“The nude scene is a deal breaker.”
Tap, tap, tap.
“They may be willing to consider a body double.”
“No. The audience will think it’s me.”
“So what?”
“It’s a matter of personal integrity—and boundaries.”
“What’s wrong with stretching your boundaries?”
“Boundaries are there for a purpose. Mine aren’t budging.”
Tap, tap, tap.
“I can talk to them. See how much they’re willing to bend. But I’m not going to waste time, energy, and equity on negotiation unless you’re on board with this project.”
She watched the dark clouds gathering on the horizon, fighting a sudden wave of panic.
He wanted a commitment before going to bat for her—and she couldn’t blame him.
But despite the powerful script . . . despite the appeal of the part, absent the nude scene and language . . . despite the fact that this could be her ticket to superstardom . . . it wasn’t filling her with anything close to the breathless excitement she’d felt after winning her first tiny part in a low-end TV sitcom.
What was wrong with her?
Why couldn’t she get past all the garbage that accompanied success and focus on the positives?
Because Jason died.
She closed her eyes. Exhaled slowly.
Seeing up close and personal what could happen to someone who’d succumbed to the lure of fame and lost his compass had been chilling.
But that alone hadn’t tarnished the luster. The constant manipulation, relentless paparazzi, and privacy-invading tabloids were also getting old.
“Katherine? Are you willing to sign on if we work out your concerns?”
“I don’t know.” She sank back onto the lounge chair. “I need more time to think—and decompress.”
“I can’t hold them off forever.”
“What happened to buying me breathing space?”
“I did.”
“How much?”
“One month. They were willing to cut you slack because of the scandal. Also, they’re still finalizing funding and wooing the leading man.”
“Who are they trying to get?”
“They asked me to keep that confidential.”
“Come on, Simon. Who am I going to tell here? My main social contact has been a pair of seagulls.” She watched her two regular visitors strut around the manicured section of lawn.
He sighed. “If it helps convince you to give me a green light, I suppose I can share it—but keep this to yourself.”
Her jaw dropped as he revealed the name of the megawatt star.
“I’m hoping your stunned silence means that news persuaded you.”
“I would like to work with him.” The hint of a headache began to pulse in her temples. “I’ve always admired his talent.”
“Is that a yes?”
She gritted her teeth. Simon wanted answers, but she would not succumb to pressure tactics. That’s why her life had spiraled out of control in the first place.
“Not yet.”
“Fine.” But it wasn’t, based on his inflection. “You’ve got a month. That’s it. If you drag your feet, they’ll move on. I don’t have to tell you that any actress in Hollywood would kill for this opportunity.”
“No, you don’t.”
“I just want to be certain you’re clear about what’s being offered here.”
“I’m clear, Simon. I’ll call you.”
He hung up without saying good-bye.
Her stomach clenched, as it always did when he got miffed at her.
And that wasn’t healthy.
Over the past five years, she’d given him too much control over her life. As her sole ally on the rocky road to stardom, he’d become her go-to person for everything—career guidance, contract negotiations, emotional support.
It was a pattern that had to change, or it would become locked into stone.
That insight had been the one positive to come from the tragedy.
Katherine picked up the script and wandered back into the house, toward the kitchen. If she didn’t find an activity to engage her mind, the dull ache in her temples was going to morph into a raging headache.
As she filled a glass with water and scrounged through a drawer for her bottle of aspirin, the other FedEx delivery from yesterday registered in her peripheral vision.
Ah. The perfect diversion.
A supply of the finest quality chocolate . . . a huge bowl of fresh blackberries . . . a dozen recipes culled from the net for inspiration—those were the ingredients for a soothing afternoon.
And soothing was high on her priority list after her phone conversation with Simon.
Besides, there was also a practical excuse to indulge in her candy-making hobby. She owed her neighbor a thank-you for the cobbler, and handcrafted blackberry truffles would be perfect.
Plus, it would give her an excuse to visit the man who’d been showing up uninvited in her dreams.
A man she knew was available—thanks to her not-so-subtle probing about his marital status during their encounter on the beach.
A man who seemed interested in her despite her reticence and her imitation of a skittish sandpiper dodging waves whenever he encroached into her space.
She pulled out the bars made from 65 percent dark West African chocolate—her favorite for truffles—and got to work.
Whipping up fancy candies wasn’t going to solve her problems or help her reach any important decisions, but it was guaranteed to clear her mind of static and calm her.
And maybe, as she dipped and smoothed and rolled, a few of the elusive answers she’d been seeking would come to her.
It couldn’t hurt to add prayer to the mix either.
After all, where better for an appeal for divine guidance to produce results than in a town named Hope Harbor?
“You sure you don’t mind closing up alone today?” Zach handed Frank the bag of coffee a waiting customer wanted ground.
“Not at all. We’re in the home stretch, and the last couple of hours on Mondays are always quiet, as I recall from last time I switched shifts with Bren. You hear from your aunt yet?”
“No.” Zach checked his watch. “She was supposed to call from North Bend after the flight from San Francisco landed, before she drove down. That should have been an hour and a half ago.”
“She could have been delayed in San Francisco. The fog can wreak havoc with airline schedules.”
“Yeah—and I’ve been too busy to get an update on her flight status.” He pulled out his cell. “If you could handle the customers for a few minutes, I’ll—”
The door opened, and Aunt Stephanie swept in, beaming a smile his direction as she held out her arms. “My favorite nephew!”
Grinning, he returned the phone to his pocket, circled the counter, and pulled her into a hug. “My favorite aunt.”
“Also your only one—but let’s not quibble over details.” She returned his squeeze, then eased back to give him an assessing scan—and an approving nod. “Your new life agrees with you.”
“Yes, it does. And retirement agrees with you.” He gave her a once-over too. His aunt had always been trim and fashionable, and that hadn’t changed. Though dressed casually in form-fitting jeans and a wrap top, she exuded class and sophistication—along with her usual energy and enthusiasm. “Welcome to Hope Harbor.”