The Unidentified Redhead (Redhead #1)(6)
Author: Alice Clayton

The best part of the house was the infinity pool that had the nicest view of all: downtown L.A. She even had the requisite hot tub, which is where I ended up after swimming laps for about thirty minutes. I had gotten myself back into shape by doing many different things, one of which was swimming at least three times a week.

I relaxed in the hot water, letting the jets massage away the last remnants of the alcohol and the way it had kicked my ass today. I took a sip from my water bottle and my gaze fell on the stack of magazines.

Oh, what the hell. You promised.

As I began to read, I remembered how insane Holly looked when she described her attachment to these stories. I had some trepidation, to say the least, as I did not want to succumb to the madness that so clearly had her in its grip. Sexy scientist Joshua, huh? We’ll see …

I was real y getting into it when I heard voices coming from inside the house.

I glanced in and saw Holly and a tall, good-looking man walking toward the French doors, making their way outside to where I was. She was dressed in a black wrap-around dress with gorgeous snakeskin sandals.

Damn, she looks good. She must have had a date with that tall drink of water … wait, is that Jack?

As they got closer and stepped out onto the patio, I realized this was not the same guy I met last night, and yet it was.

This was not the scruffy Hollywood hipster I was bantering with in the kitchen. This was a very handsome man dressed in a dark gray suit and tie, clean shaven, with gorgeous shaggy-blond curls. The night before, he’d had that damn baseball cap on and I couldn’t see the perfection that was his hair. I had a weakness for curly hair.

Crap, hide the magazine. HIDE THE MAGAZINE!

I quickly threw my shirt over the stack next to me, composing my face in what I hoped was a neutral expression.

“Hey, Gracie. I see you’re feeling better!” Holly called out as they closed the distance to the hot tub.

“Much better. I took a swim and now I’m just relaxing,” I answered. I was at a disadvantage, sitting so much lower than them, when Jack squatted down, resting on his heels.

“Hey, Sheridan. This is very Hollywood of you. Hot tub, moonlight, view of the city … ” he observed.

“Strategically placed jets of water for my enjoyment,” I countered, winking at him as Holly groaned behind him.

“Jesus, Grace, you are too much,” she said, laughing.

“Yep, that’s true. I am too much. Now hand me that towel. I’m pruning here,” I said. Holly obliged and then sat down in a chair, kicking off her high heels. “So, what are you guys up to tonight?” I asked, taking the hand Jack had offered to help me out of the water.

He gave me the towel, but not before I noticed him glancing down at my black racing suit. It wasn’t as flashy as a bikini, but come on, I wasn’t out there for a Sports Il ustrated cover. The way he was looking at my toned legs, flat stomach and strong arms, I would say those workouts were paying off. I shook my long hair, squeezing the water out before toweling off my body and slipping into the chair next to Holly. Jack took the seat facing us as we talked.

They had attended a dinner for People that night, and Jack was quite a hit.

I got the sense from talking to the two of them that this film was a bigger deal than I had realized, and he was getting quite a bit of buzz. They had spent most of the night meeting industry people and working the room.

That was what made Holly so good at her job. People forget that it is called show business for a reason, and it takes a lot of work to launch a career in the right way. All too often, a young talent gets lost in the shuffle of a hyped movie and then, without the right follow-through, they’re last year’s news. Holly was great at making sure that the actors she managed worked on projects that challenged them creatively, as well as succeeding commercially. To do that, you had to work the room sometimes, as they had done tonight.

While Jack joked about some of the funny people they had met and the Time hoopla that I was beginning to understand was unavoidable, I got the sense that he wasn’t quite comfortable with it yet. That was good, though—too many take themselves too seriously, and they burn out fast.

Holly was beginning to tell stories about when we had first moved out to L.A. so many years ago, and I knew it wasn’t going to be long before she embarrassed me.

“So, there was Grace, and she’s singing her little heart out for this director.

She’s convinced she’s going to get the part. She’s giving it her all and when she’s finished, she stands center stage, looking like she deserves a Tony for this performance,” she paused, looking at me for confirmation.

“Yeah, so there I am, thinking I nailed it. I was finally going to get cast in this new musical,” I continued. “Then I noticed that the director is dressed awfully casually for this audition. Too casually.”

“Like he is wearing a jumpsuit and has a bucket of cleaning supplies and mop next to him!” she screams, collapsing on Jack’s shoulder in laughter.

“What? Why was a director dressed like that?” he asked.

“Because he wasn’t the director, he was—”

“—the janitor,” I finished, hiding my face in my hands.

“Grace gave the audition of her life for a freaking janitor! She was so mortified she ran offstage and out to her car and was gone before anyone even knew what happened!” She gasped through her laughter.

“But I bet he was thoroughly entertained,” I reminded her.

Hol y’s phone rang, interrupting the moment, and she excused herself to take the call, chuckling. I shivered a little from the night air, still in my bathing suit.

“You should probably go get out of that wet suit. You’re going to catch cold.

I should get going anyway,” Jack said, getting up to hand me another towel.

“Yeah, it is getting late. I’ll walk you out,” I answered, standing up next to him.

He draped the towel around my shoulders and rubbed them a little bit to warm me up. We passed Holly still on the phone, and she gave him a kiss and mouthed the words, “Call you tomorrow.”

“So, Sheridan. Does this mean you’re a singer?” he asked.

“Yep, I was singing even before I was acting.” I sighed as we walked through the house toward the front door.

“Why do you say it like that, like it makes you sad?” he asked, turning to face me.

“It doesn’t make me sad. I just don’t sing as often as I used to, and I miss it sometimes. I’m actually going to start singing again at some open mike nights soon—next week in fact.” I smiled in anticipation of this.