Skygods (Hydraulic #2) (15 page)

Samuel flipped the channel back to his dull indie flick and settled in. “A little secret about Indigo: she loves burgers. Insanely loves them, which drove her trainer crazy. But she always complained about how it was impossible to get a good Aussie-style burger in the US—fried egg, pineapple, beetroot, the works—without special-ordering. So, after a long morning of filming, Marco overheard her telling another actor she would kill for an Aussie burger. After that, you can guess what lunchtime staple was added to the table.”

“Romance blooms over burgers. That’s sweet,” I said, “though I’m sorry you were dumped for Marco, the catering sex god.”

“It was devastating. I should have listened to
Mamá
when she tried to teach me how to cook.”

I nudged him and he snagged my elbow, using it to gently twist me toward him. My breath caught in my throat as I saw his eyes, bright with elation. Soon I was lost in a celebratory kiss, grateful to Indigo (and Marco Caldo) for taking some of the heat off of Samuel.

The second piece of news to arrive that night was not as welcome. Just as I took a deep breath and dove in for another “hello” with Samuel’s lips, his cell rang again. And again. And
again.
I groaned when he tore his mouth from mine. He flipped open his phone.

“Hi, Caro,” he sighed, lips red and swollen.

I watched in staunch concern as his face fell, then crumpled, then grew angry. He leaped from the couch and paced the room. Long fingers wove through his hair, tugging so hard I thought he might worry a bald spot right on the crown of his head.

“That’s not enough time. Simultaneous publicity tours are already swamping me. I can’t turn around a script by Thanksgiving.”

Crap, that didn’t sound good. Samuel’s face went fiery.

“Well tell them it’s not possible! I can get one to the studio by early January.”

When Samuel strode past me, I grabbed his arm and pulled his fingers from his hair, threading them with mine. He absently squeezed my hand.

“I don’t give a
damn
about the contract. They
broke
the contract when they chose to bump up filming…”

Caroline screeched something on the other end, her voice sending cringe-inducing shudders through my spine. Samuel also winced, holding the phone away from his ear. Finally, he slumped down next to me. “Fine,” he said stiffly. “We’ll try for Thanksgiving. But my Labor Day trip is still on…
yes
, I’m serious. We’ll talk about it when I return to New York—Caro?”

Samuel growled and stared at his phone for a long moment. Then he suddenly launched it across the room, sending it clattering against my wooden floor. I sat, stunned and frozen. Heady, dark emotions stirred in his face and all the extremes of his visit—the dossier, our sex life confessions, his parents, his career demands—brewed together, creating a potion that would overwhelm him.

“I can’t do this anymore,” he rasped. His head wearily fell against the back of the couch.

Pained, I dropped down in front of him, resting my arms on his knees. My hands smoothed over his legs. “What’s going on?” I asked.

He sighed, relaxing under my fingers. “The movie studio plans to film the next five
Water Sirens
movies back-to-back, did I tell you this?” I shook my head. “They want the next script by Thanksgiving, a full two months earlier than they’d originally requested. I told Caroline that was impossible, but she’s already agreed to it.”

“And she hung up on you?”

“Yes. It’s a new habit of hers that’s going to end, and soon.”

“That’s very unprofessional.”

“She’s not usually like this. But she’s had her feelings hurt…her pride, too.”

Then you shouldn’t have dated your publicist
. I couldn’t keep my disgust from my face, and he saw it. A part of me didn’t care. I wanted him to wake up before it was too late. Molly’s warning flitted through my mind—Caroline Ortega wore too many hats.

“What if you let another writer adapt your books?” I casually suggested. Ha, fat chance.

Samuel’s eyes narrowed at me, as I’d expected they would. “Never,” he retorted.

“We could cancel the Planet Bluegrass trip. That would give you some extra writing time.”

His hands gripped mine. “Kaye, I’m not about to sacrifice our time together for my career.”
No, Samuel, of course you won’t.

I chewed my bottom lip, peering up at him beneath my eyelashes. It was a trick Danita’d taught me long ago, and Samuel had never figured out the look was intentional. “And I suppose you’ll be too busy to help with the fund-raiser or our book.”

“I know what you’re doing.” His lips quirked.

Okay, so maybe that trick only worked on seventeen-year-old boys. Nevertheless, fire flickered in his eyes and, trickery or not, it still affected him.

I turned my palms to meet his. “Samuel, it’s too much. You can’t make everyone happy, so something’s gotta give.”
Or someone.
“If you don’t want to cut out anything else, that leaves the book and movie tours. May I see your schedule?”

He retrieved his phone and opened his calendar. A dense, color-coded planner popped up, rendering me speechless. He’d said it was a busy time for him, but I had no idea. Every day, weekends included, was packed, hopping from city to city from this coming Monday and on. The only free time blocked on his calendar was a weekend in late August—Rocky Mountain Folks—and then it picked up again until Christmas. And if his concern over the rapid five-movie schedule was any indication, this insanity wouldn’t end any time soon.

I closed my eyes in silent fury at Caroline for her obvious control ploy, and even at Samuel for allowing her to ride roughshod over him. When I opened them again, Samuel watched me intently, unsure if I was about to go Annie Oakley on his tail.

“This.” I tapped the screen. “This is a big problem. I don’t know what Caroline is thinking, but this will kill you in a week. You think you’re exhausted now? There are
five more
movie promotions waiting around the bend.”

“I know,” he said soberly. “I’ve never done a simultaneous book and movie tour, and I’m hoping I won’t have to again. That’s the only reason I agreed to this, but once the events started piling up—”

“You don’t plan to publish another book someday?”

“Of course I do.”

“Then there will be more simultaneous book and movie tours. Don’t set a precedent, Samuel. Put your foot down, now. Caroline and her agency don’t own you.”

His eyes searched mine. “You’re an expert with this kind of thing. What do you suggest?”

I bit my lip and scoured his event schedule, trying to determine which appearances could be dropped. Unfortunately, only Caroline could answer that and I wasn’t about to call her. “In my opinion, you should draw a hard line. No more than five appearances a week, with two days completely free, and only through Christmas. Everything else can be done via phone and social media. Let Caroline decide which are the most important commitments to keep—that’s what she’s paid to do.” I looked him straight in the eyes, all business. “If she doesn’t bend, go over her head.”

Samuel nodded, agreeing with me. What the heck. I pushed a little further. “After Christmas, I suggest you decide what role you ultimately want Caroline to hold: editor, publicist, or agent. She’ll probably come out fighting, so be prepared.”

He stared at our hands in contemplation. Finally, he spoke. “You’re right.” I swear, somewhere, choirs sang, victory bells tolled, and cherubic children strewed brightly colored flower petals. “Caro’s too invested in my career, to the point where it’s not
my
career anymore. It’s not fair to her.” He bent forward and softly kissed the top of my head. “It’s not fair to you.”

“Samuel. It’s not fair to you, either. Don’t let these people use you.”

He smiled and rested his forehead against mine. “It’s going to be a long week. But I’ll get this straightened out.”

I actually cried when I watched him stuff his carry-on in the back seat of his rental car. I stood on the sidewalk in the early morning dew, clad only in my pajamas and robe. I hadn’t even bothered with shoes, so I shifted my bare feet as the cold concrete numbed them. I told him I was tired of watching his back as he left, that for once, I wanted to be stuffing my own carry-on next to his on a plane to New York.

He wrapped an arm around my waist and pulled me flush against his chest, no longer asking permission to kiss me. And what a kiss it was…which only made me cry harder.

“Kaye,” he murmured against my tear-streaked cheek, “you should know by now I’d never let you load your own suitcase.” His voice teased, but his eyes brimmed with the same sadness as mine. He leaned down to kiss me again…a slow, sweet good-bye kiss. “Please don’t cry. We’ll figure this out.”

I pushed away from his chest, stupidly denying I was crying. I swiped my traitor tears away with the back of my hand and steeled myself for my empty apartment.
But, Kaye, you’ve lived seven years with an empty apartment.

“I’ll be fine in a minute. Besides, you’ll be here in less than a month for Rocky Mountain Folks. It’ll go fast.”

“Rocky Mountain Folks,” he repeated, a solemn vow. He traced my jaw line one last time, his fingernail lightly scratching my skin. Then I felt an actual, physical rip in my chest as he tore himself away and climbed into the car.

It took all my strength to keep from desperately clinging to the bumper like Marty McFly sans skateboard as my “whatever” journeyed back to his stress-filled world in New York.

“Dang, Kaye, that kid is a monkey!” Hector’s voice echoed through the lush canyon. “Look at him scale this thing—he’s faster than any of us.”

“I think he’ll make a fantastic lead ascender on the Longs Peak trip,” I chimed in, encouraging the young climber.

Luca beamed at us from halfway up the craggy cliff face, his tan body swathed in harnesses, pitons and ascenders. Then he turned to the rock wall and fitted another safety device.

Our entire team—Hector, Molly, Cassady, Luca, and me—was brushing up on belay techniques using the towering, sun-bleached cliffs of Big Thompson Canyon. The river gurgled beyond in a breathtaking stretch of green, dappled in wildflowers and tender moss, as we ascended with a belay partner guiding us from the ground. The Saturday afternoon was pleasantly sunny. It warmed my shoulders and freckled my cheeks, and I found myself drowsily floating back to my time with Samuel, a week ago.

When I was out of his blazing presence, I could almost convince myself I’d imagined the shaking hands and restlessness. Almost. Though I was now certain he’d once been depressed, what I’d witnessed from him ran more along the lines of anxiety. If he indeed struggled with some sort of mental health issue, as I suspected more with every passing day, then his work schedule would do him in. And Caroline
had
to know she was hurting him.

A hummingbird whizzed past my head and my eyes flew open, pulling me back to the canyon. The bird darted to Danita, sprawled across a beach blanket. Bikini-clad, she frowned over a bestseller. The bird buzzed her ear. She yelped and waved the thing away. Next to her, Molly’s new puppy dropped the rawhide it was panting over and barked at the hummingbird.

That’s right, a puppy. Jaime Guzman was dead serious when she told Molly the only way she’d go to Girls Night was if my friend bought a Black Labrador. Molly gazed forlornly at the gangly, drooling animal as she guided the belay rope.

“His name is
Juicy.
” She sighed. “He doesn’t like me. He bites all the time.”

Danita rolled her eyes. “
Ave María Purísima
, Molly, he’s a puppy. Of course he bites you! Don’t let it bruise your ego.”

“I didn’t know you could have pets in your apartment,” I commented.

“He’s staying at Cassady’s. Cassady has a big back yard—I can’t even give my puppy a proper home! No wonder he hates me.” She cast another sad look at her pet. “Everyone likes me. Everyone except Juicy.”

“Good, Luca,” Hector instructed calmly as he tightened the rope. “Now put the ladders and carabiner in the jumar…test the weight…not too fast…”