Chapter Nine
Klein had rigged the filming schedule so Ginny had the rest of the day off—which she’d appreciated at the time, but she now recognized as an obvious attempt to suck up to Jack, who had apparently wanted her free so he could blindside her with Dame Agatha.
She couldn’t be mad at Klein though, for kowtowing to fame. Everyone did it. She couldn’t even be properly mad at Jack. His heart really was in the right place. And she couldn’t blame Dame Agatha—who probably hadn’t even known what she was walking into.
No, it was Jude, a man she hadn’t even known two days ago, whose betrayal she felt the most keenly.
He’d lied—by omission, if not outright—and, worse than that, he’d made her like him. She wasn’t sure she could forgive that. Forgive him for making her feel like good things might be possible again.
“Dani.” As soon as Ginny hit the lobby, winded from running down four flights of stairs, she made a beeline to where the production manager stood with a tablet in one hand and cell phone in the other.
The harried woman tasked with the unenviable job of making a motion picture happen on a nonexistent budget glanced up as Ginny approached. “I don’t suppose you have a stunt man in your pocket? Preferably one who wants to work for free?”
Ginny frowned. “We need a stunt man?”
“Damien is refusing to do the roof stunt.”
“I thought he was psyched about it. He kept bragging about how he did all his own stunts in that stupid action movie.”
“Apparently he’s decided our safety procedures aren’t up to his standards and since our stunt coordinator is a small black woman, she can’t exactly fill in.” Dani shook her head. “Don’t worry about it. I’ll fix it. What did you need?”
To escape. “Does the production have a car I can borrow for the afternoon? I’d like to—” run away “—explore the area.”
“Sure. Take your car. Jake has the keys.”
Her car was really the one the production had sourced for her character. It was a beat up old clunker—as suited her character’s down on her luck status—but it had been doing double duty, running the cast and crew to and from production sites, since everything on a low-budget film did double duty.
Ginny thanked Dani and moved quickly outside, before the elevators could open and the crowd from Jack’s suite could chase her down here. She found the production assistant with the keys and jogged over to the rent-a-wreck, climbing in to the sound of the door creaking.
The engine sputtered before it turned over with a cough. Ginny threw the car into gear and headed out of town—not caring which direction she was headed as long as it was away. Away from all the bullshit of her real life. Away from Jude and the memory of the way he’d made her want him.
The air conditioning was busted, but she rolled down the window and punched down the accelerator, leaning into the curves as the country road leading away from town wended along the river. Libertyville had been chosen for its Anywhere, USA vibe, not the beauty of the surrounding scenery, but it was beautiful—though no matter how much Ginny tried to focus on that beauty, she couldn’t seem to see it today, couldn’t see past the road in front of her and the angry misery that wanted to swallow her.
She kept making the same mistakes, trusting the wrong people. But who could she trust?
Her mother had never made it easy to make friends. Everything was a competition, a comparison. Don’t smile at the other girls at the auditions, Ginny. Try to get in their heads. Undermine their confidence. You’re better than they are.
Those were the words of her childhood.
Don’t bother with the kids at school, baby. You’re a star. You’re better than they are.
Of course you can’t go to the dance. High school boys aren’t good enough for you, Ginny. You’re going places. Don’t let them distract you. You’re better than that.
But Ginny had never felt better. She’d only felt lonely.
When her mother had remarried and finally taken her focus off Ginny’s career, Ginny had started to catch a few breaks, landing more than the commercials and reality TV auditions her mother had gotten her. When she’d gotten the role in Jack’s movie and they’d hit it off, she’d thought things might finally be happening for her, that she might walk away with not only a fledgling acting career, but with someone who would always have her back. Someone who would make her feel a little less alone.
But he hadn’t been that guy and she was even more alone now than she’d ever been, without even the illusion of friends to support her. The acquaintances she’d thought might become friends had all distanced themselves from her as fast as they could when the tape came out—and she couldn’t even blame them.
And now Jude, who had seemed to understand, who had seemed to accept her mistake for what it was, turned out to be nothing more than another Hollywood user and liar.
She had to get away—
The engine coughed, the entire car jerking as a belch of smoke erupted from the tailpipe, then jerking again as the engine died with a sputter.
“Damn it,” Ginny swore, steering the dead car to the side of the road as it drifted to a stop. She tried the key again, but though the car gave a valiant effort, it refused to resurrect itself.
With a groaning laugh, she dropped her forehead to the steering wheel. Even her escape attempts failed. She could not catch a freaking break. You’d think the universe would get tired of kicking her while she was down, but apparently, you’d be wrong.
She found the hood release and pressed it, climbing out of the car and propping up the hood because she felt like that was what one was supposed to do when one was broken down on the side of the road even if one had no freaking idea what an engine was supposed to look like.
The hood was hot and she hissed, nearly dropping the thing before getting it propped open. She shook her hand to cool her fingertips and turned to survey her surroundings.
Pretty scenery. It wouldn’t have been a bad place to be stranded if her lovely view didn’t clearly indicate there was nothing for miles in any direction.
She could call for help—though with her luck she was probably in a cell service dead zone. She'd left her phone in the car and whether it worked or not, right now she simply didn’t care. She didn’t want to know.
She walked over to the guardrail and climbed over it to sit with her back to the road, her feet dangling over the steep bank that dropped down to the river below. It really was a gorgeous place to have your life fall apart. If she was going to hell in a handbasket, at least the view was nice.
She didn’t know how long she sat like that, staring out over the landscape and listening for the soft sounds of the river below. She didn’t think. There was too much emotion to leave room for thought. She let the feelings flow in and out of her, expanding and contracting with each breath.
She’d never tried meditation before, but maybe she should take up yoga. This whole one-with-your-surroundings focus-on-your-breathing crap was actually pretty nice. Maybe that’s what she needed. To find her zen or her chi or unblock her chakras or something.
Maybe she’d join an ashram somewhere and come back to Hollywood on a tide of new-agey glory. It had worked for Madonna.
Ginny snorted to herself, tipping her face up to the sun, blocking out her mother’s voice in her head telling her that she would freckle and simply enjoying the warmth on her skin.
By the time she heard the sound of another car coming up the road, she was almost calm.
She stood and climbed back over the guardrail as the shiny blue sedan pulled to a stop behind her busted beater—and Jude freaking Law unfolded himself from the driver’s seat.
“Are you all right?” he asked, his eyes on the raised hood as he approached. When Ginny didn’t respond—the idea of figuring out what to say was entirely too much effort in her new Zen—Jude lifted his gaze to meet her eyes and grimaced. “I know I’m the last person you want to see right now.”
“You’re right about that,” she said, but there was no bite behind the words. She didn’t have any bite left. “How did you find me?”
“There are only two roads out of town and the PA told me which direction you’d headed so I tried this one first.”
“Ah.”
He stopped, still eight feet away, as if afraid to get too close. “I’m sorry—”
“Don’t.” She was acting on instinct more than thought right now, but she knew she didn’t want to talk about it. She didn’t want to think about it. She didn’t want any of it.
He looked around, at a loss, his gaze landing on the car. “Is this yours?”
There were lines around his eyes, sort of squinty with sympathy and discomfort and guilt—she would have to remember that expression, she thought distantly. It was evocative. It would be useful in her acting toolkit.
“The production’s,” she clarified, still in that blank, calm place. “Don’t worry. I’m not quite that pathetic yet.”
His gaze jumped to hers again, away from the fascination of the engine block. “I don’t think you’re pathetic.”
Why not? she wanted to ask him, but instead a different question came out. “What are you doing here, Jude?”
His eyes didn’t leave hers. “I want to make things right.”
He wanted to play hero now? How freaking noble. “I don’t want your pity.”
“This isn’t pity.” He took a step toward her, his hands sliding into his pockets as if he wasn’t sure what to do with them. It would have been adorably awkward if she weren’t in that distant place where she didn’t think she was capable of feeling affectionate toward his gawkiness. “I like you, Ginny,” he said. “I wasn’t expecting that. I hadn’t ever really thought about who you were, other than a girl who mouthed off about someone I care about. I was wrong.”
“Yeah.” She shrugged. “So was I.”
“Can we start over?” he asked. “Ginny…”
He’d been approaching as he spoke and he was close now, close enough to touch. Close enough to reach down, cup her face in his hands, and lower his lips to hers for a kiss.
His mouth had settled over hers before she could process what he was doing.
Wrong. This was wrong.
“Don’t.” She pushed him away, turning her face to break the kiss and wiping the taste of him off her lips as he stepped back.
“I’m sorry.” His hands were in front of him now—their awkwardness visible as he started to reach for her then dropped them. “What can I do?”
“You can leave me alone.” She’d liked him. She’d liked him so damn much. He'd been potential and possibility and hope, and it had been a lie.
He looked at her car with its hood gaping open. “I can’t just leave you out here.”
“Can’t you?”
He frowned. “At least let me give you a ride back to town.”
A practical girl would accept his offer, but Ginny wasn’t feeling very practical. “I’m fine. I’ll get back on my own.”
That’s how she was always doing everything, wasn’t it? On her own. You couldn’t rely on people so you learned to solve your own problems. Life lesson number one.
But she was so incredibly tired of being on her own. Fending for yourself was exhausting, but how could she trust him?
He turned, and she thought he would walk away, leaving her in his dust, but he only made it as far as her car before he stopped, bending to peer under the hood.
She frowned at him until he reached in and jiggled something. She folded her arms. “Do you even know anything about cars?”
“Nope.”
It was the weirdest Mexican standoff she’d ever been a part of. She wouldn’t let him help her and he wouldn’t leave until she did. She let the silence stretch, watching him poke and prod at her engine without any hope of success. It would have probably been cute, if her cute-o-meter hadn’t been irrevocably busted.
“Fine,” she said finally, after several minutes of their silent detente made her feel silly for refusing him. “You can drive me back to town.”