No Need to Ask (2 page)

“I’m at your place and you have no food in your kitchen,” Trudy said.

“Sorry, I didn’t make it to the supermarket last night.” Jillian picked up a goosenecked lamp and studied it for a moment before setting it aside. Close, but the base was too petite. “Too busy having dirty sex with my ex-husband.”

“I’m ordering in,” Trudy said. “I don’t know what, but a lot of it, and if you don’t get here fast, most of it will be gone.”

“Almost done, promise. Just looking for the perfect reading lamp.”

“For Maisy?” Trudy laughed. “She makes her assistants read everything for her.”

“No. For me.” Jillian took another hopeful scan, willing something to jump out at her, but had to admit that what she was looking for wasn’t there. “I’ll be out of here in 15, 20 minutes tops. Order from the Thai place. Menu’s next to the fridge.”

Jillian shoved her phone back into her pocket and closed her eyes for a moment. Habitat was her favorite place in the world. It was crammed full of treasures, just waiting to be discovered and carried off to a good home.

“Find anything?” Ives, the proprietor, called from the top of the stairs. He was a short but elegant man in his 50s who’d retained his hard-to-pin-down European accent even though he’d lived in Los Angeles for close to half his life.

“I always do, thanks to you.” Jillian  walked back to the vases she’d set out on a long wooden table. She only needed a couple, having never been one for knick-knacks. She selected two and, regretfully, left the rest behind for someone else to find.

Upstairs at the counter, Jillian wrapped items in newspaper and set them in a box as Ives rang her up. Jillian handed over her credit card, knowing that the $300-plus total included a generous discount from Ives.

“You’re paying my rent, my dear,” Ives said as he adjusted his thick-framed glasses on his nose. “And has your client paid her bills?”

“Not as this of morning.” Jillian tried to convince herself it was worth carrying a balance on her credit cards for the introductions working with Maisy would lead to.

“No luck on the lamp?” Ives asked, as always knowing when it was time to leave a painful subject alone.

“Unfortunately, no. You have a couple that might work on the show, but I’m willing to wait for the right one,” she said, trying to not lose hope or question why it had taken her so long to buy a lamp she wasn’t sure even existed. “I’ll know when I see it.”

“I will do my best to make sure you and your perfect lamp are brought together.” Ives smiled, then frowned before he handed her back her credit card. “It’s been declined.”

“Of course it has,” Jillian sighed as she pulled out her checkbook.

Two

Jillian checked her messages while Owen was distracted by the waitress’s surgically-enhanced cleavage. The more he looked, the less Jillian felt like going to bed with him.

Not that his behavior surprised her. Her ex-husband was a chronic flirt, habitually late and prone to making promises he never intended on keeping. Those flaws, a few others as well as some of her own, had contributed to the failure of their marriage.

But when it came to sex, he never failed to deliver. She’d never call what they did together making love (even back when they were supposedly in love), but she had always appreciated how thoroughly attentive he’d been to meeting her sexual needs.

Jillian looked at Owen, admiring his strong profile. Always a gorgeous man, his neatly-pressed pilot’s uniform only ramped up his appeal. She’d largely taken it for granted, but every once in a while was reminded of the kind of impact he had on other women. Their waitress was clearly taken by Owen and wasn’t letting Jillian’s presence keep her from giving him all the signs that she was more than ready for takeoff. Jillian knew from experience that all her ex-husband had to do was say the word and the waitress would happily walk out on his arm.

Jillian frowned with the realization that she wasn’t so different from the busty waitress.

“We’re going to need a second,” Jillian said as she opened up her menu, even though she had no intention of ordering anything. She looked up and waited for the waitress to meet her gaze. “Thanks.”

“What’s wrong?” Owen asked, leaning into Jillian but keeping his eyes on the waitress’s ass as she wiggled away.

“Just a little stressed out.” She gave him a tepid smile. “How was your flight?”

“I have to put in a request to not fly with McGregor. That jerk is always…”

Jillian nodded, smiled and then frowned as her ex went on, letting her mind wander. She was slightly annoyed with Owen, but willing to let him charm her out of her panties. Sure it would just be sex—nothing more—but it would be the highlight of her week, which was something she’d never let him know.

“Jillian?”

“Sorry?” Jillian snapped her attention back to the one-sided conversation. “I kind of spaced out. What’s going on with you and McGregor?”

“Forget about that douche. Why are you stressed? Does this have to do with the hot piece of ass you work for? What’s her name… Lainy?” Owen asked.

“Maisy. And don’t pretend you don’t know,” Jillian snorted.

“If she’s giving you a hard time, I’d be more than happy to put her in her place.” he said, smoothly ignoring Jillian’s previous comment and the tone in which it was said.

“And that place would be on her knees with your cock in her mouth.” Jillian punched him lightly in the stomach to wipe the wistfully lecherous look off his face.

“You can’t blame me for that, Jilly,” Owen protested. “She threw herself at me and you’d already moved out and were dating other men.”

“One man and one date, Owen,” she said, keeping her voice level.

Jillian tried not to get mad. Owen fooling around with Maisy hadn’t been the reason for their breakup. They’d already been living separately when she walked in on them in Maisy’s dressing room.

Maisy had been too busy giving him a blow job to notice Jillian, but Owen had locked eyes with her before breaking into a huge cat-who-ate-the-canary grin. Instead of feeling enraged or betrayed, Jillian had quietly taken a step back, closed the door and felt a great weight lifted off her shoulders. Her innocuous date with a guy she’d met at an industry event was nothing compared to what she’d just seen.

Owen had taken her to dinner that night and by dessert, they’d agreed it was best if they officially ended their marriage.

“Let’s not fight, Jilly,” Owen said as he ran his fingertip over her collarbone. Instead of the familiar tingling she usually felt at his touch, Jillian was left cold. “It’ll spoil the mood.”

“Too late.” Jillian gathered her purse and what was left of her libido and stood up. She bent over, giving him an eyeful of her own cleavage and kissed him, hard.

“Where are you going?” he asked, confused. He pulled her hand down toward the hard bulge in his pants. Jillian gave it an affectionate pat as if were a cute puppy and not the reason they even bothered keeping in touch. “I got your favorite lube upstairs.”

“Don’t worry, Owen, it won’t go to waste.” She smiled at her ex-husband, knowing he’d be okay. “You have more than enough time to work your magic on the waitress.”

****

Jillian watched as Trudy went through a series of yoga poses that were supposed to increase her fertility. They’d set their mats off to the corner so they could talk with minimal chances of getting shushed by the stern yoga mistress.

“So you just walked out? Left him there with a hard-on and a hotel room?” Trudy rocked from side to side on her back, her knees to her chest. “Bravo, Ms. Winters. Brav-freaking-oh.”

“For whatever reason, the thought of getting into bed with him was as appealing as coming down with the stomach flu.” Jillian shrugged her shoulders, watching the door for the instructor. “Anyway, he got over it. He texted me the next morning that he’d had a great time with the waitress.”

“I guess he’ll be adding her to the rotation.” Trudy rolled up to a sitting position. “Not that you were just another booty on his booty call list.”

“Please, I was number one on his list, or at least I’d like to think so.” Jillian grimaced as she eased herself into a pigeon pose, her right knee protesting slightly as she bent it so she could extend her left leg behind her. “I just need a little time off from our…whatever you want to call it.”

“Good because I know this guy who is perfect for you. He’s in—” Trudy started.

“I’m going to stop you right there,” Jillian interrupted. “I’m going on a full-on sex sabbatical.”

“I’m not talking about sex, I’m talking about love, marriage and a baby carriage crap,” Trudy said. “This guy has definite relationship potential.”

“Thanks, but I’m going to pass,” Jillian said. “I know you’re trying to help, but my love and sex life need to take a backseat for now.”

“I’m doing exactly the opposite.” Trudy lowered her voice as the instructor marched in. “I got some this morning. That’s why I was late to work.”

“Good for you.” Jillian smiled as she arranged her long limbs into a full lotus pose, her hands resting serenely on her knees.

“Not for fun! I’m ovulating,” Trudy said. ”The hubby says his cock is going to fall off.”

“Didn’t he used to complain about not getting enough?” Jillian whispered as the soft strains of New Age flute music filled the studio.

“No, that was me. And thanks to all the hormones I’m on, I’m twice as horny and a thousand times bitchier. Not to mention bloated.” Trudy sighed she as struggled to place her right foot over her left knee. “Even I don’t want to fuck me, but I’m under medical orders to have as much sex as humanly possible.”

“It’ll happen. Why don’t you guys go away for—” Jillian swallowed the rest of her encouragement when she felt the wiry yoga instructor’s bony finger on her shoulder.

“You two are going to have to leave the studio if you don’t stop talking,” she admonished.

“Sorry,” Jillian mouthed with an apologetic smile.

Jillian went through the next series of poses until she felt it was safe to look over at Trudy.

“What a bitch,” Trudy whispered. “You should give her Owen’s number.”

Jillian pressed her lips together and somehow kept herself from laughing out loud.

****

Jillian sat cross-legged on the floor of her office, unable to work up the willpower to haul herself back onto her desk chair. She had literally fallen off the seat of her chair, something she only thought happened in clichéd romantic comedies.

“Jillian? Where are you?” Trudy dashed in, stepping around set design boards, shoe boxes and the various detritus that represented each of their working days.

“Here,” Jillian answered, her voice sounding hollow and defeated to her own ears.

“This is beyond unbelievable,” Trudy said as she grabbed the open copy of
InStyle
magazine off Jillian’s desk. “Who the hell is ever going to believe that a dipshit, no-taste airhead like Maisy York decorated her new house
all by herself
! That woman has to be told which foot to put which shoe on!”

“It doesn’t matter.” Jillian shrugged with great effort. “It says so right there in the second paragraph: ‘Besides starring in and producing her hit TV series,
Maisy York
, the multi-talented actress decorated her new Hollywood Hills completely by herself.’ Then there’s some blah, blah, blah and she says, ‘Bringing my vision to life was such a personal thing, I knew exactly what I wanted and I knew it would be that much more fulfilling knowing I did all the work myself.’ Shall I keep quoting? The whole article is burned into my brain. Forever.”

Jillian was more disappointed than angry. It had been a mistake to assume someone as selfish as Maisy York would ever share even the dimmest ray of limelight.

“What bull crap, pure bull crap. You should sue, write a letter to the editor, set her hair on fire,” Trudy seethed. “Start with her hair—she’s so conceited about it and most of it isn’t even hers.”

“I can’t,” Jillian said, pulling herself up off the floor. “She’s Maisy York and I’m a set designer with an agent who doesn’t return my calls. I can’t afford to get into a pissing match with her and she knows it.”

“This is so unfair. Call the editor. Or better, get a lawyer,” Trudy said, unwilling to give up on retribution.

“No, I’m going to be a grownup about it,” Jillian sighed, knowing it would be better for both of them if she didn’t bring up the fact that Maisy still hadn’t paid her. “I’ll have other clients.”

“I’m so mad, I can’t even think straight.” Trudy grabbed the thick magazine, rolled it up and twisted it as best she could. “And just because you’re going to be all high-road about this, doesn’t mean I am, too.”

“What are you going to do?” Jillian asked, curious to hear what her friend had in mind. “And it better not involve lighter fluid.”

“Worse,” Trudy said, her eyes dangerously narrowed. “I’m swapping out all her costumes for a size smaller. Even her shoes.”

Despite the disappointment Jillian was feeling, she felt herself smile. “That’s going to drive her crazy.”

“Exactly. Now get out of here. I have to switch out labels from her wardrobe.” Trudy hauled Jillian up and pushed her out the door. “Go get drunk or something.”

“Nah, I’m heading home.” Jillian reached into her desk and pulled out a small box, dropping it into her tote bag. “Have fun, Ms. Ortiz.”

“For the both of us, Ms. Winters.”

Jillian walked out of their office. It was late and everyone had already gone home for the day. She stopped by the almost-bare craft table for a chocolate Twizzler, the only flavor sweet Maisy would allow on set. She bit off a piece and then another before tossing it, along with the box of freshly-printed business cards, into the trash can.

“This
is
bull crap,” Jillian said under her breath. She plucked the cards out and marched back to her office. “You’re right.”

“About what?” Trudy asked from her sewing machine, a seam ripper in hand.

“Maisy York can’t be allowed to get away with this,” Jillian said firmly. “I’m going to talk to her, not her assistant. She can’t deny the fact that I did all the work and more. I have the receipts to prove it.”