Gemma
Gemma ran her hands against the rough-smooth surface of the plasterboard. As juvenile as it was, she’d gone back to hiding in her bedroom the last two days the work crew had been at her house the previous week.
True to his word, Adonis had come with a group of guys who made a whole lot of noise. But before the weekend started, they’d strung wires, laid pipe, and finally installed the wallboard and added some kind of tape and paste. It was like magic, the house looking completely unlivable one day and close to done at the weekend.
Like clockwork, the gate buzzed. She peeked at the camera monitor in its temporary home on the wall of the reception room. It was Dominic in his huge pickup and Adonis behind in his own vehicle.
Well then, she’d have to chuck her plans for today out the window. She couldn’t exactly walk starkers through a room, trying to grab the attention of the guy she was trying to shag, with his dad hanging about. Well, maybe she would if she were publicity starved or something. She’d known actresses on their way down the popularity scale to do crazy things like that.
Bloody hell.
Seduction plans abandoned, Gemma hit the round white button that would unlock the gate. It would swing back automatically, and Adonis’ taxicab-yellow van would come in after his father’s truck. They would park then be in the house, all in less than five minutes.
Bloody hell, again.
Looking down, she saw she was still in the romper she’d pulled from the closet. Whatever. Dominic would just have to live with the peekaboo back. It was more cute than sexy, which, now that she thought about it, might have been her problem from the beginning. She had yet to master sexy. That seemed to be a skill saved for other women.
“Good morning,” she said as the men bustled their way in noisily, swinging toolboxes in one hand and lunch in the other. “You look well, Dominic.”
“So do you. Don’t think I’ve seen you more than a handful of times, though. To what do I owe this honor?”
Gemma could feel the heat rising up her chest. Her stomach roiled with embarrassment. The first time her manager had introduced him, she’d shaken his hand, then left the room.
She’d talked to Dominic for the second time when he’d collapsed on her floor. The noise of power tools had been persistent for days. Then it had stopped with a loud crash and thud. She’d knelt by his side until he came to and was able to call someone to get him. The son who’d come to get him, a different one from Adonis, had chastised her mightily for not dialing nine-one-one.
“Um, saw two cars coming up the drive. I thought maybe you needed something from me.”
Dominic dropped his tools and walked through the downstairs, surveying the work that had been completed in his absence. Silently, she walked behind him and Adonis.
“I guess it’s true what they say…” Dominic started.
“What’s that?” she asked.
“That graveyards are filled with irreplaceable men. You’ve done good, kid,” Dominic said, appraising his son. Pride shone in his eyes. The warmth between the two was palpable and for a brief moment, she wished some of that would come her way. Adoration that wasn’t as fleeting as a movie shoot.
“So…good to see you back.” There was nothing else to say. Adonis wasn’t alone. She didn’t know the first thing about hammering, and continuing to hang about would be awkward.
“Not so fast, Ms. Hart,” Dominic said to her retreating back, which was quite naked, an idea that seemed increasingly dumb by the minute. She turned, her eyes bouncing from one man to the other.
“How can I help?” she asked, putting on the face she gave to directors to make them think she was going to be helpful, when in reality, she was going to do the scene her own damned way and make them believe it was their idea.
“Give me a sec,” Dominic said, bending to open his hefty toolkit. “Damn, I can’t find it.”
“What are you looking for, Dad?” Adonis asked, worry in his tone.
“My bow and arrow. Must have left them at home.”
Confusion was giving Gemma a headache. This was why she didn’t talk to people. They were filled with contradictions. What they said hardly matched what they meant. First, she’d thought it a trait of actors. But the more she got out in the world, the more she realized it was true of almost everyone.
“Are you having me on?” she asked, trying to find the humor. She was starting to think they were somehow making a joke at her expense. Thank Sylvester for non-disclosure agreements. Humiliation was one thing, seeing it posted on the Internet for every troll to comment upon was another.
“Dad, you’re being ridiculous. Get up.”
She looked over to find Adonis’ face flushed a deep red, an altogether rare occurrence.
“What’s the joke?” she asked, still not getting it, but starting to feel a bit more uncomfortable with each passing moment. If it were possible to feel more uncomfortable.
Dominic looked between them. “According to the way my mother tells it, I’m a little tall. But my dad said the Italians made him small so he didn’t compete with God.”
“Dad, you’re talking gibberish,” Adonis butted in.
Thank goodness he said that. Maybe he was having some other kind of episode. Gemma tried to remember where she’d left her phone. Should she call Sylvester? Giovanni? No, Adonis could take him to the nearest emergency room this time around or he could dial the authorities.
“…or maybe not,” Dominic was saying when she tuned back into the conversation. “Anyway, I’m here standing in for Cupid today. My son said you asked him out. I’m here to give both of you a little nudge.”
“Asked him out?” That was miles from “have a shag.”
Miles.
She looked from one man to the other. The younger one wouldn’t meet her eyes. The older was kind and smiley. In the end, she was still confused. Shouldn’t the builders be…building something?
“Dad. This is not… I cannot believe you…”
“Let’s see. You came to my house on a Saturday night asking me to take this job back. I’m busy, so I couldn’t agree to that. But we compromised. I put my other project on hold, and here I am.”
“You were—”
“Supposed to what? Be your thirteen-year-old friend? I can do that.” Dominic crouched down a bit and made his voice into a false whisper. “I think she likes you. You should ask her out.”
“I haven’t gone out with anyone in a…while.” Adonis’ voice was full of hesitation.
He’d tried to back out of the job. Get his dad back on. She wasn’t radioactive. Was the idea of being with her so undesirable?
“Then it’s time you did. Man wasn’t meant to spend life alone.” Dominic’s face held a self-satisfied smile.
“I…Dominic…Mr. Andreis…” Gemma couldn’t figure out what she could say or do to extract herself from this train wreck of a situation. She didn’t do drama and here it was, drama with a capital D.
“Ms. Hart. I’ve got this. You did the heavy lifting. Putting yourself out there. Risking rejection by asking. I’m here to help Adonis learn how to say yes.”
“Well. That’s lovely. But maybe he doesn’t think I’m attractive enough. Gingers aren’t everyone’s cuppa.” She’d been told that more times than she could count. How many times had she been encouraged to go blonde, if not lighter, then when there were more blondes than grains of sand, the advice had been to go darker…definitely darker. Anything but her signature red.
“I’m not sure how we could go out as you always stay in,” Adonis said pointedly.
She had to admit, his deflection was pretty powerful.
“I go out.” Gemma resisted the urge to stamp her foot. “Granger here goes out every single day for at least one five-mile walk, if not two.”
“Walk wasn’t exactly what you proposed—”
“Would you go on a walk?” she asked quickly, rushing the words out. God knew she didn’t want to talk about sex or shagging in front of Adonis’ father. She might have appeared nude in front of tens of millions in the English-speaking world in Entwined Souls, but she did have some shame.
“If it ends this unproductive discussion that’s sucking up time when I could be skim-coating your walls, then yes, I’ll agree to a walk.”
Dominic leaned down and dramatically snapped his toolbox closed. “Think my work is done here,” he said in tones that rivaled DeNiro.
Gemma was too gobsmacked to say anything to Dominic’s retreating back. He opened and closed the door. In the silence, she heard his van start, the motor purr as the gate opened, and the clang of iron upon iron as the gate shut.
Then there were two.
Not at all sure what she’d agreed to, Gemma did the only thing that felt right, that came naturally—she stalked to her room.
For the first time in months, her pile of scripts was empty. If Dominic’s meddling had done one thing, it had given her the ability to focus. She’d been able to, for once, concentrate on her so-called career.
She’d have to talk to Sylvester or her agent about getting someone to vet the scripts that came through her door. How many times could she read the same story over and over? Innocent woman finds out her husband/boss/best friend isn’t who she thought. Innocent woman spends the rest of the movie running from the husband/boss/best friend who was now the bad guy. She’d never been offered the kinds of jobs that Charlize Theron or Hillary Swank got. She could make herself ugly or into a boxer. Anything but a woman in jeopardy.
At least the scripts didn’t have too many labor scenes, like last month’s pile. Were women past twenty-five reduced to fleeing, crying, or screaming in labor pain? Not for Glenn Close. Not for Meryl Streep. If—and that was a big if—she went back to work, it wasn’t going to be six months of looking wan, pale, and scared on some island off the coast of the northwestern United States.
Granger’s nose pushed at her hand. Absently she pet him, then patted his flank, the silky smooth fur slipping through her fingers.
She shifted on the bed, adjusting the one-piece so-called playsuit. The romper had been made for standing around and looking cute, not living. Mentally, Gemma started flipping through her limited wardrobe not packed away in boxes. Something warm and stretchy from Lululemon would be perfect for a walk in the Malibu sand.
Before she could reach her chest of drawers, the dog did a spin and groaned audibly. She glanced at the clock on the wall. Half four. Eight hours had passed right by.
Damn, the dog usually went out well before then. She’d have to pull his supper out and then do a walk.
When she left her room, the downstairs was silent. Thank the lord. Tomorrow she’d deal with the mess she’d made in her own house. Tomorrow she’d deal with the son whose father had tried to twist his arm into a date.
Granger ate his kibble in all of twenty-two seconds. Had to be a record. She gathered his lead and snapped it to his collar. She’d drive down to the beach and work out a strategy for tomorrow. A strategy for either backtracking from her proposition or finding a way to get Adonis to go along with the plan.
Because once and for all, she was ready to shed the yoke of never having taken a lover.
Taking control of her life is what Giovanni prescribed and it was time to get at it. Because she was one hundred percent done with being the thirty-year-old virgin.
The dog was wagging and wiggling furiously by the time she was able to set the alarm and lock the door properly. But there were two vehicles in the driveway, not just one.
Adonis didn’t do casual, but it looked like he was trying. He was leaning against the door of his van, sunglasses hiding his eyes.
Her heart accelerated. Her brain flooded with X-rated thoughts. Since she’d made the proposition, she’d spun wild fantasies in her head about what she’d do once he was naked in her bed. The builder, leaning all slouchy against the van’s fender, sent her imagination reeling.
“I thought you’d gone,” she said dumbly. It was no wonder people thought actors had nothing to say if someone hadn’t written it down first.
“I thought I’d stick around for the walk you promised.”
“Well. Um. Sure. Get in,” she said, opening the back door of the SUV and helping the dog jump in. After Adonis closed the passenger door of her car, she pushed a button on her phone and the car started.
“Did you just start the car with your phone?”
“Sure. Sylvester said it was safer than handing anyone keys they could copy.” Sylvester was the only person who didn’t laugh about her need for control.
“Have you ever handed anyone the keys?”
“Not yet. I…um…don’t go out. But my New Year’s resolution was to change that.”
“It’s September.”
Gemma backed out of the gate, careful not to hit anything, then pulled onto the canyon road. “There was an article in The Guardian last week that said September is the new New Year’s. I’m starting my resolutions now.”