Big & Beautiful 10: Round & Ravishing
Author
Mary E Thompson
Reads
104K
Chapters
22
Chapter 1
Book 10: Round & Ravishing
It always seemed strange to me to take a lunch break after only two hours of work. Why even bother? Then again, I was hungry. And any break from dealing with the incessant whining of brides who couldn’t make up their minds, or men thinking flowers would fix their mess, or, the worst, the guys buying flowers for a first date and asking me what the woman would like.
How would I know?
Just because I was a woman did not give me qualifications to understand all of them. Especially when we hadn’t met.
And no. A picture on Facebook of said woman was not going to help me figure it out. Not unless she was standing in front of a garden and pointing to a flower with the caption, ‘My favorite flower!’
Maybe a lunch break after two hours wasn’t such a bad idea.
I could hear my mom’s voice out front talking to a customer and struggled to drown it out. It’d been eight months since I’d moved home. Eight months since I gave up on my acting career and left California. Eight months since my mom called and said my dad wasn’t doing well and she needed the help. Eight months since I moved back in with my parents.
I wasn’t sure I could last eight more days.
It was like being back in high school again. Living by their rules. Working at Coming Up Daisies, my mom’s flower shop. Having no life.
I clicked online as I sat down with my lunch at the computer. There was one good thing about living with my parents. The food. Both my parents enjoyed cooking and always made enough food for me to have lunch the next day. It was one of the only things that kept me there. I enjoyed cooking, but it kind of sucked to cook for just myself.
Without really thinking about it, I clicked through to search for Patrick Williams. My ex. He’d finally made something of himself and instead of pulling me up the ladder with him, Patrick dumped me and moved on to another hot actress. Hotter. Skinnier. Younger.
It was the cliché I’d hoped to avoid becoming. And yet, I was it. The poster child for why you shouldn’t follow your dreams if they led you to fame and fortune.
But I’d kept my dignity. Sort of.
Articles filled the screen about Patrick. After the first big movie he directed, he was suddenly in demand. All the big studios wanted him. He was the next big thing, and in Hollywood, big was in.
Unless it was your dress size. Then small was in.
I skimmed through the first article and saw he booked a new film. On top of three he already had in the works. I hated that I was jealous of his success. At one point, we’d been partners. Living in a tiny apartment on the not-so-great side of town and eating Ramen noodles and mac and cheese. Instead of the limited diet boosting my career, he’d taken a chance on a movie that turned into a blockbuster. One that he never even mentioned to me until casting was done. One I would have been perfect for.
If the lead was not a tiny waif.
But it wasn’t meant to be. That’s what I told myself. I wasn’t ever really in love with him. I wasn’t meant to be famous and have a life in Hollywood. I couldn’t handle what that life demanded of me. I was destined to return home and read all about how wonderful my ex’s life was online while listening to my mom talk to a customer.
I clicked the next article and read a little more about the new movie. Then read one about the movie he’s going to be shooting next. They weren’t releasing details about where shooting would take place, only saying it was a small town. It wouldn’t be long before the details were out there. If shooting was supposed to start in a month or so, the media would need to know where to send people. Plus, they would need to cast extras and secure police support for road closures and countless other tasks that needed to be in place before everyone descended.
I closed that one since it didn’t give me any new information and sighed. One more article.
I knew I shouldn’t care what he was doing with his personal life, but it still irritated me that he’d dropped me so easily. Like we weren’t anything. He’d told me he loved me, but I guess Hollywood had a different interpretation of what love really was.
A picture of Patrick with his arm around Cassie Clarke filled the screen. He was looking at her like she hung the moon. His eyes were bright and loving, an expression I knew well. His smile was the one he’d always reserved for me. Not his I-want-you-to-like-me smile or his I-want-to-impress-you smile or his are-you-buying-this smile. It was the one he’d flashed me when he spotted me across the room at a party. Or when we were watching movies and comparing notes of how we would have done it better. Or when we were making love.
I scrolled up, not wanting to see that look anymore. I knew it wasn’t a look born of love. It was just another in his long line of fake smiles, but it still hurt more than I wanted it to that he was giving another woman that look.
I was not Cassie Clarke. And until Patrick hooked up with her, I wasn’t jealous of her dark, angled bob or her too perky breasts or her endless legs that she had no qualms about showing off or her willingness to do nude scenes.
She was Hollywood defined. And exactly why I was never a success.
I scanned through the article and saw that they were still the Hollywood ‘it’ couple. She was starring in one of his new movies but said she always worried about him going off on shoots. That she wanted to make sure he was faithful. I snorted. She had good reason to be worried. There were many reports that Patrick didn’t know how to keep it in his pants ever since he hit it big. I’d suspected him of cheating quite a few times, but I never had any proof.
It didn’t matter anymore.
Then I saw my name.
Patrick Williams’ ex, Tara Fisher, fell off the radar of Hollywood when Patrick became a household name. Rumors surrounded the couple for months following their break-up but neither confirmed nor denied any of them. Now, more rumors are circulating as-
“Tara! I need your help,” my mom hissed from the office doorway.
I turned to her, startled, then shook my head. “Just a second, Mom.”
“I can’t wait a second. I’m finishing up with a customer now and there’s another one in the shop that I said I’d be with soon. A third just walked in and I need to go in a minute to take your dad to the doctor’s office. I’m going to be late as it is.”
I huffed. “Fine,” I sighed, closing the browser. I’d read the rest of the article later. I definitely wasn’t news anymore so whatever they thought they’d dug up couldn’t possibly be urgent.
* * *
Ten minutes later my mom was out the door and I was finishing up with the guy I’d been helping. One of those who had no idea what he wanted for the woman he was taking out on a date. He’d gotten her daisies on their first date and said he thought she liked them, but it was date two so he was stepping things up.
He wanted roses.
Thankfully I talked him into irises.
“Are you sure she’s going to like these?”
I smiled and nodded, hoping he wouldn’t see the irritation I was trying to hide. “Of course. They’re beautiful flowers. I think roses would be too much for a second date. That’s what you send your wife on Valentine’s Day or carry in your wedding. Roses bring too much expectation to a second date.”
He looked a little disappointed but didn’t argue. I handed him back his card and thanked him, hoping Mom would be around to help him if he got a third date.
“How can I help you?” I asked the remaining customer.
He smiled, a warm, friendly smile, then glanced at the door. His dark eyes sparkled when he looked at me again. “That guy isn’t getting a third date.”
A bubble of laughter broke free before I could stop it. “Sorry.”
He shook his head and stepped closer. “Nothing to be sorry for. You know it’s the truth. If a man has to bring flowers to a date, he’s already trying too hard.”
“Oh, I don’t know. I think flowers are a kind gesture.”
“But a little old-fashioned. You seem like a modern, feminist sort. The kind of woman who would appreciate being impressed with something a whole lot flashier than a bouquet of flowers.”
I shrugged. His comments hit a little too close to home. After working in a floral shop most of my life, flowers had lost their appeal. But I knew I was in the minority. “I think we all have a duty to impress the person we’re dating. If we stop impressing them, the relationship falls apart. It doesn’t always have to be flashy though. Simple things can show how you feel.”
“Like a nice dinner.”
I shrugged. “Sure.”
“Maybe a night on the town.”
His dark brows lifted in suggestion, making me wonder if he really was hitting on me. He was cute. Dark hair cut short. Broad shoulders. A leather jacket that was worn but definitely not cheap. Jeans that hugged him very well. A night out with him might not be such a bad thing, but I snickered. “Not much of a town around here.”
He nodded. “True. Maybe a quiet night in. A favorite old movie?”
“I like movies,” I said with a grin. There was no way he could know watching old movies with my mom was part of what made me want to become an actress. Once I realized the women in movies got to play different roles, be different people, and they weren’t true stories of their lives, I fell in love with the screen. With the chance to be someone else. To do something else every day.
“I’m a big fan of movies. I especially enjoy the ones no one else watches. The ones only a select few ever see. It makes me feel like I’m getting a secret peek into another person. Like I know you better than the people who talk to you every day but don’t ever watch your movies.”
Tingles ran up my neck. Did he know who I was? That I used to act? Was there a chance he was a stalker and followed me out to Winterville? If he left California to find me in New York, I needed to get rid of him as quickly as possible. “Sure. Um, sorry. I wasn’t thinking. Is there something I can help you with?”
He stepped even closer, close enough that he could touch me if he wanted to. I was suddenly very aware of the fact that we were completely alone.
“I actually came here to talk to you, Tara.”
“How do you know my name?”
He shrugged. “A lot of people know your name. You were never very good about hiding who you were.”
“What do you want?” I asked, fear and anxiety swirling in my gut and making me feel sick. Maybe if I threw up on him he wouldn’t attack me.
I backed up to the counter and worked my way around it, putting something solid between us. If he lunged, I’d have a few seconds to figure something out.
Like where in the hell were our shears?
“I’m not here to hurt you, Tara.”
“Isn’t that what all murderers say?”
He laughed. Damn him for having a sexy laugh. Men as creepy as him shouldn’t be allowed to be hot. It would be a shame to have to ruin his face, or his leather jacket, if he tried to hurt me.
“Honestly, I’ve never met a murderer. At least,” he paused and tapped his chin with his index finger, “I don’t think I have. I just came here to talk to you.”
“About dating?” I asked, not buying his act for one more second. The only thing I couldn’t figure out was what he wanted from me. Or why.
He laughed again but didn’t move closer. “Well, dating is one topic I’d be interested in discussing with you. You could tell me a little about your dating history.”
“Why do you care?”
He shrugged, failing to appear indifferent. “I’m a curious person.”
“A lot of people are curious. I don’t know anything about you. Why would I tell you anything about me?”
He extended his hand and waited for me to shake it. When I did, he squeezed my palm gently, but let go. Thank God. “I’m Thomas Hinson. I’m a big fan of your movies. I really hated that that asshole ran you out of town. I was looking forward to seeing you on the big screen one day.”
I shook my head. “I was never meant for the big screen.”
“Isn’t that what you wanted? I read an interview you did a few years ago that said you were hoping to grab a spot in a big movie. A spot that would make you a household name.”
I shrugged. “Maybe once upon a time. It’s not meant for me. I wasn’t willing to do what it took to make it in Hollywood.”
“Like the surgeries and the nudity?”
“Among other things,” I said, hoping he didn’t know all the things I did when I first started in Hollywood. The things that made me feel sick, but I did them because I thought that was how you had to be.
“Patrick was willing to do whatever it took though. That’s how he got his first hit, right?”
“It’s different for directors. He’s not on-screen.”
Thomas shrugged. “He has to give interviews.”
“Yeah, but not everyone is going to see an interview. Hopefully they’ll all see a movie.”
“I think everyone saw a copy of Patrick’s last interview. Even though it was only an online magazine. They said a picture is worth a thousand words, right?”
I shrugged, wondering why Thomas cared what I thought about Patrick’s interview. “I guess. I haven’t seen it.”
Eyebrows spiked high into his hair. “Really? You didn’t see it?”
I shook my head. “No. Why would I care what Patrick is up to? We’ve been over for a long time and I’m not in the industry anymore.”
“That may be the case, but you’re definitely still news. Especially when Patrick shared nude photos of you online.”
“Excuse me?” I whispered, shocked and horrified and hopeful the guy was lying.
He laughed. The sound I found sexy just minutes earlier became predatory and frightening. “You really didn’t know, did you? You were always so high and mighty with your nudity clauses. Never wanted anyone to see you naked. And instead, your picture is posted all over the internet compliments of your ex who rose to fame after he dumped you. This is rich! I can’t believe I’m the first one to find you.”
“Get out!” I yelled. “Get the fuck out of here!”
He laughed and shook his head. “I don’t think so. I have every right to be here. And I doubt your mom would be too happy if she found out you threw me out when I was just trying to order some flowers.”
I grabbed the shears and stepped out from behind the counter. “I said get out. Now. You will not stand here and threaten me.”
“Whoa!” He backed up. “Don’t stab me.”
“Don’t threaten me.”
He chuckled and moved toward the door. “I’ve always hoped I’d get the chance to meet you. Your movies really were great to watch. Especially Trapped. That was my favorite.”
I cringed. Bile rose in my throat. My palms were sweaty. My neck hurt from my attempt to keep my shit together. My knuckles were white. He needed to get out.
I moved forward again, keeping the shears pointed at him. “Get out.”
He threw up his hands and laughed again. “Okay, I’m gone. But I’ll be back Tara Fisher. You can’t hide from me.”
