Never Just Friends (Spotlight New Adult Book 2) (8 page)

And when he answered, he looked at her. “No. Last season established how we saw her for the first time, so…no.”

They hadn’t talked about that yet.

The last time she saw him before his sudden New York appearance this week was when, in April last year, he called her, from Canada, really late. She wasn’t worried at first; she knew they’d be seeing each other some time that month, and assumed he was calling after a long night at work to make plans about coming to see her. What she heard instead was a drunken rant that became soft sobbing into the phone.

He happened to be with someone at the time, a co-star named Bud, and she managed to get him on the phone, gave him instructions to take Jake someplace safe, and stay with him until she got there. She managed to make it to Vancouver by early afternoon, and by evening had collected Jake from Bud’s house, apparently a few doors down from Jake’s own place near Kitsilano Beach.

By then he wasn’t that drunk, but he was out of it.

“Am I in New York?” he asked, later, half joking. “I don’t remember getting on a plane.”

In the hours that he spent not speaking to her while she was in his house, she made herself useful. Cleaned up, did dishes, folded laundry, checked on him sprawled on the bed to check if he was breathing.

It was a
house
. A nice one, she thought bitterly, wondering what kind of debauchery or domesticity was going on without her.

“Are you on drugs now?” she asked him, not even half joking.

“I’m not. You know me.”

She pulled the sleeves of his shirt up to check for needle marks, and didn’t see any. “Since I’m here, we should add another test to clear you for.”

“Fine. But you know I wouldn’t do drugs, Lindsay.”

“I can’t know anything for sure, Jake.”

He rolled over onto his stomach. “The apocalypse, Lindsay. I can’t protect you if I’m too busy stealing heroin from zombie junkies.”

An aspirin, a shower, and a full meal later he was better. He admitted to her that he was having trouble getting over his breakup, and she left it at that. When she left Vancouver two days later he was acting as if the meltdown never happened, and his tests came back clear.

Maybe it was best that Jessica not be back on the show.

During the last fifteen minutes of the session, members of the audience got to ask questions.

“Hi, my name is Miya,” said a girl in an “I Ship Them” shirt, from her place at the mic stand at the end of the aisle. “So I know you can’t really answer this, but maybe you could just nod once for yes? Everyone has their theories about who John and Charlie really are, but I think the hints support my theory that they were lovers.
Were
they lovers, Jacob?”

Everyone laughed. Over a hundred people, Pamela Rowe, even Jake, even Lindsay. He made a big deal out of trying not to nod. They loved it. They loved
him
, and this was becoming clear to her. He had managed to make himself adored in this world, no matter how tough. Instead of resting on this adoration, he was going off into
her
world, where he was on uncertain footing, and would need to prove himself all over again.

It didn’t seem
fair.

Was she complaining? Surely a dozen or so people in this auditorium would be ready to slap her, then switch bodies with her, right this second. Rendering useless years of half-meant plans of having a future together in the “zombie apocalypse.”

It wasn’t even a question of him loving her. They
loved
each other. He’d do anything for her. For all the praise he was getting in this room for his acting, she didn’t doubt the feeling behind each kiss, each touch. She didn’t doubt his feelings for her at all.

But she was doubting something.

Stop it.

Over time, Jake nailed line readings more consistently. He was already better than the average student at speaking; it was what got him noticed by Cora to begin with. It was one thing to sound like the most knowledgeable college student in the room. Another thing entirely to stand up in front of government officials, scientists, experts, at their event, and talk to them about their work, without sounding like an ass.

Lindsay told him about this. She helped rewrite his draft, but not so much that he didn’t feel it was his anymore. She listened to him go over the three pages (when printed out) of his opening remarks, over and over, and had an opinion every time he made a minor change here, said it differently there. She thought he was harder on himself than anyone would ever be. He read it to her in his hotel room, in her apartment, in the car service, at La Guardia, once on the plane to Hong Kong, another time in his room after checking in.

He thought she’d mind or get sick of it, but he should have known her capacity for patience. When she began to learn it line by line from hearing it too much, he noticed her eyes wander, but her lips would mouth the words. Sometimes, when she did that, she’d say that a pause there would be better, or switching the words here made it clearer. Lindsay did this while slaving over her own presentations. (He felt a tad guilty about taking time from her own work, but they were colleagues now kind of, and she helped him anyway. Also if he screwed up, this would be to a larger audience.)

“You’re not nervous?” he asked her, minutes before the opening plenary, right before he was expected to speak, to what was going to be the largest group of people he’d ever spoken to in one go. Almost a thousand people were expected to attend the conference itself, and though they weren’t all in the convention center first thing in the morning on the first day, this packed hall was still beyond anything he had yet seen.

Nothing to it.

Lindsay hadn’t said a thing about that. Late last night, when he’d asked her the same question, she looked at him, eyes peeking over the laptop screen, and said she’d gotten used to this. “It gets easier, the more you know what you’re talking about.”

This time, she instead flicked invisible lint off his tie, and rubbed a smudge of something off his lips. “This conference is like a yearly camp we show up in. Most of those people know each other, like to outsmart each other. Frankly they don’t expect much from you but words. Turn on that Jacob Berkeley charm and they’ll be eating out of your hand.”

“But I don’t want to sound like an idiot.”

“You actually know this. You’ve studied it,” she said. “They’ll usher you out as soon as you’re done speaking, but in the off chance that someone fields you a question afterward, and the organizers let it happen, you know what to do right?”

He paused for a sec, and then raised his arm so she could see his hand, thumb tucked inside his fist.

She laughed. “Exactly. I’ll come up and gracefully get you out of anything unplanned. But like I said—straightforward, not hammy, smile once in a while. Flirt a little. You’ll do fine.”

She meant for that to be encouraging, but a fire lit inside him. He didn’t come all this way to be mistaken for a pretty face.

***

Three times, he had to pause for applause. Five, including when he was introduced, and when he thanked the audience and stepped down from the stage.

He counted.

During script table readings, he made notes whenever a line of his affected the room the right way. He unconsciously did that here, now, as he read his speech about the efforts to restore the forests as the earth’s “lungs.” Those three points of spontaneous applause? Lines from his own draft. He had come up with them. He had been worried about being too theatrical, and Lindsay had helped edit the drama out, but the room responded the right way to words that had been his.

Maybe it wasn’t too late for him, after all.

Someone else had taken the stage to speak after him, but that didn’t prevent people from approaching him as he made his way down the conference hall.

Can you send us a copy of your speech, and do we have your permission to translate it to French, Mandarin, Spanish, and Russian?

I met you at the Caine fundraiser in California. Here’s my card again.

I’m surprised you’re here. Shouldn’t you be filming the show? Have you been written off?

If you’re staying the rest of the three days, perhaps we could have coffee?

Jake negotiated this and a dozen more questions, before managing to find Lindsay again. Usually he didn’t have to do that. Cora had a PR “minder” go with him the few times he had gone out to do publicity for the show, and that person’s job was to tell him he was needed somewhere else, so he wouldn’t have to mingle and spend too much time socializing at social functions. They had decided not to do that here, so he had to remember to politely end his conversations on his own.

Lindsay was standing in front of the Caine Foundation booth, set up as one among many lined up along the wide corridor in front of the main session hall. He almost missed seeing her on first glance, because she had put her hair up, and covered up her blue dress with some kind of coat or blazer.

There was also a tall man holding her hand. European. Curly hair.

That was probably what threw him off the most.

It was interesting, how he instantly wanted to beat his chest and throw a punch, at the sight of this. She was smiling, talking, and the other guy looked like he wanted to devour her. His approach didn’t register in their peripheral vision at all; he had to walk right into their cozy little conversation before he was noticed.

“Hey,” Lindsay said, taking her hand back from the guy and hooking the same arm around his. “You did great. No need for the signal, obviously.”

“Thank you,” Jake said. “You saw everything?”

“I did, from a few rows down. Noticed you were getting mobbed trying to get out.”

The man took note of their linked arms, but his smug grin didn’t fade. “Lindsay, you didn’t tell me that you’re now—how did we discuss it—
attached
. I assume you’re Victor?”

His accent was Italian, and Jake didn’t feel like shaking the hand that was being offered to him just then.

“Rocco,” Lindsay scolded, and Jake immediately disliked that obvious, easy familiarity. “God. You’ve met Victor, you know he isn’t Victor. Jake Berkeley, this is Rocco Leone. Rocco’s with an energy fund that we used to work with.”

“Jacob Berkeley of the opening remarks,” he said. “And you’re making me seem like a stranger, Lindsay. I thought you considered me a friend. Victor is history?”

Lindsay’s brow revealed a mild annoyance, but she was staying casual. “He remains a colleague, like you are.”

“Oh, how far down we’ve been demoted. I should have called more in between conferences. It’s my fault.” Rocco stepped back, theatrically putting a hand to his heart. Jake
still
wanted to clock him. “I think I will see you at your three p.m. panel, Lindsay. Enjoy the rest of your morning. Jake.”

He nodded back at the guy, not even bothering to speak, when he had barely been spoken to.

Lindsay watched Rocco walk away, at the same time pressing closer against Jake’s body. Not so much that it would have been inappropriate in the busy hall, but enough to make a statement. “You’ll probably want to talk about that.”

No, he would rather not. He killed it at the goddamn opening plenary. He wanted to celebrate, before the media appointments sucked his time away.

“Should we?” he said anyway.

“Only because it opens up a conversation we should have,” she said. “But I have work, and you have meetings...and we should do this at the end of the day.”

A conversation they should be having. What exactly would that be? Because Jake thought they were cruising along rather well, considering the drastic change in their friendship dynamic. His one worry was that he would destroy something when he revealed just how much he desired her. Sometimes, it was more than that, and was a nagging fear that he was cursed to poisoning those he came too close to. He wondered often if that was why he had gotten along with Lindsay that well for that long. (Because he hadn’t stuck the poison in her. Until recently.)

He thought it was going fine so far. It felt right. But he knew it would. Jake knew it, in his gut, that once he got over all the reasons to keep her away, it would be like this. She was the same person, wasn’t she? Their easy conversations were still there. The way she simultaneously ribbed him over his bad study habits (college seemed like a lifetime ago already) and patiently explained office politics and everything else, before and after sex that wiped everything else from his brain.

It was all the same, but for the addition of knowing that when she came, her hands curled up into tight fists. Among other little details.

And the thing that had been chasing him, that he had yet to identify, it was gone.

As far as Jake was concerned, he got over himself, took the risk, and it was like he had won the lottery. Already. What was there to talk about?

Thoughts of this admittedly distracted him from the meeting at hand, the first of three he had to sit in on that day. Krup had been making a presentation on a water filtration facility they built in Peru, and the small group around the round table spoke mostly to him, and not the actor playing the role of environment expert. Out of habit Jake made sure to nod at certain parts, and idly take notes, despite not exactly being all there mentally. He’d read the presentation earlier while at lunch though, and had some inkling of what was happening.