Hollywood Stardust Supporting Roles - Wilson and Giselle Page 8

  “They’ll bring the car around and it’ll be waiting for us. Right now I’m starving, and I see the place I would love to have dinner.” Once more, she yanked on him.

  “Giselle.” Now he lowered his voice.

  She leaned around him and motioned for the valet.

  Sure, for the gorgeous blonde the man was right on top of it and scurried over.

  “Here.” She gave the man the bills she took back from the hostess in the restaurant. “Please have the car waiting for us when we return. We’ll be back.”

  “I will, thank you.” He tipped his head.

  “Come on. The rain stopped, so we can walk.” Giselle guided him away from the noise and the chaos down the block to a little diner with barely anyone inside. The place must have been there since the dawn of the Stone Age.

  “This is where you want to eat?” He resisted and stood his ground.

  “Take a seat anywhere.” The waitress motioned around.

  “Yep. That’s why we’re in here.” She led them to a booth, slid in and kept hold of his hand until he sat next to her. “Two matzo ball soups with noodles please and two cream sodas.”

  “I don’t want matzo ball soup.” He put his hand over his eyes. This night was a mess.

  “Yes, you do.” She moved his hand away from his face. “Look at me.”

  Unable to resist anything she wanted, he stared at her face.

  “What’s your deal?” Again, she did that thing where she moved his bangs out of his face. “Everything will work out.” She repeated her mantra.

  Thankfully, the waitress delayed his response by putting down two bottles of cream soda and two troughs of matzo ball soup. The ball was so big it was more like a cannon ball. “Our food is here.”

  “It needs to cool down, like you do, now speak.” Giselle took his chin in her hand.

  “I just wanted you to have a wonderful night and show you the best.” He shrugged. “I wanted to give you caviar, not chicken soup.”

  “I want chicken soup, and I hate caviar. You always show me the best, and this can be a wonderful night no matter where we are.” Out of nowhere, she gave him a kiss.

  Her words only strengthened his conviction. He broke the kiss and pressed his forehead to hers.

  “I know there’s more. Tell me.” Her breath danced over his lips. “Chicken soup won’t let you hold back from me, it’s a magic truth elixir.”

  “I just…” He shook his head. “I want to be able to treat you the way Logan can treat Ivy. They would have never done that to him in a restaurant. This town is obsessed with celebrities.”

  “That may be good for Ivy—she wants roses and romance, but I’m not her, and I want fruity nut bars and matzo ball soup.” She gave him a light peck. “I think for all those celebrities out there, there are the big brothers or sisters, or moms or dads who helped them. Without Wilson, there would be no Logan, and if anyone deserves a table anywhere, it’s you.”

  He pulled back and stared into her eyes. She was his match. The one. His balance. “Giselle, tell me you want to be with me.” He took her hand and put it to his lips. No matter what, he had to do right by her.

  She smiled. “I’m here.”

  What would she do if he told her he never wanted her to leave? If he told her he loved her, would she return the words?

  Lord help him, he loved her.

  Maybe the chicken soup really was a truth serum. “Let’s eat.”

  Chapter Seven

  “WINE GLASSES, RED AND WHITE, martini glasses, highball glasses, water glasses.” Giselle finished arranging the glassware in the bar. The soft opening was less than two days away, and though they ditched the grand gala or as Wilson would have called it, the wedding theme, and went with something simpler, she still wanted the event to go off without a hitch. In fact, the thought of the soft opening made her sort of sick. Yes, their friends might be coming, but that didn’t mean everyone wouldn’t be looking at everything with narrowed eye scrutiny.

  “Giselle.” Laughter in his voice, Wilson joined her and held his phone out to her. “Look who showed up in The National Reporter?”

  “A man who is willing to hand over the phone. Good trait.” She took the device.

  “All you will find there is stuff about you and now this.” He stood next to her and pointed.

  Finally, she looked at the screen. Ivy and Logan were sprawled over the tabloid’s website in a story chronicling their love affair right down to the type of birth control they used. Unable to stop herself, she let out a laugh and glanced over at Wilson.

  The moment they caught sight of the other they both cracked up. She doubled over and Wilson slung his arm over her shoulder.

  “Tell me why you’re laughing.” He gasped to catch his breath.

  “Because, Ivy needs this if she’s going to be with Logan.” After forcing the words out, she went into another round of laugher. “What about you?”

  “Because I always told my brother to watch out for this stuff, and his mind must be so clouded with his girl, he let his guard down.” Once calming down, he leaned against the bar. “Well, it will give the bar some publicity.”

  “Remember, all publicity is good publicity.” She saw both sides on Wilson’s attitude about his brother’s fame. Wilson gave up a lot to ensure his brother had his chance. Still, she wished they could just be brothers. Whatever happened, she had to make sure Wilson was the star of his show at the soft opening, and that started with ensuring everything was perfect. She scanned the area to find the faults. “I think I’m going to run down to the coffee shop and get that smoothie we both like.”

  “Do you think it’s weird that I own a bar and you’re going somewhere else to get drinks?” Wilson put his finger on her nose. “What’s with the face?”

  “I’m trying to look at the bar through critical eyes.” She returned his phone to him and micro adjusted one of the glasses to bring them all into perfect alignment.

  “Everything is going to be fine.” He put his arms around her and bent down to kiss her.

  In an effort to remember anything she could have forgotten, she put her nail in her mouth and stared at nothing, at everything. Her focus landed on their can of nuts. “Oh, my God!” Before he made contact, she thrust him away. “Wilson.” She grabbed the can of nuts and hugged it to her chest.

  “Those aren’t our nuts, ours are up in our room.” He attempted to pry the oversized can of salted treats away from her.

  “Well, I’m sure there’s a health code for that, so good.” There were certainly a lot of “ours” in his sentence, but it was starting to feel right. All her life she only had hers, but the ours were growing on her. “Actually, I was wondering if I should separate the nuts and sort them so we can make sure that each nut is represented in the proper proportion. Maybe some of the heavier nuts settled or something.”

  “Do you know what the proper proportion is?” At last, he succeeded in freeing her of the nut can. He put it aside and resumed his position with his arms around her, his hands traveling down and cupping her backside.

  “I could figure it out.” She gave him a little wriggle.

  “How would you do that?” Now he gave her butt a squeeze and raised his eyebrows.

  “That’s easy. I would separate the nuts, count them, figure out the percentages and then reassemble the nuts into proper portion sizes.” At feeling a little action growing in the front of his pants, she tilted her head.

  “Is that all you want to do with nuts?” He pressed her to him.

  “Well, I may want to pick all the cashews out as well.” Yes, she purposely avoided his obvious question.

  “Your ass in these shorts is making me nuts.” Rather than keep playing the innuendo game, he went right for the topic at hand.

  “That’s why I’m wearing them.” In an abrupt move, she pushed him away.

  “Let’s take a break.” He motioned toward the bulge in his jeans.

  “Later. We have work to do, and I’m going t
o go get our treats.” If she allowed it, they would spend all day in break mode, and she still needed to decide what to do with the nuts and everything else. Not that she minded break mode in the slightest. At least he was learning to let loose.

  “I know you’re right.” He hung his head down.

  “I’m always right.” She gave the top of his head a kiss and trotted through the bar and out the back door, where she practically tripped on a can of spray paint. Spray paint?

  She stared down at the can and breathed in. The distinctive chemical odor of paint overtook her, and she turned around.

  At the sight before her, her throat constricted and her body lurched as if she might vomit right then and there. Some thug or criminal, or ne’er-do-well, or just overall horrible person, had painted graffiti across the back of the building. In black, the words “Hollywood Stardust” was written, then in red someone crossed out the word star. For a finale, someone scrawled the words “go back to rehab” in blue. Whoever did this knew Logan was attached to this place, and they violated not only Logan but Ivy, and above all else, Wilson. “Oh, my God.”

  “Wilson.” Frozen to the spot, she willed him to her. Quite sure she would indeed get sick, she put her hand over her mouth and continued to gaze upon the filth.

  Almost as if he heard her whisper, the back door opened. “Giselle, you forgot—” He cut himself off and came to her. “What’s wrong?”

  Without a word, she pointed to the damage. She couldn’t go down as the person who told him his building, his work, was ruined.

  Wide eyed, he turned. “Holy Hell.” He stepped back and put his arm around her. “Are you okay, baby?”

  Seriously, the man was looking at how someone defiled his dream, and he asked if she was okay? Even the awful year when her grandmother and father passed away within six months of each other, no one ever bothered asking if she was all right. Her mother was a basket case and Giselle was left to be the one to try to lift everyone’s spirits.

  She gazed up at him.

  “Giselle, are you all right?” He took her into his arms.

  A flood, more like a tidal wave of emotion consumed her and out of nowhere, she burst into tears. The kind of cry where she soaked his shirt and couldn’t breathe and held on. One second she was talking nuts and smoothies and the next everything felt too big and dangerous.

  “It’s okay. We’re going to fix this. This has happened to him before.” He held her tight and took her back inside. “I need to call Logan.”

  “What do I need to do?” She kept her face in his chest and clutched his shirt in her hands.

  “Stand right here with me.” He put his hand on the back of her head. “That’s all you need to do.”

  As he spoke to Logan, Wilson’s voice rumbled through her. Key words such as damage, unexpected and insurance, stood out in their conversation. Did every bad thing that ever happened read from the same script?

  “All right, we’re going to wait for Logan to get here.” Keeping her in his arms, he backed up and leaned against the bar. “Since it already happened, we can probably wait to call the police or whatever we need to do.”

  “I should have thought of that.” The idea of this coming into their lives made her shudder.

  Wilson’s phone chimed. “Hold on, I got a text from Ivy.” He adjusted how he held her.

  At last, she found the strength to look up at him. “What did she say?” Ivy would make it better. Someone had to make it better.

  “With the tabloid and everything, she said don’t call in any outsiders. She also sent a list of products, so hopefully we can remove the graffiti ourselves, and I have some paint from when we first renovated the building.” He nodded. “Good call.”

  “I should’ve thought of that.” She shook her head.

  “Do you want to stay here while I run to the hardware store?” In a gentle motion, he smoothed her hair down.

  “No, I want to go with you.” Refusing to let him out of her sight, she clutched his arm. “Is that all right?”

  “I always want you with me.” Still holding her tight, he kissed her forehead.

  “How can you be so calm?” As he gathered his wallet and keys, she stayed close by his side.

  He guided her outside. “Sometimes you have no choice.”

  She should have thought of that.

  Time crawled, or maybe it didn’t move fast enough. Still, she almost felt as if she were floating on some sick, sad cloud as they went through the everyday motions of driving to the store, purchasing what they needed and driving back, but this was an extraordinary day, one they would never forget. Those days, good or bad were always scary snippets that couldn’t be recaptured, but changed one’s life forever.

  Neither of them spoke much as they set up to repair the mess.

  She needed to say something, do something, be of some use other than the basket case that clutched her boyfriend. This was exactly the woman she didn’t want to turn into. “Wilson.”

  Before he had a chance to answer her, Logan’s car sped into the small parking lot.

  Ivy got out first, and as if on automatic, she and Wilson ran to her.

  Her best friend stared up at the damage. Giselle could already make out the tears glistening in her eyes.

  Wilson gave Ivy a hug. “We got what you told us to. I didn’t call anyone for help like you asked.”

  “There’s already too much media attention on us. We’ll fix it.” Ivy shook her head and went toward the back door. “Let me change, and we’ll get started.”

  “Ivy,” Logan called to her, his voice curt.

  Ivy turned away from him and tilted her head. “Elle, do you want to snoop in Logan’s closet?”

  At last, she had something she could do other than stand there stunned. She glanced back at Wilson who patted her, then ran after her friend. “You don’t have to ask twice.”

  The two of them made their way up to Logan’s room. It was a mirror image of Wilson’s, only much more sparsely furnished, as if this place were more of a rest spot rather than a permanent landing pad. She sat right down on the floor and pulled her knees up to her chest “Everything okay with you and Logan?”

  “Anytime he can’t control every detail of every situation, he gets really tense, and I’m a little upset.” Ivy changed out of her vintage chic outfit into a pair of Logan’s shorts and a white t-shirt.

  “Wilson has been super calm.” She shrugged.

  “That sort of fits their personalities.” Ivy sat down by her. “What’s going on?”

  “Well, today sucked.” Giselle inspected her nails. “I learned not all publicity is good publicity.”

  “Yeah.” Ivy took her hand. “Are you all right?”

  “Why does everyone keep asking me that?” With a grunt, she turned to her friend. “This doesn’t even involve me. Not really.”

  “You’re such a liar. You know it involves you, and it hurts.” Ivy turned to her and leaned in. “You’ve been crying.”

  “It’s the LA smog.” She shook her head.

  “It’s a beautiful day out.” Ivy tapped her.

  Slowly, she looked over at Ivy.

  “You care, admit it. You’ve been crying and you haven’t cracked one joke.” In a best friend move that said she knew more than anyone, Ivy jutted her jaw out.

  “I’m more than comedy relief.” The tears started again. “Fine, I care. I didn’t want it to hurt Wilson.”

  “See?” Ivy grinned.

  “What do I do now?” She swore she sounded like her mother the day her father passed away. “What can I do for Wilson?”

  “Why don’t you try loving him?” Ivy gave her a hug.

  She cared too much and it would be the end of her, but at this point she had no choice.

  She should have thought of that.

  Chapter Eight

  “ARE YOU READY?” Blindfold in hand, Giselle trotted over to him.

  “What am I doing again?” Before she covered his eyes, Wilson took anothe
r long look at his gorgeous girlfriend in what he would only call a traditional pink strapless party dress with a short flared skirt. Everything fit with her theme for the soft opening, right down to her.

  Her theme…birthday party. Her explanation…it was the birth of the bar. Her idea…genius.

  Ike, his liquor vendor, elbowed him. “Do you want us to leave so Giselle can show you how to use that in private?”

  “He doesn’t need any lessons.” Giselle pushed Ike away.

  A couple of his friends nodded. For the first time in his life, he was the one with the coveted girlfriend. Better yet, she never even glanced in another guy’s direction. Her attention was focused solely on him.

  “I told you. We’re playing pin the shot glass on the bar.” She squealed, kissed him, and handed him the little picture of the shot glass with tape on the back.

  “That’s right.” Wilson primed himself to play.

  Their guests’ laughter resonated way above the ragtime music she chose to fit her theme.

  Apparently, she left no detail unattended, from the black and red streamers and balloons decorating the club, to a magician doing a show, and even games.

  She spun him around three times, stood in back of him, and took him by the shoulders. “Okay, do your best.”

  “What do I win if I hit the mark?” Though he felt ridiculous, he lifted his arm with his game piece. All his friends were having a ball, and he certainly didn’t want to be the buzz kill. Plus, he wanted to let loose a little.

  “You’re the host, so you can’t win the prize.” She slid her hand down to his backside and gave him a pat. “I guess we’ll have to get you a special present.”

  With a newfound sense of competition and his guests cheering him on, he walked forward until he basically collided with the wall and stuck his paper shot glass wherever it landed.

  He lifted the blindfold and frowned. Rather than the bar, he managed to get the shot glass near the sink.

  “Not even close, my friend.” Once more, Ike came over. “At least I made it to a barstool.”