Picture Perfect (6 page)

Giggling pardons at me, the newlyweds clasp hands and continue their stroll on Sunset’s famed strip as the details of that first date with Alan come flooding back. Dining al fresco and wearing far too little clothing for a November evening, I shivered underneath the heat lamps. Alan graciously offered me his jacket to wear, and the scent of his signature cologne, Fahrenheit, made me dizzy with desire.

Back then, Alan was my boss. I was a lowly Marketing Manager with nothing to set me apart from all the other wannabe execs at Timeless other than a “great rack and fabulous gams,” as I once overhead Alan say (sometimes he channeled film noir detectives). If I wanted to get ahead, Alan was the man to impress. Everyone knew he was Rebecca Walters’ pet project. His were the coat-tails to ride. So, I had to put my assets to good use.

Keeping Alan’s focus on me was no easy task, though. It was widely known that he was a player. He was charming and good looking and successful and had a bevy of women on speed dial. But I was determined to win him over. It wasn’t long before Alan and I became an item at the office, and rumors started to spread that we were engaged (far from the truth at the time, however). I was keenly aware of the undesirable effect this could have on my career and made it clear to Alan that we could not be lovers until I was his equal. Sound familiar? I knew that girl was smart when I hired her. Jennifer may not have slept her way to the top with as much style and grace as I did, but we’re both guilty of seducing the boss for professional gain.

I must admit, however, that my plan to reign supreme at Timeless was not without its faults. Unfortunately, my foolish heart succumbed to the juvenile dreams of achieving a “happily ever after” with Alan. Even though I was devoted to carving out my niche in Hollywood and making a name for myself in the made-for-TV movie arena, I had fallen for Alan like a boulder crashing onto Pacific Coast Highway—big, messy, and pissing off everybody in its wake. As we all know, life is not like the movies, and “happily ever after” only exists in fairy tales.

Sadly, I am reminded of this fact as I slip into the barren offices of Timeless Television. Six o’clock on a Monday and the place feels as empty as a hollowed-out pint of Ben and Jerry’s ice cream. Mondays used to mean late-night dinners with Alan as we hammered out details of whatever movie we were working on. Now, he’s hammering Jennifer, and I’m left dining alone.

I plod toward my office, my feet as heavy as my heart. Jennifer’s desk sits vacant outside my door. All of her trinkets now gone, her space is eerily bare. Shuffling over to her desk, I slide into her chair, the seat cool beneath my thighs. A lonely box of Kleenex sits next to her computer monitor, and I grab a tissue to blot the tears suddenly streaming down my face.

What was I thinking falling in love with Alan? A man like him can’t love anyone but himself. It didn’t matter how smart I was, how beautiful I was, or how successful I was, I should have known that he couldn’t be faithful. God, I am such an idiot thinking, daydreaming, hoping that our relationship could last, could be one of the few Hollywood marriages to survive all the trials of showbiz. That he wouldn’t be distracted by whatever blond bimbo decided to hook her claws into him for her own personal gain.

“Jesus, I am such a fool,” I sob to myself. “I don’t know why I ever thought I could hold the interest of a man like Alan.”

“The question is, why would you even want a man like Alan?”

I look up, startled to find Jack Ford leaning against my office door, his leather jacket hanging open and one thumb hooked around his belt loop.

Chapter 5

“Jack, what are you doing here?” I ask, quickly dashing away my tears.

“We have a date. Remember?”

“Uh, yeah, I thought I was going to call you,” I say, crumpling the tear-soaked tissue in my hand.

“I’m an actor. The ‘don’t call me, I’ll call you’ line doesn’t offer much reassurance. I wanted to see you, and I knew you’d chicken out, that you wouldn’t call me.”

“I would have,” I utter meekly.

Jack strides over to Jennifer’s desk, places his hands on top of it and leans in toward me. A silver chain with a small, round charm dangling from his neck catches my eye, but before I can reach up to touch it, he grabs my hand in his and pulls me up out of the chair. I stand, quivering, fearing that my knees will buckle beneath me as he slides his other hand along my left arm down to my wrist. His fingers squeeze the plump part of my palm before edging down to my ring finger.

“This is better,” he says, massaging my naked finger with his thumb.

My heart leaps into my throat as his brown eyes meet mine.

Why does this guy turn me into a pile of goo? Get a hold of yourself, Lauren!

I snatch my hand out of his. “I really need to get some work done. This day has been kind of…counter-productive.”

“But I’m here about work. I have something to show you. Something for the movie.”

“What?” I ask, completely disbelieving him.

“You just have to see it,” he says yanking me out from behind the desk and marching me toward the elevator.

Twenty minutes later I find myself driving up Pacific Coast Highway, following Jack on his vintage Harley as he weaves in and out of traffic. I try to keep his taillight in my sight as he zooms ahead of me. I know my BMW has the power to keep up with him. It’s me who’s too scared to “drop the hammer on this baby” as he told me to do before leaving. But panic rises in me as more and more cars come between us, and I press harder on the gas pedal, blowing past a minivan and a VW Beetle with a surfboard strapped to the top.

Jack is still just a bobbing red taillight in the distance, and I know if I don’t want to lose him, I’m going to have to steel my nerves and push through my fear. I grip the steering wheel tightly as I accelerate, switch lanes and pass a Volvo on my right. The Volvo’s headlights flash in my rearview mirror as I slide in between it and an old clunker that looks like it’s headed for the junkyard. I press on the gas, coming dangerously close to the clunker, and swiftly maneuver into the left lane again to pass a green Hummer just before smashing my foot on the gas and taking off like a 747 on one of the runways at LAX.

My car surges forward with an ease that surprises me as I close the distance between Jack and me. It feels lighter, almost as if it’s capable of flight, and my body seems to be responding according to its needs, my foot alternatively pressing down and lifting up on the gas pedal as I jockey through streams of cars, my hands gently caressing the wheel as I slip in and out of lanes, my eyes scanning the horizon, looking for a gap to fill. This must be what they call the thrill of the chase.

It isn’t long before I catch up with Jack. The further we travel up PCH, the fewer cars there are on the road to slow us down, and I’m suddenly aware that I’m driving close to ninety miles per hour. Jack’s motorcycle is only a few feet from the front of my car now, and I have the insane urge to pass him, to taunt him. But instead, I lightly lift my foot, decelerating until he’s a safe distance from me again.

Finally, Jack pulls over to the side of the road. I follow his lead, parking directly behind him and killing the engine. Jack hops off his bike and walks over to my door. My heart is racing from the drive, and when he taps on my window, I nearly jump out of my skin. I unlatch my seatbelt with shaking hands as he opens my door.

“Come on, beautiful,” he says with an air of cool confidence.

I throw my purse over my shoulder as he takes my hand and helps me out of the car. The night air is cold and blustery. The wind whips through my thin blouse and shivers crawl up my back. Jack slips out of his jacket and wraps it around my shoulders.

“Thank you,” I say, shoving my arms into the sleeves.

Jack grabs the ends of the jacket and zips it up to my neck.

“Aren’t you cold?”

“I’m fine,” he says with a smile. “Come on.”

Jack grasps my hand and leads me across the deserted road to a wooden stairway winding down to the beach. I follow him down carefully, barely able to see each stair for the sky is too cloudy and dark to illuminate our path. Reaching the bottom, he hops down onto the sand and pulls me into him, wrapping his arms around me, lifting me off the bottom step and then setting me down.

“That last step is a doozey,” he says.

My spikey heels sink into the sand, and I nearly topple over backward as he releases me. As gently as if catching a leaf falling from a tree, he wraps his fingers around my waist and rights me.

“Have a seat.”

He points to a weathered, old, tree trunk lying in the sand, and I follow his command. The moment my ass hits the cold, hard wood, the reality of what I’m doing crashes over me like one of the waves breaking on the beach. Fooling around with my lead actor the same day I learn that my cheating husband and conniving assistant are trying to sabotage my career? This is exactly what they want. I’ll be branded a pathetic has-been trolling for hot, young actors to exploit. My reputation will be trashed, and my career will be in the toilet. I really don’t need any more trouble right now.

And this guy is definitely going to get me into trouble.

Jack kneels before me and runs his hands along my thighs, down my legs to my frozen feet. He slips my shoes off, and caresses my icy flesh with his warm hands.

“Jack,” I say, shoving my hands deeper inside the pockets of his jacket. “This isn’t—we can’t do this. I can’t—”

“You know the scene where Jason first kisses Molly?” he asks, undeterred.

“In
A True Heart
?” My voice elevates slightly, revealing my confusion and perhaps my disappointment in the sudden change of subject. Yeah, I know it’s wrong to want him, but that doesn’t mean I don’t want him to want me.

“I thought this would be a great spot to shoot it. Ocean waves crashing on a deserted beach, a dark sky, an old tree trunk. It’s kind of…romantic, don’t you think?”

“Uh, yes,” I say, unable to rip my gaze from his beautiful eyes, “but
A True Heart
is set in the Midwest—on a farm. Don’t find too many oceanfront farms in Indiana, last I heard.”

“A flaw in my plan I was hoping you’d overlook,” he says, placing my feet on his warm thighs.

This guy is like a furnace. It’s gotta be fifty degrees out here, but he’s as warm as if he were sitting in front of a roaring fire.

Maybe he’s the devil incarnate tempting me to commit evil deeds.

He smiles with a chuckle that makes me think he can read my mind.

“What?” I demand defensively.

“You really should stop worrying so much.”

“I’m not—”

“I can see it on your face.”

“Oh.”

Jack rises up on his knees, wraps his hands around my ankles, and pulls my feet behind him as he presses his hips against my pelvis. He leans in ever so close. So close that I can feel his breath on my lips.

“Jack,” I say weakly, as every lost drop of willpower I have evaporates into thin air.

His soft, warm lips envelop mine and all thoughts of resisting him flee from my mind faster than a supermodel running from a cupcake. He embraces me tightly, sliding his hand up my back to the base of my neck, cradling my head in his hand as his nimble tongue slides across my own. A deep moan rises up from within me when I feel his erection pressing against me, and all I can think of is how good it would feel to have him, to feel him inside me.

Suddenly the image of Alan and Jennifer pops into my head, and I want to vomit. The thought of the two of them plotting against me, sabotaging me, laughing at me, sharing their little inside jokes about me…

“Enough!” I cry, pushing Jack away from me, trying to cling to the smallest bit of common sense left in my head. “Jack, I can’t do this.”

“I want you,” he says with a sort of groan that makes my insides quiver.

“We can’t. It’s not right,” I manage to say, drumming up every last bit of strength I have. “I won’t let them win.”

“Let who win?” Jack reaches up to brush a strand of hair out of my eyes, but I swat his hand away.

“Let’s go,” I bark, feeling in the sand for my shoes. Finding them, I slip them on and stand up abruptly, nearly knocking Jack on his ass.

I scramble back up the stairs and hurry across the street to my car, Jack right on my heels. I pull off his jacket and toss it at him. Without even a goodbye, I yank open the car door and plop down in the driver’s seat, a sense of urgency filling my chest. I can see Jack standing just outside the door, but I refuse to look at him. Instead, I shove the key in the ignition and turn it.

And my car does its best imitation of a cat hocking up a furball.

“Damn it! What is wrong with this fucking hunk of metal?” I grumble in frustration. I turn the ignition again, and the car coughs, whines, sputters and dies. “What the hell is going on here?”

Jack taps on my window. I throw my head back against the headrest in despair as he pulls open my door.

“Problem?”

“It won’t start.”

“Let me try. Move over.”

“Move over?”

Move over where? There’s a goddamn gearshift between me and the passenger seat. What does he expect? For me to climb over it?

“Yeah, move over so I can try it,” he says practically shoving me across the seat.

I drag my legs up and over the gearshift just in time to miss being flattened by his very tight butt. I imagine a donkey wearing a tutu would look more graceful than me lumbering over a center console in these god-forsaken four-inch heels Giles forced me to buy.

I finally get myself righted in the seat as he closes the door and turns the key. He pumps the gas pedal with his foot and turns the ignition, but the car only groans and finally dies again. He then turns the ignition to the point where only the battery is running. The radio buzzes and all the lights on the dash illuminate.

“I know what you’re problem is,” he says smugly, leaning back in the seat.

“What?”

“See for yourself.”

He points to the instrument panel on the dash, and I lean over to see the fuel light glaring at me.