Ethan (4 page)

“So let’s get down to it?” he prodded.

“Exactly. What’s up with the screenplay?” She shifted the SUV into park, but kept it idling. And watched that smile of his kick up a notch. 

He was electrifying. Sexy poured off him in waves. And the attraction was mutual. She saw it in the way his easy smile turned edgy. In the expansion of his chest as he drew an appreciative breath. She could almost see it simmering in the air between them.

“And you’re not budging an inch until you have some answers?”

“I’m hard to please,” she warned. “They have to be spot-on answers. I have to know why I’m here and how I can help.”

He nodded but took a moment to find the right words.

“There was something missing in my relationship. I don’t know what it was. . .I can’t find my way to it.”

“The relationship in the screenplay?” she clarified.

“That’s right. I’m hoping you’ll read through what I’ve written and be able to identify it.”

“Like passing a magic wand over it?” She was careful to keep her tone non-judgmental, but he needed to know there were no easy fixes. Writing reflected life. And anything worth having required hard work.

“There are people who say your writing is magical.”

Hmmm. So he’d read some of her reviews. Watched at least one of her movies. Didn’t just pull her name randomly out of the bowl of Hollywood potpourri.

“And that’s it?” she pressed. “I read. I diagnose. I’m on my way?”

“Are you worried I’ll ask you to write it for me?”

“It crossed my mind,” she admitted.

“What would be so bad about that?” he wanted to know.

And Shae understood the question. There was probably a line a block long of writers who would love to work with him.

“I’m not a hired pen. I never have been.”

He nodded. “That’s good. This project, it’s something only I can do.”

He broke eye contact and looked back at the house. Shae followed his gaze. From this angle, she could see the front and side of the structure. A lot of Spanish charm with textured stucco and arched windows.

“Nice,” she said, nodding toward his home.

“Big property, small house.” He lifted his cell and began punching in numbers. “We’re not alone,” he told her. “If that makes you feel any better.”And then he spoke into the phone, “Hey, come outside, okay? Onto the front porch.” A few beats of silence, and then, “Because I told you to and right now you’re an unwanted guest in my house.” The words were softened by affection. He ended the call and explained to Shae, “One of my sisters is here. A disagreement between her and her boyfriend.”

Shae watched as the
side
door opened and a young woman with long legs and hair streaked with sunshine stepped onto the patio.

Ethan shook his head. “Rebellious,” he said. “That could be part of the problem.” He turned back to Shae and said, “So we have a chaperone. And right now she likes you a lot more than she does me.”

“Why?”

“I told her to go home.”

“Ouch.”

Emotion flickered though his gaze, too fast for Shae to get an accurate read. “Adults don’t run away from their problems,” he stated, and it sounded like a personal creed.

“How old is she?”

“Twenty-four. Baby of the family.” As if that explained her current troubles.

“We’re not all spoiled,” Shae felt obligated to point out.

“You’re a youngest?” he guessed.

She nodded. “It hurts, always coming in last.”

“I’d peg you for a winner.”

“Now,” she agreed. “But it’s not easy growing up, dangling at the end of the birthing beads.”

“Very little about life is easy,” he pointed out, then brought their conversation around full-circle, “You’re comfortable now? About coming in?”

Shae glanced again at the woman, dressed in board shorts and halter, and clutching the cell in her hand. Under their gaze, she shifted awkwardly. Shae doubted she still had that level of vulnerability left in her at age twenty-four. At that point in her life, she’d finally earned enough credibility and money to afford a place of her own but the years of living out of her van, then in a service apartment, were still so close they’d burned.

She returned her gaze to Ethan. “Yes.”

She wasn’t entirely comfortable with the man. She was too
aware
of him. From the way the color of his eyes deepened when he was troubled with memory, to the flex of his muscles under his t-shirt. But the young lady on the patio reminded Shae of herself, only around age seventeen or eighteen.

She watched Ethan jog around the hood of the car and then he was sliding into the passenger seat next to her. He dropped her purse on the middle console and snapped his seatbelt in place.

“Maybe you should have spent more time with her,” Shae dared, as she watched his sister slip back into the house.

His eyes turned reflective and he paused a long beat before responding. “You’re right. But how would you know that?”

“I’m a youngest,” she reminded him.  “No one wants to play with you and everyone’s always shooing you away.”

Chapter Four

Shae
liked Ethan’s sister. She wasn’t pouting. She didn’t look at Ethan or Shae with indifference. She had none of that
attitude
Shae had come to expect from the age group. Entitlement. Just the thought left a bad taste in her mouth. But Eva Abrams was bold and mischievous and it was a beguiling combination.

She extended her hand to Shae and introduced herself.
“I haven’t seen all of your movies,” she admitted, “but I loved ‘
Personal Touch
.’ It was beautiful and painful and so
right
.” And then she quoted a line from the movie, just seven words, but Shae had agonized over them for hours. Maybe even days. The words had become a mantra among select groups. They were tweeted and tumbled and smashed and pinned, and words Shae had written had become urban lingo. She couldn’t help smiling into Eva’s exuberance.

“Thanks. I love when that happens.” It was true. It wasn’t often,
but when Shae was fed words she had written, it made her world spin a little faster.

“I’ll try to come up with a few more,” Eva promised.

But Shae shook her head. “Not necessary.”

Eva glanced over her shoulder and Shae followed her gaze. Ethan stood back a few feet, hands stuffed into the front pocket of his jeans.

“He’s a little nervous,” Eva confided in a stage whisper.

“Eva,” Ethan warned.

“He’ll start rolling back on his heels soon,” Eva predicted. “That’s his one and only nervous habit. You see, the problem is—“

“That I have an interfering sister,” Ethan finished for her and mov
ed close enough he could slide between them.

Eva stood on tip-toe and gazed at Shae over her brother’s shoulder. “And no writing talent. Our sister
, Emme, wrote all of his papers for him in high school.”

Shae watched a hint
of color climb into Ethan’s cheeks. A blush, on a man of his size, was, well, endearing.

“That’s true,” he admitted. “But I paid well for them.”

Eva nodded. “He had a job at the Chevron station.”

Silence ensued and then Shae laughed. It was a deep, from the belly laugh, and it felt good. This was it. Exactly what she wanted to return to. Family. The squabbles and the tender moments.
She wanted to be there now. She should be there tomorrow. And she had a plan. This time next year, a baby—or almost.

A smile lifted the corners
of his lips. “Don’t encourage her.”

“You guys remind me of home,” Shae said. “And knowing how siblings argue, I’m inclined to believe only half of what I
’ve heard.”

“What half?” Ethan asked.

“That Eva is interfering, of course.” It was obvious, but the younger woman crossed her arms over her chest and her smile wavered. She had the grace not to protest her innocence, though. “And that you can’t write,” Shae continued. “I wouldn’t be here otherwise.”

“I’m stuck,” he reminded her.

“But not nervous?” Shea probed.

“Hell, yes, I am.”

“Why?”

“We’ll get to that,” he promised.
He turned and looked pointedly at his sister. “Eva has a few things to do.”

“W
hat things?” Eva asked, but her cell phone squawked then, with a few notes of a Rolling Stones tune.

“Those things,” he sa
id. “You don’t want to keep Dylan waiting. Men aren’t any better at that than women.” He turned back to Shae. “My office is at the back of the house. I converted the sunroom, sort of.”

He picked up her laptop and started walking.

“You want something to eat or drink before we start?”

“Both.”

“Ice tea?”

“
Sure.”

They passed through
the kitchen which was small for Hollywood standards, but then they weren’t in Kansas anymore. He had a few modern conveniences, granite and a breakfast alcove. He opened the refrigerator, grabbed two bottles of Arizona tea and a carton of turkey rollers still in their take-out packaging, and continued toward the back of the house.

“Want to grab those paper plates and napkins?” he tossed over his shoulder.

Shae found them on the island, already stacked, and swept them into her arms as she followed closely behind Ethan.

The sunroom/office was all window
s. Outside, clutches of fuchsia- and lavender-colored flowers bloomed in pots and a lap pool glistened under the sun.   Shae glanced around the room. One desk. One chair. Desk top, printer, and a Synonym Finder that was about five inches thick and frayed around the edges. There was a pile of paper on the floor that had been printed from the computer—the top sheet had several lines crossed out and notes written into the margin.

Shae dropped her purse on the floor—there was nowhere else to put it—and turned full circle. The hemline of her blouse flared around her
hips. The wedged heels of her sandals squeaked on the wood flooring.

“Nice work space.”

“Describe nice,” Ethan demanded.

“Uncluttered?” she tried. She had a few other words that would do b
ut each of them felt like criticism.

“You can do better than that,” Ethan prodded. “What does this place reveal about me?”

Because there was revelation in every thought and action…  “Are you a minimalist?”

His bark of laughter was a su
rprise. Shae had been trying for a neutral tone.

“Evidence
?”

She shrugged. “Small house. I saw a toaster and a blender in the kitchen, but no espre
sso machine.” She nodded toward his desk. “There’s nowhere for me to sit.”

“I can fix that.”

He placed her laptop on the only chair, the tea and sandwiches on the desk, and strode across the room. He disappeared through the door and Shae could almost see the air ripple with his passing. Weird. The man could move. Nothing flashy, but strong, economical progress that left
her
a little dizzy.

He returned with a chair from the kitchen table. Wood lattice back but the seat was cushioned.

“I just moved in,” he explained. “Well, seven months ago.” He smiled, abashed. “Redecorating, remodeling any of that will have to wait.”

“Until you’re done with this project?”

“Yes.” He stared at her. “What was the other comment? Oh, yeah, ‘small house.’ There’s only me, so I don’t need a lot of room. Never really had any. I grew up in a ranch house and had my own bedroom only because gender singled me out. Then it was the military—you never get more than elbow room in the service. It also makes a guy something of a minimalist. Your possessions are whittled down to what you can carry.”

“I didn’t mean it as a judg
ment.”

He ignored that.
“Notice anything else?”

Well, since he asked,
“You move a lot.” Not really a nervous energy, because Shae recognized a contained kind of strength in Ethan. He had a stunning physique, with well-defined muscle and sleek lines, broad shoulders and chest, thighs that strained against the material of his faded jeans. Powerful was a more apt description of him. And yet, she got the impression that he was feeling a little edgy.

What was up with that? she wondered. Exactly what had he called her here to wrestle with?

She remembered Stevie’s words, that Ethan had first-time jitters—another description she had a hard time applying to the man. He was just too . . .composed.

“
That’s pretty much a state of being for me,” he admitted. “I’m in constant motion. I think I have a vestibular thing going on,” he explained.

Shae tilted her head, considering that.
She’d heard the term before but couldn’t quite come up with its meaning.

“It’s one of our senses, it’s all about movement. I think I need more than the average person.”

“No transcendental meditation for you?”

He chuckled, and his smile
grew big and full of amusement. It made her heart cartwheel. 

“No.
Although it would be a viable form of torture should you need to use it.”

“You’re giving away your secrets?”

“I haven’t even begun.” His voice thinned and Shae realized the man had a true case of the nerves.

“I promise to go easy.”

But he shook his head. “I want honesty.”

“The truth doesn’t have to draw blood.”

“You have to sink your teeth into this,” he returned. “Otherwise we’re wasting time.”

She sat in the chair he’d brought in and lifted her hands. “So give it to me.”

He opened a desk drawer and pulled out an Apple Tablet. “I converted it for you.”

“It would have been easier if you’d just e-mailed it to me,” she pointed out. “I could have come
in ready.”

But he shook his head. And he was still holding onto the Tablet, his arms crossed over it
and pressing it to his chest. This wasn’t going to be easy.

“You’
re going to have to give it to me,” she prompted.

“I know.” But he looked grim about it.

Again, unexpected. Standing in front of her was Ethan Abrams, award-winning director. Man of arms. He’d faced down the enemy, tackled Hollywood and was now King of the Mountain, and yet the man who stood before her was acting a lot more like Clark Kent than a super hero.

“Why don’t we talk first? Tell me the storyline.”

“It’s autobiographical,” he confessed.

Shae nodded as understanding moved deeply inside her. “That’s never good.”

Ethan’s eyes flared slightly. “What happened to the gentle approach?”

“That was gift-wrapped in kindness. You should know better,” she pointed out. “How long have you been in this business? Ten years?”

“Eight.”

“The first rule of success, no one cares who you are.”

“Until you’ve made it.”

“Is that your angel?” She felt a little dip of disappointment. “You’re going to capitalize off your name?

“Absolutely not.” Indignation made his tone snap. “This—” he held up the Tablet—“isn’t for sale. I wrote it in the frame of a screenplay because that’s all I know. That’s what I
see
. But it will never make it to film.”

Okay, dizzy again. Very little about this ma
n or this situation made sense, including her unrelenting awareness of him. The breadth of his shoulders, the intensity in his gaze, even the way his jaw tensed before he surrendered a small morsel of personal information called to her. On top of that, she sensed a vulnerability in him that was appealing, not to mention totally out of place and possibly fatal in this sea of man-eaters in which they swam. But Shae wasn’t looking for an affair and she wasn’t out to save the world.  She was on the cusp of becoming a mother. Time to make her exit and pick up the reins of her plan.

Sha
e stood up. “Then why am I here?”

“Because I need help.”

“But not the writing kind?”

“Yes, the writing kind. But something else
, too. The way you get to the heart of the matter. That’s what I need.”

“You’re so close to the forest you can’t see the trees,” she stated. “Which is why autobiographies never work. They’re too narrow. Too—”

“Yeah, I get it,” he assured her. “And that’s why you’re here.”

“But if it’s never going to make it to the screen—”

“It’s messing with my life,” Ethan said. “This
thing
I can’t see. I’m so close to it, I can feel it. What it does to me. I need to understand it so I can move beyond it.”

It sounded like Ethan
Abrams needed a therapist, not a screenwriter. She didn’t think he was in the frame of mind to hear that, though.

“That
isn’t my strength,” she began.

“The hell it’s not.
That
is in everything you do. You have that intuitive thing down. That unraveling of the female psyche and the male ego.”

“You read that in a review,” she accused.
Shae remembered every good word written about her work, and too much of the bad, unfortunately.

He smiled. “I did. But it’s true.”

“How many of my movies have you seen?”

“All of them.”

“Yeah?” she challenged. “When?”

“Well, I saw ‘
Personal Touch
—’ the Academy Award winner— “when it was released last year. That’s why I thought of you.”

“And the others?”

“Last week,” he admitted.

She nodded. “I thought so.”

“You’re talented. Very. And you’re—”

She held up a hand to stop
him. “I don’t need platitudes.” She was finally at a place where her confidence in her work was unshakeable.