Love in Reality: A Contemporary Romance (The Blackjack Quartet) (36 page)

Jack appeared startled by the question. “I don’t know. I must have watched at least one episode of
Sweet Cherry
when I babysat you and Lissa. Besides, he’s a household name.” Jack turned to Rand, “Isn’t he?”

“He is. In fact, he’s nearly as commanding in packed rooms as you are, sir.”

Libby laughed. “Gotcha there, Uncle Jack.” She poured Rand’s beer. “Another Jameson?” she asked Jack. She still wouldn’t look at Rand.

“I’m fine. You’re not working this evening, so please join us.”

Libby hesitated, then sank into a chair. Not exactly greeting him with open arms, Rand deduced.

He turned to Jack. “So, did you see your niece on the show?” Rand asked.

“Yes, occasionally. I’ll admit, I thought it was Lissa for the first week or so.”

Libby did a double take. “When did you decide I wasn’t Lissa?”

“She’s much more combative than you are, and she doesn’t always control her temper. On the show, you managed to combine the best of Lissa’s friendly chattiness with your own calmness. I daresay if you’d been trying to win the money, you could have.”

Libby rushed to add, “But you know why I couldn’t win the money.”

Jack started to reassure her, but Rand recognized a cue when he saw one. “It was because of me, sir.”

“Call me Jack. I can’t be that much older than you.”

“No, but you’re the US Attorney, and I’m unemployed,” Rand said lightly.

“You are?” Libby demanded, as if noticing him for the first time.

“Since just before the final show. Marcy offered me co-executive producer credit and a huge raise, so of course I quit.”

Libby stared at him. “I don’t know what to say.”

Rand ignored her and addressed Jack. “Libby had her own reasons for being on
The Fishbowl
, but the million dollars was never one of them. She knew it would be unethical to win the money when she and I had gotten to know each other.”

“Yes, I was wondering about that,” Jack said. His gaze hardened, switching between Rand and Libby. “You were here briefly in March and Libby was on the show in June. How did you two manage to fall in love?”

Libby ducked her head but didn’t deny it.

Time to come clean. “Libby, there’s something else I didn’t tell you.” At her look, Rand added, “Yes, in addition to not mentioning that I’m Alan Jennings’ son.”

He waited, but she didn’t say anything. She looked braced for another blow.

“When I met you in March, I was so fed up with my job and so tired of reality TV that I thought of a clever idea for a screenplay.” Rand explained about
The Ant Farm
. By the time he was done, Libby was grinning and even Jack seemed amused.

“It’s brilliant. What’s your worry, that you’ll get sued?” Libby asked. “C’mon, Uncle Jack, that has to be covered under the parody exceptions to defamation laws, right?”

“Actually, his primary defense will be not to write anything defamatory, or if he does, to make sure it’s something true about his boss. However, you’re missing Rand’s point,” Jack said.

Rand took a deep breath. “You, Susie, Kai and Jim were my ringers—Fish I got on the show despite the fact you’re all quite accomplished in real life.”

“You thought I was just a bartender.”

Rand grinned. “Yes, but a particularly bright and savvy bartender. The challenge was to get you to act ditzy.”

“Yeah. So?”

“So I’d planned from the beginning to make Jenna, your character, be the love interest for Brad, my protagonist. Which makes our subsequent involvement look underhanded and selfish on my part.”

He faced her boldly. If he was going to get shot down, he’d take it head on.

Finally, Libby shrugged. “Yeah, well, Lissa told me she phoned you that first night and virtually seduced you on my behalf. A call,” she added for Jack’s benefit, “I knew nothing about.”

“Oh good God, that was Lissa?” Rand thought back. “Shit. It must have been. I had no idea—I mean, even after I knew about the twin-switch, I didn’t put two and two together.”

Libby went on, “My point is, how do we know what effect that call had? We don’t. You can’t run the counterfactual.”

“The counter—?” Rand held his hands out for some explanation.

Jack explained. “You’re worried that your plans for the screenplay make it seem like you were using her. Libby’s point is, maybe Lissa’s call—which you thought was from the woman you’d met at the bar that evening—was the moral equivalent, and they cancel each other out.”

“So this is what a family of lawyers is like,” Rand joked.

Jack smiled. “Yes, and I should let the two of you consider your options in that context.” He rose and left before Rand could ask what he was talking about.

“Can you leave now or are you working?” Rand asked.

“Barney won’t rehire me now that school’s in session,” Libby said. She pointed to a slender woman working the bar. “He’s already found my—well, Lissa’s—replacement.”

“May I walk you home?”

She tucked her hair behind her ears, then put her hands in her lap. Rand noticed that she was dressed in a long-sleeved shirt and well-worn jeans. Not Lissa-style clothes.

“Okay,” Libby said finally. “I’ll tell Barney we’re going.”

Rand pulled a twenty from his wallet, but Libby waved it away. “Barney won’t take it and anyway, Jack will have paid for you.”

“Barney will refuse my money but take Jack’s?”

Libby laughed. “No, Jack finds ways to pay regardless. They’ve agreed to disagree and anyway, Jack always wins. Everyone just accepts it.”

“Scary guy,” Rand mumbled as they walked out into the mild autumn evening.

* * *

Libby’s hand shook as she unlocked the door to the loft. Almost five months since he left, he was back. Everything different and yet—her feelings hadn’t changed. Not really.

“I wonder if my mistake was leaving here last April,” he said as she turned on the lights.

“What do you mean?”

His hands gentle on her shoulders, Rand made her face him. “You. I shouldn’t have left you. I’d filled myself with the crazy scheme to get you on the show—told myself it was for the screenplay, but it wasn’t. It was you. I wanted you, even then.”

She shook her head. “You thought I was Lissa.”

“I knew you were you. The name? Law school? That’s on the outside. You’re you, and the only time I was confused or put off was that quite odd phone call in March, the one you say Lissa made. She made her interest in me clear from the outside, just like so many other women had done.” Rand stopped. “Okay, so it wasn’t because she wanted me to introduce her to my dad, but the moves were the same even if the motive was different.”

Libby let a tiny smile play with her mouth. “She somehow could tell I liked you. You know,
liked
you.”

“Smart woman,” Rand whispered. He bent down to kiss her.

So bittersweet. Hello and farewell in a single touch of their lips. Longing and loss. Hope it might work out…and the bleakest future.

Libby started to cry. From the scene at the airport—the last time she’d touched Rand—to seeing him at the Cork, every day had been an amusement park ride. The scary kind, like the roller coaster at Dorney Park that always made Libby weak-limbed and wobbly. She wasn’t sure she could take much more.

The flight from L.A. had nearly killed her. Libby had been so sure leaving Rand was the right thing to do, until she landed with an overwhelming urge to turn right around and take the next flight back to L.A. Explaining everything to Lissa had nearly killed Libby. Facing Barney and the regulars at the Cork had nearly killed her. She damned near died every night as she cried herself to sleep, and every morning when she dragged herself out of bed and off to school.

Rand might as well finish the job. Put two bullets in the back of her head or something equally cinematic.

Frankly, only in class had the unrelenting pain and doubt lifted briefly. And now this. Why was he here? For a weeklong visit so he could watch her prepare for her classes? He had to be insane. Or he was driving her insane.

Wait a minute.

She pulled back and dried her tears on the backs of her hands. “You’re gaslighting me, aren’t you?”

His shock was plain to read. “I thought you were okay about the screenplay—” he began.

“Not the screenplay. You. Here. This,” Libby said, flipping her wrist between them. “I haven’t even started to heal and you’re back here, driving me crazy.”

“I’m here—” Rand stopped, put a little more distance between them, then started again. “I’m here because I love you. I’m here because I found something real in the least real situation imaginable, and I let it get away. I’m here to ask you to forgive me.”

He placed his hands on her shoulders, not making any effort to pull her closer. His touch was gentle, though. Comforting.

“Remember the movie?
My Man Godfrey
?” Rand asked.

Libby nodded. She’d bought the DVD and watched it more than once. Always made her cry.

“Godfrey’s homeless because he lost his way. Carole Lombard doesn’t care. She sees him for who he is, regardless of his pedigree or poverty.”

“I like that part,” she admitted. “After the pixies, it’s my favorite bit.”

Rand tugged her into his arms. She could break free if she needed to, but it felt so good to be held. She rested her cheek on his shoulder as he spoke.

“That’s me. I’m like Godfrey. Homeless, at least figuratively. Meeting you anchored me. Thank God you came on the show, because I needed those two months to see what I should have seen last April.”

Libby could tell she was going to cry—again—so she wrapped her arms around his torso, hugging him as tightly as she could. “Love me,” she said near his ear.

“Always.”

“Even when I’m stressed about law school.” She squeezed him for emphasis.

Rand took her face in his hands. “I owe you a lot of calm days, don’t I?”

Libby wanted to reassure him, only she couldn’t. “A phone call would have been nice. It’s been hell thinking I was just some woman you smuggled out of a studio one night. You know, like that happens all the time to you.”

He kissed her tenderly, then more passionately, before telling her, “You’re the real prize, I just couldn’t see it fast enough. I’m sorry.”

“I forgive you,” Libby said.

They kissed a long time, until it was clear they needed to find the bedroom.

“Are you staying?” she asked.

“I’ll have to check out of the hotel, but yes, I’m staying.”

“For real?”

“Always. I’m home now. It’s time to make our dreams a reality.”

Libby beamed at him. “You already have.”

The End

www.BlackjackQuartet.com

Here’s the boilerplate:
Many people helped me with this book, but all the mistakes are my own.

Boy, is that ever true! And because I’ve written this book three times, there’s three times the normal rate of mistakes.

Actually lots of people have helped make it a better book. My thanks go out to them. As my inner lawyer would say: They include but are not limited to:

My critique partner, Zara Keane, who read the manuscript back when it was really bad…and still was willing to read it again.

My editor, Ellis Vidler, who said very nice things to me even as she was finding every punctuation and continuity error.

My MFA mentor, Scott Wolven, who knew the perfect way to show me how to start the book.

Mitch Danton and Talia Quinn Daniels for sharing their expertise in editing TV shows. They would have helped me make those scenes more realistic if I’d only known what questions to ask, so if you’re in the profession and you’re laughing, see Boilerplate, above.

Those of my fellow 2012 Golden Heart® finalists (aka the Firebirds), my Stonecoast classmates, and the members of the Endless Mountains Writers’ Group who read parts of this book and made wonderful suggestions on how to improve it.

Finally and most importantly, Ross (aka Brit Hub 2.1) for reading it countless times, each time improving it immeasurably. If you didn’t find any typos, praise him. (If you did, see Boilerplate, above.)