screenplay was a little bit…confused. "I've struggled with this," I confided. "I want to write something that's going to sell."
"Right. But what's here —" he drew a circle around my heart. "That's worth buying. Be honest."
"Honesty isn't my strong suit." I stuffed the screenplay into my bag and zipped it shut.
"You know, I don't understand that about you," Jax said. "You're lovely."
I laughed drily. "That's nice of you to say, but I don't see it that way. Everything I touch falls apart. My career, my relationships —" I paused as I thought about Jax. Was my luck about to change? I could only hope that I wouldn't screw that up the way I'd screwed up everything else. "Let's just say that sometimes it feels easier to be someone else. Someone who doesn't have the baggage I do."
"You rise to every challenge that confronts you. Why wouldn't honesty be your strong suit? What are you hiding from?"
I started to chew on my thumbnail, but stopped. Someone in makeup would have a fit if I messed up my polish. Instead, I folded my hands across my stomach. "I don't know," I said. At least it was true. "Look, I appreciate your belief in me and your comments on my screenplay. I don't want a therapy session, though."
"Fair enough." He stretched back out on the couch and clasped his hands behind his head. "I'm afraid of what I'd find if I opened your head and started tinkering."
"Oh really? Like instructions for how to make a mean macchiato?"
"More like fear. Hesitation." He snaked his arm across my waist to draw me onto his lap. "Complete denial about what's happening between us. Who could blame you, really?" He tucked my hair gently behind my ears. "I'm Hollywood's next big star, and you're the girl from the wrong side of the tracks, riding a shitty bicycle and obeying strict orders from a repressed police detective not to leave town."
I punched him lightly on the upper arm. "I can't ride that shitty bike anymore because you sold it for scrap."
"I actually sent it back to three decades ago. Where it belongs."
"That's theft. I'm going to press charges with Detective DeLuca, you know." I paused. "Just as soon as he considers me credible."
Jax chuckled softly. "Looks like I just got away with it."
I wanted to be angry with him for reading my screenplay without permission, except the more I thought about his criticism, the more I knew he was right. I was afraid. I'd spent my life afraid and hiding, and maybe it was time to try something else. Maybe I was overdue for a change.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
Lou had only just finished applying my makeup when there was a knock at the trailer door. Brennan's assistant Cheryl burst in. "Wren? Hodges is looking for you." She pointed a clipboard at Jax. "You're on the invite list too."
Jax and I exchanged a glance. "Do we need to go now?" I said. "We're supposed to be filming —"
Cheryl arched one razor-thin eyebrow. "I'm sure Hodges will cover for you with Alex. But I don't want to keep him waiting, so vamanos."
Jax and I rose obediently and walked outside to the waiting golf cart. Cheryl darted down the steps after us and sat in the driver's seat. With a jerk, we were off. "Yeah, I have them," she said, pressing on an earpiece I hadn't noticed before. "We'll be there in two minutes."
We sped down the set, undeterred by workers and actors crossing the road. When she saw them, Cheryl simply waved them out of the way and continued. I suspected she even sped up. "What's this about?" I ventured.
"Sorry, I can't hear you."
"I said, what's this —"
She shot me a sidelong glare. "Not you. I'm on the phone." She pressed her finger to the earpiece. "Yeah, sorry about that. Can you repeat what you just said?"
It was as good an answer as any I would have gotten if she'd been giving her undivided attention, I suppose. I gripped the metal rail by my seat as we spun suddenly to the right and stopped at a blue door. Cheryl jumped out, still chattering away to herself.
"I guess we're here," I mumbled to Jax as I slid out of my seat. The drive may have been short, but it had been harrowing nonetheless.
Jax ambled out of the back, looking bored as ever. It occurred to me that I didn't know what he did with his days, aside from hanging out in my trailer and trying not to pick up strange women. He was checking his phone as we approached the blue door.
Cheryl opened the door and allowed us to walk past her. She was still talking. "Uh huh. I told them it was no good. If I come down there and see that it hasn't been fixed, it's not going to be pretty." She pointed down the hall. "This way."
We followed her around a few turns to a door marked "H. Brennan." Cheryl rapped on the door three times and waited. From the other side, we heard a muffled, "Come in," and entered.
This was a corner office, but the view — a glimpse at a small grassy plot and a duck pond with a fountain — wasn't much to look at. The windows on both sides of the room stretched almost floor to ceiling and they admitted a generous amount of sunlight, but as we entered, Hodges was pulling the blinds to half-shut. He was standing behind a large L-shaped desk on which were scattered various piles of papers and folders. One of the windowless walls was equipped with three file cabinets. The office was generally undecorated, drab, and not at all what I would have expected from someone as powerful as Brennan was. I assumed it was a remote office that he used while on set, and I might have asked him about it, but I saw by the stern pull of his mouth that this was no time for chitchat. He pointed to a table in the corner around which were four chairs and said, "Have a seat."
We were in the principal's office again, and my heart pattered about as I racked my brain, trying to recall anything I'd done that would've resulted in this meeting. Maybe I was a horrible actress, but I'd never pretended to be any good, had I? I tugged at the ends of my hair.
Brennan looked at Cheryl with a glower. "Where's Greta? I thought I told her —"
Cheryl looked out into the hallway. "I see her. She's coming now."
He waited, watching the door like an angry parent waiting for the child who'd missed curfew. Momentarily, Greta shuffled inside in a bright pink sundress and silver sandals, her platinum hair stylishly pulled back in a chignon. "Sorry, am I late?" she asked with a smile. "Hodges. You're looking
well." His mouth tightened, but Greta proceeded to the table with a little wave to us, trailing a cloud of citrusy perfume. "Morning, morning," she said.
"Morning," I replied.
"This isn't a reunion," Hodges bellowed. He pointed to Cheryl, who wordlessly left the room, closing the door behind her. "We've got a big problem."
Greta sighed and cocked her head, slinging one slender leg over the other. "Whatever it is, it can be fixed. If this is about Wren's union status, I've been working —"
"Stop talking, Greta. I had an interesting chat with Rubee this morning."
"Rubee's a lot of hot air," Greta said, with a sidelong glance at me.
"I'm not taking an opinion poll. She said —"
He broke off at the sound of a loud argument in the hallway. Seconds later, the door burst open. Beside me, Jax mumbled, "Oh shit."
Standing in the doorway was a tall, lean woman. It didn't take long for the panic to set in. Poppy.
"Hello, bitches," she said with a frosty smile. "Fun and games are over."
Hodges leaned against his desk, his arms folded tightly across his chest. Greta, Jax, and I were seated at the conference table. All eyes were on Poppy, who was holding court in the center of the room.
She may have arrived like a hurricane, but she did look better than she had when I'd seen her two weeks ago. Less intoxicated, at least. She stood poised like a sculpture and took a long sip from a huge plastic water bottle. Then she made a show of replacing the cap. It was kind of like watching a geyser bubble: the question wasn't whether it would erupt in a violent spasm of dangerously hot water, but when.
She looked at Hodges with a twisted smirk on her lips. "Aren't you going to say you're happy to see me?"
His frown deepened and his face darkened. "As far as I'm concerned, you're trespassing on this set."
The Coffee Girl Page 17
