I lean back against the seat, chewing a nail thoughtfully. Everyone knows who Jett’s father is, of course. Charles Carter had already won his first Oscar and been nominated for his second by the time his son, Jett, was even born. Legend — and, by “legend” I mean “Shona McLaren, Heather Bay’s leading gossip” — has it that Charles missed the first month of Jett’s life because he was off on location somewhere, and having an affair with his co-star. True story. Well,probably.
With that kind of background, I guess it’s no surprise that Jett grew up to follow in his old man’s footsteps; in more ways than one, if Shona McLaren’s to be believed. And she normally is, to be frank.
What I want to know, however, is what any of this has to do withme.
“You didn’t tell me where you’re taking me,” I say, tapping my foot impatiently as I look at the mismatched trio in front of me; Silver looking frosty, Grace looking anxious, and Leroy looking into the bottom of a bag of Lays chips, which he’s produced from a hidden compartment built into the seat next to him. I’m just about to repeat my question when a quick glace out of the car window tells me I don’t need to. The huge gates we’ve just pulled up to are stomach-churningly familiar, as is the glossy frontage of the house behind them.
I’m back at Jett Carter’s house.
And I’m not any better prepared than I was the last time I was here.
Chapter 8
Walking into Jett Carter’s house for the second time in less than 24 hours feels a bit like the time I tried to sneak into the Heather Bay Bar, even though I was underage at the time, and I knew Big Ian, the landlord, would tell my mum if he caught me.
I’m not worried that Jett Carter’s going totell my mumabout me being in his house, you understand (although nothing about this situation would surprise me). All the same, as Grace walks me through the now-familiar entrance and down the hall, I realize I’m moving almostfurtively, as if I know I shouldn’t be here, and I’m scared I’m going to get caught.
Grace smiles reassuringly as she opens the door to a vast living room with floor to ceiling windows which look out onto an infinity pool with a view over the city.
I’m a bit disappointed, to be honest. I was really hoping for a look at that giant walk-in pantry I’ve been imagining. I guess this will have to do, though. I’ll just have to settle for this tastefully decorated room, which has a grand piano at one end (Can he evenplaypiano? I did not know that.) and some kind of weird sculpture at the other. It looks a bit like a bagel. Which makes me think of the pantry again. There must be one in a place this size? I mean,surely?
Dumping my bag on the floor, I walk over to the sculpture and peer through the hole in the center of it. There’s a mirror on the wall on the other side, in which I can see my own face reflected back at me, like an evil twin. I stick my tongue out at it, pulling a face — and that’s the moment Jett Carter chooses to walk into the room.
He still has the obnoxious beard, but he’s changed into a pair of gray sweatpants and a simple t-shirt, both of which look a whole lot better than the “hoodie and saggy shorts” combo he had on yesterday.
Of course, now I know who he is, Iguesshe could have grown the beard for a role. I wrinkle my nose thoughtfully as I consider the possibility. That would make sense, actually. Much more sense than him just making himself look ugly onpurpose, anyway.
“Is there something on my face?” Jett says, breaking into my thoughts. “It’s just, you’re staring at me in a way that doesn’t really suggest you like what you see.”
He takes a seat on the expensive-looking white sofa which dominates one end of the room, his green eyes seeming to burn right into my soul.
I really wish he would stop doing that.
He looks surprisingly alert, given the state he was in last night, and I feel suddenly self-conscious in front of him.
“You’re one to talk about staring,” I retort, before I can stop myself. “And, yes, thereissomething on your face,” I continue, sitting down on an armchair opposite him, and immediately sinking so far into it that my legs are left dangling off the edge, like a toddler’s. “Andyour neck. And I wouldn’t be surprised if it went all the way down to your chest, too.”
A sudden image of Jett Carter’s naked torso, as I last seen it inAce of Spades, flashes through my mind, unbidden. He played a gambling cowboy in that one, and, honestly, it’s surprising just how often cowboys have to take their shirts off. Not that anyone in the audience was complaining, mind you. Especially not me.
I swallow hard, flushing at the memory.
I really need to stop thinking about him as Jett Carter, movie star extraordinaire, and go back to thinking of him as Mr. 3.5 — random hairy dude with whisky breath and no dress sense. It’ll be easier for me that way.
Much easier.
“I can assure you, my chest is as smooth as yours is,” Jett replies, his eyes flicking quickly down my body to the open neck of my shirt. “Or I assume so, anyway.”
I open my mouth to reply to this, but I can still feel the path his eyes traced on my skin. It’s as if he actually touched me, rather than justlookingat me, and it’s having a surprising effect on my insides. A Jett Carter effect rather than a 3.5 effect. A very, very dangerous effect, given that he’s probably had me brought here to tell me how annoyed he is about the whole “mystery woman” story that’s probably all over the internet by now.
Maybe he thinks I started it myself? Or that I want it to be true?
“Did you grow it for a role, then?” I ask bluntly, desperate to take my mind off the news article. “The beard, I mean? Or did you grow it for a dare?”
Jett’s eyebrows rise slightly, but his eyes remain locked on mine. I’mreallystarting to hate the way he does that.
“I grew it for me,” he says simply. “To hide behind. You’d be surprised what an effective disguise it can be. It’s basically my only chance of getting to live a semi-normal life — and even that doesn’t often work.”
He sounds ever so slightly bitter. Or maybe just sad, actually. I’ve never been the best at reading people, but even I can tell that this is not a 100% happy man sitting in front of me. Which is hard to believe, really, given who he is.
