“Oh, yes. Operation Cheekbone is in full effect. We start shooting next week, and I need to lose about fifteen pounds by yesterday, so say good-bye to this, mister.” I pulled up my nightie and slapped my tummy. I used to be so shy about my body being on display, but falling in love with Jack had been the best confidence booster ever. If he loved my body, shouldn’t I?
You’d think so . . .
“Operation Cheekbone? What in bloody hell is that?” he exclaimed from his place against the pillows.
I took a moment to take in the sight. Long and lean, tanned and sprawling, he could be shooting a magazine cover as we spoke.
“Well, the producers have been watching the pilot we shot, and it would seem that I need a little more cheekbone, which translates to about fifteen pounds or so. So I’m hiring a trainer to kick some ass.”
“That’s a bunch of crap, Grace.”
“Yes, well, be that as it may, it’s different for women in this town—especially at my age. So I’ll do what I need to do. No biggie.” I leaned over him to give him a kiss.
“I’m making a shit ton of money with this next movie, Crazy. Let’s quit working and move to London. We’d never need to leave the bedroom.” He winked at me as I moved toward the bathroom.
“Love, it took me years to get back here. I’m not letting fifteen pounds stand in my way. Now get your British ass in here.” I laughed, dodging the pillow he threw at me.
We showered. It took more time than I planned.
It always does . . .
I was on my way to the gym when my conscience called.
“Did you see the pictures?”
“Yes, Holly, I saw the pictures. What can I do about it?” I asked as I rolled my eyes.
“Nothing now, asshead, but we do need to work on the deer-in-headlights look you always seem to have going. Doesn’t fly now that you have your own TV show.”
My heart still fluttered when I heard her say that.
“I was totally caught off guard. Lay off.”
“You’re dating Jack Hamilton. You can’t ever be off guard.”
“I know, I know. What’s up?”
“Just talked to David. They’re moving the shooting schedule up, and they want you on set at the end of next week.”
“What?”
“Yep, everything has been accelerated. They fast-tracked the show for a summer slot, which means they need to get all six episodes shot yesterday. This isn’t a problem, is it?”
“No, but Operation Cheekbone hasn’t even started yet!”
“I love it when you talk like someone from The Bourne Supremacy. What’s even stranger is that I totally got that.”
“I’m serious! I’m on my way to the gym right now.”
“Don’t worry about it. It’ll be fine. Are you getting a trainer?”
“Yes, but I don’t know how fast I can do this. Now I’m worried, although I suppose we can just shoot scenes with me walking with a large purse in front of me,” I joked.
“Exactly. They will work with what they have. Not a problem.”
Wow, that was a joke . . .
“Um, I was kidding about the large purse.”
“That’s funny because I wasn’t kidding at all,” Holly countered. “We talked about this.”
“Yeah, yeah, I know, but—”
“But nothing, Grace. I love you. Is this weird for you? Yes. But not for me. This is my job. Does it suck that I have to tell girls all the time to f**king lose weight? Yep. Do I have to tell girls who just a year ago were voted Best Looking in their high school yearbook that they’re too generic to make it in this town? All the time. I hate it, but this industry isn’t changing any time soon, and other than that I love what I do. So suck it up.”
I breathed in and out.
“You scared of me now?” she asked, her voice worried.
“I’m more scared that you just carried on an entire conversation by yourself, actually.”
She laughed. “Don’t hate me because you’re beautiful.”
“Okay, it’s getting a little thick around here.” I pulled into the gym parking lot. I saw three stunning girls walking in, sports bras and tiny shorts, legs for days and boobs for hire. Sigh.
“Love you, ya little fruitcake.”
“Fruit I can have. Cake has gone bye-bye.” I snorted, hanging up on her as she laughed. I watched the stunnings as they headed inside. I hated the gym. Even when I was losing all my weight, I’d worked out as much as I could from home or outside. But gyms were where the trainers were, so when in Rome . . .
Can’t eat pasta . . .
Yeah, yeah, yeah.
I repeated the words my own TV show, my own TV show as I headed in.
“I can’t go anywhere. I can’t even move.” I moaned.
“Not even to run and get something to eat? We need groceries, love. There’s nothing in the house,” Jack whined, pulling at my shoe.
I had collapsed when I returned from the gym, my entire body a wet noodle. I had been worked out. Hollywood style. When my trainer wasn’t admiring his abs in the mirror, he was sending me into another round of sprints or down to the floor to do kill-me-now crunches. He was good, no doubt. But clearly the devil.
“Get in your car and go get something. Leave me. I’m no good to you,” I cried, trying to lift my head off the couch and giving up immediately.
“Gracie, come on, walk it off,” he teased, pulling at both shoes now. I could feel myself sliding down the couch.
“Take your ass down the hill to the canyon store and get yourself a sandwich. Let me die,” I instructed, trying to kick him as he pulled me farther off the couch. Kicking used muscles, though, and that was impossible. Every muscle I possessed was now on strike.
“Oh, love, I won’t let you die,” he pronounced dramatically, finally succeeding in pulling me clear of the couch and thumping me into his lap.
“Ow! Ow! Ow!” I yelled as he wrapped his arms around me. Once I was settled, he ran his hands up and down my back, his fingers pressing into my skin in a soothing way. My muscles relaxed, albeit slightly.
“How many days are you on this crazy workout plan?”
“Chip has me coming in twice a day every day this week.”
“Your trainer’s name is Chip?” He laughed into my neck.
“Of course his name is Chip. Chip’s also an actor, you’ll be glad to know.”
“Is he good-looking? Do I need to be worried here?”
“He’s a juicehead, Jack. You have nothing to worry about. Besides, as sore as I am, I’m not even going to have the energy to keep up with you for a while, to say nothing of the likes of Chip Chip the Devil Man.”
“Oh, I’ll get you sorted out all right. I can’t have my girlfriend so tired she can’t service me properly.” He sighed, sitting back against the wall and bringing me farther into his lap. I snuggled in and yawned.
“I know. It’s in my contract that I keep you satisfied. You might have to do it while I’m sleeping, though.”
“Certainly makes it easier for me when you’re unconscious.” He laughed.
“I promise I’m mentally laughing, George. I just don’t have the abdominal strength to manage it right now.” I yawned again. We sat in the quiet for a moment as he stroked my hair until I heard his tummy growl.
“Okay, you run to the market and get something to eat. I’m going to try and make it to the bed,” I said, trying to extricate myself from his lap. He stood with me, picking me up and throwing me over his shoulder like a bag of overexercised potatoes.
“You nap. I’ll sort out the sandwiches. You want the chicken salad?” he asked.
“Yeah, sounds good, and get me a bag of Chex Mix and— Wait! No, get me a cucumber. And some air. I can have as much air as I want.” I sighed as he eased me down onto the bed. He chuckled as I put my arms in the air, gesturing for him to remove my sweatshirt.
“Cucumber and air, got it. How long are you on the all-air diet?”
“Until I don’t have to carry a big purse.” I snorted as my head hit the pillow. The last thing I heard before I slipped into sleep was his asking me what the bloody hell a big purse had to do with it.
I woke up to the sound of my phone ringing shrilly. I blinked, looking around, confused. It was dark out. Jesus. How long had I been asleep?
“Jack?” I called out, but no answer. I looked at the clock. I’d been sleeping for a few hours. Where was he? I jumped as the phone rang again and winced as I reached across the bed for it. It was the Brit.
“Hey, you get lost?” I smiled into the phone.
“Yeah, something like that,” he mumbled, and I stopped midstretch. He sounded weird.
“What’s wrong, where are you?”
“Somewhere on Santa Monica. I’m stuck in traffic.”
“What the hell are you doing on Santa Monica?”
“Bloody photographer at the market . . . I pulled out and started heading back up the hill, and he followed me. Followed me no matter where I went, and I didn’t want to come home yet, so I kept driving. And so did he. And I ended up getting turned around in the hills and came back down and then—”
“Jack, hey, slow down. It’s okay. Where are you now?”
“It’s not okay! This is f**king ridiculous! Grace, you should have seen how close this guy was behind me. He was a maniac—just to get a picture? It’s insane! I—”
“Okay, love, just come back home. Is he still following you?”
“I don’t think so. I’m not sure. He’s— Dammit! He’s still back there, and now there’s another one. Shit!”
A prickle of fear began to work its way from the base of my spine all the way to the top. I started pacing around the room, not noticing my muscles cramping up.
“Jack? Hey, Jack?”
“I’m pulling over. This is crazy. Hey! Look out—”
I heard tires squealing. I heard metal crunching. The phone went dead.
“Jack? Jack? Hey, are you there?”
Six
Movie star Jack Hamilton was involved in an altercation today at the corner of Santa Monica Blvd. and Doheny Dr. Several cars were impacted when Hamilton swerved into oncoming traffic, allegedly to avoid a car driven by a photographer. No one was seriously injured, although Hamilton was treated for “minor scrapes” at the scene.
Was the Scientist Mad?
New heartthrob and sexy scientist Jack Hamilton from the hit movie Time crashed his car into a signpost, causing an accident that involved three other vehicles yesterday in Beverly Hills. Onlookers report that Hamilton ran off the road causing fender benders. Paparazzi flooded the scene, capturing the star sitting on the side of the road with his head in his hands. It’s unclear at the time whether authorities suspect foul play.
Doheny Dr. turned into a media circus yesterday when movie star Jack Hamilton ran off the road trying to get away from intrusive photographers. No one was seriously hurt in the accident, but it took more than 45 minutes to get the street cleared, and additional police had to be called to the scene to handle the crowd after it was reported on Twitter that the one and only Sexy Scientist Guy was sitting on the side of the road in Beverly Hills. Hamilton rose to fame late last year with the success of the movie Time, the first in the series that has grossed more than $300 million worldwide. Hamilton’s fans call themselves Jack’s Pack, and they are devout in their devotion to their favorite actor. “He is, like, so freaking hot,” one of them gushed. She then screamed her love to Jack as he talked with police after the accident. After being treated for a minor cut on his forehead, Hamilton was bundled into an SUV and whisked away by security. His car was towed. No word on whether any charges have been filed.
I sat back in my chair, breathing in through the nose and out through the mouth. My heart was pounding, my pulse was racing, and my palms currently were more clammy than a bowl of chowder.
To calm myself and take the attention off my nerves, I allowed my eyes to sweep across the room, taking note of the congratulations balloons in the corner, the tastefully beautiful bouquet of sugar-pink peonies on the table in front of the sofa, and the strategically placed bowls of hard candy scattered about. As my eyes roamed, they landed back in the mirror directly in front of me. I studied my face as I continued to work through my breathing.
Hey, fruitcake, you got this. No sweat.
I do have this. That’s true.
I glanced down at the stack of magazines next to me, grinning when I saw my boy on almost all the covers, smiling rakishly into the camera, casting that pure sex vibe across the entire country. Jack was on location out in the Mojave with the rest of the cast for his movie. The paparazzi had been relentless since the accident, catching him at all hours of the night and day. The green eyes, the closely cropped hair, his deadly grin—yep, he was a movie star now, pure and simple. He’d finally been officially anointed the Sexiest Man Alive, even after the terrible haircut I gave him. Oh, well, duh I’d known this for a while now. As always, when my thoughts drifted to Jack, a little flutter ran through my tummy on its way to setting up shop somewhere decidedly south. Before my thoughts could go full gutter, I heard a loud knock on the door, and my heart once more began to pound.
“Ms. Sheridan, you’re wanted on set,” the second AD called through the door.
First day on the set of my new series. No big thing.
Really big thing.
That’s what she said.
I grabbed my script, gave a final tousle to my curls, and thunked down the steps of my trailer, giving a big smile to the woman who knocked on the door. “No Ms. Sheridan. Call me Grace.”