Hollywood on Tap (17 page)

“Hey there.” Sean strolled in, tension apparent in his high–perched shoulders, but some of it leaked out as he walked in and saw her.

Hers, on the other hand, ratcheted up. “Close the door.”

“It’s that kind of meeting, huh?” He raised his eyebrows and winked. The door clicked shut behind him.

Remaining in his chair, she crossed her arms and waited until he sat in his own guest chair. “Who are you?”

Sean’s eyes rounded. “What do you mean?”

Natalie’s heart dropped to her knees and she closed her eyes. A large part of her was hoping against logic that it wasn’t true. That it had all been one crazy mistake. But it hadn’t. She knew that now.

The static sounded in her ears, the white noise precursor to an uptick in her anxiety levels. Using all the powers of concentration she’d learned from Dr. Kenning and years of practicing yoga, she slowed her breathing and regained her equilibrium. If the situation hadn’t been so damn depressing, she’d be celebrating the victory over her anxiety instead of wanting to cry.

Pushing all of the emotions she couldn’t deal with at the moment into individualized compartments, she opened her eyes. “I had a visitor today named Rupert Crowley.”

“Fuck.” Sean swiped his baseball cap off his head and rammed his hands through his hair, revealing that telltale scar above his eyebrow.

“So it’s true.” An ache, deep and dark, twisted inside her.

He jumped up from the chair and paced from one end of the small office to the other. “What did he say?”

“Does it matter?” Needing something to do to keep her hands busy, she straightened the few items left out on his desk.

“Try to understand…” The plea in his voice reverberated across her most vulnerable places.

To fight it, she grabbed ahold of her anger with both hands, letting it lead her. “Who are you?”

A neutral mask, totally devoid of any expression had settled on his face and he stared at some spot over her left shoulder. “Sean Duvin.”

Turning to face him, she asked the one question that thundered louder than all the others. “Why?”

“It’s a long story. But I’ve been running for years and he found me anyway.” He swept back his hair with one hand and shoved his hat back on, replacing his disguise.

But now that she’d seen the truth, she couldn’t unsee the man behind the beard and the baseball hat. She noticed more too—like the pinched V between his eyes, the vein sticking out from his temple and the air of determined energy pulsing off him.

“Rupert Crowley is a sleazeball celebrity biographer and reporter.” Sean practically growled the name. “He’s made a small fortune writing stories speculating about whatever happened to Sean Duvin.”

“I read one a few years ago. Not the biography, an article. Olivia was on the cover of
Chantal
magazine and there was an article about him—you—inside.”

It hadn’t been very flattering. Stories of Sean going missing for a day or two and then showing back up with mysterious bruises. Rumors about more women than one twenty–one–year–old man could handle. Grumblings about problems and drama with his family—lots of drama. None of which jived with the Sean she knew.

“I found out yesterday that he was in town and I almost ran again.” He spoke quietly, but the underlying disappointment came through loud and clear. “But I couldn’t.”

The idea of him leaving shook her more than it should, especially considering what she had to do next. “Why didn’t you?”

“This.” Sean tapped a framed photo of the brewery hanging on the wall, his love for the place plain to see on his face. “I couldn’t. I love this place. Your Uncle Julian, he saved me by taking a chance on me. I’d probably still be running if it wasn’t for him. And you. There’s a reason why I couldn’t come up with the perfect stout recipe for the Southeast Brewers Invitational. I didn’t understand the importance of mixing sweet in with the sour until I met you. I don’t want to be anyone but the Sean O’Dell that I am around you.”

Her shock evaporated under an angry blazing heat. He’d been lying to them. To her. For months. No wonder he kept his mouth shut so much. It was easier to keep track of the falsehoods that way.

What an idiot she’d been. She’d come back to Salvation to learn how to stop compartmentalizing her love life and had fallen for a guy who’d been doing it for his whole life. Wasn’t that just her luck?

He reached out and tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear, resting his palm against her cheek as if he couldn’t stand to not touch her. “I could have run the minute Rupert Crowley called the brewery trying to find me. But I couldn’t—still can’t—leave
you
.”

Anger. Confusion. Hurt. They all combined into the vicious brew swirling through her and she slapped his hand away.

“Of course not. How could you leave the boss you banged in the back of the brewery?” She shot up out of the chair. “You’re working here with a fake social security number; that alone could get the brewery in major trouble. For claiming to care about it, you sure have a funny way of showing it.”

“Your Uncle Julian and I worked out a deal,” Sean confessed.

“Uncle Julian knew?” She wanted to pull her hair out in frustration. Of course Uncle Julian knew. The old coot had probably had a good laugh about screwing over Uncle Sam right good, never bothering to think about how much trouble the brewery could get into for knowingly working with someone using a fake identity.

That was it. Not a thing about the situation could be salvaged. It was over. Sean whatever–his–name–was had to get out. Natalie gave him wide berth and marched to the door.

“Please.” He reached out and took her hands between his, the now familiar zing of attraction buzzing across her skin at his touch. “I hate to ask, but I need to be Sean O’Dell. Here. With you.”

Natalie yanked her hand free. She wasn’t about to make it that easy. “You’ve got to be kidding me. You want me to keep your secrets?”

“I know it’s a lot to ask.” He shook his head as if he still couldn’t believe the truth had finally come out.

The brewery had enough shit dropping on it from above to add another problem to the mix. She was here to find solutions, not add to the problems.

“It’s not a lot to ask. It’s too much.” She dropped her voice to a lower pitch and spoke in a slow and steady rhythm, despite her pulse’s jerking jackrabbit speed. “Just pack up your stuff and get out.”

“Natalie.” Agony sliced through his words like a steel blade.

Of course it did. He was an Academy Award–winning actor, after all.

She turned the doorknob and pulled it open. “You’re fired.”

“What about yesterday? What about us?” He grabbed her hand and yanked her to his broad chest before leaning down for a kiss.

Hard. Demanding. Full of promise. Nothing in the world would have felt as good as giving in to that kiss, but the lie’s sour taste had overwhelmed any bit of sweet truth in it. She planted her palms against his broad shoulders and pushed away. Cutting off their physical connection and doing her damnedest to burn the emotional one to the ground.

“That was a mistake.” Had it only a day? She’d have sworn it was a decade. “I’ll leave you to it. We’ll send you a severance check in the mail. Drop off your keys with Hailey on the way out.”

He stood less than two feet away, hands fisted at his sides, looking every bit like a man who’d lost it all. It may be just an Oscar–worthy performance, but she couldn’t watch it any more.

She paused in the doorway, her chest aching. “Goodbye, Sean.”

“Natalie…”

If she stayed to hear the rest, she’d crumble in front of him. She couldn’t do that.

Ignoring the plea in his voice, she walked out.

Chapter Thirteen

Sitting at The Kitchen Sink’s counter, Sean stared at the pecan pie slice on the bright–yellow plate. His SUV was packed and saying goodbye to Ruby Sue was the last thing he needed to do before hitting the road like he should have done yesterday. She was on the phone in the back with a supplier, so Ellen had delivered him the last slice of pie and a cup of coffee while he waited.

The pie was the perfect combination of sweet goo and crunchy nuts with a flaky crust that had to have an illegal amount of butter in it to be so damn good. Still, he couldn’t make himself pick up the fork and dig into his last taste of Salvation.

Ruby Sue sidled up to him and plunked a glass of sweet tea on the counter. “You know, George Gunderson threatened to fillet Joe Haver once when he thought Joe had cut in line and stolen the last piece of my pecan pie.”

That might not be such a bad way to go. It had to hurt a hell of a lot less than he did right now. “Is he around?”

“Nope.” She pulled herself up into the high–backed stool on Sean’s right. “You’re good.”

“Just my luck.” He picked up the fork and poked at the crust, flaking off a few pieces and then using the back of the fork to grind them into dust.

Ruby Sue patted him on the shoulder. “Buck up, you’ll be back at the brewery before you know it.”

He froze. And here he figured he was getting out of Dodge fast enough to beat the wildfire of gossip. “How did you know?”

She cackled and poured three sugar packets into her already sweetened tea. “Boy, who do you think you’re you talking to? This town talks as fast as a sinner during a deathbed confession.” She nodded. “So can the moping and eat this pie before folks start saying I’ve lost my touch.”

“You have it.” He slid the pie over to her. “The real reason I came in was to say goodbye.”

Ruby Sue ignored the pie and narrowed her eyes. “Why would you do that?”

“I packed up my stuff and gave the house a quick once–over.” He dropped the keys to the house on the counter. “I know I was supposed to give you two months’ notice, but I’m sure you won’t have trouble finding a new renter. I left it furnished.”

“I see.” No one would ever call Ruby Sue soft and cushy, but she went completely rigid. She shoved her glass away and turned to give him her full attention. The look of utter disgust on her face gutted him.

He didn’t know what he’d expected Ruby Sue’s reaction to be to his announcement, but an eight on a ten–point pissed–off scale wasn’t it. Like his own grandmother, Ruby Sue had cared about him when there really wasn’t a reason to. He’d never be able to pay her back, but he’d be forever grateful.

Easing down from the stool, he couldn’t go without asking one more favor. “Look, I know you’re close to the Sweet triplets. There’s something going on over at the brewery and the local deputies don’t seem to be all that concerned about it. If there’s any way you could put a bug in the sheriff’s ear, that would be a huge help.”

She held out her arm like a queen reaching out to a footman. Without a second thought, he took her hand and helped her down from her seat.

Once on her feet, she planted her hands on her hips and looked up at him with fire in her eyes. “So you’re telling me there’s trouble and you’re just hightailing it out of town faster than the roadrunner in one of those cartoons.”

Yes, and in his spare time he plucked the wings off butterflies and told small children that Santa didn’t exist. “It’s not ideal, I know. I’m sorry.”

“You sure are sorry.”

“Ruby Sue—”

“Don’t you Ruby Sue me.” She huffed out a breath. “I don’t know how you ended up here in Salvation, but the good Lord brought you here for a reason and you’re a damn fool to leave now just because you ran into a little roadblock.”

As if it was that simple. “Natalie fired me.”

“As she should have. That girl loves her rules, always has. She was one of those kids who would chew each bite exactly thirty–two times.” She poked a bony finger into his ribs. “You lied to her. She called you on it. And instead of acting like a man and trying to make up for it, you turned chickenshit.”

Ouch. Fighting with Ruby Sue was like trading jabs with a boxer way above his weight class. “Not fair.”

“Waah.” She imitated a baby rubbing her eyes. “Life isn’t fair. Grow up and deal with it.” She crossed her arms and shot him a hard look. “You made a life here in Salvation—a good one. Maybe instead of running away from something, you should be running
toward
someone.”

Okay, he loved the batty old woman, but he’d had enough. He didn’t need anyone telling him what to do with his life. It was his to fuck up if he damn well wanted to. “I don’t need to hear this.”

Ruby Sue snorted. “It’s exactly what you need to hear and you know it.”

“It’s been nice knowing you.” Sean stormed out the door—

And right into Rupert Crowley’s blinding spotlight.

Fuck. Just when he thought his life couldn’t get any worse, the man who’d stalked him for almost a decade had finally cornered him. Anger unspooled inside him and it took everything he had not to punch Crowley right in the nose.

The reporter stood with a single camera operator between Sean and his SUV. Rupert shoved a microphone in Sean’s face. “Sean Duvin, you’ve been living off the grid in a small town for years. What made you choose Salvation?”

It took every last bit of self–control he had, but Sean brushed past the reporter and his camera operator to his SUV.

Never one to give up, Crowley dogged Sean’s footsteps. “Your fans want to know why you left and what happened.”

“No comment,” Sean ground out between clenched teeth as he yanked open the driver’s side door.

He hopped in, hit the door locks, and started the engine. Glancing up, he spotted Ruby Sue and Ellen standing in The Kitchen Sink’s doorway.

Whatever he’d expected to be his last sight of Salvation, this wasn’t it.

The older woman stood with her arms wrapped tight around her middle, tears running down her face. Ellen had an arm around Ruby Sue’s frail shoulders and a sad little smile on her face. She lifted her free hand to wave goodbye and mouthed the words “Good luck.”

At that moment, he would have welcomed a kick in the balls rather than the ache racking him.

Rupert knocked on the SUV’s window, pulling Sean’s attention. The reporter opened his mouth but Sean gunned the engine, drowning out whatever the man had to say.

Running was the only option Sean had left. He didn’t have a choice. If he was still here when Rupert aired his report, it would only be a matter of time before his father found him, and he never wanted to see that bastard again in his life.