The Redhead Plays Her Hand (Redhead #3)(33)
Author: Alice Clayton

Was my body a little out of control right now? I couldn’t honestly say yes, because while I had abandoned the cucumber-and-air idiocy, I was eating and exercising with the same zeal I had been for the last few years.

I shook my head to clear it, getting ready for the last interview. A beautiful blonde from ENT breezed into the room, shaking hands with me and smiling her perfect teeth at the camera as they miked her. Holly reminded her once more what she could and couldn’t ask, and she smiled again. The camera light went on, and we made nice for a few moments—about the series, my costars, the usual. I stifled a yawn as I went through the motions, thinking about getting a dirty martini as soon as this was all over, wondering if I could talk Holly into joining me. I snorted a little at the thought of her turning down a cocktail, losing my focus, and that’s when the deer-in-headlights happened.

“I’m sorry, what?”

“I said, what do you think about the pictures that we released just this afternoon?”

“Pictures? Sorry, I’ve been inside all day. What pictures are you talking about?” I asked, my eyes fluttering to Holly, who shrugged her shoulders, clearly not knowing what was going on either.

“Oh, of course. You probably haven’t seen them yet, have you? Here, I have some copies with me,” she purred, handing me a stack of prints. Before they were even in my hand, I could see they were of Jack. And a girl. A girl wearing not a lot of clothing. And by not a lot I mean panties and that was it. They were kissing, his hands in her hair and her hands on his chest. Passionate. Intense. Shot after shot of his mouth on hers, on her neck, on her—

I thrust them back at her, my hands shaking. Holly was about ready to climb out of her skin, pacing in a room that was too small for pacing.

“How do these pictures make you feel, Grace? I mean, come on, isn’t it about time you two admit your relationship? Or is it not cheating if you’ve never really said you were an item?”

I stared at her. I was rattled, totally rattled.

“Is this because of the weight gain? Men can be so funny about that, can’t they?” she asked, her face painted with fake concern.

“My weight gain?”

“Oh, well sure. It can’t be a coincidence that just as you began to put on weight, sorry, put back on, that’s when Jack started stepping out all over town? Care to comment?”

Holly stepped between us. “That’s it. This interview is over,” she snapped, shielding me from the camera. “You knew what was off-limits.”

“Oh, please, Holly, it’s what we all want to know, but no one had the guts to ask. This is news. I have an obligation to my audience to—”

“Get over yourself, Barbie. We’re through. Grace, let’s go.”

She turned to me, pulling me out of the chair and walking me from the room, keeping herself between me and the camera the entire time. I was still frozen, shocked but furious with myself for not being able to respond. How had this happened? And what were those pictures? I turned back into the room, looking again at the stack of pictures on the table, the camera following me as I was ushered away, the simpering look on the interviewer’s face as she knew she’d gotten me.

Damn . . . this town was vicious.

Once Holly got me into the other room, she went back in. I could hear her yelling. She was on a tear, and I was very glad to not be on the receiving end of it. That reporter wouldn’t get another interview for years with me, or Jack, or any of Holly’s clientele. I rubbed my eyes and kicked off my heels, trying to center and breathe and come to terms with what I had just seen.

Check yourself here. We don’t know what we just saw.

We saw Jack with his hands on another woman. That’s what we saw.

I’d like another look at those . . .

Just as I was thinking about heading back in to get the pictures, Holly burst through the door, cheeks flushed red and her don’t-fuck-with-me face on. She had the pictures in her hand, and she was slapping on her reading glasses, which she didn’t officially have.

“Barbie is gone. You might see her doing the weather in some little town in Oregon, but she’s not working here again.” Holly placed the pictures on the table in front of us. “I wanted another look at these.”

“Oh, Christ, I want to look, but I don’t want to look. Does that make sense?”

“Of course it does, fruitcake. Let’s not drop our teeth here. Let me just take a look . . . Mmm-hmm,” she said under her breath, holding one up to the light. There he was: Jack, in all his glory. The shaggy curls were gone, replaced by his buzz cut. Whatever this was, it was recent. I gasped as I took in the images again, his hands all over this woman. Whoever she was, they were passionate. I felt my heart drop, could he have really . . . Jesus, could he?

“Wait a minute! Christ on a crutch, this is from his movie! Oh, I could throttle that Barbie!” Holly cried, thrusting the pictures back to me. “This is from his new movie. That’s the girl they’ve been shooting with. She’s an actress. You can even see the crew off to the side if you squint. What a bitch!”

I examined the pictures, my heart still pounding but beginning to regulate a bit.

“Grace, she did this just to throw you.” Holly scrolled through her phone. “Damn those vultures. They’ve had this up all day too, claiming he’s having a fling with a costar.”

She handed me the phone. I snatched it to look for myself. With a headline made to make people stop and read, the article had zero facts and tons of hot pics, which made it the most clicked-on story of the day. And, of course, there was me at my heaviest, meant to draw a contrast between who I was and who Jack should be dating now.

“Son of a bitch,” I seethed, scrambling for my own phone. Texts had been pouring in from Jack all day.

Crazy—call me before you open any emails today . . .

Hey, make sure you call me when you get a break, ok?

Right then. You’ve either seen them and are laughing at how low these prats will sink, or you’ve seen them and are pissed, which I can’t blame you for. Please call me as soon as you can . . .

As I was reading the last of the texts, he called. I answered.

“Grace?”

“Yep.”

“You saw them.”

“Yep.”

“Fucking ridiculous. Is Holly with you?”

“Yep.”

“You tell her next time she needs to be out in front of something like this. I’m bloody well tired of this.”