“I heard someone special was going to be on the set. I thought we could scope things out.” Jillian’s foot swung a little, and her gaze traveled out the window with an evil little gleam. “There are a lot of big names and handsome men starring. I hope you won’t get distracted.”
Brooke had lost count of the number of movie sets, parties, and events she’d attended in Jillian’s shadow, but never once had she acted inappropriately. And, oh, the opportunities… They appeared around every corner. This business was second only to a brothel in sexual activity.
Don’t kill J. At least not until after the appointment.
Brooke ground her teeth and pictured her nephew.
Another year for Brooke was nothing. Justin still had a lifetime to face.
“You’re always my first priority, Jillian.” Brooke forced a smile and held Keaton in the back of her mind. Knowing she’d get to see him tonight would be what got her through another trying day. “I haven’t heard you talk about anyone special in a while.”
“Hmm. I reconnected with him last month at Steven’s birthday party in Beverly Hills. The one you didn’t attend because your nephew had a little…contest of some sort, remember?”
It had been a robotic competition that Justin had been working toward for six months, and he’d won first place in his age group for the entire county. So Brooke smiled at Jillian’s attempt to make her feel jealous over missing Steven Spielberg’s birthday party, which couldn’t have meant any less to her. Nothing against Steven, but she’d never met the man. Justin, however, would have been crushed if she’d missed his competition.
“I do,” Brooke said, remembering how excited Justin had been that day. And she also knew what Jillian meant by reconnecting, but she wasn’t touching the topic of her boss’s sex life, so she refocused on work. “I can check around when we reach the set to see if we can get some promo shots today, how does that sound? You look gorgeous today, and photos of you in blue always make your eyes pop in magazines.”
“That’s a nice idea,” Jillian said, staring out the window. “Even nicer if we can find my friend. I’d love to get some…suggestive…candids with him.”
Brooke frowned. Jillian was in a drawn-out divorce from a billionaire entrepreneur who had turned Jillian in for a much younger, perkier model two years before. It didn’t help that the soon-to-be-ex himself was also younger than Jillian. Or that Jillian was struggling against a bulletproof glass Hollywood ceiling where the age limit was set so low, anyone too old to limbo might as well lie down and die.
But Jillian’s narcissism had perpetrated a lot of her own problems. That coupled with vengeance for her husband taking up with a younger woman… Well, simply put, nothing good could come of Jillian’s desire to see this mystery man—today or any day in the near future.
“At our last meeting with Charlotte, didn’t she say it would be better if you didn’t—”
“Charlotte doesn’t understand publicity.” Jillian waved Brooke’s comment away.
In fact, Charlotte was one of the best publicists in the industry. And she’d told Jillian to lay off the younger men—for her career and her divorce. Pictures of herself in “suggestive candids” with this guy were Jillian’s way of walking into the fire because she needed to feel the burn to know she was alive. She could be self-destructive in a lot of ways. This was only one.
“You two, I swear, you’re both so young.” Jillian sighed in exasperation, then looked down at her hands with an expression Brooke had never seen before. Confusion? Pain? “You’ll both understand someday. It’s not easy to get old. Especially in this business. It strips you down. Takes everything. Leaves you with nothing.”
A pang of pity pulled in Brooke’s chest. Pity was an emotion Brooke rarely experienced. Everyone had problems, and everyone chose how they dealt with them. She didn’t have a lot of sympathy for people who simply chose poorly and wanted to sit around and complain about it.
But from Brooke’s perspective, Jillian’s life was hard in a lot of ways that weren’t visible to the naked eye. She may have money, but money didn’t provide the kind of security Jillian needed—job security, emotional security. Everything Jillian produced for her job came from inside her. Jillian created something out of nothing but raw Jillian. And when a person gave and gave and gave without some other source of support, without some other way to refuel and refresh their soul…shit happened. Addiction, depression, and suicide happened. Crazy happened.
Brooke had seen it in the music industry over and over.
“Sometimes you’re put on a trajectory with the people you need most, right when you need them. Sometimes even before you need them,” Jillian said, looking out the window, her gaze distant. “The perfect time, the perfect place, the perfect second chance. That’s what this feels like.”
This was stolen wisdom—it certainly wasn’t Jillian’s. Brooke knew if she pressed Jillian on what those words meant, she wouldn’t be able to answer. Most of the time, Brooke felt like Jillian was living from the pages of a script, even when no one else was around.
But she didn’t challenge Jillian or even speak to her for the rest of the short drive. Instead, she thought of Keaton. Of how their paths had collided. But this wasn’t the perfect time or place for the two of them to connect. And they’d never had a real first chance, so this couldn’t be the second.
Still…there was something magical about meeting up with him again. And about connecting so instantly and completely. Her travels with Ellie had introduced Brooke to a lot of people. More than she could ever count or than she’d ever remember. Yet she couldn’t say she’d been so comfortable so instantly with many people in her life.
The limo turned into a lot and stopped. Their driver, Henry, spoke to the guard at the gate, and Brooke lowered a window so she could show the guard their passes. As soon as the glass was back in place and the car started moving again, Jillian had her mirror out to check her perfect makeup, searching for reassurance and accolades from Brooke.
And once the primping was done, the plotting began.
“Now, you just stay with me. Once I find him, you can make arrangements with a photographer.”
As soon as Henry opened the door, Jillian hopped out and was gone. The older man offered his hand, and Brooke took it as she climbed out.
“Whoa,” she said, tucking her arm through Henry’s and pulling her sunglasses over her eyes. “I just stepped into the oven.”
“Gonna be a hot one today.”
She frowned at Henry. “Do you have a cool place to hang?”