One Hot Secret by Sarah J. Brooks
Chapter 8
Jack
I glance at the wall clock in the library. Six-thirty. Almost time. I’ve been up since five to study the manuscript of my next movie, Protecting Home. It’s a story of a wildfire that engulfed a town and killed ten firefighters from that town. I’m playing the role of Damon Knight, the lead role and one of the few firefighters who survive.
My concentration is messed up this morning. My mind keeps straying to Grace and the day we spent together yesterday. The whole day plays like a movie in my head from the moment we woke up, had breakfast, and then she got the call.
Knowing Grace has been like peeling the layers of an onion. I’m not even quarter way yet, and usually, by this point, I’ve had enough, or I’m running scared. With Grace, the usual worries I have of a woman running to the tabloids to sell her story don’t apply. Grace would never do something like that. It wouldn’t ever cross her mind. I would bet my right hand on her. That’s how much I’m sure that she’s a genuine, caring human being.
The plan had been to have uncomplicated fun for these three weeks and part ways without her ever knowing who I am. The problem is that Grace had touched a part of my heart that has never been touched before. I won’t be ready to part ways with her when my time at the fire station is up.
I want Grace in my life.
I finally get to the root of what is bothering me. Whether or not to tell her who I really am. The thought of it makes my heartbeat race to near explosion. What if she changes and joins the list of people who have disappointed me over the years?
I can’t make a decision now. Not yet. I close my manuscript and store it in my desk drawer. I head back upstairs to get ready for work, take a quick shower, and head back downstairs.
By then, it’s seven and my housekeeper, Maria, is already in. She and her husband Carlos live in the compound. Carlos does the gardening and keeps the cars clean while she does the cooking. I have a cleaning company that comes in every other day to clean up.
“Good morning, Kyle,” she says cheerfully.
“Morning, Maria. Can I have coffee to go, and please make it two.”
She shoots me an amused look. “Very good. I hope she’s a good person.”
Maria has been my employee for more than a decade. I’ve seen her and Carlos raise their two boys, see them off to college and start working. We have a relationship that goes beyond employer and employee. We’re friends who care about each other’s welfare. It’s the same with Carlos, although he’s a little reserved. I trust them implicitly. They are protective over me, but that’s because of the stories that women I’ve dated have sold to the press. The tantalizing lure of quick, easy money is not something a lot of people can resist.
Including my own family.
“Here you go,” Maria says, handing me the two coffees in takeaway cups. “Have a good day.”
“You too.”
Outside, Carlos is polishing Grace’s car. It’s gleaming under the morning sunlight.
“New ride?” he asks me after we exchange greetings.
“No, it belongs to a friend. I’m returning it this morning.”
The keys are already in the ignition, and I start it and wave goodbye to Carlos. He doubles up as the gatekeeper, and he hurries to open it for me.
As I drive, I sing along to the pop song on the radio. I feel euphoric and happy for no particular reason. The day is filled with promise from the pale blue skies to the slight breeze keeping the atmosphere cool.
It takes me twenty minutes to get to Grace’s place. I see her form standing outside the building. Seeing her sends a near electric current sizzling through me. My lips pull in an involuntary smile. I’m in trouble, I tell myself as I guide the car into street parking.
She comes bounding in before I can get out and open the door for her. Her scent fills the car and stirs up my desire. I laugh aloud.
“What?” she says grinning.
“I’m laughing at myself. You entered the car, and the first thing that crossed my mind was how much I’d love to take you back upstairs.” I’d never admitted that to any other woman, but Grace has such an easy personality that I feel comfortable telling her anything.
She throws her head back and laughs. “Will it console you to know that I thought the same thing too when I saw you.”
My heart staggers in my chest at hearing the words. I unbuckle my seatbelt and slide a hand along her jaw. We meet halfway, our lips mashing together. Time stops.
Kissing Grace is like melting into another person. She tastes sweet and hot at the same time. I kiss her until our breaths grow erratic. Reluctantly, I end the kiss.
“That was not the best idea.” I gesture at the tent in front of my pants.
Grace reaches out and cups my dick over my pants, and I growl as she strokes it. She laughs softly.
“You’re enjoying this, aren’t you?” I ask her.
“Very much so, but I’d rather be upstairs with you in my bed,” she says in a husky, sexy voice.
“You’re lucky we have to go to work.”
“You are just full of threats,” she says.
“Threats, huh?” I adopt a menacing voice. “We’ll see if you’ll be singing the same tune in the evening.”
“What are you planning on doing, kidnapping me?” Grace asks, her voice dripping with sexual innuendo.
“That’s for me to know and for you to find out,” I tell her.
A few minutes later, we run into traffic. Grace whips out her phone and searches for the best route to avoid the traffic. I turn the car around and use a route that takes us through my home area.
“Do you know that Abel Steiner lives around here?” Grace says, staring out the window.
He’s one of the most gifted directors that I’ve ever had the pleasure of working with. “So I hear.”
“Oh, and look, paparazzi outside those gates. Probably a celebrity’s home. Poor people,” Grace says.
“What do you mean, poor people? They have a good life. Lack of privacy is a small price to pay for the lifestyle they live.”
“It’s too high a price to pay. Can you imagine having everything you do plastered across the newspapers?” Grace says in a voice that is full of emotion.
“Well,” I say, trying to sound reasonable about it. “It is a life they chose, and they end up making more money than they’ll ever spend, and they get to travel all over the world.”
“Maybe but their families did not choose that life, so it’s not fair on them,” Grace says.
A lump forms in my throat. She sounds dead serious about all this. It’s not just idle conversation for her.
“Tell me this, would you date a celebrity?”
The robotic voice from her phone comes on to tell me which way to go. “You can turn it off,” I tell her. “I know the way from here.”
She turns it off.
“So would you?”
“Absolutely not! The one thing I value above anything else is my freedom and privacy. Can you imagine never ever being able to walk down the aisle of a store or lie on the beach without someone wanting to take a picture of you?”
Nausea rises up my throat. I should have known that this was too good to be true. I’ve ended liking a woman who would absolutely hate my life. One who would hate the attention. I’ve never dated a woman who complained about the perks of being a celebrity. Without exception, they all enjoyed the red carpet, the photoshoots, the money, the exotic destinations, and the recognition.
“A lot of people enjoy the attention that comes with dating a celebrity,” I point out as mildly as I can.
“A lot of people don’t know how ugly it can get,” Grace says hotly, leading me to suspect there might be more to this than she’s letting on.
“And you do?” I ask her in a mildly amused tone.
“Maybe,” she says.
I’m startled by her answer, and I’m not sure where she’s joking, or she means it. “Seriously, have you ever dated a celebrity?”
She laughs. “Who me? Of course not. What would a celebrity see in me?”
“How can you say that? You’re the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen, both inside and outside. Any man, celebrity or not, would be lucky to date you.”
“Thank you,” she says. “I knew famous people a long time ago, and every little detail of their lives was published in newspapers and magazines. I think it’s a terrible life.”
I don’t think of my life as terrible, and even though I’m enjoying this interlude of being a regular Joe, I know that it’s not really my life. In my regular life, I stay away from places where I’ll be recognized. Since the accident, however, I’ve enjoyed months of anonymity. Like that actress who had a nose job and looked so different it nearly ruined her career, most people have no idea who I am now.
“Enough about that,” Grace says. “Hey, I want to take you out for dinner tonight to say thank you.”
“Sure,” I tell her.
We get to work, and after a little teasing from the guys in the day room, I head to the changing room. My mind is on the disturbing conversation I had with Grace in the car. What does that mean for us if she absolutely cannot date a famous person?
I see only one way out, and that is to keep my identity secret for as long as I can.
***
“That was a long day,” Grace says later as we head home.
“It was.” Today was really tough. I saw a lot of accidents in the ER, but I’ve never seen anything as gruesome as I did today.
Our first call was to respond to an accident on the highway that ended in a fatality. It involved a trailer and a Corvette. A three-inch piece of metal flew through the windshield of the corvette and embedded itself in the driver’s chest. Then there was a fire in a nursing home, and two old men lost their lives from smoke inhalation.
“Do you still want to go for dinner tonight?” I ask Grace when we reach her apartment.
“Yes,” she says. “It would be nice to unwind.”
“I’ll pick you up in an hour,” I tell her. “Can I use your car again?”
“Sure, no probs,” she says, and a jolt of guilt hits me at her kindness.
“Thank you.” My voice catches. I’ve never been in a situation where someone is being kind to me and getting nothing out of it. I’m so used to people fawning and sucking up that I forgot that genuine kindness exists.
“You’re welcome and see you later.” She plants a kiss on my mouth and leaves the car.
I should go home and relax for a bit and then get ready for dinner, but I need to talk. I drive west of the city to Greg’s gallery. He’s the only one of my friends who has seen me after the accident and knows how I look.
He was a good sounding board, when everyone, including my agent and publicists, was piling on the pressure to have more surgery to return my face to how it looked before. Between Greg and I, we concluded that at this stage of my career, my talent spoke for itself. I’ve been in at least fifty movies. My looks were altered permanently unless I went under the knife. My fans would get used to the new me.
I find a parking spot and stroll to the gallery entrance. I head straight to the stairs and take two at a time. On the second floor, his secretary stares at me blankly when I smile at her. I remember in time that she hasn’t seen my new look.
“Hi, my name is Jack Acker, and I’d like to see Mr. Forbes regarding some art pieces he might be interested in.”
“Is he expecting you?” she says coolly. This is the not-so-nice part about having a regular face. Now I know what they mean when they talk about gatekeepers. I’m going nowhere unless I pass Greg’s secretary’s test.
“He is,” I say confidently.
That seems to convince her, and she pushes her chair back and marches to Greg’s office. I tap my foot impatiently. Moments later, the door swings open.
She holds it open. “He’ll see you.”
I grin, and her expression changes as she tries to place me. I quickly wipe the smile from my face. My smile is the one thing that did not change. I step in and shut the door.
Greg stands up and comes around to man-hug me. “You’re lucky I remembered that stupid name you chose.”
“She made me sweat out there,” I say as I collapse in the visitor’s chair.
“That means she’s doing her job well. What’s this about paintings that I’d be interested in?” Greg asks.
I knew that would get his attention. “Yeah, I have them at home. You can come by any time to see them.”
“They must be pretty special,” Greg says, his eye gleaming.
“Yeah, they are. But that’s not why I’m here.” I jump to my feet and pace the room. I’m too restless to sit.
“Shoot,” Greg says.
I pause to look at him. “It’s a hypothetical question. Say you met a woman when you were under disguise, and you found yourself having feelings for her. It turns out that she despises the celebrity lifestyle, and dating a famous person is the one thing she would never do. Would you still tell her the truth about your identity?”
Greg contemplates me without speaking for a few seconds. “You met a woman at the fire station, right?”
“Just answer the fucking question, will you?”
He grins and then grows serious. “A lot of people say that until they actually date a famous person. That lifestyle quickly grows on you. The limo rides, the attention, expensive restaurants…”
“I think she means it,” I tell him.
He waves a dismissive hand. “They all do, at first.”
I’m growing impatient. “Back to the original question. Would you tell her who you were?”
He gives my question some thought. “No. I’d enjoy the affair while it lasted because the moment she finds out who you are, it’s over. She’ll change from a lover to a fan, and you don’t want a fan in your bed cooing over you.”
I think about Grace fawning over me and immediately dismiss the thought. That’s not her, and I can’t explain why I’m so sure, but I am.
