Chapter 9
Q
uinn found Jack awake and folding blankets. He neatly stacked them in the wide-brimmed wicker basket on the floor where she kept them as he had the previous two mornings.
“Morning.” She tried not to stare at his rumpled boxers, or the pattern her couch had imprinted across his bare chest and cheek. “I’ll be in my office if you need anything. I’ve already gone for breakfast, but you’re welcome to anything in the kitchen.” Like he wouldn’t help himself whether she extended the invitation or not.
He gave her a sleepy smile and stretched. It put the fine tone of his arms and sleek abdomen on display.
She pressed her lips together to keep from licking them.
“Work, work, work.” He winked. “No worries, love. I’m headed out. Got some business to tend to. Don’t wait up.”
She ducked into her office seconds shy of offering herself up for matching couch imprints.
Out of sheer will, she focused on her writing and only stopped when her cell rang and flashed “Blake Cobb” across the small screen. She answered happily. “Hey, Seth.”
“Quinn.” Blake’s crisp greeting sent her uplifted mood flying out the window.
“Oh. Hi. Is everything all right? Is Seth around?” Blake hadn’t personally phoned her since she’d moved to England. Either Seth was sick, or California had caught fire.
“Fine, he’s fine. At a friend’s house doing homework or something.”
Or something
? She wanted to ask what exactly he meant, but it was too soon in their conversation to start a bickering match. She should at least let them get past the greetings. “Okay. What’s up?”
His hesitation gave her a small idea of what had warranted the unexpected contact. Then he confirmed it. “I, uh, I had some words with your father. I wanted to apologize for giving up your identity. I understand it may have caused some problems.”
Spoken like a true robot. “A few, yeah.” They were done now, right? She hadn’t relaxed her spine since his voice had come over the line.
Quiet reigned before the dam of reserve burst. “Seeing you with that guy, I reacted. I really am sorry. I wasn’t thinking.”
Nope. Not done. “His name is Jack.” As if he hadn’t garnered the information already. “And you
were
thinking. Thinking a little media frenzy might scare me into coming home and taking Seth off your hands.”
“Maybe.” He paused.
He had two choices: admit he’d acted in a jealous fit or admit she’d nailed his motive on the head. She ascertained it was one or the other.
He chose neither, and instead went with a change of subject. “An actor, Quinn?”
Nostalgia came and went, like ripping off a Band-Aid
—
fast, painful, and managing to tug a few fine hairs on the way out. She tried to ignore the onslaught of memories it brought along; conspiratorial whispers in her ear at family dinners with her dad and Emily, asking how she ended up the smart
and
pretty one. She’d elbow him but smiled despite herself.
The flashback put her on the defensive. When had Blake become an expert on the subject of suitable partners? “You realize half of your firm’s clients are actors, right? Are they aware of your low opinion of their occupation?”
“I’m not saying there’s anything wrong with an actor. I mean for you. You’re an intellectual. Like me. You make a living with words. I hurt you, but it’s no reason to downgrade.”
Her jaw clenched at the dig. “How nice you still hold me in such high esteem. Makes my day. Although, I’d like to point out that as an actor who must study scripts, Jack also makes his living with words, and if you saw him naked, I’m not so sure you’d agree I downgraded. Plus, he cooks.”
Blake digested this silently for a full ten seconds. “Okay, fine. He’s Mr. Wonderful. I’m happy for you. Of course, as long as he is who he says he is. Have you considered he’s only looking for an in?”
“An in?” she repeated. She propped her feet up on her desk to study her toes while she waited for an explanation.
“Sure. An in. I’ve looked this guy up. He might be some big deal over there, but he’s nobody here in America where it counts. You’re a writer in L.A. You’ve got contacts. Rob Zombie’s latest film was based on one of your earlier novels, wasn’t it? Think about it.”
Blake didn’t consider her worthy of Jack’s affections by her own merits. So much for holding her in high esteem.
“Is this why you called? To rain on my parade? This is a pretty sucky apology.”
“I’m not raining on anything. He’s shady, and I’m the only one concerned. Where’d you meet this guy, anyway?”
“No one else is concerned because they’re busy minding their own business instead of mine.” That was a lie. Already she’d ignored several calls from Emily, her dad, Angie, and her agent. She was writing a
book
, people. She had every right to overlook their attempts at communication.
No, not a right: a
duty
. “I met Jack in Hollywood last year where we hooked up at a nightclub, right there in sunny California. I bet he smuggled himself into the country to meet me. My incredible influence in the acting biz is, after all, legendary. Thank you, Blake. Your intense scrutiny of my personal life has really opened my eyes. I’m so glad we stayed friends.”
“When has being a smart ass ever worked in your favor?”
“Since I met a guy who likes it. Are we done here?”
Blake’s patented world-weary sigh flowed through the line. “Whatever you say, Quinn. I suppose we’re through since you’re not interested in talking sense. Just don’t come crying to me when you get your heart broken.”
“Says the man who broke it.” She angrily jabbed at the End button.
Seeing you with that guy.
Blake had probably never considered preparing for the image of Quinn with another man. Nicholas was a faceless name, easy to overlook, but Blake couldn’t overlook Jack Decker. He demanded a person’s full attention and now he had Blake’s.
Well, good. She’d had plenty of Kira shoved down her throat, the last of which being the birth announcement for Hunter William Cobb delivered the day before. Premature, but healthy.
Quinn had no intention of sending a reply. Surely, they didn’t expect one. What would she possibly have to say?
Congratulations! Having a baby out of wedlock is the perfect cap on five years of adultery. Glad to hear you’re still fertile, Blake. After your refusal to give me a daughter for so long, I’d started to wonder
.
She left her office. Blake had ruined her mood for writing. She padded into her bedroom where she splayed out on the bed and stared at the ceiling.
Her husband had been indifferent to her for years. Appreciative glances from other men went unnoticed. Blatant advances were laughed off like a good joke.
Enter Jack, a self-made man, an anomaly from a half a world away, and suddenly Blake wanted to sit up and pay attention? Well, it was too late. A few days in Jack’s company were enough to absolve her of any remaining affection for her ex-husband. A guy like Blake would never compare. He’d never be enough.
She pictured Jack’s enchanting eyes and maddening grin. “Men like this are the cure for the Blakes of the world.”
Men like this.
A brilliant flash of inspiration hit her with all the intensity of a jetliner in free fall. She sat up fast enough to make herself dizzy and scrambled from the bed. She streaked across the hall to her office. “I have it. Oh, my God, I have it.”
Men like this.
Men Like This.
Clementine Hazel had given her first romance a title.
Jack returned to Quinn’s flat with a bounty of goods.
She gave up her feverish writing for the far more interesting task of picking through his stuff. He struggled with several brown paper bags and a handful of magazines. She wholly ignored them in favor of the short, barrel-chested, black-speckled bulldog staring at her like she was the one out of place.
“I meet the infamous Biscuit at last. Did you have to rescue the little guy from Vickie’s lair?”
“Nope.” With everything piled onto the kitchen table, Jack brushed his hands together and propped them on his hips. “She wouldn’t let me have him in the flat after she moved in. One of those fine print things you don’t notice until it’s too late and you’ve already signed your name in blood.” Quinn didn’t miss the hint of bitterness in his voice. “He’s been staying with Mum.”
Biscuit didn’t move much. He continued to regard her with perfectly round, liquid eyes. She scratched behind his ears and was rewarded with instant panting and a big dog grin.
Jack sighed. “The rest, however, did require liberating.”
An indescribable pang she refused to call jealousy swept through her. If anything, she was territorial about her muse. It was to be expected.
Jack grinned as if reading her mind. “No one home. Made it a quick job. How was your day?”
Quinn was disgusted with herself for being relieved. She picked up the first magazine in a stack. “Named my story. Received a really crappy apology from my ex.” She shrugged. “Nothing spectacular.”
She startled. A photograph of her taken in the outfit she’d worn yesterday sat in the upper-right corner of the cover,
Clementine Hazel
printed boldly below.
She dropped the magazine and picked up the next one. Jack’s wicked grin beamed at her from a left-corner inset. She flipped through to find the accompanying article, shocked at the sheer number of photos they’d accumulated over a few days.
How were there so many? How could she be so utterly blind to them? She lived in L.A., damn it. None of this should come as a surprise to her, but she was still stunned to see so much of her life on public display, moments she’d assumed private among them.
In one, Jack held a cab door for her while looking straight into the camera. He’d obviously had a little more practice at spotting the sneaky paps. A second photo revealed the two of them on a crowded sidewalk in Greenwich taken the night before.
The article took up two pages. She swallowed. “Should I read this?”
Jack sorted through his belongings. “If you’d like. It’s favorably written. You and I make such a darling couple they can’t bring themselves to hate us. I’m sort of an ass for cheating on Vickie, but the press loves you. How can they not? Look at you. You’re so clearly in love with me, it’s bloody adorable.”
She elbowed him and slyly moved away to study their photo more closely.
Jack had great posture. He stood tall but relaxed. Comfortable in his skin. His scruffy beard and worn leather jacket made him look severe even with a smile on his face.
She chewed her lip. Did Ezra measure up?
She tossed the magazine down and surveyed the rest of Jack’s pile. A guitar case sat on the floor alongside Biscuit’s dog dishes and a bag of dog food. A few personal items like cologne and a toothbrush.
She looked up to find him eyeing her. “Dinner?”
The photos in the magazine article flashed in her mind. Why not add a few new ones to the mix?
Jack took them to his usual stomping grounds in Greenwich and introduced her to a small pub he promised made the best chip butty in England. Personally, french fry sandwiches didn’t do it for her, but who was she to argue against a local staple?
After arriving home later that evening, Quinn discreetly checked her phone for messages. A missed call from Emily snagged her attention. She did some quick math and figured the call had been made around four in the morning on Cali time. She dashed into her room for privacy. In her hurry, she neglected to switch on the overhead light and dialed Emily in the dark.
Her sister answered groggy from sleep.
“Em?”
“Quinn? Quinn, is that you?” She suddenly sounded wide awake. “About damn time! Do you have any idea how many times I’ve called you in the last three days?”
“Sixteen.” Quinn supplied the answer without hesitation.
“Oh.” Emily paused. “Really? Sixteen, huh?”
“Yes. In three days.”
She harrumphed. “Well, it’s your own fault. I never imagined you’d avoid me like the plague in a time of crisis.”
Quinn pinched the bridge of her nose and sat on the edge of the bed.
Emily continued. “I’m your big sister, aren’t I? You’re supposed to turn
to
me in times like these, not ignore sixteen of my calls. Feel free to catch me up.”
She kicked her shoes off before feeding her sister’s curiosity. No sympathy, no concern. Plain old curiosity. “I wouldn’t go so far as to label it a crisis, Em. Being followed is a little creepy, but to tell the truth, I don’t really notice.”
“You are
living
with that man! I don’t care what the Internet says, you were seeing Nicholas three days ago. What happened? And who in the hell is this guy?”
“It’s Jack, and technically he’s living with
me
.”
“Who the hell is Jack?”
Emily hadn’t forgotten the infamous one-night stand any more than Quinn if her penchant for bringing it up on random occasions was any clue. “
The
Jack.”
A pause. Emily’s voice lowered an octave. “One-nighter English Irishman Jack? You’ve got to be kidding.”
“Is there another Jack?”
Her sister let out a whoosh of air. It sounded like Superman springing into flight. “Start from the beginning.”
She laid back on the bed and cradled her head with her free hand. Emily didn’t come close to the ideal confidante, but with Angie out of touch for the last several months, she’d have to do. “It started when Nicholas proposed.”
Twenty minutes later the story had been told in full, each detail described, and every nosy question answered to the best of Quinn’s ability. She didn’t expect to be on the receiving end of news, but Emily surprised her.