by J. Kenner
"So? Why didn't you tell her I'm the girl?" I press, as a waiter comes by with glasses of wine.
"She doesn't know about the project," he says, and I freeze, my wine not quite to my lips.
"Really?"
"She knows there is a show. But that's it."
I nod slowly. "You want to be a hit. To prove you're a Segel."
He meets my eyes, then nods.
"You're going to," I say sincerely. "This show. I have such a good feeling."
"I've had a good feeling ever since you joined," he replies, then leans in for another kiss.
I hear a catcall and pull away, confused.
Or, at least, confused until I see Griffin and Nia approaching from a few yards away.
"Hey, man," Griff says to Wyatt. "Good to see you again."
"Love the dress," Nia says, then smiles at Wyatt and extends her hand. "I'm Nia."
He arches a brow. "Nia Hancock?"
She glances at me. "Gorgeous and psychic. Quite the combination."
I roll my eyes. "Wyatt Royce, meet Nia Hancock."
"Best friend, protector, and sometimes job facilitator," she says. "The pleasure is mine."
"Why are you here?" I ask her, and she glances toward Griff.
"He's here because he's working on that movie with Lorelei. I'm here because his usual date--that means you--bailed on him."
"Excellent," I say. "Anyone else here I know?"
"Know?" Nia says. "I don't think so. Know of. Definitely."
"She's been playing the celebrity sighting game as we walk the house," Griffin says.
"I think that's cheating here. I'm pretty sure my grandmother invited all the celebrities. At the very least, she crossed the ninety-five percent mark."
"Oh, fuck me," Nia says. "You're Wyatt Segel."
"I thought you knew that," he says, but Nia's scowling at me. "You never told me he was one of those Segels."
I shrug. "Sorry. It never occurred to me."
She swoops her right hand under her left arm. "Water. Bridge. Moving on. The point is that everyone is here. And now I need to borrow my girl," she says to Wyatt. "Because we totally have to gossip. Fair enough?"
To his credit, he laughs, then kisses my cheek. "I'll find you."
"You better."
Nia and I head off, with her pointing out everyone I don't recognize. "That's Nikki and Damien Stark," she says gesturing towards a man I recognize as the tennis star turned billionaire entrepreneur.
"He paid a million for her nude portrait," I say, feeling a kinship with the woman. "It was supposed to be anonymous, and then someone found out."
I shiver, thinking how awful that would be if it happened to me with Wyatt's show.
"And that woman they're talking to is Jane Martin--she wrote that movie about the kidnapped kids. And the guy to her left--isn't he hot?--that's Dallas Sykes."
"Really?" One of my guilty pleasures is reading the tabloids, and he was all over it for a while. "They called him The King of Fuck. I guess he slept around."
"They're married now," Nia says. "But there was so much scandal, remember?"
I don't, and she's about to clue me in, when two stunning women walk over and introduce themselves as Wyatt's mother and sister. Like Anika, they're both down to earth, and before they continue to mingle, Lorelei stresses that I really should audition. "I can't get you the role, but I can get you access. And in this town that's important."
"Thank you," I say, and I really am grateful, even though I probably won't ever take her up on it.
We wander some more, and I realize after a while that Nia has been steering me to a quiet corner. "Okay," she says once we're sitting on a small divan, fortified with fresh glasses of wine. "Tell me what's up with Wyatt."
I consider dodging the question, but Nia's my best friend. And I don't really want to dodge. I want to talk.
So I tell her the one thing that I've been holding inside. The one thing that's been building in me for days. "I think I'm in love," I say, but instead of congratulating me or even arguing with me, Nia rolls her eyes.
"Girl," she says, "you fell in love twelve years ago. Love is not your issue."
I frown. "What are you talking about?"
"Everyone thinks that love is the end. Fall in love and live happily ever after. That's bullshit, sweetie. Love is work. Like serious fucking work." She lifts a shoulder. "And I worry for you."
"For me? You don't think Wyatt will work at it?"
She slouches back against the divan. "I don't know him. Not yet. Not really. I'm sorry, Kels, but if you want the cold, honest truth, you're the one I worry about. You've put yourself in a box for so long, sweetie. I'm not sure you can fit anyone else in there with you."
I start to say something, but she talks over me.
"Which means the only way it'll work is if you come out of the box. And I don't know if you can do that. Not if it gets hard and scary. Because Kels, you're the girl who's always playing it safe. And sweetie, love doesn't have a safety net."
I'm in a sour mood as we leave the party and head toward the car an hour later, Nia's words still ringing in my ears.
Wyatt glances at me, his brow furrowed. "You want to talk about it?"
I shake my head. "It's nothing. Just best friend stuff." Not exactly a lie, but also not the truth.
He looks like he's going to argue the point, but the chirp of my phone signaling an incoming text cuts him off.
Since it's probably her, I dig in my purse for my phone, only to frown when I see that it's not from Nia, but from one of the other teachers.
I applaud you, but what an exit strategy. Hope it works out for you.
"Nia?" Wyatt asks, and I shake my head and hand him the phone.
"Another kindergarten teacher. I have no idea what she's talking about."
"Maybe she sent it to the wrong person."
It makes sense, and I start to tap out a response to let her know her text went astray. But I'm distracted by the fact that both Damien Stark and Siobhan--who I met once at Wyatt's studio--are standing by Wyatt's Navigator.
I know Siobhan's connection to Wyatt through the show, of course, but it takes me a second to remember that Damien Stark is the patron of the Stark Center for the Visual Arts, where Wyatt's show is scheduled to open.
I slow my pace, cold dread building inside me.
"Should I even ask?" Wyatt says.
"It's not good." Stark pushes off the car and walks to Wyatt.
"Considering you don't exactly get involved with the day-to-day operations of the center, I assumed as much. Tell me fast," he says. "If it's bad, you might as well get it over with."
"Should I leave you alone?" I ask them.
"No." Wyatt takes my hand. "You're with me."
"She needs to stay anyway," Damien says. "I'm sorry, Kelsey."
The dread in my stomach forms into a hard knot. Because there's no reason for a man like Damien Stark to know my name. Not unless I somehow ended up on his radar. And I shouldn't. Because my photos are supposed to be anonymous. No one's supposed to know except me and Wyatt and JP.
But they do. I can see it in their eyes. Stark and Siobhan.
"What happened?" I demand.
"Leah," Siobhan says, exhaling slowly. She passes me a digital tablet displaying a collage of social media posts. I'm too shocked to really focus. But I see enough. One of Wyatt's images of me with my face blurred out. And it's side by side with photos of me teaching dance and playing Red Rover at a kindergarten picnic.
"What are these?" I whisper, as beside me I feel Wyatt getting stiffer and stiffer with rage.
"Rumors," Damien says. "She started a rumor campaign, apparently with the blessing of Roger Jensen. It seems he told her that she'd be getting you a ton of free publicity."
I clap my hand over my mouth, fighting a sudden urge to be sick.
"She told us everything," Siobhan said. "JP saw the post on Instagram and realized she must have taken it from the office one day when t
hey were going to dinner. She got close to him on purpose. Presumably, she clued in that Kelsey is your primary girl."
"That little bitch," Wyatt says.
"She's been fired. I have Charles on damage control. My lawyer," he adds, looking at me.
"But it's out there already," I say, passing Stark my phone. "People know."
A combination of anger and frustration wash over his face. "Damn that girl." He passes the phone back to me. "I'm so sorry. But please know that if you do lose your job, the center will cover your salary until you find a new one."
"That's nice of you," I say, "but no." I hug myself in defense against the cold that has seeped into my bones. The icy chill from the cloud of doom that I've known was out there since the beginning.
"Kelsey," Siobhan begins, "you really should--"
"No," I repeat, my voice low. "I knew this would happen. It's my fault as much as Leah's." I turn to Wyatt. "I pushed the envelope. I did all the things my dad warned me about. And see?" I demand, my words bitter and hard. "See what happened?"
"It didn't," he says. "Leah's idiocy is all on her. It has nothing to do with you."
He holds my hands tight. "This will be okay."
"But it won't."
"We can still do the show. And if you are fired, you can audition for shows. You can teach older kids. You can choreograph music videos. This can be a beginning, not an end."
"I'm sorry," I say to all three of them as tears stream down my face. Then I meet Wyatt's eyes. "I'm so sorry."
"Kelsey, please. You make the show. Your beauty. Your sensuality. Baby, I need you. Griffin needs you. And if you've already lost the job there's no reason not to do the show."
But none of that matters. Not now. Not when the weight of every lecture my father ever gave me is crashing down on me. "I'm sorry," I say before I turn to walk away. "But I really just can't."
28
Wyatt was numb.
He'd been numb for almost twenty-four hours, and he was starting to fear it was going to be a permanent state.
For hours, he'd been sitting on his rooftop deck, staring out at the Pacific, and trying to make sense of it. So far, he hadn't managed.
On the contrary, he flat out couldn't believe it. None of it. Not that she'd walked. Not that he'd let her. Not that Leah-the-bitch had spread those damn photos all over the Internet.
He could sue, of course. She'd stolen the physical photo of Kelsey. And he might, just because the bitch deserved it. But honestly, he couldn't work up the energy. Because what good would it do?
It couldn't get Kelsey back.
Couldn't reshape the show back to the way he wanted it to be. For that he needed Kelsey. But she'd made it perfectly clear she was out.
Thank God, Cass was going to fill in. She'd agreed to come by for a short session tomorrow morning at eight, but it wouldn't be the same. Her energy was different. Her presence. He was shooting images with a theme in mind, and she just didn't fit.
He'd make it work--hell, he had to make it work. But it was no longer the show he'd dreamed of. It would do okay. It would get decent press. But this show wasn't going to launch his career. Wouldn't prove to anyone--much less himself--that he deserved the Segel name.
It would make a tiny splash in a very big pool. And that would be that.
God, he'd been a fool. He'd feared she wouldn't see it through that night at X-tasy. And he damn sure should have listened to his gut.
She'd walked away once before and destroyed his life.
This time she was walking away and destroying his career.
He was a fool, all right. He'd gone with his heart instead of his head. And now he was paying the price.
With a deep sigh of regret, he leaned back, kicking his feet up onto the railing as he watched the sun sink low over the Pacific. He had a cooler full of beer next to him, and he'd already downed three. If he sat here all the way until sunrise, he might even work his way through all of them.
The bell over the rooftop door chimed to indicate that someone was at his front door, but he really didn't give a shit. Kelsey still hadn't been to his house, so it wouldn't be her. He wasn't expecting any deliveries. And his friends knew to text before coming over.
He reached down, grabbed another bottle, twisted off the cap, and took a long swallow. Then another and another, until the bottle was drained. Because what the hell. He was already sore from the knife she'd stuck in him. Might as well anesthetize the wound.
A moment later, the door behind him creaked open, and he sat bolt upright, the bottle held tight by its neck, as if that would do any good against an intruder.
Except this intruder was one he could probably take--Anika Segel--and she was looking at him with such a mixture of concern and irritation that he almost laughed.
"Three stories," she said. "And no elevator. I'm eighty-five years old, young man. Answer your goddamn door."
He tossed the empty beer into a nearby bin and was on his feet in an instant, dragging a chair toward her. "I had no idea it was you. Sorry. Why didn't you call me? I would have come down."
She snorted. "I managed, didn't I? And we need to talk."
"You heard what happened."
"I made Damien tell me. Don't be upset with him. That boy may have more clout than God, but I'm an old woman with an agenda, and that trumps most everything. So," she continued, "our Kelsey was going to be in your show and got cold feet."
"That pretty much sums it up," he said.
"You know, I do miss Carlton."
It was such a non sequitur that he froze in the process of dragging his chair over by hers. "My dad?"
"He was always a breath of fresh air. Always had a perspective other than this ridiculous bubble we live in." She patted his arm. "Our Kelsey's a bit like that. Although I suppose if we keep encouraging her to audition for dance numbers, she may lose that."
"You think she shouldn't audition?" The moment the words were out of his mouth, he wanted to call them back. What did he care anymore whether she auditioned or not?
"I think it depends on what Kelsey wants," Anika said.
"She wants to dance. She wants the stage. She's scared of it." He held up his hands. "That's a big part of why she bolted."
"Mmm. And what are you scared of, baby boy?"
He hadn't heard the endearment from her in years, and it warmed him enough that he considered the question honestly. And then actually answered it. "That I'm never going to live up to Grandfather. Or Mom. Or you."
She waved his words away. "Listen to you. What a load of nonsense. What have I done? Nothing except working a job I loved and raising a family I adore."
"And you had an incredible public life," he pointed out.
"True. But that's only the surface story. Pass me a beer, Wyatt. Where are your manners?"
He pressed his lips together so he wouldn't laugh, then complied. "Surface story?" he repeated as he twisted the top off. "What do you mean?"
"Just that, yes, I lived in the spotlight, but I like being the center of attention. It suits me. And so I went for it. And I did okay, if I do say so myself. But what if I'd never gotten my break? Been born into another family? I don't know, but I think I'd still be acting. Maybe not in movies. But on a small stage in Kansas. Maybe playing the nurse in Romeo and Juliet. Or perhaps I could be in The Little Foxes. I always adored that play."
"You're teasing me," he said, but she shook her head earnestly.
"I'm not." She sat up and reached for him, tapping lightly on his chest. "If it's inside of you--here--then go for it. Because you want to. But not because you think it matters to me or your mother or Jenna. Do you think Jenna cares about the cameras? She only cares because it gives her the clout to open more restaurants and try out more recipes. That girl would cook in a log cabin if that was her only option and you know it."
It was true. He did know it.
"But my dad--"
"Your dad had other problems. And maybe your mother should have told you some of
it after he died, but I think she hoped you would all move past it."
"Dad thought she didn't respect him. That you didn't."
"Carlton was a good man. But he was a fool in a lot of ways. That was one. He was a good CPA. Goodness knows he got my financial house in order after that ridiculous shyster--well, never mind. I loved that boy. And if he felt less because the spotlight left him in the shadow, then I'm truly sorry. But that was only him. Your mother adored him. I adored him. Like I said, it was nice to have someone around who didn't read Variety before the actual news."
"I thought Variety was the news," he deadpanned.
"There? See? You are one of us." She smiled, and in that moment he wished he had his camera. "So you tell me, Wyatt. What is it you want? The spotlight? Fame? A family? Respect?"
The answer came fast, without him even having to think.
Kelsey.
When he cut through all the crap, all the ambition, all the garbage, she was the only thing he saw.
And it was time he told her so.
29
"You should have told me that's where the money was coming from," Griff says as he cracks two eggs into a skillet. "I thought it was from that savings account you started a zillion years ago."
I shake my head, but don't tell him that Daddy emptied that account out ages ago.
"I'm really sorry," I say for one more time. "I'll borrow the money from Nia--it's weird taking money from a friend, but she understands and--"
"You don't need to do that."
"--and I'll pay her back eventually with--" I look over at him from where I sit at the Formica table, something in his tone catching my attention. "Wait. Why don't I?"
"I have the money."
I sit back in my chair. "You have the money?"
"Well, technically no. But I'm officially in the protocol, and I don't owe a dime."
"Oh." I'm very confused. "How?"
"You, apparently."
Now I'm even more confused, and I tell him so. "So speak slowly and use small words."
"I guess Stark offered to cover your salary if you were fired, and you said no?"
"Yeah. So?"
"Well, I guess he doesn't do no well. He asked Wyatt what you were supposed to get paid, and Wyatt told him about the protocol."
"And?"
"And apparently he owns the company."
I blink. "Say again?"
"The company that's doing the trials is a division of Stark International. So he pulled strings. At any rate, I'm in. Because of you. Or because of that bitch Leah," he says with an evil grin. "But I'd rather thank my big sister."
