Souvenirs (16 page)

“She’s agreed to a public appearance, and she practices to get over her nerves. It’s a big hurdle for her, but she knows public response is going to be key for the premiere.”

“Her fans are rabid.”

Paul nodded. “I’ve closed the set. You and Susan already bring large numbers of devoted fans. When Grace’s news breaks, it’ll get nuts. And then there’s the train picture.”

Ben slumped in his chair. He hadn’t even considered that. “Jesus. One wrong photo early.”

“If they figure out you two are here together?” Paul built a mushroom cloud with his hands. “Boom.”

Chapter 16

“‘Lo?” Grace answered the phone out of reflex, still staring at the pages in front of her.

“Grace?”

Bennett’s croaked question got her attention, and she looked to the living room windows, expecting to see him standing on the deck of the guesthouse. She couldn’t see anything past the circle of light on her desk. It was dark.
When had it gotten dark?

“Grace?” he asked again.

“Sorry. Yes, it’s me. What’s up?”

“You’ve not been at work this week. I wanted to make sure you’re well.”

“Umm, yeah. I’ve been busy with promotion and interviews. Did the rewrites work?” Now alert, she was hungry. Foraging through the kitchen, she opened and closed cabinets as she talked.

“They’re fine,” he assured her. “What’s all the clatter?”

“I’m looking for something to eat.” She huffed her hair out of her face. “Nothing sounds good.”

“What about chicken and rice?”

“Oh, yum. But I don’t have the time to cook it.” And she didn’t have chicken, or rice. She had mac and cheese, but was out of milk. Damn, she’d have to stop somewhere for breakfast tomorrow.

“I could bring it to you,” he offered in the same quiet voice he’d first used in Vienna. “There’s a great place a block from me. Persian.”

God, I love how he says that word.
Grace rolled her eyes at her reflection in the oven door.
You love how he says everything. That’s one of the reasons you stayed home
.

“Jeweled rice and roasted chicken?” The smile she heard tempted her as much as the food.

“Can you drive on the right side of the road?” she asked.

“I always drive on the
right
side of the road.”

“Seriously, Bennett. If you drive into oncoming traffic and get killed bringing me dinner, I’ll never live it down.”

“Duly noted,” he chuckled. “I have a GPS and everything. I’ll see you within the half hour.”

“I have wine.”
Great. I have none of the four food groups, but I have a bottle of screw top wine in the fridge.

“Okay. I’ll see you soon.”

The line went dead.

When she put her phone on her desk, she noticed an edit she’d missed. Just one revision, then she’d change clothes. There was plenty of time.

Twenty-five minutes later, a knock at the door jolted her attention from the page.

“Aww, shit,” she grumbled. Her shoulders slumped as she looked down at her sweatshirt and yoga pants. This couldn’t be happening.

The second knock was louder. “Grace?”

She flipped on the under-counter task lights before she answered the door. “Hi. Come on in.” Her stomach rumbled as the food smells preceded him. It was all she could do not to rip the takeout containers from his hands.

“It’s dark in here,” he said.

“I lost track of the time.” She pushed her glasses to the top of her head and blinked rapidly as he flicked on the kitchen lights.

He turned them off again. “Sorry.”

“No, here. Let me.” She could at least pretend to be a hostess.

Weaving a path through the shadows of the living room furniture, she switched on a few lamps, giving the space a softer glow. In the kitchen, Bennett now searched for plates. His t-shirt and jeans made her feel better about her work at home clothes, but they highlighted his physique from his broad shoulders to his narrow waist and down his powerful thighs.

Fighting the urge to stare, she returned to the kitchen to help with the food. They worked side by side, serving dinner and pouring wine like it was a normal day.

Noticing his stare, she started an automatic inventory beginning at her hair. “Oh, hell.” She pulled the glasses out of her ragged bangs and tugged the pencil from the knot at her crown. Her hair collapsed in a pile, and she groaned in relief. “I didn’t realize that hurt.”

For a split second, the leopard from Vienna stared back at her. Then she blinked and it was gone. The light must be playing tricks on her, feeding her imagination.

“It’s nice outside,” he said. “Why don’t we eat out there?”

She surveyed the room. Pages cluttered the dining room table, the drafting table she used as a desk, and the sofa. No wonder he wanted to eat outside.

“It’s not always like this,” she blurted. “I have to keep the projects separate or I get confused. Since my new book is on the big table, I have to work on the script in the dining room.”

He passed the sofa. “What are these?”

She joined him, keeping the food a safe distance from the artwork and the upholstery. “Cover art. I can’t make up my mind.”

He pointed. “I like that one.”

“Why?”

“I don’t like the light on Weathermore’s face in the other. He looks too harsh—unless you’re going for harsh.”

She wasn’t. And it was sexy as hell to talk shop with him.
Don’t think about sexy. This is not a date, it’s a friendship. Nothing more.
“Thanks. Let’s eat.”

They sat opposite each other, and Grace had no idea what to say. Friends would talk about common experiences, but those were all tainted. They could talk about work, but it was after hours. If they were on a first date, they’d talk about—

It’s not a date.
She should at least remember her manners.

“Thanks for doing this for me.” She dug into her rice. “I’d forgotten to eat after breakfast.”

“It seemed silly for both of us to eat alone,” he said.

As she sipped her wine, the havoc that had been Paul and Meg’s guesthouse loomed in the background. The lights turned the stacks of paper and books into mountain ranges of responsibility that grew taller by the day. “Who am I kidding?” she sighed. “It will always be a mess. I tell myself one last re-write, one last edit, and then I’ll take a break. Then something else comes up.”

Grace looked across the table and told him what she should have months earlier. “I was going to write a book. One book. I had a story in my head, and I wrote it down. It became another, then a third, and now we’re almost to nine. Paul asked to buy the rights, and I volunteered to write the treatment for investors. Before I knew it, I was writing a screenplay. And now I’m an associate producer, for God’s sake. And I’m finishing one book while marketing the others
and
the movie.

“This morning I thought I was getting a handle on it. The edits are going well, and the book promotion will slow when production picks up. My agent sees the movie as one big advertisement. Then my publisher called and asked me to edit an anthology and write the anchor story.”

“Can you tell me about it?”

She stared at him, gauging his interest. He stared back with raised eyebrows and a tile to his head.

“I’d get to pick the contributors,” she began, “and I can mix them between new talent and known authors. It’s a chance to work with writers I admire and to give a few the same break I got.”

“Would you write a one-off story?”

“I’d like to try something different,” she confessed. “I want to know if I can do something else.”

“You can.” He poured her another glass of wine. “You’re excited about this, aren’t you?”

She looked at the stacks of paper. “I’d love to do it, but how—”

“I’ll find you another table.”

She blinked, her heart in her throat. She wanted to hug him, but she stayed in the safety of her chair and changed the subject. “Enough about me. How are things going for you? Are you enjoying California?”

They spent the rest of the evening in small talk, and Bennett left early. Grace stayed up thinking about their visit. Maybe a friendship wasn’t off the table. Lots of ex-lovers became friends later. It would make it easier on everyone.

She went to bed and stared at the huge mattress mocking her in the moonlight. It would be easier on everyone
else
.

Wine and insomnia resulted in oversleeping the next morning. She was halfway out the door, balancing coffee and a granola bar while trying to keep her bag on her shoulder, when her phone rang. She shifted her load and fished for it in her purse.

Grace groaned when she saw her agent’s name on the screen. She didn’t need this today. They were blocking scenes, in costume, using her favorite dialogue. Making a disgusted face, she answered.

“Hey, Rick. I’m late for work. Whatcha need?”

“Have you looked at the list I sent you?” he demanded. “I’m getting repeat calls.”

“My laptop is in my bag.”

“Well, unpack it and look at what I’ve sent you.” She could almost hear him rolling his eyes. “I have a busy day rebuilding my website after your fans trashed it.”

“Yeah, and I’m sittin’ by the pool eatin’ Moon Pies and drinkin’ Dr. Pepper,” she retorted, exasperated.

“Why won’t you just do the book festival?” he cajoled. “They’re offering a shit-ton of money, and everyone there will want a new hardcover for your autograph.”

They’d had this argument before, and she knew he was hoping to catch her in a hurry and distracted so she’d agree with him. “I don’t want to do this to sell more books. I’ll look at the list tonight and email you tomorrow morning. I have other things to do.”

“You have to—”

She cut him off. “Rick, I’m
late
.” Who was the employer here? No boss she’d ever known had explained their decisions. “And I don’t have to explain myself. I’ll send you an email tonight.”

She hung up on him, raced to the car, and sped to the studio, arriving just as Bennett exploded with a roar and hurled the script across the set.

“That’s five takes in a row,” Ted whispered to her as she sank into an empty seat.

Bennett paced the set like a caged animal, clawing at his cravat. “I wouldn’t wear this at home. I hate these.”

He stared into the mirror over the fireplace on set and tore through his hair until he could shake it free and finger-comb it into a different style. Then he tossed his head and nodded at his fuzzy reflection.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” Grace screeched, leaping to her feet.

“It’s wrong.” He unbuttoned his waistcoat and let it hang open.

“It’s not wrong.” Her voice shook.

“I’m not doing it this way.”

“You
have
to.”

“If I could just change—”

“He is not yours!” Grace shouted as her control failed. “He is
mine
, goddamn it.”

“Why didn’t you cast a
fucking
parrot?” Bennett thundered.

“
What?
”

“I say what
you
want. I stand the way
you
want. I wear what
you
want.
You
are in
my
way.”

“How
dare
you!” Hearing her shriek echo in her ears, she clapped her hand over her mouth.

On set, Bennett squared off with his hands on his hips and glowered at her from under his brows.

Grace dropped her hand and dragged in a shaky breath. “Bennett—”

“No,” he snapped. “I’m tired of trying.
My. Way.”

Grace held his icy stare and waited on his apology. When it didn’t come, she stalked off and slammed her door. A few minutes later, the back door banged open and crashed closed. Her windows rattled.

In response, she opened and slammed every drawer and door in her office. She bashed her pencil cup on her desk for good measure. Throwing herself in her chair, she pounded on her laptop keys resulting in a screen full of gibberish.

I’m tired of trying.
His words replayed in her head.

Leaning back, she stared at the ceiling and took deep breaths until all her vertebrae relaxed. Then she picked up the script and left her office. The crew gave her a wide berth, and Susan waved feebly as she shut her door. Bennett’s dressing room was empty.

Paul’s door was open. He looked up from his reports. “He’s right, Grace. And he’s cooling off in the park if you want to tell him.”

She latched the back door and almost tiptoed across the park to where Bennett sat staring at the sky with his arms draped across the back of a bench. She perched on the edge of the seat as far away as she could manage. It took all of her effort, but she waited until he looked at her.

“Why don’t you do this to Susan?” he sighed.

She stared at the small sliver of beach they could see. She lived near the beach, she worked near the beach, and she never
went
to the beach.

“Zadie has always belonged to Susan,” she began. “I plotted everything about that character around her. But I didn’t have anyone in mind for Ian. I created him out of whole cloth, and he’s part of me like she’s never been.”

“Would you look at me?” he asked. “I’d like to have this conversation with your eyes instead of your ear.”

She expected to see him laughing at her, but he wasn’t.

“
He’s
your favorite?”

She nodded and turned back to her view. Her toes wiggled in vain for the sand. Maybe she could go to the beach tomorrow.

A figure blocked her line of sight, and she squinted up and up yards of black until she saw the wry smile and cocked eyebrow of her hero.

“Miss. Forgive me, but you seem to be without a guardian and I am without a card.” He bowed low, and the new hairstyle draped across his brow and shaded his eyes. “Ian Frost, sixth Earl of Weathermore.”

Oh my God
.

When she didn’t answer, he stayed bent at the waist and scowled at her. “Are you ill or simply rude?”

“No. My apologies.” She offered him her hand. “Grace Donnelley, milord.”

“May I?” When she nodded, he sat, keeping his back straight and looking down his nose. “It’s a pleasure to make your acquaintance, Miss Donnelley. May I skip the pleasantries? We have things to discuss.”

“Of course, sir.”