Playing Dirty (22 page)

“You know, tomorrow’s going to be a really busy day,” he said, cutting her off. “I’d better shove off.” He thrust his feet into his shoes.

“Cade,” she pleaded.

“You’ll arrange for the wrap party, right?”

“Of course.”

“Good. If you could make it for tomorrow night that would be great.”

She swallowed again. “Sure. As long as you don’t mind that it’s a Sunday so we might have to compromise on the cake. Still, I’ll do my best. But Cade—”

“I know you will. Just grab a Costco cake. That’ll work fine—you’ve spoiled the crew with your fare, but when it comes right down to it they don’t give a shit if it’s from Safeway or a fancy bakery—as long as there’s plenty of it.”

He took another step back. “Let Beks know what time you can have everything ready so she can pass the info along to the cast and crew.” He retreated another subtle step away, and Ava stilled, knowing stalking him across the room did neither of them any favors.

“Hey, go ahead and sleep in, though,” he said. “None of the arrangements need to be done first thing in the morning.”

“Cade, please.”

“Goodnight, Ava,” he said firmly. And a second later he was gone.

Leaving her with the realization that she hadn’t had the first idea of what real panic felt like until now.

W
HEN
A
VA’S
doorbell chimed as she was about to grab her purse and head for the mansion the next morning, it could have been a chorus of angels singing Cade’s name, so brightly did hope flare in her heart. She sent gratitude winging heavenward as she raced to the door.
Thanks for giving me a second chance, God. I appreciate the do-over.
Intending to do a better job this time—even if her heart had begun to beat with renewed anxiety—she pulled the door open.

Only to find her mother on the other side. “Oh,” she said, deflated. “It’s you.”

“Not precisely the greeting I might have hoped for,” Jacqueline said coolly, stepping past her into the condominium. “It’s lovely to see you, too, darling.” Ava was
so
not in the mood for her mother’s company. If it hadn’t been for years of being made to feel that her weight was her one defining attribute, she might not have been such an idiot last night.

Then she straightened her shoulders and stepped back from the door. “I’m sorry, Mother, where are my manners? Please. Come in.” Last night was on her and her alone. Her mother might have assisted her insecurities,
but it was she who had allowed them to become a handicap at the worst possible moment. “Can I make you a cup of tea?”

“Do you have time?” Jacqueline nodded at Ava’s coat draped over the back of one of her red chairs and her purse on the seat beneath it.

It was so out of character for her mother to even notice such a thing—let alone care if her unexpected visit might inconvenience her daughter—that Ava found her insides going all mushy. Reaching out, she stroked her fingers along the back of Jacqueline’s hand, noticing for the first time how thin the skin there had become, making the veins on the back of her mom’s hand more noticeable. “I have to leave for the mansion soon, but I’ve got time for a quick cup if you do.”

“That would be lovely, dear. Thank you.” The older woman took a stool at the breakfast bar while Ava went around it to the kitchen side.

She turned on her Capresso electric kettle and got out the Moroccan inlaid tray. After grabbing the half-and-half that her mother liked from the fridge, she poured some into a little china creamer and set it aside to select a tea. Opening the cupboard, she glanced over her shoulder and caught her mother’s eye. “Is Monkey Picked oolong okay? Or would you prefer the Dragon-well green?”

“Oolong sounds lovely.”

Yes, everything’s lovely, lovely,
Ava thought sardonically. Except for the parts that totally sucked.

No.
She struggled for an attitude adjustment.
It’s not her fault I’m not going to feel right until I get the chance to make Cade believe I didn’t mean to throw his love back in his face in such an undeserving way.

A moment later she had the tray assembled with
a steaming, fragrant pot of tea, the creamer and two dainty tea cups from one of Miss A’s collections. The eclectic set had been one of her first choices when she, Jane and Poppy were selecting personal mementos of their time with their mentor.

God, she missed Miss Agnes right now. The older woman had always known just what to say when Ava was confused or anxious or hurt. She was the first person Ava had gone to that day back in high school. Agnes couldn’t fix it, but Ava had taken comfort in the fact that Miss A had seen she was hurting, that she had opened her arms before Ava had even said a word. And she felt residual warmth now at the remembered affection that had woven through Miss A’s deep voice as she’d murmured to her, even if she couldn’t recall the actual words.

It was beyond sad that her own mother sat only a few feet away, yet Ava didn’t have the first idea how to broach the subject with her.

And likely wouldn’t even if she did.

“Shall we sit in the living room?” she asked and followed Jacqueline over to the couch. After setting the tray on the coffee table, she poured the tea, added cream to her mother’s and handed the cup and saucer to her. Picking up her own, she took a seat on the opposite end of the sofa.

For a few moments, as they sipped their oolong in silence, Ava let her mind wander to the best way to apologize to Cade, ways in which she could make him understand how sorry she was for botching the moment, to make him see she in no way disregarded his declaration—even if it still gave her a crazy surge of residual anxiety right alongside a definite hug-to-your-heart warmth. When her mother suddenly set her cup in its
saucer and placed both on the tray on the table, she started.

Sitting back, Jacqueline turned on the couch to face her more fully. “Last night’s party was a rousing success,” she said.

“Yes, I thought it turned out quite well.”

“Oh, much more than that, dear. My friends couldn’t stop raving about the food, the decorations, the service.” She offered a smile that was more tentative than usual. “You really are amazing. And so very talented. I don’t think I’ve told you that enough.”

I’m not sure you’ve told me that, ever.
Still, a kernel of warmth unfurled in her breast. “Thank you.”

“And I never dreamed—” Jacqueline cut herself off and cleared her throat. “That is, I’m sorry I made you feel as if you weren’t good enough.”

Shock zapped like high-voltage electricity through her system, leaving nerve endings tingling in its wake. She was so surprised, so…gratified by the apology that she almost, nearly, just about, said, “That’s all right.”

But the truth was, it wasn’t all right, and she set her own cup and saucer on the tray. “Why is it so important to you that I conform to the popular idea of a perfect body, when it’s clear to anyone who looks at me that I’m simply not built for it?”

Her mother studied her impeccable, buffed nails for a moment, but finally looked up at Ava. “It’s learned behavior, I suppose. That was how my mother got me to lose weight when I was a teen.”

Ava’s posture snapped erect on the couch cushions. “
You
were fat?” Whoa.
That
had certainly never made the rounds in the Spencer household.

“Yes. And my mother kept at me and kept at me until I lost the weight. I thought about this quite a bit
last night,” she said slowly. “And I must admit I wasn’t all that keen on her methods.

“But, darling.” She leaned forward eagerly. “In the end, I felt so much better for it. So, I suppose I thought if I kept at you, you’d feel better for it, as well.” She studied her daughter. “But I was blind not to see until now that you
have
gotten down to a good weight for you, and that you did so a long while ago. And you are right, of course. You do have Donald’s mother’s bone structure.” Her small smile had a wry tilt. “All of which is a long way of saying I
don’t
want to drive you away, and I won’t hound you about it again.”

It didn’t really address why all her photographs had been cut off beneath her collarbones, yet still it soothed a hurt she hadn’t realized she’d been carrying around for most of her life. Scooting across to close the space between them on the couch, she leaned in to kiss her mother’s cheek. “That means a lot to me, Mom. Thanks.”

“Mother,” Jacqueline corrected.

“Mother,” she agreed, biting back a sigh. Yet inwardly she smiled. Because, what the hell. She’d won the big war today.

She’d worry about the smaller battles another time.

T
ONY LEFT
C
ADE
getting ready to shoot the final scene in one of the downstairs rooms and headed up to the now deserted ballroom. Thinking about the talk he’d just had with the director, he closed the ornate double doors behind him and looked around the bare room to make sure he had it to himself.

He resisted breaking into the end-zone dance, however. Face it, he’d done that before, only to have the don’t-count-your-chickens fairy kick his teeth in.

And this was, after all, his final night, since the first
thing Gallari had given him when he’d called him in was his walking papers. But the good news was that after everybody finally left the wrap party tonight, he’d have the joint to himself.

All. Night. Long.

And a good part of tomorrow, too, if he had anything to say about it. The crew would be back to pack up their gear in the morning, but Cade had told him he was letting the new day guard go, as well. Once the grips removed the expensive equipment, Scorched Earth Productions’ responsibility was at an end, and liability reverted to the mansion owners’ insurance company. And since the crew would be busy doing exactly that—packing their gear—Tony planned to offer to stay on until they were through. Just from the goodness of his heart.

He permitted himself a laugh. Because he was sly like a fox, man. All the production gear was now on the first floor—leaving the upstairs free and him with even more time to search the sitting room.

He cautioned himself not be over optimistic about his chances of finding the hiding place. But a
little
optimism couldn’t hurt. Even if he didn’t find it tonight, he’d bet the bank it would be a while before it occurred to anyone to change the security codes.

And by one means or another, he planned to walk out of here a rich, rich man.

“C
ADE
.”

Torn from an internal debate that ping-ponged between whether the RED camera digital style or filming would best suit the final scene, he stiffened at the sound of his name. He didn’t need to look around to
know who was speaking. He’d be able to identify that voice in his dotage.

He really didn’t want to talk to Ava right now. And it had zilch to do with the fact he was trying to make a decision on something that should have—and ordinarily would have—been decided well before he’d reached this point.

From the moment he and Ava had started working together on this project, he’d busted his butt to make up for the humiliation he’d caused her back in high school. But he should have saved his energy, because it hadn’t made a goddamn bit of difference. She clearly believed he was still the same jerk he’d been thirteen years ago. She thought her damn
body
—and whether or not she regained the fucking weight she’d lost an eon ago—would be the deal-breaker for him. He was pissed as hell that she didn’t know him any better than that.

Worse—and unlike his eighteen-year-old self, he could admit this—he was hurt.

Not that he was about to let her know. He was through putting himself on the line for her—at least until he could scratch a couple minutes together to figure out what was and was not worth doing to save their relationship.

Or, hell, maybe he’d just shit-can the whole damn thing and head back to L.A. tomorrow with the rest of his crew. He could do his editing there as well as he could up here. Better, really—he had connections up the wazoo that could get him any equipment he needed damn near as fast as he could put in a request.

For now, however, he relaxed his shoulders, composed his expression into polite, noncommittal inquiry and turned to face her. “Hey,” he said with remote amiability. “Is there something I can do for you?”

But, dammit, one look at her standing before him with determined eyes but a slight, vulnerable slant to her mouth and he knew both leaving for L.A. and that dumping their relationship thing were not gonna happen.

Shit.

It didn’t negate the fact he was still seriously hacked off, however, so he was more than happy to turn away and discuss the RED camera/filming dilemma with Louie when his DP tapped him to ask which piece of equipment to set up.

Hoping while he did so that Ava would get tired of waiting and go back to her own chores. Leaving him to complete his.

She was still there, however, when he decided filming was his best option, and Louie strode off to get his cameras in place and up to speed. Squaring his shoulders, Cade turned back to her. And raised an eyebrow.

Stepping closer, she lowered her voice so it traveled no farther than the two of them beneath the bustle of grips moving props and Heather, who stood a short distance away murmuring her lines and making broad, Miss Agnes–type gestures. “Can I talk to you for a minute?”

No.
Not a good idea, given his temper every time he thought about last night. But he gave her a courteous smile. “I’m up to my eyeballs right now. Maybe later.”

“When, later?”

When I damn well say so.
“I have no way of knowing at this point. I’ll catch up with you.” And before Ava could say another word—if, in actuality, she even wanted to—he gave her a cordial nod and strode away.

E
VERYONE WAS
having a rocking time at the wrap party. Everyone except Ava.

Cade had made it real clear he wasn’t going to forgive her anytime soon for not handling his declaration well. She’d tried a couple of times to grab a minute alone with him. And she got it, she really did, that when she’d interrupted him when he was up to his neck first preparing for the final scene, then shooting it, it hadn’t been fabulous timing on her part. Not to mention less than her shiniest display of professionalism. So she’d backed off and waited for him to “catch up with her.”

But when he’d finished shooting, he hadn’t even attempted to catch up. And while he’d been oh, so polite as she’d attempted one final time to get a moment alone with him, she may as well have been talking to him from the far shore of Puget Sound, so emotionally distant had he been.

She watched him now as he stood across the room. The cast and crew were clearly ready to party, and Cade smiled and acted as though he was, as well. But, God. Those blue, blue eyes of his, usually so warm and engaged, were one hundred percent aloof. At least the few times they touched on her.

Well, to hell with him. Calling on years of social training, she made the rounds, chatting with everyone but Cade as she made sure the trays of hors d’oeuvres, crudités, meats, cheeses and breads that she’d had to call in some favors to score on a Sunday were replenished when they ran low. That the beer, wine and pop were plentiful.

“Because, you know, I’m sorry if I didn’t handle things as well as I might’ve last night,” she muttered when she found herself alone in the kitchen a few mo
ments later. “Damned if I plan to
beg
him to listen, though.”