Press Release, page 11
Lord have mercy. Every word of dinner conversation will require my censorship to prevent spillage of details on the O’Leary marriage.
“Mom, Dad, this is our killer head of publicity, Meg McGrath.”
Mr. Bettencourt offers me a warm handshake, and to my surprise and discomfort, the Mrs. attacks me with a hug. I can’t imagine what stories Gilly’s shared about the grief I’ve given their daughter concerning her relationship with my leading man.
Amethyst whispers in my ear as she nods at Jack. “Do Rich and I sign NDAs concealing the identity of our son-in-law?” Her laughter is as affable as her husband’s handshake.
My smile is tight. “Not at the moment.” Translation: By God, one will be expressed to your hotel room before midnight.
Rich flips up his Cali Con badge. “Haven’t been to The Con in a few years. Lucky we still rate pro badges. I’d hate to miss Gilly’s Grand Ballroom debut.”
To my surprise, Cian claps Richard Bettencourt on the shoulder. “Nice to have you back at the party, Rich.” They embrace and thump backs in the way men hug without hugging.
Cian catches the look on my face before I shift into neutral. “Rich and I worked on a project together a handful of years back.”
“That horrible riff on the real life of comedians,” Mr. Bettencourt’s forehead creases. “What was is called?”
“Laugh It Off,” says Cian. “God awful.” They share a chuckle at the memory.
Luckily, the table I booked in a strategic zone easily accommodates the addition of two extra Bettencourts and Cian. I arrange the group, making sure Gilly and Jack are separated by Bobby and leave an empty seat for Niks.
I check my phone. No message from our leading lady. “Anyone heard from Niks?”
Jack shakes his head. “She and Marisa are finishing a shopping fling.” Panic rises on his face when he realizes he blabbed a secret in front of Cian.
I scan the table. “Marisa’s coming here?” Grand. Now I’ve got two hush-hush relationships to juggle during dinner.
I grab my phone and text Niks to ask if Marisa, her significant other, is on our guest list. My heart drops from my throat back into place when she answers right away and confirms Marisa’s off meeting friends for dinner.
Niks texts again, asking for a car to drive her to Casa de Fiesta. I lean close to Cian. “Has Chip started our way yet, or can he snatch Niks from the hotel lobby and bring her along?”
“I’ll make it happen,” he says and gets busy on his cell. I’ve got an inkling whatever Cian wants to happen does. The man does not take a shine to no. It’s a trait we share.
“Amethyst and Rich graciously agreed to sit in with me at the production designer interviews tomorrow,” says Bobby. “I welcome an impromptu committee.”
Jack fills in the blanks for me. “Gilly’s folks are TV art directors.”
I should know that snippet of background on my Crystal-nominated writer. Another piece of information Cian knew, and I didn’t.
“Thanks again for the rescue this afternoon, Cian,” says Jack.
Cian waves him off. “Glad to help.”
Suspicion I’d tamped down as paranoia bolts to the surface. Cian Malley has been a model of helpful. He’s constantly appeared on my flightpath since I arrived in San Diego. Is it a coincidence or something more intentional? Why was he at my panel? I didn’t invite him. No denying it was a turn of good luck he did attend, but I’d have managed to secret Jack away on my own. Lord knows I’ve had plenty of practice at it back home. Tension bursts up my spine to my neck. What’s the right question: Why was Cian there or did Dash send him?
I scan the table. Maureen and Grady are in their own world, feeding each other chips and salsa. The Bettencourts, O’Learys, and Bobby chat about renting convertibles for a go up the California coast, giving me a moment with Cian. I lean on an elbow and nearly swallow my question when I meet his shining blue eyes. “Why did you show up today?”
The non-sequitur catches him off guard. I can’t figure if his reaction is perplexed or uneasy. “To support you.” A muscle in his jaw twitches. “And maybe I wanted to take a shot at clocking more time together.”
I want to accept the flattery at face value, I really do. A hitch in my gut fires up a warning as my mouth beats my brain to the punch. “Is clocking time Dash Everett’s idea?”
The question hovers in the air like a bad stink. Why in the name of Jaysus H. did I pop off with it? My insecurity is quite the ugly beastie.
I haven’t mastered reading Cian. He’s either holding in annoyance at the accusation, or I’ve caught him in a truth. Before he confirms which it is, our server comes to take drink orders.
“Two melon margaritas here,” I say flipping a hand between Cian and me, praying the call back to last night works as peace offering if I did offend him. Eyes that read more glacier than gemstone make it clear the offering is rejected. I try to play it off. “Tequila is growing on me.”
As soon as everyone orders, Cian circles my wrist with his fingers and jerks his chin toward the little store across the walkway I mapped as our potential escape route. “A word with you, Ms. McGrath.”
Maureen catches our interplay and throws me a wink. I wish we were headed for a winkable moment, but the heat of Cian’s touch on my pulse is a scorch, not a slow burn.
I glance around the restaurant to check for scavenger hunters. I won’t leave Jack alone to be bombarded. It’s much earlier than the clue suggested, and all seems fine. We stand, bringing side conversations to a halt. I smile. “We’re going to meet Niks and walk her in.”
I’m careful not to touch the pencil cacti as I squeeze between two giant clay pots of the stuff. Cian pulls me in front of a candy shop window out of earshot from the others. He gets right in my face. “You don’t know me very well yet, so let me clue you in. I’m pissed off.”
I lay a hand on his chest to create distance between us, but he presses against it to stay close.
“What’s with your crack about Dash?”
I’d be lying if I said his aggression didn’t catch me off guard. Mr. Easy Going does have a trigger. I stand my ground. This time, he backs away. My hand falls to my side.
“What are you accusing me of, Meg?”
Before I can backtrack and dilute the impact of bringing Dash’s name into the mix, Cian runs a hand across his stubble and glares at me.
“I don’t know if your hot and cold routine is an Irish thing or a Meg thing, but it’s annoying as hell.”
I may have misspoken, but he’s an ass going on the attack before I’ve had a second to clarify. If he’s capable of going from zero-to-tosser in under ten seconds, maybe I won’t explain and be done with him. “It’s a t’ing that’s not yer business.” So much for keeping my natural accent under wraps.
Cian turns as if he’s going to walk away but swivels to face me like lightning to a wet tree. “You’re an ice cube to me when we meet and then it’s flirty whiskey tasting and kissing on the beach.” He drops his head back and slowly rights it. “I thought we’d connected even more today with the panel escape. Then, blam!” He smacks a hand to his thigh. “I’m a spy for Dash.”
It’s not a flattering picture when he lays it out. The apology I’d been considering sours on my lips. I cross my arms and take a breath to tame the Irish trying to push its way out. “But maybe it’s a fair one considering Dash was keen to foist you on me since day one.” Not to mention the fact Dash has a mind to demote me despite everything I’ve done for The Chieftain’s Son. Instead of chiding myself, I decide I have every right to be suspicious of any and all things Dash Everett’s hand touches, even Cian.
“I’m not Dashell Everett’s lap dog.” Cian waves me off. “Sue me for trying to be a decent colleague, and…”
His expression tenses as he battles whether to finish his thought. His sparking gaze locks onto me. “Being attracted, drawn to you.” As soon as the confession is out, he heads to the gap between buildings leading to the car park where, hopefully, Chip will soon deposit Niks.
His retreat snaps something in me. Damn you, Meg. I’m tilting at windmills because of the position Dash Everett put me in. Dash, not Cian. I don’t want Cian running off. It’s in no way his problem I’m in a pissing match with Dash over my future. I’m blaming a thoroughly decent man for the shite I’ve landed in when he’s brought nothing but goodwill and sunshine into the scenario.
The situation is a song I’ve played before. A man gives me an opening for us to go on after a rough patch. My default is to wipe the mess clean by watching him set off without me. It’s the safe play, the move to give me the upper hand. I try for a deep breath and come up short. A sharp note clangs over and over in my head as distance grows between Cian and me. For the first time, choosing safe and control over the man walking away gives me no sense of rightness or relief. I can let him go or…
“Cian, wait.” I’m after him quick enough to reach a hand to his shoulder. I slide around so I can face him. He tightens his lips into a line, training his eyes past me. There’s plain hurt on his face. Here’s a sensitive man I took a cheap swing at because of my own fears. Guilt nips my ear with pointed teeth.
“There’s a bit of bad blood between Dash and me. It wasn’t fair to throw you in the mix.”
My initial impression of Cian lumped him, Dash, and the other True Time folks under the same category of slick Hollywood type. I’ve done him a disservice. There are no visible strings or conditions on the hand he’s held out to me. Cian knows his business and, judging from his half of the True Time booth, overflows with uncontested talent. I’m the arrogant ass to play push and pull with him. If someday I want to swim with the big fish in the Hollywood publicity game after The Chieftain’s Son, Cian is a welcome boon to my education.
And he’s a brilliant kisser.
I lay a gentler hand on his arm. “You’ve been grand with the help. We’ve gone arseways because of me.”
The beginning of a smile plays across his lips. “Arseways?”
Heat rises on my cheeks. “I made a mess of this.”
He looks at the finger I’m swinging between his chest and mine. “Is there a this?”
Cian’s giving me the opening to shake hands and keep it business between us.
“I’ll simplify the question, Meg. Do you want me around or not? And if I haven’t made it clear, I’d like to be around.”
I’m as low as a toadstool. I’ve enjoyed his company and kissed the man, but only parceled out trust to him in dribs and drabs.
His patience hourglass with me spilled its sand. It’s on me to tip it right again. I meet the gaze of frosty blue eyes. I don’t want him to leave. It’s brilliant to have a sharp mind to bounce ideas and plans off of. Walking away would be easy, but what do I gain by depriving myself his comradery, know how, and nice set of lips? It’s one weekend for feck’s sake. No point in putting it in a bigger picture frame. He’s shown no sign he’s out to compromise my power or control. I lose none of that if I clock the time he’s asking for.
“I do want you around, Cian.” I set both hands on his shoulders. At first, not an ounce of his tension eases at my touch. “You’ve been grand to me, and I appreciate every bit of it.” I take a step closer, so our bodies nearly touch. Proximity does the trick, and he relaxes slightly. “Every bit of it.” I rise on tip toe to plant a kiss on his delicious Hollywood mouth.
His hands drop to my hips, and he gives a little tug, bringing my body against his. Our kiss deepens and makes my head start to swim without the aid of tequila. It’s done then, my decision to stick with him through Sunday.
Cian’s phone buzzes against my hip. He slowly breaks the kiss, leaving my lips with the urge to go after his.
He holds the phone screen so I can see it. “Chip. Niks is here.” His eyes dart toward the parking lot.
I take his chin in my hand and pull his attention to me. “I believe I owe you some quality whiskey time after dinner. I promise to pay up.”
“Aye, you do, lassie.” He covers my mouth with his. I’ve never experienced a kiss so brief with the power to knock me off my feet the way Cian’s does.
“We don’t use lads and lasses as rule. You’ve been watching too much Chieftain’s Son.”
He grabs my hands and guides me to Chip’s waiting car. “What do you say?”
“Let’s do this.” I imitate his California accent. “And by the way, the hot and cold…” I drop my gaze to the pinkish-purple bougainvillea petals piling up on the walkway. “It’s a Meg thing. Don’t blame the Irish.”
He dots a kiss on my temple. I wait for the panic of a wrong decision to grip my belly. Instead, a pleasant wave of what might be next settles over me. I commit to enjoy the rest of my time at Cali Con with Cian as I obliterate Dash’s challenges and keep my job.
We have Niks out of the car and to the table before the second round of drinks are served. I settle her between Jack and Cian. The three gorgeous people in a row are a page from a fashion magazine.
Always playing her part well in the fauxmance with Jack, Niks drapes herself across him. “Here’s my sweet.” She dabs a kiss to the corner of his lips. Three Bettencourts stiffen in unison.
“Hello, hello,” says Niks, addressing the rest of the group in her chirpy Norwegian-accented singsong. “I don’t know you or you or you,” she says, pointing to Rich, Amethyst, and Cian in turn. She zeroes in on Cian.
I jump in. “Niks Tellefson, meet Cian Malley, head of P.R. for Star’s Shadow.”
“You’re okay then,” she says and leans over to leave a lingering kiss on his cheek.
I’m more bothered than I have any right to be by Niks’s attention to Cian. I remind myself Marisa is the light that sets Niks aglow.
Niks jolts away from Cian like she’s been scalded and lightly taps her lips. “Another scratchy face.” She molds her body to Jack’s side and runs a finger above his upper lip, across his cheek, and down his jaw. “Like this one. Always the stubble.” She twists her body to square off with Bobby. “My next show, the men I kiss will be smoooooooth.” Niks lets her fingers glide down her own soft cheeks. “Ahhhh.”
Gilly smiles at Niks, and they both burst into laughter. Even though they are friends, it’s still got to irritate whenever Niks gets too physical around Jack. “Niks, I want you to meet my parents, Rich and Amethyst.”
Niks executes the rapid-fire mini claps to signal her delight. “So good to meet you. I love this girl,” she says and grabs Gilly’s hand across the table.
“Now that we’re all together,” says Bobby, raising his margarita glass. “To The Chieftain’s Son’s debut at Cali Con.”
We clink glasses, baptizing the chips with drips of alcohol.
“And here’s to Meg,” says Bobby, making me choke mid-sip. “For convincing me to spill the beans at our show panel that Sir Kevin Langston will be our Chieftain, Brian Boru, next season.”
“Brian Boru for season two,” giggles Niks.
Under the table, Cian squeezes my leg above the knee. The rest of the table applauds. I could sprout wings and fly. I’ve got my big reveal. Sir Kevin’s ass will be in a fancy car headed our way before he zips his fly after his next piss.
Maureen raises her glass. “To Jack, Niks, Bobby, and Gilly for being so damned Crystal Award worthy we all get two trips to California.”
Grady breaks into a huge grin. “All, is it? Will you be bringing me along for the award’s party as well, Meg?”
I raise my glass to him. “Not a chance.” Grady and I clink so hard my glass nearly slips from my hand.
With the group in high spirits, I dare to slap another plan of mine on the table. “Who wants to hear about a little something to sizzle our Con even more?”
Maureen raises her hand like a schoolgirl. “Me. Me. Yes, me.”
Niks imitates her. “Me. Me, too.”
I crook my foot around Cian’s ankle. “Let me paint you the scenario.”
“Saint anybody, deliver me from Meg’s scenarios,” says Bobby, dropping his head onto his hands.
I tap the table in front of Bobby. “No, no. Eyes up. It’s pretty wild, but I’ve seen it done with tidy results.” I grab the edge of the table and straighten my arms before leaning in over the table. I wave everyone else to copy me so every head hovers close. I’m eager to let Cian see more of the thinking on my feet he appears to admire. “I plan for it to benefit your charity cause back home, Jack.”
The news perks him up. “Go on, you sly one.”
I draw an arc with my hands, painting a rainbow. “Win a date with Jack O’Leary. With the blessing, of course”—I wave a hand toward Niks—“from his lovely lady.”
There’s loaded silence while everyone looks at Jack.
“Ladies,” I amend with a nod at Gilly.
Words rocket out of my mouth before Jack can turn me down. “We can tease it here at the Con. I’ll work with the online outfit that sets these things up. You’ve heard of the organization Step Up right? They do tons of celebrity giveaways for charity.”
Cian, Heaven bless him, moves in for backup. “We did a similar thing with Sala Singh for our season three premier. Fans love it, and Sala said she had a blast.”
“We offer swag incentives for different levels of donation.” I shift my focus to Gilly. “I promise you, every minute of the activity is mapped out. Jack will never be alone or put on the spot with the winner. I’m picturing the so-called date as an exclusive tour of The Clan production facility and dinner at the hotel in Waterville. We play up the Waterville/Charlie Chaplin connection. What do we think?”
Cian presses his leg against mine. It’s a welcome encouragement.
Jack rubs a hand over his chin, eyes glued on me without blinking. “I’ve a scenario of my own. We’ll barter.”
I send up a quick prayer his side of the barter is reasonable or, at worst, doable. “Go on.”
Jack rests his arm on the back of Niks’s chair, relaxing into his own seat like he’s lounging on the beach. “If Gilly and I agree to your mad plan, you’ll get me a Star’s Shadow star trooper costume to wear this weekend.” He laughs at what must be a portrait of incredulity on my face. “I want to walk the convention floor, experience The Con without anyone the wiser it’s me.”
