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I rip off my clothes and throw them across the room. I’ll be the only one seeing me naked anytime soon. Without even bothering to wash off my makeup, I pull on flannel sleep pants and a long-sleeved UCLA T-shirt. I curl up on my side under a scratchy bedspread, wishing I was back in my West L.A. apartment wrapped in my own puffy comforter.
I hear the ocean. Wave after wave after wave. I let the rhythm bring me back to some semblance of reason. My life nearly changed tonight. If I’d gone home with Jack, who knows how badly my future withThe Chieftain’s Sonmight have been screwed up. I should be relieved this one decision was taken out of my hands, but rationale is not preventing me from feeling damn miserable.
Did I just dodge a bullet or take one between the eyes?
ChapterEleven
I’m not used to the short hours of Irish daylight in February. The sun doesn’t sneak up until eight in the morning and it departs by four-thirty. I mean half-four.
It’s half-six on Friday, and everyone is in desperate need of a weekend. It’s also Valentine’s Day, as evidenced by the heart-shaped donuts Maureen brought in from her pastry chef.
I’ve been alone for the last two Valentine’s Days. Treat always had a client to wine and dine. I lick my lips, thinking about how close I came to looking across a table, or bed, at Jack this year on the day of hearts and flowers.
Collin and Danna’s smackdown in progress drags me away from impossible imaginings. They gesture wildly at the flatscreen in the writer’s room. The focus of their battleground is the patchwork of medieval swords I whipped up for them as a visual. Instead of moving them closer to consensus, my research escalates their argument.
Danna jabs a finger at the screen. “They’re all sleek and Nordic, Collin.”
The rapid, circular motions he makes with a pen on a legal pad produce the sketch of a tornado. I half expect him to draw Danna’s face on top. “That does not preclude the blade getting stuck in a briar and destroyed.”
Maureen blows on her tea. “Yeah, those Gallowglasses were always snapping their swords in half.”
Collin flicks his hand at her. “We need a life or death beat for Donal Cam in the battle. A fall or getting his sword knocked out of his hands kills the aura of his godlike warrior chops.”
“I agree,” huffs Danna. “But he’s got to earn the victory. No sword snapping in two.”
Collin brandishes an invisible blade. “Those suckers weren’t indestructible.”
The emotional landscape in here is fascinating. Details and accuracy throw friendly collaborators into cage matches. On a couch near the window, Benj and Benny have their heads together, fleshing out the climax scene of the season arc into a wallop that will leave fans breathless. It’s literally a climax since it’s the first time Donal Cam and Nieve tangle naked under the pile of furs in his bedchamber. First of many.
An image of Jack and Niks doing what Jack and I would have been doing last night if she hadn’t slammed back a vat of whiskey drives me straight for the tray of donuts. I don’t care if they’ve been sitting out for hours. The sugar content will preserve them until the next ice age.
Jack has not made an appearance today to snag a donut. That’s probably for the best since my insides are in a mishmosh over him. I’d be lying to myself if I didn’t include disappointment in the mix. Not one text or call from him today. My dark side concludes the silence is guilt based. Maybe Niks didn’t stay the night on the couch. She does have the body and face of a faerie queen. What guy could hold back if an ethereal being slipped between his sheets?
Jack said Niks wasn’t the woman he wanted in his bed, but she might have been the woman who ended up there.
“Gillian,” says Danna.
I swallow my bite of donut without chewing.
She focuses on her laptop, not even looking at me. “Nip over to weapons and bring us one of the Donal Cam swords.”
Bobby’s vision of a writer’s assistant not being a lackey hasn’t completely translated to the whole writing staff, mostly Danna. It doesn’t matter. I’m fascinated by this cast of characters and how they work. Watching five different temperaments and artistic processes coalesce to bring Deidre’s vision to life is a crash course in screenwriting.
“Sure.” I welcome the chance to escape the tension in the room.
“Wait a sec.” Collin glances at the clock on the wall. “Are props back from location?”
Danna makes a clicking sound with her mouth. “They lost the light hours ago.” She points a finger at him like a weapon. “Some people have plans tonight, Collin.”
Hours ago. So, Jack did have time to reach out to me today. I slip the phone from my pocket. Still no texts or missed calls from him. What am I doing? I give myself a cease and desist order before shoving my phone into the deepest, darkest recess of my pocket.
“Do you want me to go with you?” asks Maureen, hopefully.
I’m not the only one who’d like a break from the stress in the room. “Thanks, but I need practice finding my way around.” As I duck into my office to grab the map I scribbled of The Clan, the conversation shifts.
Maureen throws paper clips one at a time across the table into an empty coffee mug. “Has Bobby named a lead on the finale script yet?”
Collin grunts. “Naw. He’s still saying it’s to be determined.”
