Page 28 of Second Act
“Some of it’s for me. Just the protein, of course,” he said, settling into the chair across from her and digging into a plate of steak and eggs.
“So what’s it like to be a superstar...besides the torture of dieting?” Jessica asked, cutting a bite of pumpkin pancake. “I need details so I can wow all my friends.” She wanted to keep it light so she wasn’t as conscious of wearing nothing but a robe while she faced a man who could light her up with just his voice.
He gave her that tantalizing half smile that pinged around her nerve endings. “Not as glamorous as it looks, but it pays well. I have a house you’d love. Right on the beach on the Monterey peninsula. You can hear the sea lions barking and the male elephant seals coughing while the otters float on their backs smashing shells with rocks.”
“Sounds noisy.” But she’d love to be surrounded by that kind of racket.
“We get whales, too, grays and humpbacks.”
“That’s spectacular, but you got off topic.” She debated between more pancakes or the caviar and eggs, deciding to sample the latter.
He chewed a bite of filet and swallowed, the muscles in his throat working under the smooth skin. “You remember what it’s like on a movie shoot. A lot of standing around waiting. Then makeup has to touch you up. Then you do the same damn scene for the tenth time but have to make it look fresh.” His voice was flat and indifferent.
She waved her fork. “But what about the parties and the red carpets?”
“As the phrase implies, the carpets are all the same color. Not much difference from one to the other.” He raised an eyebrow. “You weren’t a big fan of those occasions.”
Their worst fight had been after the Academy Awards. Hugh’s agent had gotten him invited when he had been cast in the first Julian Best movie. The movie’s PR people had whipped up a storm of curiosity about the unknown but up-and-coming actor. Hugh got his Armani tux for free, but Jessica had to deal with her own dress—and their budget didn’t run to couture.
She’d gone to a Goodwill store in LA that was famous for getting designer castoffs from the stars and found a spectacular red Givenchy gown. When the television commentator had asked her who had dressed her, she said, “Goodwill.” She’d gotten a laugh, but Hugh had been furious. She understood now that he’d had a severe case of nerves, but when he’d hissed in her ear, “Don’t embarrass me again. Tell them it’s vintage Givenchy,” she’d been horrified and hurt. Especially since they’d been joking about the dress’s provenance on the way to the ceremony in the limo Hugh’s agent had sent for them.
That was the beginning of the end for Jessica. Hugh had plunged deeper and deeper into a world she felt out of place in. She didn’t have it in her to spin her life in a way the PR people found acceptable, so she began to avoid the publicity events that Hugh thrived on, the distance between them growing with each missed occasion.
“I’m just more comfortable in scrubs than Armani,” Jessica said as Hugh waited for her to respond to his comment about the red carpet events. “Speaking of which, aren’t you going to call the hotel about getting mine washed?”
“It’s not really necessary. While you were in the tub, a messenger delivered the bag of clothes I asked Aidan to pack for you.” He gave her a rueful smile. “I shouldn’t confess this, but I like having you in something that has only a sash holding it closed.”
She had a vision of him tugging the knot of her sash loose, pushing the sides of the robe open, and cupping her breasts in his long, elegant hands. She grabbed a glass of water and took a gulp. “Oh, please, you do love scenes with Irene Bartram.”
Distaste tightened Hugh’s lips. “Irene is about as sexy as a boa constrictor.”
“But she’s stunning!”
“It requires every ounce of my professionalism as an actor to get into bed with Irene.”
Jessica couldn’t help the little smirk that curled her lips. It had about killed her to watch Hugh running his hands over Irene Bartram’s exquisite body in that first Julian Best movie. Because he’d touched the actress the same way he used to touch Jessica, and she couldn’t imagine that it wasn’t sexy to feel Irene’s flawless, creamy skin under his palms. He certainly projected extreme arousal. After the first movie, time and distance had made the love scenes easier to watch, but she’d always felt like she couldn’t measure up to Irene.
“So you’re happy that her character got killed off in the latest book?”
Hugh’s smile held a dark edge. “In so many ways.”
“Wait, wasn’t she engaged to the author but they didn’t get married?” She leaned forward. “Did he do in her character because they broke up?”
“Gavin broke the engagement well before he decided to eliminate Irene’s character.”
“Are you and he really friends, or is that just a PR thing?” Keeping to neutral topics seemed the safest course of conversation. She took another bite of the eggs, the caviar adding an intense blast of saltiness.
Hugh shot her a sardonic look, as though he knew what she was up to. “Gavin and I are genuine friends. While the first movie was being filmed, we discovered that we have certain similar elements in our pasts. It gave us a common ground, and the friendship grew from there.”
“Was he in the foster care system, too?”
“No, he had a father, a mother, and a stepmother. But that didn’t make his childhood a happy one. His stepmother was of the evil variety.”
She’d sensed a dark side to the author of the Julian Best series, especially when it came to the dynamic between Julian and Samantha Dubois, Irene’s character. Julian knew Samantha was a double agent who was capable of betraying him at any time, but he had a continuing relationship with her anyway. It struck Jessica as twisted. “Did Gavin’s mother die?”
“She abandoned him when his father became physically abusive. Gavin just recently reconnected with her. It turned out his father had forced her to stay away and refused to allow her to communicate with Gavin.”
“That’s so sad and awful.” Although not quite as awful as Hugh’s experience during and after foster care. He’d bounced from foster home to foster home and then been shoved out of the system at age eighteen with nothing but a garbage bag of hand-me-down clothes.
