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“And Chieftain Rory O’Connor, his soldiers, and his people, right down to washer women and cooks.”
A wave of something akin to dizziness makes me lay a hand against the wall to steady myself. This isn’t a job. I’ve walked into a world, a universe. Bobby Provost’s universe.Holy crap. I almost killed him with a golf shot.
“And you’ve invited me into all of this.” Imposter syndrome seeps into my bones. I’m in the land of artisans and experts. What the hell is a girl who writes about the way a raincoat reflects rainbows doing here?
Bobby lays hands on my shoulders. “You were already here.Traipse of Moonlighthelped build our vision.”
God.I hope I can live up to his expectations.
Bobby’s phone alarm goes off as we turn a corner. “Table read. Are you ready to meet the family?” he asks.
Up ahead, the music of a dozen conversations chases around the room. The hallway ends at a big glass wall with double doors framed in brushed nickel. On the other side is my future.This is it.Once I step through that looking glass, there is no going back. My entire body buzzes.
Bobby propels me forward. We navigate a few cliques, heading deeper into the crowd. Running nearly the length of the room is a table massive enough to host an actual chieftain’s post-cattle-raiding banquet. In addition to seats at the table, lines of chairs stretch along side walls. Above them are coats of arms with the names O’Connor, MacMurrough, and O’Suileabhain beneath them. At one end, a huge flat-panel monitor is mounted high on the wall.
Bobby nabs a remote from the table and points it at the screen. “Here we go.”
When a trailer for the premier episode of the show blasts onto the monitor, the room goes into suspended animation. That’s when I see a familiar profile.
Jack O’Leary.
He sits at the head of the table, hair tied back in a low ponytail, much more period than the man bun he sported yesterday. My stomach drops to my knees when it registers his arm is draped around a stunning beauty with hair so white it looks like frosting. Niks Tellefson. I’m witness to Donal Cam and Nieve snuggling in real time.
The room bursts into applause when the clip ends and the logo forThe Chieftain’s Sonblasts onto the screen. More hoots and hollers follow as reviews for the series scroll by. They’re amazing, all from top-level entertainment news sources and showbizzy magazines. Deidre LaRochelle’s bestseller jumped off the page and hit the stratosphere.
Bobby slaps backs and grins. He raises both arms in victory. “We’re a hit!” He’s answered with a roar that shakes the glass wall.
I sneak another glance at Jack and Niks. He pulls her in for a peck on the cheek and then they’re both swallowed up by others for congratulations. No mistaking how very cozy they are with one another. Beyond cozy…connected, like they are actually a thing.
Why did he kiss me last night? I wanted to believe he was as sweet and genuine as he seemed.Are you that big an idiot, Gilly?He’s an actor for Heaven’s sake—a good one, apparently, judging from the reviews. The man didn’t even bother to tell me his real name. To top it off, we were both drunk. If Meg hadn’t ridden in on a paparazzi wave, who knows what idiocy that kiss could have led to. I’d better remember to thank her for that someday. Time to tread more carefully in this realm where romance refuses to stay on the page.
“Come with me,” says Bobby, dragging me toward the head of the table.
His movement is a signal, and people settle at the table or the chairs along the walls. Scripts open, pencils appear, and laptops spring to life as the table read is about to begin.
“Good morning, everyone. Before we get started, I’d like to introduce you to Gillian Bettencourt.”
Jack’s head snaps up at the mention of my name.
“Author ofTraipse of Moonlightand our new writer’s assistant.”
I’m absolutely floored by the sheer volume of applause. A woman with kinky red hair about halfway down the table starts to pump her fist in the air. “Traipse, Traipse, Traipse!” The room picks up her chant. Everything blurs a smidge as I realize how many of these people have read my manuscript. I give a stupid, little wave.
Bobby pulls out a chair for me. “And if you need any coaching on your golf swing, this is the woman to talk to. Right, J?”
If I don’t acknowledge Jack now, it’ll be weird. There’s a beat before we look at each other. His smile is as warm as the hand I held across the table last night.
“Eight strokes off my last round says yes.” He throws me a salute.
Bobby goes on about the killer reception the show is enjoying, giving me an excuse not to look at Jack. Despite my better judgement, I dwell on how fast we connected at the tournament yesterday. My lips savor that single sweet kiss from a man called Jay that ignited an attraction in me I thought I was incapable of feeling after years of a worn-thin relationship with Treat.
“And welcome back to Niks and Jack after the insanity of their promo tour.”
Niks assumes a pouty face that makes her look a thousand times more sensual. “Never send me to New York in February again, Bobby.”
Her Norwegian accent is a jarring contrast to the Irish lilt I just heard from her in the trailer.
At the head of this table sit a pair of gorgeous human beings, oozing with chemistry, who’ve been thrown together on planes, interviews, and in hotels for weeks. There must have been dozens of possibilities for intimacy on such a junket. I can’t think of Jack as anything more than a careless night in a pub.Move along, Gilly.
