He turned, holding his balled-up clothes in front of his waist.
“I’d say your strategy definitely worked.”
He huffed out a sound that was almost a laugh.
After Josh had locked himself back in his room, Clara cleaned up and changed into a fresh pair of pajamas. Then she picked up her discarded laptop and typed a single word into the domain search engine.
She grinned as she added her selection to her cart. Finally. Their fledgling project had a name. A word waiting to be reclaimed. One that beat in time with the thump-thump of her heart.
Shameless.
chapter twenty
CLARA WHEATON HAD experienced her fair share of embarrassment. She’d tripped down staircases in front of her peers, used the wrong French pronoun when addressing a native speaker, and once accidentally screamed “abort” when she ran into an ex-boyfriend at a Manhattan bodega.
Having endured so much worse, she decided not to let her little “living room rehearsal” with Josh ruin their strange, unnameable bond.
She needed him. Professionally now as well as personally. She would simply redraw some boundaries between them. No harm. No foul. It would probably be a good idea to stop getting off to the memories of him stroking himself. Just a thought.
In a desperate attempt to return to her comfort zone and get to know the performers and crew they’d hired over the course of the week, Clara convinced Josh they should host a barbecue in Everett’s backyard.
Entertaining was a skill set ingrained in Wheaton women, practically from birth. Clara could fold napkins in fourteen distinct shapes. That skill did not come in handy in this situation.
In an effort to appear laid back and unfussy, she’d purchased red Solo cups and rented card tables and folding chairs. She’d even gone so far as to allow Josh to write potluck on the invitations.
“No one our age can show up to a party empty-handed without feeling like an asshole,” he’d said. “At least let them bring beer.”
Clara had consoled herself by making a plethora of dips to accommodate any and all dietary preferences. She was still the hostess, and after the spectacle she’d made of herself at casting, this was her chance to make friends. To show them all she wasn’t a boss or a banker, but one of them. With delicious appetizers and stimulating conversation.
As the start time of their party neared, Josh came out of his room in a cheesy Hawaiian shirt.
“Are you seriously wearing that?” She didn’t know why she bothered to ask. She stirred fresh raspberries into a bowl of punch.
“Sure am.” Josh stole a piece of fruit before she could swat him away and popped it into his mouth. “Is that what you’re wearing?”
Clara straightened the full skirt of her vintage dress. It had a halter neck. She’d thought it was charming. “You don’t like it?”
“No, I like it.” He let his gaze trail down her form. “But it’s white. At a backyard barbecue. With red punch.”
Clara frowned. She hadn’t considered that. “Perhaps I could wear my apron during the meal?” She pulled a pile of gingham and flounces out of the closet and held the material up for his inspection.
“That seems on brand.” He turned toward the fridge and Clara noticed a Band-Aid across his temple.
She stood on her tiptoes to inspect the bruised area. “What happened here?” He probably hadn’t thought to apply an antiseptic.
“Nothing.” Josh pulled away. “Just clumsy.”
The doorbell rang.
“They’re here early.” She wrung her hands. “I haven’t put the place cards out on the table yet.”
Josh steered her toward the door by her shoulders. “You go and greet our guests. I’ll set the place cards.”
Clara dumped the paper triangles with each person’s name written in calligraphy into his cupped hands and hurried to the door.
Naomi stood on the doorstep, along with a handful of other cast and crew members that Clara recognized but didn’t know by name. Naomi pressed a large plastic veggie tray into Clara’s arms. “I don’t cook and I don’t chop.”
“I don’t blame you.” Frankly, the idea of Naomi wielding a knife was terrifying. “Thanks for coming. This is perfect.” Clara pointed to the door that led out back. “Party’s through there.”
Clara collected a few other food items as guests in flip-flops and tank tops snaked by, introducing themselves and thanking her for the invitation. The crowd grew larger than she’d originally accounted for. Good thing she had plenty of food.
After some last-minute prep, Clara joined the rest of the group in the yard. Despite the music playing, the scene had not achieved the air of jovial camaraderie she’d hoped to inspire. She noticed with bemusement that a few of the guys had turned her place cards into paper footballs. Oh well. At least they’d put them to use. She made her way over to where Josh and Naomi stood in a corner talking. With more than her typical nonchalance, Josh’s ex handed him something small and black, smoothly, the way Clara’s dad passed a tip to the valet.
Clara caught only the tail end of the sentence that accompanied the covert gesture. “. . . that’s got my stuff and everything from Ginger.”
Josh shoved the item into his pocket when he noticed her approach. “All done in the kitchen?” He turned his dimples to high beam.
“Uh, yeah. Everything okay out here?” Clara’s brain flipped through a dozen explanations for that handoff. Not the least ridiculous of which was that Naomi had passed Josh some kind of electronic key to a hidden sex dungeon. But what kind of “stuff” did one keep on a key? More likely it was a flash drive of some kind which was . . . only slightly less disconcerting. It’s none of your business anyway, a prim voice in her head reminded her.
“I think we’re off to a bit of a slow start.” Josh frowned at the tepid gathering.
Now that he mentioned it, the party wasn’t exactly lively. Most of their guests looked as uncomfortable as Clara felt.
“You need to encourage interaction,” Naomi said. “Half these people don’t know one another. You’ve got a bunch of strangers together and is that Shania Twain playing from your phone?” She stared at Clara accusingly. “No wonder it’s awkward.”
Who doesn’t like ‘Man! I Feel Like A Woman!’? “Ooh. I have an idea. I’ve got a list of questions, originally developed by Marcel Proust to rouse meaningful conversation, in my room. I could grab those—”
“No,” Josh and Naomi said in unison.
Josh turned down the music and called the guests to attention. “How about a round of old-school Never Have I Ever?”