“Are you texting Charlotte?” Jackson asked. “Tell her I’ll call the station and have some guys come out to clear the street. They can’t park along that road.”
Smiling pensively to myself, I sent Charlotte a quick text, explaining the situation in as few words as possible, asking her to wait for me at Daisy’s, and then navigated back to Jackson’s contacts.
“Did they recognize you?” I asked, typing in my unlisted, impossible for anyone to find phone number. “The paparazzi, I mean.”
“They didn’t seem to,” he grumbled distractedly, glaring at the road like he was deep in thought. “We’re almost there.”
After typing my number, I navigated to Add contact and paused, thinking back to his story about Ashley. A chill traveled down my spine.
“Jackson?”
“Yes.”
“How many people did you tell about our night together?”
He frowned, looking unhappy. “Just Cletus. I didn’t tell him, he guessed that we’d spent the night together after he introduced us. I didn’t share any details, none at all. And I’m sorry he found out. Cletus, he can be sneaky. But I should’ve been more guarded.”
I relaxed, the chill disappearing, replaced with the warm hum I usually felt whenever we were together. One person and no details? That’s actually not bad.
“When did you tell him?” My thumb still hovered over the button that would save my number.
“Yesterday.”
“Yesterday?” I gaped at him. “The first time you told someone was yesterday?”
“Yes. And I apologize.” His voice had deepened with regret, and when he looked at me, I could see he was sorry. Very sorry. “I want you to know, I told him nothing. I would never betray your privacy like that.”
“Jackson, no. I know you would never betray me. I’m just—” I was going to say surprised, except I wasn’t. The Jackson I knew was circumspect and responsible, diligent and hard-working, and fun. HE made me feel comfortable, safe. As I reflected on it, I would’ve been surprised if he had told more people. “It’s okay.”
“No, it’s not.”
“No. It is. I told Sienna.” I hesitated, thinking, then added, “And Charlotte.”
He muttered a curse word under his breath, his forehead coming to his hand. “You told Charlotte?”
Yikes.
The anxiety in his voice gave me heartburn. “No details—not really—just that we’d hung out one night, years ago, and that we didn’t have sex. But she brought up your legendary tongue.” Oh God. Shit.
Now I felt like a jerk.
“I see . . .” He squirmed in his seat, his jaw tight.
I am such a jerk. “Are you angry with me?”
He shook his head. Then he glanced at me and gave me a smile that didn’t reach his eyes. “No. Course not.”
I didn’t believe him, and the tempo of my heart increased. “Jackson, please don’t be upset. I really didn’t say much.” Just that I’ve been pining for you for over five years. Other than that, not much.
We drove in silence for a while. I fretted, and he stewed. Unlike last night, this silence wasn’t as comfortable. Staring at the screen of his phone, I debated whether or not to add my number. Would he even want it now?
Clearing my throat, my eyes on the Add contact button, I asked, “Have you done anything like that to anyone else?”
“Pardon?” I’d obviously pulled him out of some pretty deep thoughts.
“What you did to Ashley in high school. Have you treated anyone else that way?”
“No.” He heaved a sigh, his tone solemn. “I don’t do that kind of thing.”
“What kind of thing?”
“I don’t push anyone for anything.”
I looked up from the phone and studied the side of his face, noticing how—since I’d asked him about Ashley—he’d pushed himself against the driver-side door, leaning his arm against the windowsill, sitting as far away from me as possible in the small space. We weren’t touching anymore. The realization unsettled me.
“And—” he swallowed, looking pained “—I’ve been the subject of gossip. At first I didn’t mind, I leaned into it. I was flattered, even. But then I learned having a reputation as a playboy can get you laid, but it doesn’t get you a date to a wedding, or anyone’s respect.”
Ugh. I understood exactly what he meant.
“Folks around here, they get an idea in their head, and it’s hard to modify it. Someone who sleeps around might be an honorable, respectable person, but it doesn’t matter. That’s all people see. It’s just as hard to alter an idea as it is a first impression.” His voice barely above a whisper, I surmised he was speaking to himself more than to me. “I might change, but that doesn’t mean I can change people’s minds about who I am, because the idea persists, even if it’s faulty. My father has a saying, warning about this.”
“What does he say?”
“It’s something like, ‘Your mistakes and missteps will reinforce people’s unflattering ideas about you, and your good deeds will be explained away by nice weather.’”
I wanted to reach out and touch him, hold his hand, or squeeze his leg—or better yet, wrap him in a hug— but he was so far away and turned in on himself. I hesitated.
Picking my words carefully, I said, “You know, it’s okay to want things. To want people to see you clearly, for who you are.”
Wow, Rae. That’s some good advice. Perhaps you should take it.
“I know,” he said.
I didn’t believe him, so I pushed the issue. “There’s a difference between fighting for something you want and pushing another person to do something—or be something—they don’t want.”
Look at you, Rae. Wisdom-ing your wisdom all over the place.
He nodded, flipping on his blinker again and pulling into the parking lot of the diner. “We’re here,” he said, cutting the engine, unclicking his belt, and pulling the driver’s side latch. “Let’s go find Charlotte.”
Jackson was out and had shut the door before I could respond.
My stomach sank, and I studied his phone screen, the cursor waiting for me to label myself in Jackson’s phone. Hurriedly, before he finished walking around the front of his truck, I finally clicked Add contact and labeled myself as Sunny.
Half of my staff left Sunday, another quarter departed Monday morning. Praise be, only Sasha, Dave, and Miguel remained by Tuesday.
But after a week of putting up with constant whining, doors being slammed, and crap left all over the place, Sasha and her attitude were tap dancing on my last nerve. No wonder I needed a butler and cleaning staff in LA! I was convinced the woman used an inordinate amount of toilet paper. And she couldn’t change a toilet paper roll if a lifetime supply of designer purses were on the line.
“Are you sure you like this color? Because I think people are used to seeing you in shades of red.” Sasha picked up the red swatch I’d already discarded in favor of the pink. As far as I was concerned, the matter had been settled over an hour ago. One red carpet event of me wearing pink instead of red wasn’t going to make or break my acting career. I honestly didn’t care either way. Red, pink, purple, black. Whatever!