Rugged (30 page)

“How do I pay you back for all your generosity?” I say, laughing as I take a sip of my French pressed coffee. The crab cake in hollandaise arrives. I try not to dig in with too much relish.

“Find me the man of my dreams,” Thomas says, flashing white teeth with a killer smile before sipping his mimosa. “I’m practically a monk these days.”

“A monk with exquisite taste in caviar,” I say, grinning. “And what do you mean you need to be set up? With all your time styling Leonardo DiCaprio, I’d expect you to have found some movie star bodyguard to sweep you off your feet.” Thomas sighs, tucking a napkin into his collar to preserve his crisp white shirt.

“Closet cases, darling. All of them. I don’t have it in me to work that hard.” We chuckle and enjoy the fabulous food. These raspberry jam crepes are nearly melting in my mouth. I need to remember to make more time for Thomas in the future. We’ve both got ridiculous schedules, but these kinds of relaxation days are necessary. Especially since this is my one day off this week. No having to stare at Flint, no having to deal with interviews and talk shows. I need to come to the east side more often. Say what you want about the bustle of Los Angeles, but there are still places in this city to find peace and quiet.

For about three seconds, that is. Then Flint walks through the doors and out onto the patio. Our eyes lock.

What the hell is he doing here? Is this some kind of cruel trick of fate? I’m about ready to throw my crab cakes into the air and take off for the street, screaming in frustration. Then I might double back and grab a couple of the crab cakes for the road, because who am I kidding? But I’d still run.

Flint walks over to our table. Thomas is as stunned as I am, though I think he’s just appreciative of the view. “Who is
this
slice of heaven?” he mutters out of the corner of his mouth.

“Laurel,” Flint says, smiling down at me. His eyes are wide with amazement. “I can’t believe it.”

“What are you doing here?” I ask, mouth agape. Flint looks from Thomas to me. His smile vanishes, replaced by the slightest frown. “We’re not on
Gossip Talk
until tomorrow morning.” I am not looking forward to that radio interview. The amount of dirt those hosts can find on a person is terrifying. Plus, they like playing barnyard animal sounds at distracting times.

“We were looking to grab some food,” he says, still glaring at Thomas, who doesn’t notice because he’s checking out Flint’s perfectly sculpted ass. “Suze recommended it. She didn’t mention you’d be here.”

But she knew we would be. Suze. My own fairy tale matchmaker. If I didn’t love her so much, I would end her.

Then I remember that Flint used the word we. Oh no. I brace myself, clutching the underside of the table, and wait for Charlotte to step outside and blight the soft golden California sunshine I was just enjoying so much.

A woman pushes a stroller out onto the patio, cursing as she nearly trips over the threshold. My breath leaves me in a fast rush. Callie! Flint goes at once to help her, but I’m already rushing over to crouch down and coo at the twins in their stroller. Lily starts to screech with glee a little bit, which gets some model-thin woman to furrow her Botox-ed forehead—as much as she can, at least—and glare. I can see the dismissive thought bubble over her head:
breeders
. I glare back. Liberally. Nobody gets to look at my adorable little terrors that way, at least not without my permission.

“Laurel!” Callie looks honestly happy to see me, which softens my total horror of the situation. I straighten up, and we hug. “Mind if we join you?” she asks, not waiting for a reply and quickly pulling up a chair, helping herself to the pitcher of mimosas. “I’m starving.” She takes a good hard chug from her glass. Her high volume enthusiasm, plus her sucking down champagne cocktails, is attracting some annoyed looks. Thomas appears bemused as Flint sits between the two of us.

“Nice to meet you,” he tells Flint, holding out his hand, his silver Rolex flashing in the sun. “Thomas Beaumont.”

“Flint McKay,” he says, that muscle in his jaw doing its unhappy-flex. Maybe he’s not a fan of white shirts. He’s certainly never had a problem with men like Thomas before.

“What are you doing out here?” I ask Callie. “The show premiere’s not for a couple of weeks.”

“Oh, I just wanted to visit. It’s still so cold and gray in Massachusetts right now,” she says, browsing through the menu. Her chestnut hair is ruffled, like she hasn’t put a comb through it. “Wanted to see my little brother again before he becomes a world famous star.”

“That’s not going to happen,” Flint says, sounding irritated. Probably an argument they’ve had before.

“Where’s David?” I ask, stopping to look back for him. Callie’s husband is a nice guy, but kind of easy to get lost in a crowd.

“Oh, David doesn’t care if I travel across the country.” Callie’s smile is half grimace, half frown. I’m not entirely sure it’s a smile, actually. “He doesn’t care if I take the kids. Just so long as he gets to work on time and can turn on
Fallout 4
in the evening, he’s happy. So I figured, hey, why not let him cook for himself for a little while and go live it up in the sunshine?”

At that moment, Callum and Lily start bawling in their stroller. I mean screaming, crying, pounding their little fists on the plastic tray, zero to sixty. A few of the customers make exasperated noises, and I kind of want to tell them to shut up and enjoy their organic kale lattes. Flint takes the children out one at a time, trying to soothe them, but it does not work. Their little faces go red; we are achieving DEFCON Toddler level four. One of the waiters comes over, wearing a sour expression.

“May I remind you, cherished guests, that this is a place designed for
relaxation,
” he says. Flint starts to stand, and the guy quails.

“She’s a mother of young children. She doesn’t get a lot of relaxing time either,” he snaps. Even while balancing two squalling babies, he’s intimidating.

“It’s okay,” I say, grabbing Flint’s arm and pulling him back to the table. The waiter hustles off.

“What kind of business lets the staff be rude to the customers for no damn reason?” he grunts.

“Deplorable,” Thomas sighs. He’s still checking out Flint’s ass.

Callie grunts, weary, and waves for Flint to hand her the kids.

“Actually, put them back in the stroller. It’s probably diaper time,” Callie says, putting down her empty glass.

“Uh, need any help in there?” I ask, watching with concern as she wheels the children around Flint’s chair. He’s not volunteering to help; in fact, he just keeps looking at Thomas. His focus is intense, like he’s trying to memorize every detail of the perfectly tanned stylist. Great, now is he going to fall in love with
everyone
who isn’t me?

“I was born prepared,” Callie grumbles, and pushes the stroller back through the melee of Sunday brunch. A bunch of diners glare at her as she runs over their Gucci bags and knocks into a trellis covered with ivy. The sound of the kids’ crying dies away.

“So,” Flint says, looking back and forth between Thomas and me again. “What have you two got going on here?”

“Well, Laurel and I were having a wonderful time catching up,” Thomas says, winking at me. “But it got even better now that the gang’s all here.” He looks at Flint again, but Flint’s glowering at a cup of coffee.

“Wonderful time, huh? Sounds…wonderful.” Man, someone brought their A level brooding game. I don’t know if there’s any way to make him truly happy without Charlotte here to perk him up. That thought makes my stomach lurch.

“What about Callie?” I try to get the topic to someplace where Thomas and I don’t spend the whole meal making googly eyes at Flint while he hates on his French press. “She just showed up?”

“Out of nowhere.” He sighs, runs his hand through his (perfect, shining) hair. “I’m getting ready to fly back there and kick David’s ass for him.”

“He’s not doing anything terrible, right? Cheating, boozing?” Thomas asks, chin in hand. Flint snorts.

“If he were doing that, I wouldn’t be sitting here
considering
going to get him. No, he’s a decent guy.” Flint sighs. “But he’s not there as much as Callie needs him to be. I think they’re both too burned out, what with the twins and Callie staying at home and the mortgage. I wish there were something I could do to help them.” He grunts and shoves the coffee away. Bad, bad cup, offending him so. “But I can’t think of anything.”

Damn. Poor Callie. I hate seeing her like this, frazzled and despairing, boozing on an empty stomach on a Sunday while her children sit by and watch. I feel like I owe her something, dammit. Whatever problems and awkwardness Flint and I have had, this show and my career wouldn’t be happening if it weren’t for her. I want to help her. But how?

And then I become brilliant.

“Hold on,” I say, feeling my brain light up, all sparkly and what not. “Maybe there’s something we can do. Thomas and me.” I grin at my very stylish friend. “Can you think of anything that screams romance?”

“With the inspiration at this table, how could I not?” He puts on his best ‘straight guy’ impression, adopting an impossibly deep voice. He winks at me again, wiggling his eyebrows at Flint, who doesn’t seem to notice. He’s scowling even deeper now. “Oh! I have it!” Thomas cries, reaching over and grabbing my arm. “Call me insane and wonderful, but what about this: the Peninsula, the Mandarin Garden suite, with a bucket of iced champagne and room service?”

“If you wanted to sweep me off my feet, you could have just said so,” I say, fake flirting and batting my eyelashes. We grab each other’s hands and laugh. Flint clears his throat. He’s got his arms crossed over his chest, and is going all alpha male grumpy bear on the table. Even Thomas notices, fake-tugging at his collar in concern.

“Don’t you think it’d be a good idea?” I ask him. Honestly, you’d think we just suggested hogtying Callie and David together and throwing them off a cliff.

“The Peninsula is hard to get into?” he asks, looking at Thomas.

“Well, of course,” Thomas says. “You can’t just waltz in there, especially not if you’re trying to book a stay in the Mandarin Garden. That baby has a sauna, a hot tub, a staff of full-time massage therapists, and the toothpaste is made out of gold dust.”

“Then you probably can’t get them in,” Flint says, challenging.

“
Au contraire
, mon frenemy,” Thomas says, noting the cool way Flint is looking at him with amusement. “I work for only the ritziest people in the ritziest part of town. Getting two burned-out parents into the hottest resort hotel for a long weekend?” He snaps his fingers with a flourish. “Done.”

“What about the kids?” Flint mutters. “They going, too?”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” I say, rolling my eyes. “We can babysit them.”

Flint looks over at me, curiosity and interest in his eyes. “We? So we take care of them together?”

Oh God. We’d be practically alone all over again. Should have thought that through before you jumped right in there, mouth. Thanks for all your help.

“Well, I know all the sights to see around here,” I tell him with a shrug. Keep it neutral, Laurel. Don’t freak out and start dribbling orange juice down your blouse. “We could have a day of it, then drop the kids back off with Callie and David afterward. I’m sure the hotel has nanny services.”

Thomas scoffs. “Do they ever. Those children will be speaking fluent Mandarin and understanding quantum mechanics by the time they leave. Along with getting toddler massages.”

Flint grimaces. That sounds a little creepy to me too, so I think we’ll cancel the massages. But the rest sounds amazing.

“Settled,” I tell Flint, and squeeze Thomas’s shoulder. “You’re the greatest.”

“Only because you inspire me to be,” he says, his straight-guy flirting imitation hilarious. He kisses my hand, which sets me giggling.

Flint says nothing, probably still pining for Charlotte. I see him pick up his phone and start typing in his lap and can only assume he’s checking in with his lady love. Barf.

“What’d I miss?” Callie asks, wheeling the children back to the table. She sits down, looking even more tired than she did five minutes ago. “Don’t gossip without me.” She grabs Flint’s coffee and downs it in one gulp. I get up and push my chair back.

“Wouldn’t dream of it. Would you excuse me one second?” I leave them all and head into the restaurant to call David. I’m pretty sure I can get him out here tomorrow on the production’s dime, first class all the way. Shouldn’t be that hard. All I have to do is title him a show consultant, and he’ll be drinking complimentary champagne at thirty thousand feet by nine AM. This business does have its perks.

30

“God, why are you bringing me here? To show me all the amazing things I’m missing out on in life?” Callie mumbles as she meets me in the lobby of the Peninsula. The walls are white marble and pastel tile, and the air smells like gardenias. All around us are bellhops in crisp uniforms wheeling the luggage of Beverly Hills elite. Gorgeous, suntanned women waltz over to the Palm Court to have tea. Callie smiles and looks down at the twins. “Auntie Laurel says we’re going to go sightseeing, but mommy really thinks she could use a nap for the rest of her life.”

“Oh, there it is! I knew I dropped it,” I say, rushing back to pick up the phone I ‘accidentally’ let slip out of my purse. “Phew! I sure was worried.” I even mime wiping sweat off my brow. Man, I’m an acting god.

“Laurel, come on. Let’s just go,” Callie moans. “You used the bathroom. Twice. Let’s get some lunch.”

“Oh, we’ll be going in just a minute,” I say, laughing a little falsely. Yep, I’ll be leaving with your kids, Callie. Then you get to have some wild afternoon delight with your husband. Not the greatest visual I have ever treated myself to, but it’s meant with love. “I just need to check that all my, er, data is still there. Like. That none of it fell out.” I check the phone again. I am not the world’s greatest liar.

Callie crouches down over the kids to wipe their faces—apparently you can spit up at any time of the day if you try hard enough—and I look back over my shoulder. Come on, Flint. Another few minutes of this and I’m going to have to literally tap dance to get us to stay.