It wasn’t a question. She would’ve bristled at the order if his intentions weren’t so obviously good. “I’ll tell you,” she agreed. “But honestly, I’ve only met Florence, and she’s all kinds of awesome.”
Florence blew Kendall a kiss as she set the last serving platter on the table, grabbed her purse, and headed for the door. After a few quick hugs, a promise that they’d talk more when she came back in a few days, and a stern warning to Ray to behave himself, Florence was gone.
Kendall sat down across from Ray, next to Jackson, to eat what smelled like the best dinner of her life. Ray reached over and poured her a big glass of wine.
She scowled at him. “Don’t think that plying me with wine will make me forgive the debt you owe me for forcing me on that tiny plane.”
Ray rolled his eyes. “My Supernatural con tickets and Dean Winchester cut-out are yours, witch. But don’t pretend like you’re unhappy to be here. You know Jack is a potential goldmine.”
He wasn’t lying. But no way was she giving up those tickets or Dean Winchester. After what Ray did to her, he was lucky she hadn’t also negotiated for his Bobby Singer Funko Pop. “Yes, but don’t you pretend that I’m not going to have to work my ass off to get him where he needs to be.”
“He’s sitting right here,” Jackson grumbled, tucking into his steak and potatoes.
Ray merely shrugged, but Kendall had the grace to feel a little ashamed of herself for treating him like a piece of meat—first for her masturbatory fantasies, then as a tool to revive her flailing career. “No disrespect intended.”
One corner of his mouth quirked up. “It’s fine. I was just teasing. I lived with Ray for eighteen years. You think I don’t know how impossible he can be?”
The warmth in his eyes when he looked at her had a paralyzing effect on Kendall. Her entire body tingled, but she couldn’t react, couldn’t look away. If she could somehow bottle this feeling and unleash it on studio executives, she could get him any movie soundtrack gig he ever wanted—even the ones the Star Wars guy was up for.
Ray snorted. “Oh, yeah. I’m impossible. Just wait until you get to know Kendall better. She made her last client cry.”
That snide comment seemed to snap her out of whatever sexy mojo Jackson had immobilized her with, and she cut her eyes to Ray. “I did not make her cry. She’s a performer. Those tears were totally fake.”
“Toe-may-to, Toe-mah-to,” he said with a dismissive wave of his hand. “Whatever. You know I don’t really care. I think it’s hilarious that you called her a twatwaffle at a press conference and the microphones picked it up.”
Next to her, Jackson choked on the sip of water he’d just taken and dissolved into a paroxysm of coughs. When he was finally able to clear his lungs, he glanced over at her and asked, “Twatwaffle?”
She felt the blush start somewhere in her chest and rise up to her cheeks and ears. “It’s an industry term.”
He regarded her steadily without expression, but his eyes twinkled, telling her she probably wasn’t getting fired before she was even able to start her new job. Which, she supposed, shouldn’t surprise her. If he hadn’t kicked her out when Ray had to fireman-carry her unconscious body into his home, he probably wasn’t inclined to kick her out for calling some stupid, child-hating twat of a performer an uncouth name. On national television. Within earshot of about a million microphones.
Kendall sighed. She should probably consider a stay-at-home career that didn’t really involve client contact. Lord knew it’d make her life a lot easier.
“It doesn’t matter, anyway,” Ray insisted. “Celebrities all over LA still wanted to work with you after that because you’re the best. Everyone knows it. And if Kyle hadn’t fired you and hogtied you with that stupid NDA and non-compete, you’d be sitting pretty.”
“Why did he fire you?” Jackson asked.
“He thought it would be awkward for his new girlfriend—who was my protégé—to be around his old girlfriend during working hours,” Kendall said dryly.
“And the work environment became decidedly hostile when she found her then boyfriend fucking her then protégé on his desk during work hours, so there’s that,” Ray added.
Her eyes widened as she shifted her horrified gaze to Ray. “Fucking hell, Ray. Does my new client really need to hear that much of the story?”
He swallowed a bite of steak and blinked at her. “Oh. Yeah. Sorry. It’s hard for me to be professional when the client is my brother. To me, he’s just Jack, you know? The guy I caught masturbating to my Princess Leia poster when he was twelve.”
“Fucking hell, Ray,” Jackson said while Kendall snort-laughed. “Does my new PR manager need to know that much of my story?”
She glanced over at him and saw that damn twinkle in his eye again and knew he wasn’t really irritated with Ray for spilling the beans about his Princess Leia fantasies. If anything, he seemed glad his embarrassment was able to give her a laugh and put her at ease.
“Let me guess,” she said, “Gold bikini Leia?”
Jackson laid a hand over his heart. “Oh, fuck yes.”
She laughed out loud at the reverence in his tone, just as Ray said, “I jacked off to Han Solo.”
Same, Kendall thought. When she wasn’t jacking off to Jackson, that is.
Jackson chuckled. “Of course, you did.”
He said it with a fondness that warmed Kendall’s heart. Ray didn’t talk much about his childhood, but she knew his parents weren’t what anyone would call supportive when he came out of the closet. To know his brother did support him was…well, it was touching.
And hot men who warmed her heart (especially dark-haired ones) were to be avoided at all costs, so she slammed the breaks on that train of thought before it got away from her completely.
We will not fall for Jackson Hale, she told her heart— and lady bits—sternly.
Then he smiled at her, and the paralyzed, tingly feeling came back with a vengeance.
Yeah, good luck with that, her heart and lady bits answered snidely.
Chapter 8
An hour later, Ray headed out to some bar in a neighboring town hoping to hook up with an old friend, and Kendall found herself sitting in Jackson’s living room on his ridiculously comfortable leather sofa, wearing her yoga pants and a ratty Dartmouth sweatshirt, chatting with the star of all of her teenage fantasies.
How was this her life? It was freaking surreal.
“So,” she began, tucking her feet underneath her and turning slightly on the couch cushion to face him, “are you up for a game of ‘getting to know you’?”
He leaned back and laced his fingers behind his head. Kendall refused—absolutely refused—to notice what lovely things the position did for his triceps. That just wasn’t the kind of thing a professional like her was going to notice about her client, no siree.
“I’m not sure,” he said, looking vaguely nervous. “Am I? Ray warned me that your idea of ‘getting to know you’ can be kind of intense.”
As usual, Ray wasn’t lying. She offered him her most easy-going smile, but something told her it was still a shark’s smile. She couldn’t help herself. “Some clients aren’t as open and honest as I’d like them to be from the beginning, which means my questions have to be more pointed than they’d like. But if you’re willing to talk, there’s no reason why this has to be painful.”
Jackson’s answering smile was equally sharp, calculating. It made her decidedly edgy. “Tell you what,” he began, “I’ll answer anything you want to know. I’ll be totally open and honest, no matter what you ask. But for everything you ask me, I get to ask you something in return.”
She blinked at him. “But…why?”
He shrugged. “We’re here, we’re alone, you’re my brother’s best friend, and we’re going to be working together closely. Why shouldn’t we get to know each other?”
Valid points. But for the life of her, Kendall couldn’t remember a single one of her clients who’d ever given a
crap about getting to know her. Most of them barely even greeted her when they called. And when they did call, their sentences almost always started with the words I need.
She couldn’t see any reason why letting him know more about her was a bad idea, though. He’d already seen her at her worst (she hoped). What possible damage could a quick game of twenty questions cause?
“OK, but I go first,” she said.
“Fair enough.”
Kendall rubbed her hands together gleefully. Getting to know clients wasn’t usually this fun, but getting to know a new client she used to idolize? This was a rare opportunity, and she intended to cherish every second of it.
“Tell me about what made you quit Maelstrom after the Hale Storm tour.”
His eyes widened a tiny bit. “Wow, you weren’t kidding, were you? No ‘what’s your favorite color’ type question to start with, huh?”
She gave him a palms-up gesture. “I don’t see the point of beating around the bush.”
He let out a deep breath. “Fair enough. OK. I passed out on stage during the last show of that tour. Pneumonia. I was so strung out that I never really considered seeing a doctor for my 103-degree fever or hacking cough that I’d probably had for a month. None of the other guys in the band thought much of it, either. They were all too drunk to care. I was in a hospital in Prague, and the tour manager flew my mom and Ray in to see me. The look on my brother’s face when he walked into that room…”
He trailed off for a moment, obviously lost in thought, before clearing his throat and adding, “The look on his face, the disappointment and fear—it was more than I could handle. I had no doubt, based on nothing but the look on Ray’s face, that I was going to die if I kept going the way I was. So, I let them check me out of the hospital as soon as I was able, and I went immediately into rehab. Haven’t touched a drug stronger than Advil since. Never considered touring again, either. The temptation is always there, and as far as I know, the guys from Maelstrom aren’t any different these days.”
Kendall shook her head. “I never heard anything about your hospitalization, and there was never a press conference to announce your retirement. How is that possible?”
He chuckled without humor. “Payoffs. So, so many payoffs. Hospital staff, everyone from janitors to nurses to case workers all got payoffs to keep their mouths shut and forget they ever saw me. So did everyone on the tour. Everyone got a check and an NDA, including my agent and PR manager at the time. They weren’t doing anything to help me, that much was certain. Ray oversaw everything after that. I owe him…well, pretty much everything.”
The love and admiration in his voice tugged at her heartstrings. Seeing a man who’d toured the world, who’d made millions of dollars on songs he’d plucked from his imagination, have that much pride in his brother, an accountant, made Kendall a little jealous. She was pretty sure her sister, a high school algebra teacher, thought Kendall was the biggest fuck-up on the planet.
“I know your parents had some trouble accepting it when Ray came out to them,” Kendall said. “It didn’t bother you?”
“It was my dad who had a problem with Ray being gay,” Jackson answered, shaking his head. “Dad was a dick. A racist, homophobic, abusive dick. No one shed any tears when the old bastard dropped dead. Mom was OK, but always a little distant. Detached. Probably because of all the abuse she suffered over the years. But for whatever reason, she wasn’t there for us, emotionally speaking. She wasn’t a bad person, though.”
Kendall had already heard practically those exact words from Ray, but having Jackson confirm it gave her a better understanding of both her friend and her new client.
Jackson went on, “But to answer your question, I love Ray. He’s a pain in the ass, but he’s the best man I know. I couldn’t care less who he sleeps with, as long as they’re good to him. He deserves nothing but the best. Hell, I’ve gone with him to the pride parade five years running.”
Kendall blinked at him, shocked. “How have I not heard about that on the news? Surely a ton of people recognized you.”
He chuckled. “Well, I was wearing a ball cap, sunglasses, and a T-shirt that said Big brother hugs. I don’t think anyone gave a crap who I was. I had a few people recognize me, but when I said I’d rather not turn an important event that doesn’t have anything to do with me into a PR opportunity, they were respectful.”
Wow. The image of Jackson Hale in a biceps-bearing T-shirt giving out free hugs did things to Kendall’s libido she wasn’t exactly proud of. “I’ll bet you got a lot of hugs.”
His grin did nothing to help her rein in her dirty mind. “You wouldn’t even believe how much glitter I had on me when I got home.”
When she didn’t immediately reply, he clapped his hands together and said, “OK. My turn. Tell me about the boyfriend—the old boss. Is he the one you were crying over when you were talking to Florence?”
Kendall fought the urge to bury her face in her hands. How embarrassing was it to be caught crying over a fucknut who’d screwed her over and tried to ruin her career in the process?
But Jackson had been honest with her, so she owed him the same courtesy, she supposed. “I was crying, but it wasn’t over him, necessarily. When I think back to when we were together, I can admit that I never really loved Kyle. I mean, I admired him because he’s so good at his job and at running the agency. I enjoyed having someone to spend time with. We got along well enough, and it was an easy relationship. Comfortable.”
The sex was crap, but Jackson didn’t need to know that. “And I’ve never really been in love before,” she went on. “That I-need-you-more-than-the-air-in-my-lungs kind of thing you see in movies and read about in romance novels, you know?”
He gave her a slow nod. “Yeah, I know.”
“I wasn’t even sure I was the type of person who would ever find that kind of love. So, I was willing to settle for Kyle and the lukewarm feelings I had for him. Truthfully, I miss my job and my townhouse way more than I miss Kyle.”
And if she was being totally honest, she would admit that even her job had been uninspiring lately. It was mostly being able to pay for groceries and hair product that she missed more than the work itself. “Logically, I know I’m better off without him. But the whole thing was still a blow to my ego.”
He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his splayed knees. Normally it irritated her when men “manspread” like that. It encroached on her personal space. But somehow it didn’t bother her when Jackson did it. Was it because he looked like a cross between a Disney prince and a Sons of Anarchy biker, and had a voice like hot sin dipped in orgasms? Probably.
“Why did you lose your townhouse?” he asked.
“It was Kyle’s.” Even though she’d decorated every inch of it with her own money. “I knew it was probably a bad idea to move in when I wasn’t on the lease, but I did it anyway.” She shrugged. “I made a terrible decision, like I always do whenever men are involved.”
His brow furrowed. “I wish you wouldn’t be so hard on yourself. Making a few bad calls is only human. At least you were brave enough to open up and trust people. Not everyone can say the same.”
It’d been a long time since anyone other than Ray and her immediate family had defended her and told her she was being too hard on herself. Everyone else seemed ready to pin the “hot mess” moniker on her forever.
It felt way too good to have him defend her.
Before everything fell to shit in her life, she might’ve been really tempted to develop a huge crush on a guy like Jackson, simply because he was hot and nice to her. But now?
She couldn’t take another risk. Couldn’t afford to take another risk. Now it was time to put up some walls around her stupid heart and be professional.
She cleared her throat. “Thank you. I appreciate that. But honestly, Kyle did me a favor. If he hadn’t fired me, I wouldn’t be here.”
Jackson gave her that lazy grin that never failed to weaken her resolve. “Well, in that case
, here’s to Kyle for being such a colossal douchebag. His loss is my gain.”
Once again, there wasn’t anything inherently dirty about his words, but that’s where her mind went.
Working with Jackson and remaining professional was going to be challenging.
Chapter 9
The rest of their conversation was a little less intense. They stuck to important-but-easy-to-talk-about topics that helped Kendall get to know Jackson, but that didn’t make him feel like he was in the middle of the Spanish Inquisition.
She learned that his favorite movie of all time was Rocky, which wasn’t all that unusual for a man who’d managed to rise from poverty and obscurity to the heights of his profession. Lots of her clients—former clients, she reminded herself—loved Rocky.
Her favorite movie, on the other hand? Tangled. And she refused to defend the fact that a kid’s movie was her all-time favorite film. There were great characters, catchy songs, a charming thief turned hero, and a quirky heroine who was lovable and a little weird. Not to mention it was a perfect friends-to-lovers romance with a beautiful happy ending that never failed to make her cry like a baby.
So, what did her movie choice say about her?
It said she was a romantic at heart with a somewhat childish hope that happy endings always happen for good people.
Or, that’s what she used to be. How she used to feel. Now she wasn’t so sure.
Maybe she should pick a new favorite movie. A horror film, perhaps.
Jackson had accepted her answer, though—and the subsequent twenty-minute rant she went on to defend her choice after she’d explicitly said she refused to defend her choice—with a twinkle in his eye that said he wasn’t judging her in any way.
Kyle had always rolled his eyes at her taste in movies. Told her she needed to grow up and accept that happily ever after was a bill of goods the romance novel industry (and Disney) shoved down women’s throats to sell books and movie tickets.
The Has-Been and the Hot Mess Page 4
