by M. S. Parker
It was enough to sour my mood, but I couldn’t stop thinking about him at the drop of a hat, either.
How was he?
That question alone gave me a headache.
It was 1962. He wasn’t even alive yet.
But neither was I—not really.
Yet here I was.
Where was Doc Brown when you needed him?
I could have used some help from a crazy doctor who’d invented a time machine. But despite the fact that I’d seen Back to The Future a hundred times, I couldn’t think my way out of this.
Maybe I’d go to sleep and wake up. Find out this was all a dream.
Or even a bad trip.
If I woke up and found that maybe Caitlin had slid me something without my knowledge, I’d almost be grateful.
“I’m so excited about tonight,” Florence said from behind me, completely unaware of my inner turmoil.
Turning, I offered her a smile, and hoped she wouldn’t see any of my troubles on my face. “Why? What’s tonight?”
She gave me a secretive smile. “You’ll see. So….” She wiggled her eyebrows at me. “About Peter. Is there something…you know…there?”
“Peter?” I frowned at her, confused. I was distracted, really, trying to recall if there was something I’d seen in the diary about a party. I knew there was a guy. My uncle had mentioned him.
Maybe she’d see this guy tonight. What if tonight was the night they broke up?
Inside my bra, the locket I’d found heated and pulsed. I hadn’t wanted to leave it. As crazy as it seemed, I knew this locket was my connection—either to something here, or to my way back home. I couldn’t risk it being lost.
We were descending the stairs of her Beverly Hills mansion as her question finally registered, and I paused to gape at her. It wasn’t the opulence of her home that had me staring at her, although that was jaw-dropping.
“Peter? Something there with…Peter?”
She paused to smile up at me, framed by the luxury of her home. I had grown up with money and luxury was normal to me, but there was something about the utter grandeur of Los Angeles that was just staggering.
“Yes, silly. Peter. He’s a gem, isn’t he? A little older than you, but age doesn’t matter when it comes to matters of the heart, now does it?” A blissful smile spread over her face. “Imagine—your first day here, and you find the love of your life. It can happen, you know. Hollywood. Anything can happen here.”
“I don’t think so. Besides, I’m a little too young to be falling in love as it is.” I laughed, but the look on her face killed my amusement.
“You’re never too young to fall in love.”
“Oh yeah?” I gave her a quick grin, desperate to lighten the mood. “I’m going to hunt down that boy I had a crush on in third grade. I told him that we were going to get married. It’s time to make him step up.”
“You are so funny.” Florence looked delighted.
Despite myself, I smiled. She was so…sweet. Just that. Sweet. I hadn’t ever met anybody who just wanted to be happy, and wanted the same for others. Or if I had, it had been a long time ago. I certainly hadn’t encountered this sort of thing with Caitlyn. Thoughts of my best friend soured my mood, so I shrugged them away.
Thinking about her right now wasn’t going to help anything. “So, who has you so excited about tonight? It can’t be Peter, since you’re trying to hook me up with him.”
It was him. The one who’d broken her heart. I was sure of it. What had Uncle Daniel said his name was?
“You’ll see soon.” She gave me a cat’s smile, and turned to inspect herself in the mirror on the wall behind us. It was large and ornate, something that looked like it was straight out of the 1920s. My mom had gone through an Art Deco phase, and I could just picture her lusting over the piece.
Florence sighed dreamily, reaching out to trace the edges of a rose. There was a huge vase of them on the table, just under the mirror. She must love the flowers, because roses were everywhere, the air heavy with their perfume. She drew one rose from the vase, and turned to smile at me. “You’re never too young to fall in love,” she said again, softly. “When you meet the one, you know. It’s like…” She sighed and shivered, that blissful smile returning to her face.
“Madame.”
We both turned. In the doorway stood a tall, powerfully built man, his skin dark and smooth. He gave me a polite nod, but kept his attention focused on Florence. He was attractive, maybe in his early forties, and he had an incredibly regal air. Eyes a pale gold, he inclined his head. “You have guests pulling up the drive.”
Florence clapped her hands. “Thank you, Harrison.”
“You’re welcome, Madame.” He gave us another nod and turned away.
“Get ready for your first Hollywood party, Maya.” She spun back to her reflection, but then, slowly, she turned to me, hesitation written on her face. “I…well, this is silly, but I feel I should warn you. I don’t know if you’ve ever been to a party like this. Everybody is just looking to have fun, but some people have weird ideas of what fun is…you should be careful of what you eat and drink.”
The warning caught me by surprise. Not that I was surprised people might do stupid things, but that she was aware. “Oh?”
I could see her fighting the urge to continue. She didn’t want to say something that might come off as mean, I realized. I didn’t have that problem. “Let me guess…people can be stupid, right? It’s okay. It’s the same back home. I’ll be careful.”
“Lovely. That’s all I want.” She looked grateful.
“Don’t worry. This might be my first party in LA Hollywood, but it’s definitely not my first party where people are trying to have…a good time.” Again, Caitlyn tried to work her way into my mind, but I shut the thoughts out.
I had enough chaos in my head already. I couldn’t go adding to it for no reason.
Harrison, the tall, imposing butler, reappeared.
“They’re coming up the walk,” he said, arching a brow at Florence.
“Oh, right. Yes.” She smoothed her dress down and held out a hand. “Come on, Maya. We can’t be seen waiting in here for them. It’s just not done.”
I might have asked her why not, but she was already dragging me along behind her.
The room we were in now was a little too elegant to be called a living room. A parlor, I guessed. There was no TV. She had several in her home, and they were big blocky looking things that looked like something out of the Stone Age. I supposed, in a way, they were, as far as televisions went. But this room held nothing save for lovely, delicate furniture, art and a baby grand piano.
Drawn to it, I walked over and traced my fingers down its clean surface. We heard somebody knocking, and I glanced toward the entryway.
“Harrison will get it,” Florence said, head cocked. She gestured to the piano. “Do you play?”
“No. My mother does.” To myself I thought, Or she will. This is all so confusing. Where was she now? What would happen if I were to see her? Then, in a daze, I realized she wasn’t even alive yet. It was a staggering thought, a painful one.
“You sound sad. Problems with your family?” Florence came up, resting a hand on my shoulder.
I shook my head. “No, I just miss them.” It was a lie, but how could I explain the kind of problems going on with me and my parents right now?
Harrison saved me from another awkward silence as he appeared in the doorway. “Miss Woods, you have guests.”
I turned with her, and immediately felt like I’d been struck on the head with something hard. Or maybe in the chest. That could explain why I felt so breathless, so dazed.
Wow. Who are you?
The man standing next to Peter was…wow.
He was tall and heart-breakingly gorgeous. Like six and a half feet of lean, rugged manliness. Not too rugged though. His lips were a little too soft for that, his cheekbones a bit too delicate, but not enough for him to be ‘pretty’. His light brown
hair was tousled rather than slicked back, making me wonder if he’d come straight from bed. He wore a suit like he’d rather not be in it, but if he had to be, he’d look damn good.
Something in my heart began to ache, and the necklace, tucked inside my bra, heated once more. I had a knot in my throat and a longing, the kind I’d never felt, settled inside me.
He wasn’t looking at me in that moment, and I curled my hands into fists, trying to settle myself before I started swooning like some inexperienced schoolgirl.
Then he flicked pure, crystal blue eyes my way and my heart, already racing erratically, skipped a beat, then two. My chest tightened, making it hard to breathe, and it was all I could do to stay on my feet.
“Oh, hello!” Florence started forward, hands outstretched.
Her bright, happy voice nudged me out of my daze and I had to suck in a breath, remind myself that oxygen wasn’t just suggested, but necessary. What the hell was wrong with me? I appreciated a hot guy as much as the next straight woman, but I’d never felt anything like what I experienced looking at him. It wasn’t just his looks, though I’d be damned if I could figure out exactly what it was that had me feeling like a girl with her first crush.
Except no crush I’d ever had made me so weak in the knees.
Peter was there, dressed in a slick-looking suit, his pale hair neat and tidy, and he was smiling at me. Still feeling out of breath, I managed a feeble smile. “Hi,” I said.
Finally, the other man glanced at me and actually seemed to see me. The sardonic smile on his perfect mouth froze.
Something lit in his eyes, although I couldn’t define it, and it was gone almost as quickly as it had formed. Still, I felt the impact of that look clear down to the soles of my feet, and my toes curled inside my borrowed shoes.
“Gentlemen, it’s so lovely to see you both,” Florence said as she cut between us, breaking the connection.
Mouth dry, I stepped forward so I was next to Florence, but I didn’t look at him right away, not trusting myself just yet.
When I finally glanced at the other man again, he was looking at Florence. I couldn’t blame him. She was like Cinderella in her pale blue dress, with her hair all swept up to reveal an elegant neck. The strand of pearls she wore only accentuated that graceful curve.
Mr. Gorgeous stepped further into the room, followed by Peter. I watched as Florence held out a hand to the still-unnamed man, and my heart fluttered as he accepted it, then bent over and pressed a kiss to the back of it.
Cinderella and Prince Charming, I thought.
Then he slid me a look from under his lashes, and his pale eyes burned with the sort of primal desire that set my skin aflame.
No…not Prince Charming. That was no fairytale prince. He was all devil.
I knew it in my bones.
“Miss Cruz.”
I jolted, then laughed nervously, mortified. To cover it, I smiled at Peter. “I’m sorry. I’m a little more tired than I realized. My mind is wandering.”
“Of course. You’ve had a long day.” He inclined his head. “Are you too tired for the party?”
“I’m never too tired for a party.” With a game grin, I moved to meet him in the middle of the room. Only too late did I realize that had been foolish.
He extended a hand toward me, and I inwardly grimaced as I accepted.
If he tried to kiss it…
Before he had the chance, I gave his hand a quick shake and then pulled my hand away. I didn’t want to give him the wrong impression.
In the next moment, Florence asked, “Would either of you gentlemen care for a drink before we leave?”
Grateful for the save, I eyed them both, uncertain if I wanted them to accept or not. I wouldn’t mind a drink—was it legal for me to drink now? Was there a drinking age in the sixties?
I didn’t know.
But they both declined, and I decided it was probably best. All of this mess was happening because I’d been stupid, making bad choices about drugs. Was it a good idea to use alcohol, just so I wouldn’t have to think so much?
“I guess we’re ready to go then.” Florence offered her arm to the man I assumed was her date. He still hadn’t offered his name and neither had anybody else. Maybe they just assumed I’d know who he was.
They started toward the door, looking like the perfect golden couple, and Peter held out his arm toward me. I accepted, knowing it would look foolish if I didn’t. We joined them on the wide steps that led out to the walk, and my jaw dropped at the sight of the limo.
Okay, I had ridden in a limo before, but this is something else. “Wow,” I whispered.
“Have you ridden in a limo before?” Florence asked.
“Nothing like this.” It was long and sleek—a Rolls Royce, I was pretty sure—and the driver standing by the door was dressed in a tuxedo.
“You’re in for a treat,” she said. Then, beaming at the man at her side, she added, “Isn’t she, Glenn?”
If he responded, I had no idea what he said.
I was too busy processing what she’d just called him.
Glenn…His name was Glenn.
Glenn.
Son of a bitch.
This was the man who’d broken her heart and driven her to suicide.
Dammit.
7
Glenn
There were two things that kept me from moving in on Peter’s date.
Florence and Peter.
I didn’t have a lot of standards, but Peter was my friend, and I wouldn’t do that to him. And while I wasn’t really that interested in Florence, we were attending this thing together—and even I wasn’t enough of a bastard to go chasing after another woman when I was there with her, even if I couldn’t stop looking at her.
The young woman sat next to Peter, across from me, and she kept shifting in her damn seat. The hem of her dress had ridden up, allowing me a glimpse of her stockings and garter...and a hell of a lot of leg.
“I’m so glad we’re going to this party.” Florence leaned in closer, resting a hand on my arm.
I gave her smile. “It should be fun.”
And I told myself to stop staring at her friend’s legs. Stop staring and definitely stop imagining what it would feel like to have those legs wrapped around my waist.
Florence had introduced us once we were all sitting down in the limo: Maya Cruz. It was a sexy name. Maya. Exotic and different. Like an orchid you might find in the jungle. And with her raven-black waves, dark green eyes, and golden skin, it certainly fit her.
“We don’t go to enough parties together.” Florence was still resting her hand on my arm, watching me with her heart in her eyes.
I wished she wouldn’t do that. She was a sweet girl, but she seemed to think the two of us were destined to be together forever, and I couldn’t figure out why.
Aware that Peter was watching me like a hawk, I shifted in my seat and nodded. “No, I guess we don’t.”
We didn’t either. Most of our dates were to formal events, galas and banquets, opening nights, that sort of thing. If I was going to a party, I wanted to relax, not feel like I was supposed to entertain her.
Or take care of her.
Florence had that way about her. People wanted to take care of her. They wanted to be there for her. I was a selfish son-of-a-bitch, and even I couldn’t keep myself from feeling like I had to pat her back and make sure she was doing okay.
She just brought that out in people.
“Where are you from, Miss Cruz?” I asked into the silence.
It wasn’t just to fill that silence either, I realized with some surprise. I wanted to know. I wanted to have her look at me again like she had earlier. Like she’d never seen anyone like me before. Not like the groupies who threw themselves at me, or like I was some sort of ticket to a new life. Like she wanted to know me.
I wanted her to talk to me, wanted to hear that sexy, smooth voice.
“Philadelphia,” she said, voice slow and steady, her gaze stead
y on mine. A ghost of a smile lingered on her lips, and I wondered at the cause.
“So you moved out here to take an assisting position with Florence?” I pushed for more information.
“I was looking for…a chance,” she said, a brief hesitation in her voice.
“And have you found it?” Peter asked.
As she pondered her answer, Peter shot me a dark look. It was quick, lasting only a moment, but I got the message loud and clear.
Stop flirting with my date. Start focusing on yours.
Chastised, I turned my attention to Florence and we chatted quietly, mostly about work. It wasn’t like we had anything else in common. But I kept my ears focused on Maya, eager to learn everything I could.
Yes, she had found something different here in California. Yes, she missed home. Yes, she had family. Yes, she loved movies. No, she hadn’t seen one recently.
Every answer, I heard and remembered.
But if somebody asked me what I’d discussed with Florence, I wouldn’t have been able to recall.
“Want to dance?” I’d waited until Florence was swept onto the dance floor by somebody else before I approached Maya. I didn’t have to worry about Peter jumping on my ass because he’d disappeared with a couple other big whigs a few minutes ago. Maya was standing by herself, alone. I was just being friendly, after all—talking to her and dancing with her so she wasn’t by herself on her first night in Hollywood.
That was it.
Even I didn’t believe my own bullshit, but it was a logical, legitimate reason.
She looked at me from the corner of her eye as I approached. “I’m fine.”
I gave her my most charming smile. “Come on. It’s your first night in Hollywood. You can’t spend it standing against the wall.”
I took her hand, half-expecting her to pull away.
But she didn’t.
“So how did you end up in Hollywood?” Normally, small talk didn’t appeal to me, but I was curious about her, especially since she didn’t seem to want to talk much to me.
