The Redhead Revealed
Page 34
When asked for comment, Newman said, “They’re great friends. They met at a party I hosted for several of my clients months ago. They’re thrown together a lot. They’re not a couple.”
Nevertheless, for many fans, whether he’s disappeared with Grace or not, the question still remains: Where have you gone, Jack Hamilton?
Coming Soon: Book Three in the Redhead series
I sat back in my chair, breathing in through the nose and out through the mouth, just like they always tell you to. My heart was pounding, my pulse was racing, and my palms currently were more clammy than a bowl of chowder.
To calm myself and take the attention off my nerves, I allowed my eyes to sweep across the room, again taking in the congratulations balloons in the corner, the tasteful bouquet of sugar-pink peonies on the table in front of the sofa, and the strategically placed bowls of hard candy scattered about. As my gaze roamed, it landed back in the mirror directly in front of me. I studied my face as I continued to work through my breathing.
Hey, fruitcake, you got this. No sweat.
I do have this. You’re right.
I glanced down at the stack of magazines next to me, grinning when I saw my boy on the top cover, finally anointed The Sexiest Man Alive. Oh, well, duh! I’d known that for a while now. His face adorned several covers further down the stack as well—smiling rakishly into the camera, casting that pure sex vibe across the entire country. But I kept People on the top because it was my fave. The paparazzi had been unrelenting for the past few months, catching him at all hours of the night and day, and not always at his finest—although this was a relative concept. He was always pretty fine.
As usual, when my thoughts drifted to Jack a little flutter ran through my tummy on its way to setting up shop somewhere decidedly south. Before my mind could go full gutter, I heard a loud knock on the door, and my heart resumed its pounding. So much for the damn yoga breathing.
“Ms. Sheridan, you’re wanted on set,” the second assistant director called through the door.
First day on the set of my new series. No big thing.
Really big thing.
That’s what she said.
I grabbed my script, gave a final tousle to my curls, and thunked down the steps of my trailer.
I had a trailer!
I gave a big smile to the woman who’d knocked on the door. “No Ms. Sheridan. Please call me Grace,” I told her as I headed out to find Michael.
Nevertheless, for many fans, whether he’s disappeared with Grace or not, the question still remains: Where have you gone, Jack Hamilton?
Coming Soon: Book Three in the Redhead series
I sat back in my chair, breathing in through the nose and out through the mouth, just like they always tell you to. My heart was pounding, my pulse was racing, and my palms currently were more clammy than a bowl of chowder.
To calm myself and take the attention off my nerves, I allowed my eyes to sweep across the room, again taking in the congratulations balloons in the corner, the tasteful bouquet of sugar-pink peonies on the table in front of the sofa, and the strategically placed bowls of hard candy scattered about. As my gaze roamed, it landed back in the mirror directly in front of me. I studied my face as I continued to work through my breathing.
Hey, fruitcake, you got this. No sweat.
I do have this. You’re right.
I glanced down at the stack of magazines next to me, grinning when I saw my boy on the top cover, finally anointed The Sexiest Man Alive. Oh, well, duh! I’d known that for a while now. His face adorned several covers further down the stack as well—smiling rakishly into the camera, casting that pure sex vibe across the entire country. But I kept People on the top because it was my fave. The paparazzi had been unrelenting for the past few months, catching him at all hours of the night and day, and not always at his finest—although this was a relative concept. He was always pretty fine.
As usual, when my thoughts drifted to Jack a little flutter ran through my tummy on its way to setting up shop somewhere decidedly south. Before my mind could go full gutter, I heard a loud knock on the door, and my heart resumed its pounding. So much for the damn yoga breathing.
“Ms. Sheridan, you’re wanted on set,” the second assistant director called through the door.
First day on the set of my new series. No big thing.
Really big thing.
That’s what she said.
I grabbed my script, gave a final tousle to my curls, and thunked down the steps of my trailer.
I had a trailer!
I gave a big smile to the woman who’d knocked on the door. “No Ms. Sheridan. Please call me Grace,” I told her as I headed out to find Michael.
