Meanwhile, Heather had to face the possibility that she might be pregnant. Except…had she and Seth actually had sex? God, she wished she could remember. “Maybe I won’t even need it. I don’t even know for sure if we had sex.”
“You don’t know?”
“I passed out.” She cringed at how slutty her words made her sound. Knowing Lexie wouldn’t judge her, she forced herself to go on. “But I was naked and coming on to him…he couldn’t have resisted, could he?”
“Do you feel sore?”
Heather did a few Kegels, feeling for any sort of tightness. “Not at all. But I took Advil when you called.”
“Maybe he was small.”
No way. She’d felt his erection through his pants. More than once. “I don’t think that’s it. God, I wish I could remember! The last thing I can recall is an incredible orgasm.” Incredible was defining it lightly.
But then he’d left. “And he wasn’t here when I woke up.”
“Asshole.”
“I told you.” Heather glanced down at the folded hotel stationary she’d seen next to the Advil. Now she picked it up. “Just a sec, Lex. He left a note.”
The ball’s in your court, princess. If you want to see where this could go, give me a call.
She read it several times before she spoke. “He left his phone number. I could call him.”
“But you won’t.”
Heather thought about it. Part of her really wanted to call him, wanted to see him again, wanted to see where things could go between them.
But another part of her, the bigger part of her, was scared. Scared of what Seth reminded her of. Scared of what Seth brought out in her.
“I won’t call him. He shouldn’t have bailed. And he shouldn’t have fucked me without a condom!” If they’d fucked at all, which Heather was beginning to doubt more and more. Doubting made her angry. Sure, he’d left a note. And water. And Advil. And maybe hadn’t taken complete advantage of her while she was naked and vulnerable. Though she’d been in the wrong state of mind to consent, he had given her a mind-blowing orgasm. Now that she thought about it, it seemed she’d seen him drinking an awful lot too. And had she thrown herself at him, or was that just a bad dream? Memories of lying naked and in wait for him tugged at the edges of her consciousness. Had she really done that?
Perhaps Seth Rafferty wasn’t the asshole she kept making him out to be.
But if he wasn’t an asshole, then she’d have to face the fact that she really was a bitch.
And that wasn’t happening. Not today anyway. “I’m done with Seth,” she told Lexie, mostly to convince herself. “And I’ll be glad to never see him again.”
“Sounds like a plan. But keep his number in case you need to contact him for a paternity test.”
“Please don’t even go there,” Heather groaned. “But I’ll keep it.”
After Heather ended her phone call with her assistant, she grabbed a pair of sweats and some underwear from her luggage with plans to shower before heading to the spa. But first, she folded Seth’s note into a small square and stuffed it into an empty pocket of her suitcase.
Maybe, if she buried it deep enough, she could forget about the hot carpenter and the myriad of confusing feelings he imposed upon her.
Except she knew that wasn’t likely. Especially if she already had a permanent Seth reminder growing in her belly.
Funny how that thought didn’t freak her out as much as it should have.
Chapter Seven
Seth stared at his Google calendar and cringed. It was completely blank. Blank for the next three months. The movie he had been booked to do had suddenly been postponed a year. Such postponements weren’t uncommon in Hollywood, but often it was a sign of other problems with the film. The delay gave him an out in his contract, if he wanted it. He’d have to look more into the situation before he made a decision.
Meanwhile, his calendar was empty. First thing on his day’s agenda was to find a project to work on. Not that he needed the money, but he didn’t enjoy being idle. He’d been idle the two days since the 24-Hour Plays ended and was already about to go insane. All he could think about was Heather Wainwright.
Figuring out what to do about Heather was the second thing on the day’s agenda. He’d known she was a big barrel of badness from the beginning, and he wasn’t changing his mind about that theory. But since he’d had a taste of her, both in the literal and figurative sense, he had to have more, barrel of badness or not. She was like a good malt beer—he shouldn’t have as much as he wanted, but he could rarely stop after only one glass. Everything about her turned him on: her eyes, her breasts, her silky skin, her pouty lips. Just thinking about her gave him a giant hard-on. A giant hard-on that had been impossible to relieve no matter how guilty he felt for taking advantage of her drunken state or how many times he stroked himself.
What sort of magic spell did this woman weave?
Even her stuck-up attitude, which had initially been a turn-off, had become one of the things that made him hornier than hell. The sass that came out of her lovely mouth… He never knew what to expect next, half of her words making his hand itch with the need to spank, the other half making his cock twitch with the need to bury inside her. A fair amount of what she said made him want to do both.
Yes, he’d have to find a way to see her again. And soon.
After he worked out how to see her again, he’d have a big decision to make. Tell her the truth about his career or continue to let her think he worked in Hollywood as a carpenter?
He glanced over at Erica’s sketch of his favorite spot in the San Gabriel Mountains that he had pinned on a bulletin board above his desk, the only remnant of his time with her. He should’ve thrown it out ages ago, seeing how it always brought up a painful ache when he looked at it. But, besides the fact it was a damn good piece of art, it served as a reminder of a dream he hadn’t yet fulfilled. One day he intended to build a cabin on that land. It was supposed to have happened with Erica. Now…
Now the plan had to wait. He couldn’t even think about it. Not while the sketch still held so many memories of his past, promises of a future that didn’t come to fruition.
He closed his eyes and let thoughts of her settle on him.
Erica.
She’d been an artist—a painter mostly—that he’d hired for a film he’d designed. It wasn’t love at first sight, but their feelings developed pretty quickly. He’d thought at first that her interest in him might be solely based on the fact that he was her boss—that he could get her places. Then they grew closer, eventually moving in together. Finally, he proposed.
He hadn’t set out to hide his past from her—it just never came up. How did you tell a woman that your father was in jail? That you had your own juvie record? He didn’t like to talk about it back then, so he didn’t share it with her. After they were engaged, and they began working on guest lists for the wedding and she wanted to know whether to include his parents, well, he had to tell her.
And she’d left. Because, as she had said, “Children follow in their father’s footsteps. How could I possibly have children with you?”
Funny, he thought he’d turned out pretty damn fine.
But he wasn’t going to hide his past from a woman again. It was who he was, what made him. Maybe he was going too far in hiding his present from Heather, but he didn’t trust as easily as he used to. His trust had to be earned.
Okay, maybe he was making excuses for himself, but he never said he was perfect.
His cell phone rang and he didn’t hesitate to grab it from the corner of his desk. He deflated when he looked at the caller ID.
Joe Piedman
. Not Heather. He’d suspected that she wouldn’t call him, but he still hoped, jumping every time his phone rang, and swallowing the disappointment when he realized it wasn't her.
Though he was disappointed this time too, a call from Joe might help him with his empty calendar. A fellow project designer, Joe was a good friend as well as a colleague. Often they’d throw work each other’s way when one of them was too busy to take a great offer. Hopefully that was why Joe was calling now.
“Joe, just the guy I wanted to hear from.”
“Oh, really?”
“I’m hoping you have a line on a job. I have a hole in my calendar.”
Joe chuckled. “That’s too bad. Something fell through?”
“Postponed. It’s a downer, but what can you do?”
“Just go with the flow,” Joe said. “Well, I do have a job, but not for you. Maybe you know someone who can fill it for me?”
Damn. Seth pinched the bridge of his nose. Back to square one on the job front. “What’s up?”
“I just took over as Production Designer on this film midway through pre-production. They had this guy before who completely screwed the whole job. Missed all his deadlines, hired flakes—I hear he had a coke problem, but that’s gossip so don’t go spreading that around. Anyway, they fired him, pushed out the schedule a few weeks and I took over, and what do you know? The lead carpenter was friends with the guy. He took his crew and bailed the minute he found out his bud got fired. So now I have a film that starts shooting in two weeks, no carpenter, no crew. My usual guys are already tied up. Do you have anyone you can recommend?”
Seth worked with a couple of crews on a regular basis that he suspected were probably free. The one he recommended to Joe would depend on the scope of the work. “What’s the movie?”
“Working title is
Girl Fight
. It’s a comedy. Don Frazier is directing. Stars Natalia Lowen and Heather Wainwright as these chicks fighting over a guy. Almost one hundred percent on soundstage so the—”
Joe kept talking but Seth’s brain was stuck back on the name
Heather Wainwright
. Instantly, he knew what he could do. What he shouldn’t do, but
why
shouldn’t he? He’d been lead carpenter on sets before, after all, and had been damn good at it, if he did say so himself. Getting a crew together shouldn’t be a problem. And his calendar was open.
Did it make him borderline creepy? Yeah, maybe. But he’d never claimed he was a saint.
“Joe,” he said, trying not to sound too eager. “I think I may have the guy for you.”
“Hey, Heather!”
Heather looked behind her as she walked through the sound studio toward her trailer and saw her costar Natalia jogging after her. Heather halted until Nat caught up.
“How do you think today went?” Nat’s bright blue eyes sparkled with enthusiasm.
Heather shrugged. “I’ve had worse first days.” How long had it been since she’d been excited about a first day on set? She couldn’t even remember.
“Totally.” Natalia twirled a strand of her recently dyed blonde hair around her finger. “But the scenes went well, don’t you think?”
Seriously? They were going to discuss the shoot like a bunch of amateurs? “Yeah, they went fine.” They’d been better than fine considering how preoccupied Heather had been all day. How preoccupied she’d been for the past two weeks. Every time she had a moment to think, her thoughts wandered to her belly and what might or might not be growing inside. She was hyper-focused on her body, wondering if every minor breast pain or belly cramp was proof that a pee test would scream positive.
When she wasn’t thinking about her possible pregnancy, she was thinking about the cause of that possible pregnancy. Seth Rafferty had gone from someone she wanted nothing to do with to someone who might be a very big part of her life. And she wasn’t that upset about it. In fact, she wanted to see him again. So much so that she’d even considered calling him. Many times.
But what would she say if she talked to him?
Did you use a condom when you screwed me ’cause I might be pregnant
just didn’t seem like a conversation to have over the phone. The other things she could say to him—
Can I see you again? Do you even want to?
Those things took more courage to say. More courage than she had.
Yep, secret was out: Heather Wainwright was a big fat chicken.
So she hadn’t called him, leaving her distracted by him at the most inconvenient times. Like in the middle of filming.
And now, when she should be paying attention to her costar.
She glanced at Natalia out of the corner of her eye and noticed she seemed deflated. Shit. She’d wanted reassurance and Heather hadn’t given it. Sometimes she forgot that she was the old pro in the biz, that other people wanted her approval.
She pulled out her best smile for her costar. “Today was good, actually. You did good. Really good.”
“Thanks.” Nat beamed at the compliment.
Then she continued past her own trailer, following Heather to hers. Dammit.
Problem with being nice was people mistook it for friendship. All Heather wanted was to get into her trailer, change out of her costume, and get in a hot shower. Nat, on the other hand, wanted to be buddy-buddy. She leaned against Heather’s trailer, making herself comfy. “That’s too bad about the old Production Designer. But the new P.D. seems to be on the ball. My camera tests were really well organized.”
Don’t be a bitch
, Heather told herself.
It won’t kill you to be friendly.
“Yeah, mine too. I’ve worked with Piedmont before. He has his shit together.”
Anyone who knew Heather and Natalia personally would laugh at the characters they’d been cast. Natalia’s personality more closely fit the sweet girl-next-door that Heather was playing. Heather’s diva reputation matched Natalia’s snotty character to a tee. Sometimes Heather found herself wishing she was more like Nat in real life—nice, kind, genuine. But that would require knocking down a bunch of walls and letting people in. How did Nat do that? Remain so unguarded and unaffected while working in Hollywood. She was a lot newer to the biz than Heather was. Perhaps that was it.