The Unidentified Redhead
Page 5
“Fine. Whatever. I don’t care all that much. I probably won’t even finish reading it,” I grumbled, sipping my Martini.
“Whatever, Grace, you are so Joshua’s bitch now. Just like all of us.” She chuckled. “Anyway, speaking of all things Sexy Scientist Guy,” she continued,
“did Jack get hold of you today? He asked for your phone number. Care to share?”
“Yeah, we texted. I wondered where he got my number. When did he ask for it?” I asked, again trying not to show too much interest.
“He called my office today and charmed my assistant into giving it to him.
I swear that guy can get practically anything he wants right now. I have people calling my office constantly to book interviews, to schedule promotions, even club owners wanting him there at night. He’s really about to blow up big,” she sighed as she slurped up more noodles.
“Is he ready for all that? I mean, that’s a lot for someone so young,” I added.
“Yeah, he’s ready. I mean, as ready as anyone can be. He has such a good heart, and he’s super smart. We’re working hard to make sure that this is all manageable and he isn’t just being pimped out all around town. Besides, he’s having a great time and we’re getting offers for some interesting projects. That makes him happy,” she replied. “And speaking of having a good time, what’s going on with you two? And don’t play games with me, missy. I know you way too well for that.”
“Holly, I just met him! He seems like a nice kid, and you know I always like meeting the people you represent. He’s a funny guy,” I protested, pushing back from the table and bringing my plate over to the sink.
“Yeah, we’ll see,” she snickered, following me.
“Holly, come on! If what you say is true, this guy can have anyone in this town and probably has. With al that fine young tail laid out like a banquet before him, why in the world would he want someone like me? I’m enjoying having a new friend, let’s just leave it at that. Besides, I think he’s a little young for me,” I answered, beginning to get a little agitated and not sure why.
Because you do think he’s too young for you and it’s driving you crazy.
“OK, snark, settle. You’re telling me you don’t have the tiniest crush on him?
Tell the truth, Grace,” she said, cornering me over by the dishwasher.
“I don’t have a crush,” I debated. “Well, maybe I have half a crush. I have a
‘cruh’,” I admitted, giggling. “But it’s strictly Joshua-inspired,” I added, knowing that was not entirely true.
“Oh, well, hell—even I have a crush on him that’s Joshua-inspired. How could you not?” she sighed, getting a little goo-goo eyed.
With that, I knew that the discussion was over, and I was anxious to get back to my reading. I helped Holly clean up the kitchen, and we talked about our plans to go dancing with Nick the next night.
I grabbed my magazines and took them upstairs with me, telling Holly that I was going to go to bed early. After washing my face, I changed into my favorite old white Polo button down. I had been sleeping in this shirt since college. I snuggled down under my duvet and dove back in, determined to find out what the hell happened to Joshua.
1:30 a.m.
I was still reading.
I only stopped once to go downstairs and get some coffee, practical y running back upstairs to get back to the story. I was now solidly into the series, and very engaged. So engaged that I was startled by my phone ringing on the bed next to me. It was Jack … sigh.
“Seriously?” I grumbled, trying to hide the delight in my voice.
“Sheridan! Are you up?” He chuckled in a low voice.
“What if I wasn’t? Do you know what time it is? Some of us sleep at night,” I answered, rolling onto my side.
“Ha ha. You don’t sound like you were sleeping. You sound quite alert actually, almost stirred up. What are you up to?” he asked. I could hear rustling in the background.
“Well, you caught me. I am up. And I was reading.” I smiled into the phone.
“What are you reading?” he asked.
Shit.
Not wanting to be schooled for reading these stories, my eyes whirled around the room, finally lighting on the other book on my nightstand.
“The History of Salt,” I answered, rolling my eyes as soon as I said it.
The History of Salt , Grace?
“The History of Salt, Grace? Wow, that sounds … dreadful. Why the hell are you reading that?” He laughed.
“Hey, it’s really good. Did you know that salt was used as currency throughout history? Many major European cities are founded on or near a salt quarry. This is good information to have,” I retorted, settling into my pillow. I could hear more rustling in the background.
“What’re you doing? What’s that sound?” I asked.
“Ever since the other night I have been craving Chex Mix.” He laughed.
“Well, save me the Wheat Chex. They’re my favorites.” I giggled back, swallowing a yawn.
“So, what should we talk about?” he asked through a mouthful of what I assumed were Melba toasts.
“Hey, you initiated this booty call, you tell me. And don’t talk with your mouth full, it’s rude,” I teased.
“Booty call? Is that what you think this is?” he asked, with mock outrage.
“Let me clue you in on something, Hamilton. In America, when a guy calls a girl in the middle of the night, especially when they’ve just met, it’s most certainly a booty call,” I said, deadpan.
“I know what a booty cal is, Sheridan, and if I understand the term correctly, I’d be expecting to come over and get some, right?” he asked.
“That’s the general idea, yes,” I answered, rolling over onto my stomach, in which butterflies had now taken up permanent residence.
“Well, then that is rather presumptuous of you. Who’s being rude now?” he teased, leaving me feeling foolish.
“Eh, I … um … ” I struggled to finish a sentence. I had nothing. There was a long pause.
“Maybe I just called to talk to your booty,” he said finally.
“What?” I shrieked.
“Quiet down, you’ll wake up Holly,” he admonished. “Come on, let me talk to your booty, Sheridan. This’ll be a real booty call,” he snickered.
“You are so f**ked in the head,” I jeered, having trouble keeping my laughter contained to my room.
We talked for a few more minutes, most of which were taken up with him pleading to talk to my booty, which I steadfastly refused to allow. I began to yawn again toward the end, which he noticed.
“What do you have going on tomorrow?” he asked as I put away my magazine and turned out the lamp on the nightstand.
“Um, not too much. I have yoga in the morning and then I’m meeting up with Holly for coffee and to work on the pieces I’m doing in her showcase.” Often agents and managers would host showcases for new talent to introduce them to casting directors. Holly held them about twice a year depending on how deep she was in new talent. She had agreed to bring me on as a client again, and we were in the process of auditioning scene partners for me to work with.
“Oh, are you in that? She mentioned she had something coming up. What time are you meeting her?” he asked.
“I’m stopping by her offices at eleven-thirty,” I answered.
“Well, then I’ll let you get some sleep, Sheridan. I enjoyed our booty call.
Was it good for you?” He chuckled.
“Oh my, yes.” I laughed. “I don’t think I’ll be able to walk in the morning.
It’s a good thing I have yoga. I can work a few things out.” We said goodnight and hung up, and I snuggled down deeper into my covers, thinking about Jack. He was funny, twisted, and dangerously cute. My hands found their way to the bottom of my Polo and slipped underneath. My fingers ghosted across my stomach, upward until they touched the soft swells of my breasts. I thought about Jack’s lower lip and the way he bit down on it.
Why do his lips turn you on so much?
My ni**les immediately hardened as I thought of what he would look like, hovering over me and biting down on that very lip. What his hair would feel like as it brushed across my belly as he pressed tiny kisses on his way toward my … .
Go to sleep, Grace. This is not helping.
My inner schoolteacher interrupted my daydream just as it was getting good. I placed my hands safely above the covers, clenching my fists to work some of the tension out.
I was going to have to get some. And soon.
Chapter 6
I woke up early and fixed a quick breakfast for Holly and me while she got ready for work. Since my schedule was much freer than hers, I tried to be a good houseguest, and I kept her well fed. I mixed up a berry fruit salad and added it to a parfait glass with vanilla yogurt. As she headed down the stairs, I quickly poured her a cup of French press coffee, with just the right amount of milk and two sugars—exactly the way she liked it.
“Bitch, you are spoiling me. I think I finally need to get a housekeeper when you move out,” she joked, sitting down at the breakfast bar and sipping her perfect coffee.
“That or get yourself a house-husband. Then you can get your house cleaned and your lady bits pleased all in one fell swoop,” I added, beginning to stretch before my yoga class.
“My lady bits wouldn’t know what to do if a man came within two feet,” she sighed, looking sadly at her fruit salad. “Have you talked to your contractor lately? Not that I want you to move out. I love having you here,” she continued.
“Yes, in fact I’m heading over to the house on Friday to check on the progress.
Seems like things are moving along as planned. I’ll miss being roomies with you, but I’m anxious to be in my own home again,” I replied, thinking fondly of my new house.
I had sold my house back home and was in the process of renovating my new home here. Once I’d made the decision to move back to L.A., I flew out at least once a month to go house hunting with Holly. She was a godsend to me then, doing drive-bys on properties I had seen online so we could make sure, when I was there, we maximized our time and avoided looking at crap.
I had saved my money over the years, not having a lot to spend it on. Added to a sudden windfall in the form of an inheritance from a great aunt I barely knew, I had enough money to brave the L.A. real estate market. I finally found exactly what I was looking for in a smallish, California bungalow off Laurel Canyon. It had great bones and a beautiful old garden that needed a lot of work. I couldn’t wait to move in. I had a contractor and a team of professionals working round the clock trying to get it ready for me. Walls had been removed, trees and shrubs cleared, floors refinished; I loved a fixer-upper. I was hoping to be moved in within the next month or so.
“This is good fruit, by the way—farmers market?” she asked, spearing a blueberry.
“Yep, I stopped by the other day and stocked up. Speaking of fruit, are we still on for dancing with Nick tonight?” I asked, pulling my hair up into a tight bun on top of my head.
“Oh, yes. I can’t wait to shake this ass al over West Hol ywood tonight. I am channeling my inner hag,” she answered, shaking her ass right there in the chair.
“It should be fun, although I’m not allowed to have too much to drink tonight. Cut me off after two. Maybe three,” I warned.
“That’s a deal. I don’t want to have you lying around like third base all day tomorrow,” she agreed, finishing her coffee and grabbing her bag for work. I leaned in for a quick peck on the cheek.
“No third base, got it. Love you, bitch. See you at eleven-thirty,” I said as I put her dishes in the sink.
“You’re a dick. I love you, too,” she shot back, and off she went to work.
After a grueling yoga class, I showered and got ready at the gym. I changed into a clean pair of black yoga pants, and a fresh white camisole, then wrapped a hot pink tracksuit jacket around my waist and called it good. Holly and I were going out for coffee, so I didn’t feel the need to get super dressed up.
Her offices were in a new space off Wilshire. It was close to all the museums and the La Brea Tar Pits, close to where we had shared our first apartment. You could even see the E! building from her window. She said it helped her focus during the day.
After parking, I walked through the lobby and made my way up to her offices on the fifteenth floor. She had half of the floor, and when I walked into reception, I saw Sara, her assistant, at the front desk. She was young and pretty and sweet—a bit fluttery, but nice. Speaking of fluttery, she seemed very on edge this morning.
“Hey, Sara,” I started, before she let out a little scream and turned around.
“Oh, Grace! I’m so sorry. I didn’t hear you come in. I’m a little out of it today,” she stuttered, looking like she was about to pee her pants.
“No problem. What’s going on? You look a little crazed.”
“Do I? Shit, I was trying to play it so cool,” she sighed, sitting back down at her desk and then banging her head against it.
“Hey, hey! Stop that! Who is here?” I hesitated, knowing that must be why she was shrieking. Sara had a tendency to get a little star struck. Once a rather famous movie star came in to take a meeting with Holly, and she freaked all over reception making an ass of herself. She actually tripped and went head first into a potted fern. Holly had been working with her on her self-control, which she needed, especially if she wanted to continue a career in the industry. I found it funny watching Holly lecture anyone on control, because I once saw her chase Donnie Wahlberg across a Carl’s Jr. parking lot to get an autograph. New Kids were definitely her Achilles’ heel.
“Whatever, Grace, you are so Joshua’s bitch now. Just like all of us.” She chuckled. “Anyway, speaking of all things Sexy Scientist Guy,” she continued,
“did Jack get hold of you today? He asked for your phone number. Care to share?”
“Yeah, we texted. I wondered where he got my number. When did he ask for it?” I asked, again trying not to show too much interest.
“He called my office today and charmed my assistant into giving it to him.
I swear that guy can get practically anything he wants right now. I have people calling my office constantly to book interviews, to schedule promotions, even club owners wanting him there at night. He’s really about to blow up big,” she sighed as she slurped up more noodles.
“Is he ready for all that? I mean, that’s a lot for someone so young,” I added.
“Yeah, he’s ready. I mean, as ready as anyone can be. He has such a good heart, and he’s super smart. We’re working hard to make sure that this is all manageable and he isn’t just being pimped out all around town. Besides, he’s having a great time and we’re getting offers for some interesting projects. That makes him happy,” she replied. “And speaking of having a good time, what’s going on with you two? And don’t play games with me, missy. I know you way too well for that.”
“Holly, I just met him! He seems like a nice kid, and you know I always like meeting the people you represent. He’s a funny guy,” I protested, pushing back from the table and bringing my plate over to the sink.
“Yeah, we’ll see,” she snickered, following me.
“Holly, come on! If what you say is true, this guy can have anyone in this town and probably has. With al that fine young tail laid out like a banquet before him, why in the world would he want someone like me? I’m enjoying having a new friend, let’s just leave it at that. Besides, I think he’s a little young for me,” I answered, beginning to get a little agitated and not sure why.
Because you do think he’s too young for you and it’s driving you crazy.
“OK, snark, settle. You’re telling me you don’t have the tiniest crush on him?
Tell the truth, Grace,” she said, cornering me over by the dishwasher.
“I don’t have a crush,” I debated. “Well, maybe I have half a crush. I have a
‘cruh’,” I admitted, giggling. “But it’s strictly Joshua-inspired,” I added, knowing that was not entirely true.
“Oh, well, hell—even I have a crush on him that’s Joshua-inspired. How could you not?” she sighed, getting a little goo-goo eyed.
With that, I knew that the discussion was over, and I was anxious to get back to my reading. I helped Holly clean up the kitchen, and we talked about our plans to go dancing with Nick the next night.
I grabbed my magazines and took them upstairs with me, telling Holly that I was going to go to bed early. After washing my face, I changed into my favorite old white Polo button down. I had been sleeping in this shirt since college. I snuggled down under my duvet and dove back in, determined to find out what the hell happened to Joshua.
1:30 a.m.
I was still reading.
I only stopped once to go downstairs and get some coffee, practical y running back upstairs to get back to the story. I was now solidly into the series, and very engaged. So engaged that I was startled by my phone ringing on the bed next to me. It was Jack … sigh.
“Seriously?” I grumbled, trying to hide the delight in my voice.
“Sheridan! Are you up?” He chuckled in a low voice.
“What if I wasn’t? Do you know what time it is? Some of us sleep at night,” I answered, rolling onto my side.
“Ha ha. You don’t sound like you were sleeping. You sound quite alert actually, almost stirred up. What are you up to?” he asked. I could hear rustling in the background.
“Well, you caught me. I am up. And I was reading.” I smiled into the phone.
“What are you reading?” he asked.
Shit.
Not wanting to be schooled for reading these stories, my eyes whirled around the room, finally lighting on the other book on my nightstand.
“The History of Salt,” I answered, rolling my eyes as soon as I said it.
The History of Salt , Grace?
“The History of Salt, Grace? Wow, that sounds … dreadful. Why the hell are you reading that?” He laughed.
“Hey, it’s really good. Did you know that salt was used as currency throughout history? Many major European cities are founded on or near a salt quarry. This is good information to have,” I retorted, settling into my pillow. I could hear more rustling in the background.
“What’re you doing? What’s that sound?” I asked.
“Ever since the other night I have been craving Chex Mix.” He laughed.
“Well, save me the Wheat Chex. They’re my favorites.” I giggled back, swallowing a yawn.
“So, what should we talk about?” he asked through a mouthful of what I assumed were Melba toasts.
“Hey, you initiated this booty call, you tell me. And don’t talk with your mouth full, it’s rude,” I teased.
“Booty call? Is that what you think this is?” he asked, with mock outrage.
“Let me clue you in on something, Hamilton. In America, when a guy calls a girl in the middle of the night, especially when they’ve just met, it’s most certainly a booty call,” I said, deadpan.
“I know what a booty cal is, Sheridan, and if I understand the term correctly, I’d be expecting to come over and get some, right?” he asked.
“That’s the general idea, yes,” I answered, rolling over onto my stomach, in which butterflies had now taken up permanent residence.
“Well, then that is rather presumptuous of you. Who’s being rude now?” he teased, leaving me feeling foolish.
“Eh, I … um … ” I struggled to finish a sentence. I had nothing. There was a long pause.
“Maybe I just called to talk to your booty,” he said finally.
“What?” I shrieked.
“Quiet down, you’ll wake up Holly,” he admonished. “Come on, let me talk to your booty, Sheridan. This’ll be a real booty call,” he snickered.
“You are so f**ked in the head,” I jeered, having trouble keeping my laughter contained to my room.
We talked for a few more minutes, most of which were taken up with him pleading to talk to my booty, which I steadfastly refused to allow. I began to yawn again toward the end, which he noticed.
“What do you have going on tomorrow?” he asked as I put away my magazine and turned out the lamp on the nightstand.
“Um, not too much. I have yoga in the morning and then I’m meeting up with Holly for coffee and to work on the pieces I’m doing in her showcase.” Often agents and managers would host showcases for new talent to introduce them to casting directors. Holly held them about twice a year depending on how deep she was in new talent. She had agreed to bring me on as a client again, and we were in the process of auditioning scene partners for me to work with.
“Oh, are you in that? She mentioned she had something coming up. What time are you meeting her?” he asked.
“I’m stopping by her offices at eleven-thirty,” I answered.
“Well, then I’ll let you get some sleep, Sheridan. I enjoyed our booty call.
Was it good for you?” He chuckled.
“Oh my, yes.” I laughed. “I don’t think I’ll be able to walk in the morning.
It’s a good thing I have yoga. I can work a few things out.” We said goodnight and hung up, and I snuggled down deeper into my covers, thinking about Jack. He was funny, twisted, and dangerously cute. My hands found their way to the bottom of my Polo and slipped underneath. My fingers ghosted across my stomach, upward until they touched the soft swells of my breasts. I thought about Jack’s lower lip and the way he bit down on it.
Why do his lips turn you on so much?
My ni**les immediately hardened as I thought of what he would look like, hovering over me and biting down on that very lip. What his hair would feel like as it brushed across my belly as he pressed tiny kisses on his way toward my … .
Go to sleep, Grace. This is not helping.
My inner schoolteacher interrupted my daydream just as it was getting good. I placed my hands safely above the covers, clenching my fists to work some of the tension out.
I was going to have to get some. And soon.
Chapter 6
I woke up early and fixed a quick breakfast for Holly and me while she got ready for work. Since my schedule was much freer than hers, I tried to be a good houseguest, and I kept her well fed. I mixed up a berry fruit salad and added it to a parfait glass with vanilla yogurt. As she headed down the stairs, I quickly poured her a cup of French press coffee, with just the right amount of milk and two sugars—exactly the way she liked it.
“Bitch, you are spoiling me. I think I finally need to get a housekeeper when you move out,” she joked, sitting down at the breakfast bar and sipping her perfect coffee.
“That or get yourself a house-husband. Then you can get your house cleaned and your lady bits pleased all in one fell swoop,” I added, beginning to stretch before my yoga class.
“My lady bits wouldn’t know what to do if a man came within two feet,” she sighed, looking sadly at her fruit salad. “Have you talked to your contractor lately? Not that I want you to move out. I love having you here,” she continued.
“Yes, in fact I’m heading over to the house on Friday to check on the progress.
Seems like things are moving along as planned. I’ll miss being roomies with you, but I’m anxious to be in my own home again,” I replied, thinking fondly of my new house.
I had sold my house back home and was in the process of renovating my new home here. Once I’d made the decision to move back to L.A., I flew out at least once a month to go house hunting with Holly. She was a godsend to me then, doing drive-bys on properties I had seen online so we could make sure, when I was there, we maximized our time and avoided looking at crap.
I had saved my money over the years, not having a lot to spend it on. Added to a sudden windfall in the form of an inheritance from a great aunt I barely knew, I had enough money to brave the L.A. real estate market. I finally found exactly what I was looking for in a smallish, California bungalow off Laurel Canyon. It had great bones and a beautiful old garden that needed a lot of work. I couldn’t wait to move in. I had a contractor and a team of professionals working round the clock trying to get it ready for me. Walls had been removed, trees and shrubs cleared, floors refinished; I loved a fixer-upper. I was hoping to be moved in within the next month or so.
“This is good fruit, by the way—farmers market?” she asked, spearing a blueberry.
“Yep, I stopped by the other day and stocked up. Speaking of fruit, are we still on for dancing with Nick tonight?” I asked, pulling my hair up into a tight bun on top of my head.
“Oh, yes. I can’t wait to shake this ass al over West Hol ywood tonight. I am channeling my inner hag,” she answered, shaking her ass right there in the chair.
“It should be fun, although I’m not allowed to have too much to drink tonight. Cut me off after two. Maybe three,” I warned.
“That’s a deal. I don’t want to have you lying around like third base all day tomorrow,” she agreed, finishing her coffee and grabbing her bag for work. I leaned in for a quick peck on the cheek.
“No third base, got it. Love you, bitch. See you at eleven-thirty,” I said as I put her dishes in the sink.
“You’re a dick. I love you, too,” she shot back, and off she went to work.
After a grueling yoga class, I showered and got ready at the gym. I changed into a clean pair of black yoga pants, and a fresh white camisole, then wrapped a hot pink tracksuit jacket around my waist and called it good. Holly and I were going out for coffee, so I didn’t feel the need to get super dressed up.
Her offices were in a new space off Wilshire. It was close to all the museums and the La Brea Tar Pits, close to where we had shared our first apartment. You could even see the E! building from her window. She said it helped her focus during the day.
After parking, I walked through the lobby and made my way up to her offices on the fifteenth floor. She had half of the floor, and when I walked into reception, I saw Sara, her assistant, at the front desk. She was young and pretty and sweet—a bit fluttery, but nice. Speaking of fluttery, she seemed very on edge this morning.
“Hey, Sara,” I started, before she let out a little scream and turned around.
“Oh, Grace! I’m so sorry. I didn’t hear you come in. I’m a little out of it today,” she stuttered, looking like she was about to pee her pants.
“No problem. What’s going on? You look a little crazed.”
“Do I? Shit, I was trying to play it so cool,” she sighed, sitting back down at her desk and then banging her head against it.
“Hey, hey! Stop that! Who is here?” I hesitated, knowing that must be why she was shrieking. Sara had a tendency to get a little star struck. Once a rather famous movie star came in to take a meeting with Holly, and she freaked all over reception making an ass of herself. She actually tripped and went head first into a potted fern. Holly had been working with her on her self-control, which she needed, especially if she wanted to continue a career in the industry. I found it funny watching Holly lecture anyone on control, because I once saw her chase Donnie Wahlberg across a Carl’s Jr. parking lot to get an autograph. New Kids were definitely her Achilles’ heel.
