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Blood stops flowing through my body. I don’t dare look at Jack. Do I deny it? Do I let him deny it? My mouth opens and closes.
Megs drops her head in her hands.
Jack breaks the silence. “Yes, Gilly and I were together in Sneem.” He reaches across the table as if to take my hands.
I sit back, attempting to casually move out of his reach. We tread dangerous ground here. One of us has to be sensible. “Jack offered to give me a tour of the Ring of Kerry, and I took him up on it. A day of sightseeing, that’s all.”
Meg’s eyes narrow to slits. “Gilly, is it?”
Oh, crap.
Jack waves her off. “Where’s the harm in helping a friend know a bit more about the land she’ll be writing about?”
“The same harm we dealt with when you got caught taking Niks on that private tour of New York during the press junket.”
Private tour of New York? Unwelcome imaginings of Jack walking hand in hand with Niks through snow-covered Central Park invade my brain.
“Photos, explanations, disclaimers, speculation.” Meg presses fingers to her eyelids. “I know your heart is in the right place, Jack, but it isn’t your responsibility to play big brother to every female who joins the team.”
I like the sound of “big brother,” especially in regards to Jack and Niks. It adds an unlooked-for corroboration to his denial of any romantic feelings betweenThe Chieftain’s Sonstars. Still, there is some mystery between the two that I wish he’d just come clean about. I’m trying hard not to let the slobbering green-eyed monster dig its fangs into me, but a dangling secret poses a real challenge to keep the beast at bay.
Meg’s voice is a dagger of ice as her hard expression targets Jack and then pans over to me. “Both of you, listen very carefully. I can’t shake the feeling this meet up is a little too cozy. Whatever you are not telling me”—Jack tries to speak, but Meg slashes the air with a long, deadly looking French-tipped fingernail—“puts us all on dangerous footing with True Time.”
Jack presses his leg against mine. My eyes are glued to a soup spoon.
Meg taps her finger hard on the tabletop in front of Jack. “They insist on orchestrating your image, Jack.” She searches the restaurant, undoubtedly on the hunt for raised cell phone cameras. “I’m afraid the best way to diffuse mystery girl rumors is to escalate the buzz over an off-screen relationship with Niks.”
He attempts to break in again. “I don’t think—”
Meg cuts him off. “Getting caught with anyone but Niks”—Meg jerks her chin at me—“could sabotage our entire media strategy.” She lets out a gust of air that ruffles her bangs. “We are only three aired episodes in. The momentum on popularity for both you and the show, Jack, has meteoric potential. Deidre LaRochelle’s books hold scores of hearts and groins in the palm of their hands. Wewillcash in on that.” She pounds a fist on the table.
Jack’s voice is preternaturally calm. “I feel this conversation is turning into a manifesto.”
“Gillian isn’t blind to the effect of Donal Cam and Nieve’s story on women.” Meg’s eyes beseech me to agree. “Are you willing to dilute that lure by killing Jack’s mystique?”
“I’d never—” My eyes shift to Jack. He gives a curt shake of the head for me not to finish my sentence, but I can’t stop. “Compromise Jack’s image.”
Meg huffs. “Bless me with simple victories.” Her expression shifts from steel to a softer metal. “Please understand the position this puts me in with True Time. If I can’t sell Jack as unattached, then the next best move is to offer up Niks and him as the real deal. I fail to pull that off and my association withThe Chieftain’s Sonwill be as short-lived as an Irish heat wave.”
I bite my lip to keep from bursting into tears. Sticking with this show is the future I didn’t see coming until it fell into my lap. I can’t go back to who I was, what I was. I have a shot at a creative life. Bobby believes in me and can guide me into a career that I was made for. If I burn that bridge before the paint dries, I suspect it might not just be Meg’s future with the show that’s screwed.
Jack’s foot exerts a gentle pressure on mine, urging me to hit the brakes on my mouth. He leans an elbow on the table to speak softly to Meg.
“You’re jumping to doomsday prophecies.”
Jack is an eternal optimist. Meg’s worries about the scope of this mess feels closer to the mark. If what she says about Bobby possibly having a thing for me has even a grain of truth, I’ll lose his trust for good when he finds out I’ve hooked up with Jack. I’ll be branded a traitor. A traitor to his signals, traitor to Meg and True Time’s public vision for the show and its people, and traitor to the opportunity Bobby Provost, the golden boy showrunner, laid at my feet.
I ignored the voices in my head and fell for Jack. How many times do I have to get kicked in the teeth before I accept that hush-hush relationships are toxic? I took my first steps down a pretty path of independence, and then let a blinding burst of desire derail me. I’m repeating the same god-damned pattern. Treat kept us behind a curtain, and Jack has no choice but to do the same. If a relationship can’t catch the sunlight, it isn’t capable of shining.
Every doubt simmering in my head and heart about a relationship with Jack erupts. Despite a savage pain to my heart, I’m struck with an urge to run as far and fast as possible.
Meg grabs my hand. “Gillian, I am thinking of you as well. Do you have any concept of the avalanche of hate you’ll find yourself buried under if his fans find out about you? It’s a no-win. You’ve either killed their dreams of being Jack’s great love or come between the budding romance between Niks and him.” She lays her free hand over Jack’s. “Do you wish that on her?”
He looks wretched.
Meg pulls her hands away and drains the rest of her wine before zeroing in on us again. “Do I have your word that this goes no farther?”
Jack runs a finger down the side of his whiskey glass. “There’s playing the game, and playing with people’s lives, Meg.”
