Seasoned with Grace (7 page)

Grace picked up the script Ethan had precariously thrown onto the counter and hugged it to her chest. She ran her fingers along the edges of the paper and rejoiced over her second chance to do a film. She might not have the guy, but at least she got a gig.

Grace read the title page out loud, using her fingers to trace the letters. “
Pressure,
a screenplay by . . .” She gasped for breath. She could not read the screenwriters name out loud. The script tumbled out of her hand as she choked on the name.

The last time she saw him, she had hoped that would in fact be the last time that she saw him. Apparently, God had something else in mind. Her legs buckled at the mere sight of his name. Somehow he'd managed with this script to breach the fortress she had created around herself.

Taking small strides, she walked to the steps that led to the second floor of her duplex apartment, then swiftly backed up and picked up the script from the floor. A peek into Javier's mind couldn't possibly be that bad.

She took in shallow breaths and turned the pages, studying the character description. Ria, an ingenue, was the female lead. Grace's name was scribbled next to it. Grace flipped the pages. The story seemed simple enough. Ria moved to the Big Apple to make it big, landed a huge role in a Broadway show, and found herself alone in the theater with the show's producer, Derek, the night before the show was set to open.

Grace flipped back to the cast list to see who would be playing the role of Derek. The name she couldn't utter met her again.

She let the script fall to the floor again and stomped on it repeatedly. The sick bum was trying to force her to relive the lowest point in her life. Grace had had to take Zoloft and attend some therapeutic hypnosis sessions to get over what had happened between them, and her nightmare was being brought to life again now.

“I am a warrior,” Grace chanted, trying to reach for something higher than the valley she felt herself being sucked into as one of the worst days of her life played out in her memory. The chanting didn't work; she couldn't master her stance and crumbled into a ball on the floor. In her mind she found herself on the set of her first photo shoot with the award-winning Javier Roberts, getting her hair and makeup touched up.

I felt uneasy being on a closed set with Javier. The last time I was alone with a man, I wound up pregnant, and that was the last thing I wanted right now. I shook myself.
Buck up. Be professional. Javier is a world-renowned international photographer with a wife, and the last thing he wants is an inexperienced model,
I told myself. I coached myself into trusting him.

Today the tears that came down were as hot and heavy as those in the picture playing in high definition in her mind. Pulling herself up from the floor, Grace decided she could not handle this alone—she was going to need some therapy.

Pushing the papers around on his desk halfheartedly, Ethan reviewed the documents before him. Grace was almost broke. Not
broke
, like she was going to be homeless, but broke enough that she might have to get rid of a property or two or auction off some of the designer duds she owned. Ethan sighed as his mind roamed to where his heart was—Candace. He wondered what kind of case she was working on today. It had to be a serious one. She usually called him when she took a break or had time between cases. He glanced at the clock; it was three, and Candace had not even sent him a text.

Avoiding the appearance of being thirsty, Ethan hadn't called her, but as the clock on his desk continued to tick, it became more difficult for him to resist calling her. Ethan reclined in his chair and reached for his phone on the Bose dock he had nestled behind his desk. As he reached for it, his phone began to chime. He looked at the number and smiled. It was some strange 212 number. Assuming it was Candace calling from the judge's chambers, Ethan whispered into the phone, “Hey, Candy. You know how to make a man feel good by sneaking a call in.”

“Brother Ethan, if I had known you'd be this delighted to hear from me, I would've called you sooner,” Horace said, laughing into the receiver.

Ethan brought his voice up an octave to sound as macho as possible and replied, “Ah, man, I thought you were someone else. What can I do for you, Brother Horace?”

“I was wondering if you had heard from Grace.”

“Why? What did she do now?” Ethan loosened his tie and prepared for an onslaught of fresh accusations, which generally followed when someone asked if he'd heard from Grace.

“She didn't do anything, man. It's . . . it's just . . .”

“What happened, Horace? It's best if you tell me so I can take care of it,” Ethan said, trying to dispel the slight sense of worry he'd picked up in Horace's tone.

“It's just that she hasn't been by the church in a few days, and I was kind of worried about her. When was the last time you heard from her?”

Ethan thought about the last time he'd spoken to Grace or seen her. While he was trying to enjoy his dinner at Serafina with Candace, Grace had called from the church and had ranted about a man. He'd dismissed her. Then he'd had to deliver the script for Javier Roberts's debut film to her. She had still had a little attitude then.

Horace cleared his throat and asked once more, “When was the last time you heard from her?”

“It's been a few days, Brother Horace. Do you need something from her?” Ethan asked, wondering what had aroused his concern. Was he the guy driving Grace crazy?

“No, just a little concerned.”

“Are you sure there isn't something else troubling you?” Ethan asked, pressing, trying to squeeze the juice of the matter out of Horace. Ethan needed to know if this was a real concern, a nosy inquiry, or a call from one of Grace's potential suitors. Somehow he'd become the guardian of all things Grace, and even when he didn't want to be concerned, he couldn't help himself.

“Naw, man, it's all good,” Horace replied. “I was just checking on her. I wanted to make sure she wasn't skipping out on us. You know what I mean?” He laughed.

“All right, brother. I'll look into it.”

After he got off the phone, Ethan wondered if he really should look into the matter. Grace's disappearing acts weren't a new thing, but it had been a while since she'd pulled one. Ethan strummed his fingers on the desk and tried to convince himself that it wasn't necessary for him to check on Grace. After all, she was a grown woman. When was she going to take responsibility for her own actions? What would Grace learn if Ethan didn't allow her to work certain issues out on her own? He hated feeling conflicted. He needed a resolution, and he needed one now. Bowing his head and folding his hands on top of the table, Ethan called on the God of wisdom and asked for some direction in this matter.

No sooner had he said amen than Alice was half knocking as she walked halfway through his office door.

“Mr. Summerville, Javier Roberts is on the phone for you. He sounded pretty pissed off because of a certain model,” Alice said, raising her eyebrows up and down. “I don't have to tell you which one, do I?” Alice folded her arms across her chest, as if she was the one who had been running to and fro for Grace all this time.

Ethan sucked up as much air as he possibly could, then exhaled through his nose to purge himself of all the negativity he could feel piling up inside of him. He picked up the phone and smiled. “Hello, Mr. Roberts. How is everything?”

“Please call me Javier. Everyone calls me Javier. Mr. Roberts is my mean and less handsome father,” Javier said, laughing. “I need to know what is going on with Grace. The producers want to see her do a screen test, and I cannot reach her.”

“A screen test?” Ethan shook his head from side to side. With his free hand, he signaled to Alice to call Grace. “I thought you said the part was hers,” he said as calmly as possible, trying to conceal his anger. If there was one thing that bothered Ethan about this business, it was the pretentious people who pretended to have more sway than they actually had.

“Of course the part is hers, but the producers want to see her on film. They want to know if she's still got it, so to speak, in light of her recent run-ins with the law,” Javier said, reassuring Ethan. “That's why I contacted her instead of your office when they asked to see her. I've been calling her for three days now, and I haven't received a reply to a single message. I know it's been a while since we spoke, but I thought that our history together meant something to her. Do you know what I did for her career?” Javier spat.

Ethan rolled his eyes and entertained Javier's delusions of grandeur. “Yes, yes, I know how instrumental you've been in her success.”

“I photographed her exclusively for—”

“Five years,” Ethan said. “You took her on several exclusive shoots and made her a household name.” Grace was beyond beautiful, with her rounded apple face and soft doe eyes. She was every photographer's dream, with the physique of what the industry called an amazon—five feet nine, wide shoulders, and pronounced hips and breasts. And somehow she could contort that body into editorial poses. If it hadn't been Javier, another photographer would have figured out what to do with her.

“Then you understand that this type of behavior is unacceptable. She owes me at least a response. If I don't hear from her personally within the next forty-eight hours, she's going to be dropped from the film, and I'm coming after you for holding up production.”

Ethan didn't know how to respond, and he didn't have to, either. Javier hung up on him after making that statement. Massaging his head with both his hands, Ethan summoned Alice into the office.

“Did you get her on the phone?” he asked when she appeared in the doorway.

“No answer. Do you want me to try her again, Mr. Summerville?”

“Don't worry about it, Alice,” he said, rising to his feet. “Forward any messages to my cell. I'm going to find out what Grace King is up to now.”

He grabbed his coat from the rack near the door and stormed out of the office.