Nine
Brooke stood at the French doors to her suite, watching the sun set over the Colorado River and wishing she could appreciate the beauty, but her nerves felt like they’d been double knotted all over her body.
“Tammy told me Justin was accepted into the program,” she said to Lydia, the liaison within the research team handling the bronchial thermoplasty trial. “I can’t tell you how grateful we are.”
“When I saw his name on the final list I was thrilled.” Lydia’s warmth and enthusiasm touched Brooke. They’d built up a friendly rapport over the last six months since Tammy had discovered the project and Brooke had taken over management of the paperwork. Brooke and Lydia talked so often, Lydia felt like a friend now. “I was so excited when his name was chosen that I took a bathroom break just to go out in the hall and jump up and down.”
Brooke laughed, and tears burned her eyes. Tears of joy. Tears of fear. “You’ve been so sweet to us, Lydia. I honestly don’t know what we would have done without you through this process. You should be the poster girl for patience.”
“Awww, thank you. I really haven’t done anything but monitor the process, but I’m happy I could help. So where are you now? You’re always in some exotic location, doing something exciting.”
Not with Jillian. But she knew her life looked glamorous from the outside. “Not this time. Austin, Texas.”
“Hey, almost out our back door.” The research team was based in Oklahoma. “If you ever get up my way, you have to call. I’ll take you out to lunch or dinner. I’d love to meet you in person.”
Brooke smiled, and some of the chill Jillian had produced earlier in the day melted away. “I will absolutely do that. I’d love to meet you too. I feel like I already know you.”
“Right?”
They laughed.
Brooke sighed, closed her eyes, and took the uncomfortable plunge. “Lydia, I have a hypothetical for you.”
“Sure.”
“Now that Justin’s been admitted to the program, what would happen if, say, worst case scenario, I lost my job?”
A little gasp sounded over the phone, and Brooke’s stomach fell.
“Are you afraid that might happen?” Lydia asked, her voice filled with concern.
“Oh, you know. These actors can be pretty temperamental. No matter how much you do for them, sometimes it’s never enough.”
“Oh, Brooke, I’m so sorry.”
“Well, it hasn’t happened yet. And I’m going to do everything in my power to keep it from happening, but I was hoping there would be a way to keep Justin in the program if my worst nightmare were realized.”
“To be honest, it would be a real problem. The guidelines require payment in full or half the payment upon entrance to the program and a solid credit background and sufficient income to provide payments for the remaining half. That requires a solid work history and a current job that’s secure.”
Brooke winced. “What would be considered secure?”
“Employment with the same company for three years. If it’s less, you’ll need to have a letter from the employer stating that your employment is secure for the coming year.”
Her stomach sank a little lower, and desperation released into her system. The thought of borrowing more money from Ellie made Brooke sick. She opened her eyes and found the sun gone, the night as dark as she felt inside. “I see.”
“Let’s take things one step at a time,” Lydia said, her voice gentle. “Maybe things with your boss aren’t as bad as you think.”
Oh yes. They are.
“Sure. You’re probably right.” Brooke pressed fingers to her watering eyes. “I’m just tossing around what-ifs. I like to have all my bases covered, you know?”
“Of course.”
“Okay, I’ll talk to you soon then. And I will definitely call you the next time I get close to Oklahoma so we can meet.”
They said good-bye, Brooke disconnected and pressed her free hand to the railing of her balcony. She took a deep breath, exhaled and accepted her reality. She just had to learn to live with Jillian treating her like dirt. And she’d have to keep a bigger distance between herself and Keaton.
Brooke had never been as mortified as she’d been earlier when Jillian had called her trailer trash in front of Keaton. The rest of the crew too, but Keaton…
She pressed her hand to her face, burning with shame. The memory still made humiliation swirl in her gut and rise in her throat. She wanted to get mad. She wanted to get spitting angry. She fantasized about telling Jillian exactly what she thought of her, about what Jillian could do with this miserable job—
Her phone vibrated in her hand.
Brooke pried her eyes open, took a steadying breath and looked at her screen, hoping it wasn’t another apology from Keaton. Or another plea for a phone call. She couldn’t even bring herself to talk to him. Not yet. Not until she faced Jillian again to get a feel for where she stood.
The text was from Jillian and simply said, I’m back.
Which was a summons. Jillian had been at dinner with a big producer who was passing through on his way to Los Angeles. Normally Brooke would have gone along to take notes, but since her fall from grace, she hadn’t been invited.
She was definitely being punished. But instead of doing what she wanted to do, which was to walk in and quit, Brooke picked up her iPad and her notebook. At the door, she paused and checked her reflection in the mirror, smoothing her hand down the front of her straight navy skirt. She was back in full business dress, even though it was nine p.m.
Brooke kept her focus on getting from moment to moment. She strode to the end of the hall murmuring, “It’s not a big deal. I’m going to pretend it didn’t happen. By now she’s probably drunk on wine and high on attention.”
Stopping in front of Jillian’s door, she paused, took a steadying breath and knocked.
“Come.” Jillian’s buoyant voice floated through the door and had Brooke raising her brows.
“Okay…” So she wasn’t in a foul mood.
Brooke stepped into the suite and caught the tail end of Jillian’s side of a telephone conversation.
“That sounds heavenly. Lord knows I’m going to need a vacation when this is over.”
Amen. Brooke would get a vacation just by having Jillian take one. She stood in the foyer for a moment while Jillian stared out at the night, pulling off her earrings and laughing at something the person on the other end of the phone was saying. She’d been back in the hotel room for at least a little while, because she’d changed out of her dinner attire and donned her black silk robe. Her colored and frosted hair was down, rolling in a smooth tumble past her shoulders.
A flash of Jillian, dressed like this, wrapped in Keaton’s arms, one of his big hands tangled in her blond hair, the other locked around Jillian’s small waist, assaulted Brooke out of nowhere. An ugly chill shivered through her body, but Brooke refocused on the Impressionist painting dominating the wall in front of her and shook off the insecurity. There was no mistaking how Keaton felt about Jillian now. And Brooke had made her share of less than perfect choices when it came to one-night-stands.
“I know, I know,” Jillian said. “And I agree, Anguilla would be lovely, but I’ve always been partial to Barbados. There’s always Bermuda… Oh, please,” she laughed the words. “It is not the Hamptons of the Caribbean. Okay, okay. We’ll talk soon. Bye-bye.”
Jillian kissed into the phone and Brooke was so grateful her boss was in a good mood, her knees weakened with relief.
When Jillian didn’t immediately launch into a tale about her night or the vacation she’d just planned or start issuing orders, Brooke clicked into work mode and moved to the sofa, perching on the edge of a cushion.
“I’ve printed out your schedule for tomorrow.” Brooke opened her leather portfolio and pulled out a second copy, laying it on the coffee table. Normally, she would have asked about Jillian’s dinner, let the woman preen about whatever she wanted to preen about. But after today, Brooke just wanted to find level professional ground again. “All your spa appointments have been confirmed and Henry has your schedule.”
Jillian turned from the French doors and wandered toward the sofa.
“You have four hours between your last spa appointment, which is your massage, and your first interview. I’ve left a two-hour break between your massage for Jeannette and Percy to get you ready for your photo shoots.”
Brooke paused and checked Jillian’s expression. She stood beside the arm of the sofa with that cool holier-than-thou smirk, one hand absently twirling the tie to her robe. That gave Brooke another sliver of relief. It was Jillian’s norm, and right now, Brooke would take the miserable known to the turbulent unknown in a heartbeat.
“I’ve laid out the periwinkle Vera Wang suit for your five o’clock interview with the Austin American-Statesman,” she went on, returning her gaze to tomorrow’s schedule even though she had it memorized. “The tailored red Donna Karan for your six thirty taping with Access Hollywood and the black sequined Anne Klein for the live cocktail party interview segment at nine.”
She laid the paper on the table and lifted her gaze to Jillian’s. “Jeannette and Percy have cleared their schedules and will be wherever you need them when you need them.”
“Of course they will,” was Jillian’s response. “But your choice of outfits is all wrong.”
Brooke mentally reached for some of the armor she’d let slide off. Jillian had never questioned Brooke’s wardrobe choices before.
“I’ll be wearing the periwinkle to the Access Hollywood taping, because, as you said earlier today, my eyes pop when I wear blue. And there’s certainly no point in wearing something that makes my eyes stand out when I’m interviewing with a newspaper reporter from the American-Statesman. In fact, it really doesn’t matter what I wear to that interview, so I’ll be dressing down. Pull out my favorite jeans and one of my Marc Jacobs sweaters.”
Jeans?
Brooke wasn’t sure which fire to smother first—explaining that the journalist Jillian would be interviewed by was the stepson of a Los Angeles movie production mogul? Or reminding her that the ex-Miss America who’d be sitting in the chair opposite her on the Access Hollywood set always wore some shade of blue for the very same reason? And to knock the girl on her ass, Jillian would have to wear something stunning?
“Oh, well, um…” Brooke started.
But Jillian was done with the conversation and was already strolling toward one of the bedrooms.
“Get ahold of whoever you have to get ahold of at the hotel and tell them I still don’t have the right flavor of Perrier in the refrigerator,” she complained, her voice huffy, as if even having to address it was a ridiculous waste of time. “And if that maid comes in here before ten a.m. again, I’m going to have her fired.”
“Wait, Jillian…” Brooke stood.
Jillian paused at the dining room table, turned and laid one hand on the back of a chair. “Oh, and speaking of fired, contact an employment agency and put in my request for a new assistant.”
Shock hit Brooke like an ice storm and stole her breath. The freeze started at her shoulders and moved rapidly down her body. “Wh—what?”
“A new assistant,” Jillian repeated. But the look on her face now was sheer ice. Lids low, jaw tight. “One who doesn’t go behind my back and betray my trust. Put in the order, and I’ll give you a decent letter of recommendation.”
Brooke had a momentary battle between fury and terror. One thought of Justin and fear won out. “Jillian, what happened today was really just a misunderstanding.” She rounded the sofa, clearing all barriers between them. Brooke knew Jillian responded to begging, but it went against everything Brooke was. Everything Brooke believed. “You know how badly I need this job. You know I would never do anything to jeopardize it.”
Jillian crossed her arms and lifted her chin. “And I know Keaton. We’ve both been in the business a long time. I know his reputation, and I’ve worked with him often enough to know how he behaves. Which means I also know you’re sleeping with him.”
Brooke shook her head. She opened her mouth to tell Jillian it wasn’t true, but the words wouldn’t come out. It felt just as wrong to deny loving Keaton as it did to allow Jillian to treat her this way.
“You’re a fool, you know,” Jillian said in Brooke’s silence. “He’s the same as all the other men in this business. He’ll fuck any decent looking woman who’s available and suits him at the time. The bigger issue here is that I confided in you and you went after him.”
“No I didn’t—”
“That’s deliberate betrayal.”
“It wasn’t, Jillian. You’re wrong.”
Her eyes flared with icy anger. She unfolded her arms and planted her fists at her hips. “Are you going to stand there and tell me you didn’t fuck him?”
Brooke’s words tangled in the barbed wired cutting her gut. “I…we…it wasn’t like that—”
“I’m not an idiot, Brooke. I know exactly what it was like by the way he defended you after you left. Did you two lay in bed laughing at how gullible I am?”
“Oh my God, Jillian…” Brooke pushed a hand into her hair. This was ridiculous. Part of her wanted to slap the woman and tell her to pull her head out of high school. The other wanted to drop to her feet and beg her to understand. Then more of her words sank in and more confusion leaked through the dizzying combination of panic and frustration. “Defended me? He had nothing to defend me against. They asked me to help them out. I was done with the work you’d given me so I helped them out. That’s all there was to it.”
“If that was true, he wouldn’t have berated me for belittling you in front of the rest of the staff.”
Brooke pulled in a sharp breath. That’s what this was about. Keaton standing up to her in public. Keaton taking Brooke’s side over Jillian’s. Keaton doing exactly what Brooke had asked him, told him, not to do.
Now her anger had a whole new target. And her pain dug deeper.
“You know me, Jillian. You know I would never do something so hurtful. And Keaton was having a bad day. The movie was behind when he stepped on the set. He’d just received word your stunt double wasn’t going to make it. He was already tired from his previous job. He simply lost his patience.”
“Neither of you looked the least bit unhappy when I walked in.”
She collected tolerance she didn’t even know she had—for Tammy and Justin. “I understand that you’re angry right now, but I wish you would just sleep on it. Just let your temper settle. Once you consider all the circumstances I’m sure you’ll see things differently.”
When Jillian remained unmoved, Brooke resorted to pleading. “You know how much I need this job. I just found out Justin got into the children’s research program for the bronchial thermoplasty treatment. He’s just a little boy with a long life of struggle ahead without this procedure. Please don’t take that away from him. I’ve been a good assistant.”
“I’m taking nothing from your nephew. You alone are responsible for that, Brooke. You and Keaton.”
“I won’t see Keaton again.” She pushed the words out, confused with all the emotions swirling inside her—loss, pain, anger. But none of that mattered now. Justin had to come first. “Please give me another chance.”
“If you want that letter,” Jillian continued, dismissing Brooke’s plea, “make a clean break with Keaton. Make sure he understands that what you had was a fling and that it’s over. And you’re not to contact him again while he’s working on this set. I’ll give you ninety minutes to get your things together and hunt Keaton down to say good-bye. He’s probably out at the bars with the crew, hitting on the hottest woman within reach. Then Henry will take you to the airport.”
Brooke panicked. Everything that mattered was crumbling around her. “Please, Jillian. Can’t we discuss this?”
“We have.” She turned and sashayed down the hall toward the bedroom. “And the discussion is over.”
Fury consumed Brooke. Fury and fear.
“Fine,” Brooke said. “But since you aren’t willing to consider my wants or needs, I’m not willing to consider yours.” Jillian stopped in the hallway. After a moment, she spun slowly to face Brooke. And the woman’s hate-face was cemented in place. Brooke’s stomach fluttered with anxiety.
“Excuse me?” Jillian said, her voice ice-cold and cutting.
Brooke’s heart thundered in her ears and pounded in her chest. “Your letter of recommendation means nothing. We both know you’ll be badmouthing me behind my back. We both know that when you feel betrayed, you’re irrational and vengeful. And that if you had your way, I’d never work in this industry again.”
Jillian crossed her arms. Her eyes narrowed and her lips pursed. “You’ve certainly earned that by talking back to me.”
Brooke’s emotions spiked past anger. Now she was livid. She took two steps toward Jillian before she forced her feet to stop. Before she forced self-restraint to kick in. “I’ve earned nothing but respect,” she told Jillian in a low tone dripping with finality. “I’ve done everything you’ve asked and more. I’ve gone above and beyond to be the best assistant you could possibly want.”
“You’re the worst kind of assistant—the untrustworthy kind.”
“And you’re the worst kind of employer—the narcissist. And let me tell you exactly what’s going to happen, Jillian. I’m going straight to Keaton, and I’m going to tell him everything. I’m going to tell him how you’ve treated me. I’m going to tell him what you’ve accused him of and exactly how you see him—as little more than a gigolo.”
“Ha.” Jillian huffed a disgusted laugh. “As if I care what he—”
“You should care, because everyone in the industry loves Keaton, and everyone in the industry hates you. Keaton is on every studio’s list of the most desirable stunt fighters. There are a lot of beautiful actresses, Jillian, but there’s only one Keaton Holt. So when a studio has to choose between you and Keaton because he refuses to work with you, who do you think they’ll pick?”
Brooke was shaking with fury. But she was also bluffing—big-time. She had no control over Keaton. Nor would she ever tell Keaton those hurtful things. And she knew studios couldn’t care less about the bullshit that went on between actors. Brooke was just hoping Jillian was insecure enough to believe it.
Her eyes narrowed; her jaw tightened. “You wouldn’t.”
“I would, and I will.”
“I’ll make sure you never work in this industry again.”
“You’re already going to do that,” Brooke said, “so I’ve got nothing to lose.”
Jillian fell quiet. Her jaw pulsed. “What do you want?”
I want you out of my life. I want the last year erased from my mind and heart. I want to forget I ever met you.
Brooke felt like she was going to shatter. She drew a slow breath and reached deep for the courage to make her final demand. “I want a letter. And I want that letter to tell ‘To whom it may concern’ that my employment with you is solid. I want that letter to say you have absolutely no intention of letting me go within the next year.”
Jillian laughed, the sound condescending and nasty. “Never.”
Brooke turned on her heel and took two steps toward the door.
“Wait,” Jillian said.
But Brooke didn’t wait. She was done taking orders from Jillian.
She had her hand on the handle of the door when Jillian said, “Fine, you can have the letter.”
Brooke paused, but she didn’t turn around, waiting for the other shoe.
“But you’ll talk to Keaton first,” Jillian added.
Brooke shook her head and pulled the door open.
“Fine,” Jillian said, her voice rising with urgency and anger. “But here’s my final deal. I’ll give you the letter. Then you’ll sign another releasing me from responsibility for your salary for this fictitious year. And all this will stay between us. If you don’t go to Keaton tonight before you leave, or if you tell him you leaving was my fault, you’ll be hearing from my lawyer.”
Brooke squeezed her eyes closed—in both relief and misery. Justin was safe, but Keaton would be hurt. She fought to shove her own loss aside, gather her frayed composure and turned.
And she told Jillian, “You’ll write, print and sign the letter—right now.”