Chapter Nine
Claire returned to the set, trying to focus on what needed to be done for the next scene, but she was freaking out. She never expected to run into Josh here. Double shock he had an identical twin. It was so bizarre to see not one but two Joshs that she nearly yelped in surprise. Only the presence of the crew made her keep it together. She wasn’t sure if he recognized her. Both men had stared at her, but most men did the first time they met her. They either had a tough-girl Blue Haze bikini fantasy or a virginal Neighborly Attraction fantasy, neither of which was her. She blew out a breath. Back to work. She put on her headset and called for the key players to report to the dining room.
A short while later, everyone was in place, and she did a quick rundown of the dinner scene with Blake and the crew. The prop master, Diane, wasn’t happy with the look of the fruit bowl and they waited while she refreshed some fruit from the kitchen.
Blake turned to go. He preferred to lounge in his trailer if he wasn’t on camera.
“Stay close by,” she told Blake. “We need to get started as soon as props are in place.”
Blake crossed his arms and stared at the dining room, jaw tight.
“It won’t be long,” she assured him.
He made a sour face, but said nothing. He didn’t have to, he communicated enough nonverbally to let everyone know how he felt. Lately, he’d been giving her more attitude. She’d heard his own fledgling production company wasn’t doing well. He couldn’t get investors in the films he wanted to produce. It was a tricky thing to do, requiring finesse and marketing savvy. Claire had produced her first film out of pocket. The success of that had given investors confidence in backing her future films. Except the Fierce trilogy, she’d gone all in on that deal because she knew it could be big and she wanted it all to herself, answering to no one. She’d mentioned to Blake that he should consider investing his own money when they’d first talked about his new venture six months ago, but he’d refused to even consider investing in himself. He said his name should be enough for people to open their wallets.
Ty approached, a bulkier inked version of Josh. Now that she’d seen the brothers together, all she could see was Josh when she looked at Ty. The deep brown eyes, the angle of his cheekbones, the athletic grace of his body. She’d spent the morning with Ty yesterday when she’d supervised the exterior shots of Damon tearing it up on his motorcycle. For some reason, her knees locked, bracing for bad news.
Relax, she told herself. He probably wanted to ask her a question. After the dinner scene, Damon, played by Ty for the stunt, would take off on his bike in a fury and spin out on the edge of the circular driveway.
She turned and pasted on a smile.
Ty smiled back. “Hey, Claire, thanks for meeting my brothers. It meant a lot to them.”
“Of course.”
Blake looked over and raised a brow. “I thought this was a closed set.”
“Crew can meet off set for lunch if their guest gets security clearance,” Claire replied. Craft services was far enough away from filming to keep a closed set, and she’d learned that a happy crew always made filming easier. Over the last three films, hiring many of the same crew, they’d developed a level of trust. No one had taken advantage of the privilege. Most of the time, there were no guests.
“I’ll be you out there on the bike,” Ty told Blake. “Stunt double.”
“Make me look good,” Blake said.
Ty grinned and raised his palms like it was a given. He turned to Claire, gave her a pointed look, and said, “Josh knows who went on that date.”
Her stomach dropped. Shit. He knew it was her. It was only a matter of time before he sold the story to the highest bidder. Claire Jordan in disguise. Claire Jordan drunk in the woods. Claire Jordan in a seedy one-night stand. Or, worse, Claire and Blake on the rocks, what did this mean for Damon and Mia? Her movie would be sunk. The buzz on Damon and Mia killed. She swallowed down the bile in her throat.
“Who’s Josh?” Blake asked.
Ty slipped away.
Blake was saying something to her, but her hearing dimmed as a ringing went through her ears. She stumbled to a dining room chair and sat down. Sweat broke out on her upper lip. She dropped her head in her hands, dizzy and hoping she didn’t pass out. She heard a commotion and the next thing she knew her assistant was insisting she drink a glass of water.
She lifted her head to find everyone staring at her with a look of concern. Except Blake, who almost looked pleased, like he wanted to see her taken down a peg. It was that smirking look on Blake’s face that made her pull it together.
“I’m fine,” she said. “I skipped lunch and got a little light-headed. Won’t make that mistake again.” She often ate alone in her trailer, so no one would doubt her white lie. She took in the fruit bowl. “Looks like we’re all set. Diane, thanks for your keen eye. Let’s get back to work.”
She took a drink of water, and before she could set it down, her assistant whisked it away. She stood, stronger now and focused. No one could put her off her game. She’d deal with Josh later.
Unfortunately, it wasn’t that easy. She was on edge the rest of the day, which she funneled into the emotional scene between her and Damon where Damon suspects Mia of having a secret, of possibly betraying him. Yeah, she knew a little about that, though she feared Josh would be the one betraying her.
On a brief break, she texted Hailey to arrange a meeting with Josh. She needed to talk to him face-to-face and find out exactly what he planned to do with this information. She told Hailey to send him to the private lounge where the book club met. No way was she inviting him to her suite. Because while she’d been pretending as Jenny, there was no doubt that the chemistry they had was very real. The last thing she needed was to fall into bed with him a second time as herself. She’d only be getting herself in deeper, exposing much more than she could risk.
Her life was becoming the kind of melodrama she acted out on the big screen.
She wasn’t at all surprised to hear back a short while later that Josh was willing to meet. Anyone in his position would. He’d probably walk in with his hand out. She wasn’t averse to paying him not to talk. It would save her a lot of headache in the long run. Things would get stickier if he had photos. She hadn’t seen him take pictures, but who knew what he had done when she was sleeping. It had happened before.
Finally the appointed time arrived. She stepped into the lounge, took a seat at the long table, and waited. She wanted a table between them. This was a negotiation and she would do better with some distance. Her bodyguard had instructions, along with a photo provided by Hailey, to escort him in. Hailey had texted her a few times, apologizing profusely for the date gone wrong, but she didn’t blame her. It was her own silly longing to feel normal again. That wasn’t who she was anymore.
The door opened, Frank poked his head in to give her a heads-up, and then let Josh in. She watched him approach in a crisp white button-down shirt, gray dress pants, and leather shoes. His stride was purposeful and confident. For a brief moment she had a sense they were having a business meeting. Something was different about him. Not just the dressier clothes. An attitude. The way he held himself. Fury rose up in her. She’d been played. He’d been calculating how to get the most out of his time with her. He must’ve known who she was all along. She’d suspected he knew something at their last meeting. Who told? Did one of her new friends betray her? Mad? Hailey? She didn’t want that to be true. Maybe he’d recognized her. She really hoped that was it.
He stopped on the other side of the table, directly across from her, and stared. “I can’t believe it was really you. I’m still in shock.”
“Like you didn’t know.”
“I didn’t know. Not until I saw you at lunch today.” He kept staring. “Your hair and eyes were so different, and you acted almost shy as Jenny. You’re not shy at all, are you?”
“No.” And now she felt a little paranoid. She’d been about to dump her new friends over an imagined betrayal. She rubbed her forehead. “Please, have a seat.”
He pulled out a chair and took a seat, his eyes never leaving hers. “Your eyes were so green. Contacts, right?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
She ignored the question. She couldn’t give him any more ammunition. Not until she knew what he’d do with what he already knew. She steepled her hands on the table, keeping a carefully neutral expression. “So now you know I’m Jenny. What do you plan to do with this information?”
“Why did you do it?” He studied her, searching her expression. It reminded her of how warm he’d been—smiling at her, talking, playing around, kissing her.
She stifled a sigh. That time was over. “What does it matter?”
“Is this why you couldn’t see me anymore? Because you’re famous?”
“Yes.”
He frowned, a deep V forming between his brows. “Because I’m a nobody bartender. You think you’re above that.”
Her hackles rose. She was as down-to-earth as anyone when you got to know her. It was just that she had to keep her social circle small, by necessity. “Of course not.”
“Sounds exactly like that to me.” He spread his arms wide across the backs of the chairs next to him and leaned back insolently in his seat. “Claire Jordan is too big for the little people.”
“Don’t put words in my mouth,” she snapped. She told herself to calm down, not to give him any more dirt for the whopper of a story he already had, but it was extremely difficult, especially now when he was smirking at her.
He dropped his arms from the chairs and slowly leaned forward, a challenge in those deep brown eyes. “Then explain it in your own words.”
“I don’t have to explain anything to you.”
“Then what am I doing here?” he asked in an arrogant tone. Like he knew he had her in a vulnerable position.
She wanted to squeeze him by the throat. She couldn’t believe this was the same warm charming gentleman bartender she’d been thinking longingly of, wishing she could see him for a third date and a fourth and augh. She had a quick internal battle between ordering him out or proceeding as rationally as possible. Then he spoke again, arrogant as all hell, and rational took a hike.
“Again, I ask you, Claire Jordan, what am I doing here?”
“Get out,” she spat, too irritated for any kind of negotiating.
He leaned back in his seat. “No.”
She leapt to her feet. “No? I’ll have you kicked out of here the moment I raise my voice. Frank will—”
“Sit down.”
“Who the hell—”
“Come on,” he said in a bored tone like she was the one wasting his time. “You got me all the way here to your supersecret meeting spot. What do you want?”
She sat abruptly, stunned that he was asking what she wanted. This whole thing was about what he wanted from her. “What do I want?”
“Yeah.”
“I want to know what you plan to do with this information. I want to know if you have pictures.”
He looked at her like she was nuts. “Pictures? Did you see me taking pictures?”
“Maybe when I was sleeping.”
“I slept like the dead after you had your way with me. Three wicked times. Maybe you’re the one with pictures.”
She snort-laughed, surprising herself. “First of all, no. Second of all, who would want them?”
He crossed his arms. “Maybe you would.”
She got serious. “Don’t turn this around on me. I’m the one at risk here. Did you talk to anyone? Did you tell the press?”
He raised a brow. “Tell them what?”
He wasn’t as sharp as she’d thought. This could be to her advantage. “Well, maybe we could arrange…” She trailed off as his gaze turned warm and tender.
He stood, walking around the table to her, and she fought to remain calm, but the closer he got, the more her pulse spiked, sending a surge of raw desire coursing through her.
He stopped next to her chair, reached out and cradled her face in one hand. Her breath caught. He slowly leaned down, close, so close, his lips a breath away. She couldn’t move. She didn’t want to move.
He shifted near her ear. “Am I not supposed to share how much I liked Jenny?”
Her heart leapt to her throat. “I’m sorry,” she whispered.
He dropped his hand and leaned against the table next to her, considering her for a long moment. She didn’t know what to say. Guilt swamped her.
He slowly shook his head. “Why pretend? You could have anyone.”
She met his eyes and gave him the truth. She owed him that much. “I guess I just missed feeling normal.”
“I missed the sweet girl-next-door type.”
“Like you thought I was,” she said softly.
“Is any part of you like Jenny? Or was the whole thing an act?”
“Josh, before I say anything else, I need to know if you’re going to tell the press about this. About Jenny.”
He stared at her for a long moment like he was thinking hard.
“I’ll pay you to keep it secret,” she rushed on. “I can get you five thousand cash within the hour. Think what that could do for you. That’s a lot of money.” And she’d paid a lot more than that on similar occasions.
He straightened. “You’re something, Claire Jordan.” She hated the way he kept saying her full name. Like he was reminding her she’d wronged him. “You think I couldn’t get more than that from some celebrity rag?”
She’d underestimated him. “Name your price. But I want it in writing that you won’t share any information on me, Jenny, or any of our time together. I have a nondisclosure in my purse.” She reached for it.
“Don’t bother,” he said with a look of disgust. “I have no interest in telling anyone about you, and I sure as hell don’t want your money.”
She instantly regretted bringing up the money. He’d told her how much he liked Jenny. He must be so upset to know Jenny wasn’t real. “Josh, I—”
He turned and strode toward the door, his long legs eating up the distance. She didn’t remember him ever moving so fast before.
She stood. “Wait!”
He stopped, and then his shoulders dropped like he’d let out a big sigh. Or maybe he was dreading whatever she was about to say. What was she going to say? Another apology? Sorry for messing with your head and stabbing you in the heart?
He slowly turned, gazing at her silently across the room, waiting.
Some unknown force had her moving toward him before she realized what she was doing. She stopped directly in front of him. Up close, his dark eyes were conflicted, angry and also sad. It was the sadness, the hurt she’d caused, that made her blurt the truth. “I wish I could be her for you. I never thought one fun date, well, two actually, would get so complicated.”
He looked over her shoulder. “Yeah, complicated.”
“It’s too hard to date a civilian. The hours, the constant travel. It’s hard to keep relationships going like that. You need a small-town girl. Like you thought I was.”
His lips formed a grim line. Finally he held out his hand. “I guess this is goodbye.”
She shook his hand, the warmth of it bringing a tingling rush. Her eyes met his in an electric connection, the urge to throw herself in his arms overwhelming.
But then he stepped back. “Goodbye, Jenny.”
He was saying goodbye to the fake woman, not her. It didn’t make her feel any better because she’d brought a lot of herself to Jenny, but there was too much Claire Jordan in the way for that to matter.
She crossed her arms, hugging herself. She hated goodbyes. Her whole life seemed like one long goodbye to people and places. First because of her dad’s military career, then moving from movie set to set all over the world.
He stood in front of her, waiting for her to say goodbye, but she couldn’t do it.
“We had fun that night, didn’t we?” she asked. “And on the boat.”
His expression was solemn. “Yeah, we did.”
He turned and left without a backward glance.
She nearly collapsed from the awful guilt and longing. “Goodbye, Josh,” she said to the empty room.
She dashed at an errant tear, squared her shoulders, and went out the back entrance to her private suite. Alone again with her silent shadow trailing close by.