Damaged In-Law (12 page)

“OK. Shoot,” Jack says, settling down beside me with his
coffee. Very
close
beside me.

“First of all,” I begin, turning to face him, “I
’
m starting to get this
crazy
notion that you
’
ve already given the studio the idea that I
’
m
willing to do this.”

“Oh yeah?” Jack smiles rakishly, sipping his coffee.

“Yeah,” I confirm, getting down to business, “Which is
pretty out of line, considering that I knew nothing about it until last night.
So my first question is, how the hell committed to this project does the studio
think I am?”

“Oh, you know...” Jack shrugs, “Just fully.”

I choke on my coffee, staring at my cad of a friend as I
splutter, “Jack! What the hell?!”

“
Well,
aren
’
t
you committing to it?” he asks calmly.

“
I don’
t—I
’
m not—I
haven
’
t made up my mind yet,” I shoot back, shaking my
head. “How could you speak for me like that? Do you have any idea how messed up
that is? I have an entire life of my own, Jack. A life that has nothing to do
with hotel suites, and closets full of clothes, and—”

“I see you liked the clothes, then?” he smiles, glancing
down at my outfit, “I thought they
’
d be a nice touch.”

“Are you listening to a word that
’
s
coming out of my mouth right now?” I ask him. “I
’
m not OK
with anyone making decisions for me. And that ‘anyone
’
includes
you. That
’
s really not cool, Jack.”

“I hear you, I do. But I had a pretty solid idea that you
’
d be up for it,” he says coolly, settling back against the
leather couch. “I know you, Cal.”

“You
knew
me, Jack. A long time ago,” I correct him.
“And what does that even mean, ‘I know you
’
? What do you
know about me?”

“I know you
’
re not the type to leave a
friend hanging,” he replies directly, “I know that you
’
re
driven, and talented, and ambitious. And I know you
’
re not
a goddamn idiot, so I figured it was a sure thing.”

“Oh. Turning this movie down would make me a damn idiot,
then?” I reply sarcastically.

“You
’
re fucking right it would,” Jack
scoffs.

“What a fascinating point of view,” I say wryly, rolling my
eyes. “Well, then I guess I
’
m pretty seriously considering
being a damn idiot, then. Because this whole ‘do as I say woman
’
act
of yours is about to become a deal breaker, Jack.”

“
Oh, come on. It
’
s
not like that,” he groans, leaning toward me as I inch away. “Check your pride
for a second and think about the big picture. You keep talking about this
‘entire life
’
of yours. So, tell me about it. What does
your entire life look like right now?”

I bristle at his condescending tone. Sitting up as tall as
my slight frame allows, I tell him, “My life is something I
’
ve
built from scratch. Something I
’
m incredibly proud of. I
live in an awesome little town on the Hudson River, have my own place, put
myself through college and grad school, and now make a living as a freelance
writer. I
’
ve got my favorite coffee shop, my favorite bar,
and my favorite yoga studio. I have friends, and neighbors, and a herd of
corgis who live beneath me that I get to pet whenever I like. It may not be as
glamorous a life as yours, but it
’
s
mine
. And I don’
t appreciate you implying that it amounts to
nothing.”

“I
’
m not saying that at all,” Jack
insists, closing the space I
’
ve put between us. “You
should
be proud of what you
’
ve accomplished so far, Cal. But can
you honestly tell me—and don
’
t get all huffy on me now—can
you honestly tell me you don
’
t want something more? You
used to have all kinds of crazy goals and dreams and plans. What happened to
those?”

“I still have them,” I reply, “All of them. But I
’
ve done the actress thing, and—”

“You did the acting-in-no-budget-super-weird-experimental-plays
thing, not the actress thing,” he laughs.

“Don
’
t be an ass,” I mumble, even
though he
’
s totally right.

“
And besides,
” he presses on, “Even if
you don
’
t want an acting career in the long run, do you have
any idea how much money you
’
d make from doing this one
film? You do this one film, and you
’
ve got it made.”

Now there
’
s a thought. “No, actually.
You failed to mention a salary for the movie last night. Along with any
character description. Or an actual plot...”

“A cool million,” Jack cuts me off.

“Sorry. What?” I blink at him.

“If you do this movie, you
’
ll be
guaranteed a million dollars. Right up front,”
he reiterates.
“It
’
s not exactly Sandra Bullock-levels of cash, but hey, you
’
re a newcomer.”

As this figure sinks in, a rogue giggle escapes my throat.
Then another. And another, until I
’
m totally overcome with
uproarious laughter. I fall back against the couch, clutching my stomach as I
laugh uncontrollably. Jack
’
s crooked grin grows wider as
he watches me lose it.

“Wanna let me in on the joke?” he asks.

“It...It
’s just...
” I cackle,
struggling to sit upright, “You just...sh-showing up out of the blue. After a
decade. With a million dollar m-movie deal...It
’
s too
much.”

“It
’
s
not
though,” he insists,
offering me a steadying arm. “Think about it, Callie. If a million dollars just
fell into your lap, which it will if you accept this job, what would you do
with it? What
’
s the big, number one dream?”

“
Well...
” I breathe, getting ahold of
the laughing fit. “First of all, I
’
d hop on a plane to
Spain and drink them out of Rioja. Then I
’
d come back
and...OK, you
’
re not allowed to think this is stupid...”

“Try me,” Jack insists, his blue eyes gleaming.

“
Well...
” I breathe, “I
’
ve
always had this dream of starting a writers
’
workshop for
women who want to tell stories of their own. Offering the kind of support I got
in grad school, only to people who wouldn
’
t otherwise be
able to get it. Young girls, you know. Especially for women who want to write
scripts. Screen plays, stage plays, stories people will get to see. I even have
a couple script ideas I
’
d love to work on, if I ever got a
break from my freelance gigs. And a million bucks...would certainly do the
trick in getting that off the ground.”

“That it would, Cal,” Jack smiles, resting his hand on my
knee. “That it would.”

I don’
t know if it
’
s
the daydreaming or the feeling of Jack
’
s hand resting on
me, but all of a sudden I
’
m flying high. For the first
time, I seriously let myself consider what it would mean to say yes to Jack
’
s offer. Not only would I get a crazy big paycheck, I
’
d get to act again. And not just in something that three people
will see, either—in a real blockbuster.  I
’
ve run the
whole “changing the entire course of my life” gambit before, but I
’
m getting a shot to do it again...and this time I could be
changing it so much for the better.

“Come on, Callie,” Jack urges, his touch all but burning a
hole om my black skinny jeans. “What have you got to lose?”

“Nothing but a leaky roof and a ramen habit, when you get
right down to it,” I grin back at him.

“So is that...a yes?” He breathes, fixing that piercing blue
gaze on me.

“I suppose...it is,” I say faintly, my eyes flicking down to
Jack
’
s full lips. “
Just don’
t expect
me to be the next Meryl Streep or anything. I don
’
t—hey!”

My protestations fall away as Jack lets out a celebratory
whoop and scoops me up into his arms like a brand new bride. The floor falls
away as I find myself suddenly airborne. I cling onto Jack
’
s
broad shoulders as he spins me around the expansive living room, all but
leading a parade in my honor. I can
’
t help but cheers and
laugh along in the face of his ecstatic enthusiasm.

“This is fucking fantastic. I
’
m so
stoked!” he crows, coming to a stop before the wide wall of windows.

“Really?” I breathe, laughing as Jack holds my small form
effortlessly in his arms. “I couldn
’
t tell.”

“You won
’
t be sorry you said yes,” he
says adamantly, holding me fast against his perfectly balanced frame.

“Promise?” I breathe, lacing my fingers behind his neck.

“I promise,” he murmurs, tightening his grasp
ever-so-slightly.

The very air around us seems to shift as our words fall
away. Backlit by the sunny promise of a New York City morning, poised to carry
me off on a whirlwind adventure, Jack has never been more irresistible than he
is now. And that
’
s saying something. The crooked grin
falls away from his lips—those lips I
’
ve only had the
pleasure of kissing once, nearly a decade ago.

I realize that the one and only time I kissed Jack was the
night I left my parents’ house. The last time I chose to alter the entire
course of my life. And now here he is again, as I
’
m
standing on the precipice of the next big leap. Only this time, instead of
saying goodbye, I
’
m welcoming him back into my life. This
is a leap we
’
re making together. I
’
m
aching to make up for lost time with him, and the charged current that races
through our touching bodies tells me that I
’
m not the only
one feeling this way.

“Callie,” he murmurs, his voice rasping with want. “I
’
ve got to tell you...”

“Tell me later,” I whisper, pressing myself to him as I tilt
my face up to his. “I can
’
t—”

I nearly send myself crashing to the floor as a clattering
knock on the door makes me jump. Thankfully, Jack is a far more coordinated
creature than I am, and manages to set me down on my feet instead. I take a
hasty step away from him as another knock rings out from the door of his
penthouse, as if we were about to get busted for making out under the
bleachers. Seriously though...
something
was about to go down between us.
Unless my imagination is as drunk as I was last night.

“Is that Miss Johansson, at last?” I breathe, trying and
failing to play it cool.

“Ha. Not exactly,” Jack says back to me, shoving a hand
through his hair.

“Then who—?” I ask, glancing at the door.

“Mr. Cole!” a high-pitched female voice chirps from outside.
“Mr. Cole, I have the double espresso you asked for! I didn
’
t
know if the hotel
’
s coffee would suffice.”

“
Mr. Cole? Double
espresso?” I echo, as
Jack strides over to the door. “Who is that, your assistant or something?”

“Not exactly,” Jack replies over his shoulder, “As of this
moment, she
’
s yours.”

“What?!” I exclaim, as he opens the door.

In a caffeinated blur, a diminutive figure bursts into the
penthouse. I blink up at the slight young woman standing before me. She
’
s even smaller that I am—five feet tall and maybe a hundred
pounds, dripping wet. We seem to be the same age, though if anything she
’
s a little younger. Her wide, confident smile takes up most of
her face, and a pair of dark-rimmed glasses claim the rest. The woman
’
s jet black hair is pulled back into a huge perfectly curled
ponytail, and she
’
s rocking the hip early professional
uniform of skinny jeans, a white button down, and a cropped blazer. She carries
a tray of coffee cups in one hand and has a smart phone all but glued to the
other. In about three seconds, I can tell that this is a woman who gets stuff
done, kicks ass at her job, and should never, ever be trifled with.

“Callie,” Jack says, nodding at the woman, “This is—”

“Penelope Barker,” the woman cuts him off, beaming at me
from across the room, “Your assistant for the duration of the shoot. It
’
s a pleasure to meet you, Miss Benson.”

“H-hi,”
I stammer back at her.

“Not much of a talker, huh? That
’
s fine,
” she goes on, bustling across the room and thrusting a
coffee cup into my hand, “Hope espresso is fine for today. You can tell me your
exact coffee order for future reference. Now, why don’t we sit together while
you down that and get ourselves on the same page about the next few days?”

“What
’
s happening in the next few
days?” I ask her, as she pulls me down beside her on the couch.

“Only everything,” she says with a chipper laugh. “We
’
ve got to get you all up to speed on the project. You
’
ll need to have some styling done, a boat load of media
training, a meeting with the studio head...”