Playing Dirty
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“No, Mom, I won’t. You constantly buy me things that I don’t have a prayer of fitting into and I never wear them. Save your money.”
“You simply need to lose a few pounds and my money won’t be wasted.”
She tried counting to ten again but only got as far as six. “How I handle my weight is not your decision to make. I have curves. I’m always going to have curves and will never be rail-thin like you. Deal with it.”
“I don’t believe I like your tone, Ava.”
“And I don’t like being treated like an incompetent child.”
“I don’t do that!” Jacqueline sounded both shocked and affronted. A heartbeat of silence passed before she added stiffly, “I was merely trying to help.”
God save me from your help, Ava thought in despair, but only said, “I appreciate that. But I’m thirty-one years old. Allow me to dress myself.”
The pleasantries they exchanged after that were few, awkward and doubtless left her mother feeling, as they did her, not so pleasant. It was a relief to finally ring off, and Ava carefully reseated the receiver in its stand on the kitchen counter.
All the while painfully aware that her first inclination was to hurl it across the kitchen.
God, she was tired of this. She knew her mother loved her, in her own self-absorbed way. But wouldn’t it be nice, just once, to get through a conversation that didn’t leave her achingly aware of the conditions Jacqueline placed upon that love? That didn’t raise the issue of her damn weight?
Instead, their conversations generally left her feeling anywhere from vaguely to DEFCON Alert–level dissatisfied. Not to mention not all that great about herself.
She knew it was ridiculous—that only her opinion ought to count. It didn’t change the fact that when she swiveled on her stool and caught a glimpse of herself in the sound-facing bank of windows that the interior lights and stormy weather darkness outside had turned into a mirror, she saw herself through her mother’s eyes and thought, Cow. Didn’t change that—
“No, dammit.” She wasn’t going down that road again. She had things to do—even more things, given the addition of her father’s party, than she’d had fifteen minutes ago. She didn’t have time for this inadequacy crap.
Turning back to the counter, she tossed her cell phone into her purse and plucked her black draped cardigan from the back of the stool to pull it on over her wrapfront beach-blue dress. She stepped into her heels and crossed to the closet for her coat.
Then, picking up her Kate Spade purse as she sailed past the tiny entry table, she let herself out of the condo and, bypassing the elevator, headed down the stairs to the parking garage.
SINCE AVA was the last person Cade wanted to see, naturally she was the first one he clapped eyes on when he let himself into the Wolcott kitchen. She was bent over a table she’d set up against the wall, putting what looked to be finishing touches on the spread she’d set out.
It looked like something out of a magazine—a considerable step up from the usual food services arrangement—and he wondered if he’d congratulated himself too soon regarding the anticipated money he’d save by having her take over the job.
It was a hard thought to hang on to, however, when her butt was bumping in tune with some bluesy, jazzy song about not treating a dog the way the singer thought a woman had treated him, which purled out of an MP3 player on the counter. She’d always been a kick-ass dancer—even back in their prepubescent days when they’d had to learn all that formal stuff in cotillion class. Nor had she ever been the least bit self-conscious about dancing down the hallway at Country Day.
Except for those last few weeks of their senior year.
He cleared his throat. “I didn’t realize you were here. I didn’t see your Beemer in the drive.”
Her hips ceased swiveling as she looked at him over her shoulder. “I drove a client’s car today.”
“The Audi A6?”
“Yes. I’m taking it to be detailed on my lunch hour.”
“You’re working other jobs?”
“On my own time, yes.” Turning slowly to face him, she crossed her arms beneath her breasts, plumping up the creamy cleavage in her blue V-neck dress from what had been a mere hint to an impressive flash of the real deal. “You didn’t seriously expect me to blow off my clients who’ve been with me through the good times and lean for six weeks of working for you, did you?”
Yeah, he supposed he had. But when she put it that way…
Kyle walked into the kitchen before he could respond, which was probably just as well. The soundman gave Ava’s cleavage an appreciative glance. But even before her arms dropped to her sides, restoring the generous swell back to its original hint, his focus had switched to the food she’d laid out. His brows furrowing as he crossed the room to pour himself a cup of coffee from the industrial coffeemaker at the end of the table, he scrutinized the offerings.
And turned accusing eyes on her. “No bear claws?” he demanded.
“Sorry, no.” Ava picked up a plate and grabbed a pair of tongs that she left suspended above a plate of long rectangles of lightly sugared pastries as she glanced over at Kyle. “Try a galette. Are you an apple or a blackberry man?”
“Blackberry, I guess.” He watched suspiciously as she scooped the pastry onto a plate. “That looks like one of those girly tea-party desserts.”
She grinned at him, her dimples punching deep. “Just try it. If you don’t like it, I’ll get you some bear claws when I go out this afternoon.”
“Yeah, okay,” he grumbled and took a bite. He swore as several blackberries tumbled from the pastry back onto his plate, but chewed and swallowed the portion that had made it into his mouth, licked a crystal of sugar from his lip, then met her gaze. And smiled sheepishly.
“Damn.” He took another bite and said around it, “That’s better than an orgasm.”
Ava laughed. “Or almost, anyway.”
It was all Cade could do to bite back a growl. But enough with the sex talk, already!
“Hey, I smell coffee!” Beks burst into the room, then went on point like a German shorthair spotting a pheasant. “Food! Wow, look at that!” She flashed a smile at Ava. “You’ve got some seriously mad skills, girl.”
“Try the galette,” Kyle said around another mouthful. “It’s even better than bear claws.”
“Shut the front door!” Beks gawked at him. “I thought you didn’t think anything was better than bear claws. This I gotta taste for myself. And ooh, God, lookit this fruit! Seriously mad skills, I’m telling ya.”
The next thing Cade knew, all of his team who’d shown up this morning were swarming the food table, making a huge dent in Ava’s arrangement. And she just laughed while they did, refilling coffee cups and urging them to try this, that or the other treat. Apparently she got off big-time on seeing to it that everyone was fed.
He waded in to grab a few things for himself before the locusts formerly known as his crew reduced it to crumbs, a few apple cores and orange peels.
But when he told them a few minutes later that it was time to get to work, the swarm reverted to the professionals he knew and cleared out to get back to their various tasks.
AFTER EVERYONE LEFT, Ava happily puttered around the kitchen, clearing up the dishes and coffee cups, replenishing the fruit tray and bringing out a vegetable platter to place beside it, along with a bowl of dip she would refrain from telling Kyle had a yogurt base.
She made a trip out to Mrs. Hoffert’s Audi and retrieved the plastic crate that cradled her big Crock-Pot, which she had transferred from her own car earlier. She had slow cooked a tortellini soup overnight, and she brought it into the kitchen, plugged it in and turned it on to warm. She put out spoons and a stack of bowls next to the pot. Then, pouring herself a cup of coffee, she sat down and went over this morning’s offerings, checking each item and making adjustments to the amounts she’d need to buy for tomorrow.
She also made some notes on ideas she had for switching things up so the crew didn’t get bored the next few weeks.
This was her element. She loved seeing a need and filling it. She liked feeding people, liked doing what it took to make their day-to-day lives easier. It was what she was good at.
It was purely a bonus that performing those functions made it easier for her to ignore Cade.
The back door banged open, making her jump. Cold, damp air gusted into the room, and a lean man in a black watch cap and parka blew in along with it. He probably only topped off around five-eight or so, and taken feature by feature should have been average-looking. But his spectacular aqua-blue eyes and the overall way all those features were put together added up to an attractive package.
At a glance, Ava would say he knew it, too, for he grinned, said, “Hey ya, beautiful,” and nodded at the alarm box keypad. “What’s the code?”
“Considering I don’t have a clue who you are, I’m not inclined to tell you that,” Ava responded calmly, keeping to herself that the alarm wasn’t armed at the moment, since one of the discussions Cade’s crew had had while eating her food was that between all the comings, goings and equipment deliveries throughout the day, it would be a major pain to have to constantly set and reset the alarm.
Obviously figuring for himself that it was turned off, the man crossed the room to her. “Anthony Phillips,” he said by way of introduction. “But everyone calls me Tony. I was hired as security for Scorched Earth Productions.”
Ava raised a brow at him. “I was under the impression that was John.”
“Whoa. Suspicious much? He’s night security. I’m the day watchman.”
She rose and went to the archway to stick her head out into the hall. Power cords and cables snaked the normally pristine hardwood floor, and for a second she merely blinked at them. Then she collected herself. “Beks!”
“Yeah?”
“Your day security guy is here.”
“Thanks, Ava. I’ll be down in a sec to get him.”
She turned back to catch Call-me-Tony eyeing her butt. “Have a seat. Or coffee’s over there if you’d like a cup.”
“Thanks, doll, a cup of Joe would be nice.”
“You and I will get along a great deal better if you don’t call me doll.”
“Right. Got it, doll—uh, Miss.”
“I’m Ava.”
His big flashy smile returning, he stepped forward and stuck out his hand. “Nice to meet you, Ava.”
Beks came in and crossed to Tony. “You Anthony Phillips?”
“That I am,” he agreed. “But you can call me Tony.”
Ava conceded his flirtatious charm might not be premeditated. It was possible he was just one of those guys who couldn’t help themselves.
In any event, Beks wasn’t charmed. “I’m the PA and the coordinator,” she said, all business, and introduced herself. “Follow me.” She turned on her chunky heel, clearly expecting him to do as she directed and asking as they exited the room, “You got your papers and ID?”
Ava watched them disappear, thinking how interesting it was to see Beks at work. The crew was going to be testing audio and lighting today, so she likely had a lot on her plate. It would be fun to be a fly on the younger woman’s wall and observe more of her interaction with Mr. Charm in the midst of all that.
“Right,” she murmured with a little laugh. “Like you’ve got so much time to be watching someone else work.”
And shrugging, she went back to her own.
CHAPTER FOUR
This is turning out to be a lot harder than I thought it would be.
THE MINUTE AVA got home that evening, she kicked off her heels, washed off her makeup and changed into her navy, white and orange Moroccan-tile-patterned sleep pants, topping them with a cotton knit camisole and cardigan. She made herself a quick bite to eat and was seated in front of the fireplace with a glass of chardonnay a short while later, trying to decide if she wanted to select a recorded program from her DVR to watch or simply continue staring at the flames, when her doorbell rang.
She blew out a breath. “Crap.” She was so not in the mood for company.
But since she was currently in a dating slump, it was likely Poppy or Jane, and adjusting her attitude, she set aside her wineglass and rose to answer the door.
The last person she expected to see on the other side was Cade, and for a second she could only gape at him.
“Whoa,” he said, looking just as startled. Except that didn’t make sense. Not when, unlike her, he had known perfectly well he was coming here.
Damn him, anyhow. Here she was all naked-faced, not a spec of makeup to give her pale complexion a little color or hide her freckles, while he, even under the hallway’s fluorescent fixture, looked like a million bucks, his eyes blazing brilliant blue in that lightly tanned, angular face. The harsh light also picked out the raindrops spangling his hair and dampening the shoulders of his worn leather bomber jacket.
His expression smoothing out, he gave her a slow once-over and raised his eyebrows. “Modeling for Victoria’s Secret in your spare time?”
She glanced down at her unfastened cardigan, which exposed the fact that she was naked beneath its matching light orange tank top. Crap. She pulled the cardigan’s sides together to add another layer of fabric between his too-seeing eyes and her unbound breasts.
And made a rude noise even as she buttoned it. “Like I have free time. Aside from this half hour I was trying to snatch for myself, that is.” She gave him a pointed look. “I’m off duty, Gallari. Why are you here?”
“I wanted to remind you that the makeup and hair people will be here day after tomorrow, as well as three of my interview subjects, so you’ll have additional people to feed.”
“I know. I talked to them about their transportation needs, remember? Which, since the hair and makeup women are local, were nonexistent. And I’ve arranged drivers for the interviewees.” She waved a dismissive hand. “But that’s neither here nor there. The real question is, you couldn’t have called me about it?”
“I could have. Except I also need to talk to you about doing an interview for the documentary—and that’s better done face-to-face.”
“You want me to—?” Wondering if she looked as blank as she felt, she gave her head a little shake and admitted, “Okay, I’m clueless. Surely you have more qualified people to do whatever it is that needs doing.”
“I don’t need your help conducting interviews, Ava— I’m talking about you giving an interview.”
“Like the three people you have lined up for tomorrow, you mean? You want to interview me? On camera?”
“Kinda hard to let people know your take on Agnes without it,” he agreed with a slight smile. “I’d like Jane and Poppy’s participation, as well.”
There was no need to speculate about her expression this time—no doubt it was every bit as horrified as she felt. “No. Hell, no. Janie and Poppy might have a different take, but for my own FYI…are you out of your mind?”
“I prefer to think of it as doing my job. I have a thousand and one details that need my attention, and you and your gal pals are one of the biggies.” He raked his hair off his forehead, leaving damp furrows in the wake of his fingers. “Look, do you think I could come in? This is important to the documentary, and I’d really appreciate a few minutes to explain why.”
Her first inclination was to say no. She didn’t want him in her place. And please, she was off the clock—did she really have to carry the professionalism she’d been so carefully maintaining into her personal time and space?
Only if you want to maintain a civil working relationship for the next month and a half, girlfriend. Damn. With a resigned sigh, she stepped back, opening the door wider. “Come in.”
“Thanks.” He stepped inside and shrugged out of his jacket as he followed her into the living room. When she didn’t offer to take it off his hands, he slung it over the back of one of the breakfast bar stools they passed.
She was tempted to ignore the fact she had a glass of wine waiting for her while he did not, but she had already strained the manners that had been drummed into her since birth by willfully ignoring his coat. With a genuine attempt not to sound as grudging as she felt, she said, “Would you like a cup of tea or a glass of wine or something?” She drew the line at coffee. She was not offering to make a pot for one cup.
“Water would be good.”
“Have a seat and I’ll get you some.”
It only took her a minute to grab a bottle from the fridge and bring it out to where he stood in front of the fire. After handing it to him, she settled back into her seat on the couch.
Cade unscrewed the cap and chugged the water down in one throat-working, attenuated swallow. He set the empty bottle on a magazine on her coffee table, looked around, then dragged an armchair over to face her. Sitting, he planted his forearms on his thighs and leaned toward her.
“This production isn’t just about the murder of Agnes Wolcott’s man of affairs and the mystery surrounding the disappearance of the Wolcott Suite,” he said, his eyes intent. “It’s first and foremost the story of Agnes. I admit it started out primarily about the mystery, since that’s what I’ve built my name doing. But once I started researching and realized how ahead of her time and larger than life she was, I widened the scope of the story. It was also her personality and accomplishments that sold it to the network.”
He made an uncharacteristically awkward motion, as if to touch Ava’s knee, but then pulled the hand that had started to reach out back again, letting it dangle between his spread knees. “It was you, though, who really got me fired up when you talked to me and Karin about Agnes when we met to discuss the script. Your enthusiasm brought her to life in a way she hadn’t fully been before.”
“Trust me,” she said dryly, “nobody will be enthused when I turn out to be a big stiff in front of your camera.” Her heart skipped a beat at the mere thought of having one trained on her.
Cade looked skeptical. “This from a woman who isn’t the least bit shy about breaking into a dance whenever and wherever the mood hits her? I’m not asking you to strip naked in public, Ava. All you’ll be doing is having a conversation with me, one-on-one.”
“Yeah, that oughtta make me less self-conscious,” she muttered. “Being on camera with the man who told the world I was a big fat joke.”
He froze, his face losing all expression. Then he slowly straightened until his wide shoulders brushed the back of the seat. He met her gaze with a level one of his own.
“I have apologized and apologized for that, but I’ll say it again. I’m sorry. I can’t change what I did, but I am—swear-on-a-stack-of-bibles, strike-me-with-lightning-if-I’m-lying—sorry.”
Then he leaned forward once more and planted his elbows on his knees. “Admit it, though, Ava—even then, even that day—you weren’t intimidated by me. You know damn well you gave as good as you got. Hell, I was known for what was left of our senior year as Quick Draw.”
She shrugged. “You came, you went.”
“Yeah, I’m painfully aware of the fact. I’d apologize for that as well, but I was eighteen frickin’ years old and you had me hotter ’n a pistol. But, hey.” His blue eyes glinted a second before his mouth quirked up in a self-deprecating smile. “If you want a do-over I’d be more than happy to demonstrate how much I’ve improved since then.”
Her stomach hollowed. Assuring herself she’d simply eaten too fast, she said coolly, “What a generous offer. Thank you, but I’ll pass.” And yet… You had me hotter ’n a pistol? His friend Dylan-the-asshole had made sleeping with her sound more like an onerous chore than an act of unbridled lust.
Before she could figure out if Cade really meant it, however, or if he was simply saying what he thought she wanted to hear now in an attempt to get his own way, he gave an indifferent shrug and returned to the original subject.
“Look, I know you may not like me, but you can take one thing to the bank—I am dead serious about making Agnes’s story the best damn representation of her that I can.”
“Then I’ll say it again,” she promptly retorted. “Putting me on camera won’t aid your project.”
“I’ve heard you talk about her, Ava, and you obviously loved her. Then there’s the fact that I’ve seen you and your friends together. As a unit you’re invincible and you know it. Once the three of you get going on Miss Agnes, as you called her with me and Karin that day, you won’t even remember the camera is there. Hell, you likely won’t need me to guide the conversation at all. Not to mention all three of you are probably photogenic as all get-out.” He seemed to look inward for a moment. “The trick is gonna be sound. It’s always more difficult when you have more than two subjects.” Then he shook his head. “But that’s why we have Kyle—he’s the best sound mixer I’ve ever worked with.”
Eyes sober, he leaned deeper into her space. “Tell you what, I’ll make you a deal that I never make with my subjects. If you don’t like the way I capture you, I’ll edit you out entirely. I strongly believe that by doing so I’ll be doing your Miss Agnes an injustice, but you have my word that I’ll bite the bullet and do it anyway. I’ll put it in writing,” he added quickly before it even occurred to her to make a snide remark about his word. “You have an opportunity here, though, Ava—a chance to round out Agnes’s story by telling the world about a woman who had an impact on your life. In any good documentary, it’s the personal knowledge of a film’s subject, the anecdotes the people who knew her tell, that in the end add the texture and richness to that subject’s story.”
“Why have a scriptwriter at all, then, if you think unscripted reminiscences add so much?”
“I’m approaching this project like a feature. There are a lot of very visual aspects to Miss Agnes’s life and I have a budget like I’ve never had before. So I’m shooting the interviews in HD, but shooting the re-creations with the actors on film to give that lusher look of an earlier era. It will give her story a larger, richer look.” Slowly he straightened back into his chair and for a moment simply looked at her. “I hope you’ll agree to be part of it. But even if you don’t, would you give me your friends’ numbers so I can see about getting their input? I want to capture the woman who befriended three girls not just for a single tea at her mansion, but for years’ worth of teas and other important landmarks in their lives.”
Ava knew he was right, that he was offering her an unprecedented opportunity. She hated to admit, even to herself, that a big part of what was holding her back was the knowledge of how that bugger-all camera would add ten pounds. God, how shallow could she get? She’d rarely even thought about Cade during the past decade and now she was worried about what he’d think when he saw her on film or digitized or whatever? What the hell was that all about?
“I’ll do it,” she said before her vanity could sink its claws even deeper.
“You’ll give me their numbers?”
“I’ll participate in your documentary. It would probably be best if I called Jane and Poppy, myself. They’re not exactly your biggest fans.”
His mouth crooked. “You don’t have to pretty it up. You can say they hate my guts.”
“They hate your guts. But they loved Miss Agnes, so even if the request came from you they’d likely do it for her. But it’ll probably fly better coming from me.”
“Thank you.”
She rose to her feet. “You do understand I’m not doing this for you, right?”
“Oh, yeah. I get that.” He, too, stood up. “But thanks, anyway. When I was researching Miss Agnes, she struck me as a woman who was not only fascinating, but unique. I’m happy for every opportunity to showcase as many facets of her character as I can fit into ninety-nine minutes.”
“I’m starting to believe that.” She plucked his coat off the back of the stool and held it out to him. “It’s the only reason I’ve agreed to do this.”
“Yeah.” He shot her a crooked grin. “I figured it wasn’t for my dazzling smile.”