Page 24 of Heart of Dixie
“You tell that agent of mine I deserve top billing in that new thriller. It’s slated to be a blockbuster! It should bemeshooting in Italy with Madison DeMarco and driving a Ferrari!”
His voice had risen an octave over the course of his tirade—and didn’t everyone want their leading man to squeal like a twelve-year-old girl! The air conditioner unit cycled on and blew a gust of cool air across my cheek. I tucked back a loose strand of hair that flew with it. Drew continued on about the hardships of living in a hotel—five-star, he forgot to mention—while on location, of having to get to make-up—in a limo—each day, of the endless crap the caterer piled on the buffet—provided at his specific request, and at the expense of the studio—and the lack of alcohol—well, that part was true.
“Why am I even here, playing a mountain man like fucking Jeremiah Johnson? My co-star isn’t even a human, much less a Hollywood goddess. And do you know whatI’mdriving, wonder girl?” He didn’t even pause in his rant to give me time to guess. “I’m cruisin’ a fucking Jeep!”
Most wannabe actors—even has-beens searching for a Plan B—knew enough to show deference to their agent and their manager. Right now I’d gladly strangle Madelyn—whowasDrew’s agent—for dodging his calls. After all, what was a celebrity without a public fiasco recorded and offered up for the entire universe to scrutinize and share? His just happened to end with him wearing a plate of pasta carbonara, compliments of a furious date.
Mr.I’ll wheezeif I trot in the mountainswas such a pain in the ass, but I sucked it up and lost the attitude. I wouldn’t gain any ground for wheedling. Damn that Madelyn again—she owed me huge.
“You can do this, Drew. It’s only two weeks. You shoot your scenes, you don’t cause any trouble for the studio, you come home.” Where maybe the idiot would learn the meaning of the worddiscretion.
And gawking bystanders with cell phone video would be outlawed.
“Now hold on a minute—”
“Let me rephrase, Drew. Youhave todo this. You. Have. No. Choice.” Maybe if I spoke clearly and enunciated each syllable, the gravity of his situation would penetrate Drew’s thick skull. Our plan—mine and Madelyn’s—was two weeks out of the limelight, and hopefully the public left him alone and moved on to the next celebrity meltdown. Because there wasalwaysthenext celebrity meltdown. “Right now you’re in somebody else’s sandbox. Play nice.”
He grunted in my ear. I could imagine him scrubbing his hand over his short-cropped hair and then rubbing his face. The scratch of his cultivated scruff whispered in my ear. “Fourteen days and not a minute more, Dixie. And I’m not running.”
“It’s not a request, Drew. You’ll run when you hear the director sayrun,and you’re on the set until you hear the director saywrap!And Drew—” I dropped my voice. If he had any brains at all, he’d pick up on the steel I added to it and understand how serious I was. “Don’t ever question the job we do again.”
I hung up. It would have felt better to slam the phone onto a cradle, but the knowledge that I disconnected our call while he blustered would carry me through a good part of the day.
He’d be fine. Right now, he suffered from a misplaced sense of entitlement and separation anxiety. Madelyn could help him with both—next week, when she returned from her honeymoon.
I rose and gathered my things—my suitcase, my computer, my purse—and marched them out to my car as my racing pulse slowed and then picked up again as I remembered where I was and glanced around.
Kissing Creek.
Why, again, had I felt the need to personally make the trip to Podunk, Tennessee to bury a man I spent the past ten years trying to forget?
There was only so much shit that could be dumped on me pre-dawn, but Drew’s telephone call brought me crashing back to reality. Yesterday was full of ups and downs. Idyllic hours spent back in Deke’s arms compounded by his tenderness and consideration at the barrage of memories and emotions that even the thought of Cooter Barnes could evoke.
But all of that was just temporary, and none of it was real. Real life was my work. That was where I needed to be, andthat was back in Los Angeles. With clients who kept my phone ringing, my inbox full and my desk piled high. Work was what I needed. Work helped me to forget.
14
Dixie
That annoying bell rang as I entered Break an Egg and joined the line forming inside, then rang again as a tall man and a laughing woman dressed in cropped yoga pants and a slim tank stretched over an enormous belly followed me in. Colleen again, as if my morning wasn’t already bad enough. Her hand lifted to rub it like a magic ball. “Yes, I know. It’s huge, isn’t it?”
More likeginormous.I narrowed my gaze at her friendly interaction and bit my tongue before something offensive slipped out—she was Deke’s sister, after all. I turned and let my gaze search the room for Beth; I needed rescuing. She was seated in a booth in the front window; I caught her wave and veered that way.
“I can’t believe you’ve been here two days and you’re still wearing high heels.” Beth leveled a disgruntled glare at my choice of footwear as I slid in across from her. “You should rethink that. Around here we wear boots, flats, even loafers, for Pete’s sake.”
Boots. There was a time I wore those. But after the night I just spent reliving the past—laying out all the reasons it was smarter to stay locked in my little cabin rather than knocking on Deke’s door and kissing him until I discovered every well-defined muscle on his entire body—I didn’t have it in me to argue with Beth about my shoes. My heels were staying. Not that I needed a reminder of where I belonged. No, the constant influx of emails from clients kept me well grounded, but . . . but . . . well, maybe I needed a small reminder.
Colleen and the man from the doorway approached our table, murmuring with their heads together. Beth looked up, distracted by the sound of her laughter, then scooted out of the booth. “Colleen! Flynn! Dixie, you remember Deke’s sister! This is her husband.” I only had time for a quick wave before Beth wrapped them each in a hug. “Y’all are out early.”
Colleen pattedthe bulk of her stomach. “When the bean doesn’t sleep, I don’t sleep.”
Flynn slung his arm around Colleen’s shoulders. “Which means I don’t sleep, either.” I seemed to be mesmerized by the way he didn’t take his eyes off his wife. His hand resting casually on her stomach made the muscles low in my belly clench in an unfamiliar ache.
“Would you like to join us? Move over, Dixie.” She stepped toward my side of the table and shooed me over. I made room beside me, and the new couple sat where Beth had been.
Molly appeared with the coffee pot. “Look who’s the early bird this morning. Colleen, you feel all right?”
“Morning, Molly.” Colleen pushed her mug closer to the waitress. “Flynn has an early flight so I thought I’d drive him to the airport before the store opens.”
