Which leads me to believe Max hiring Holly was the best decision he’s made since we got here. And he knows it.
I breeze into The Ocean Palace where the same grey-haired receptionist sits behind the desk with the phone cradled between her ear and her shoulder. I offer up a wave and stride towards the small, rope-lit lift. I ride to the top floor and step out into a quiet oak-panelled hallway.
My suite is a far cry from Beverly Hills, but the apricot-painted walls are clean and bright. The windows are huge, if a little draughty, offering an amazing view of Ballybowen’s four-mile beach.
With a master bedroom, ensuite, and separate lounge, it’s plenty big enough for me. Especially given what little time I’ve actually spent in it, between being on set and cruising past Ard Na Mara stalking the mysterious Holly.
That little miniature poodle deserves a bone for running onto set like that today. A grin touches my lips at the memory.
My phone vibrates in my pocket as I’m shaking off my leather jacket. It’s Jayden.
‘Hello?’
‘How is Hollywood’s newest Romeo faring?’ he teases.
Fuck. Has the man put an actual tracker on my phone? Or did Max call him and tell him I was utterly useless until the woman I boned turned up and put the previously elusive mandatory Hallmark cheesy grin on my face?
Or worse again, has Holly sold her story to the papers already?
No, she’s not the type. I don’t know a lot about her, but I do know that.
But how else would Jayden have known about Holly?
‘I er…’ My throat thickens.
Why do I feel so fucking guilty? I’m a consenting adult. Holly’s a consenting adult. It was one night of mutual fun.
Because it’s unheard from you, dumbass, that’s why.
A groan rushes from my mouth. ‘She was so just fucking hot. The chemistry was off the scale. She was just there for the taking and, oh my God, did I take.’
‘What?’ Jayden’s voice ratchets up three notches. ‘Nate, I was calling to ask how the romance movie was going, not an actual romance! You’ve been gone, what, four days? Who the fuck could you have fallen into bed with in that time frame?’
‘If I knew, believe me, I’d tell you. The woman is more mysterious than a Sherlock Holmes novel.’ Flopping onto the queen-sized bed, I kick my shoes off.
‘Not Olivia Hansen-Lovett?’ he scoffs.
‘Oh, God. You were right about her. High maintenance.’ A shudder runs down my spine as I recall her spoilt foot stamping this morning.
‘So, who is this mystery woman you’ve been banging?’ Jayden doesn’t wait for an answer before spewing out his own speculations. ‘I have it! It’s the blonde, five-foot-ten Swedish air stewardess who served you in first class on the flight over. She’s twig skinny, with legs up to her armpits, which compensates for the fact she had no idea who you are, because she prefers romcoms to action movies. She introduced you to the mile high club for a rebellious romp before you landed, then dragged you to the airport hotel for another round when she saw your tattoos. Am I right?’
I bite my cheek to suppress my laughter. ‘Way off the mark. Want to try again?’
He harrumphs and clears his throat, pausing for a second as he thinks about it. ‘Okay, this time I really do have it!’ The click of his fingers snaps through the phone. ‘It’s the blonde, five-foot-ten costume manager who saw a different side of you the second you slipped on one of those god-awful Hallmark Christmas jumpers. She squeezed the red flashing reindeer nose in the centre of it, felt your rock-hard abs beneath it, then dragged you behind the costume rails and kissed you until you were both swinging from them. Am I right?’
No amount of cheek biting could stop my guffaws this time. And what is his obsession with five-foot-ten blondes?
Oh fuck. Realisation washes over me.
It’s not his obsession. It’s mine. Supposedly. Jayden is under the same illusion as the rest of the world that I prefer blondes. I think the first blonde after Sally-Ann was my subtle fuck you to her when I heard only months after we split that she was engaged to my best friend. And then they became a strategic habit.
It’s a full thirty seconds before my laughter finally subsides and I can form actual words. ‘You have one hell of an imagination. You should be a scriptwriter. You’re wasted as an agent.’
‘Stop stalling, man. Tell me who’s got your junk all fired up in your trunks.’ Jayden’s tone is indignant. ‘And for the record, my imagination is not wasted. My wife is the beneficiary of it most nights.’
I quite believe it. Any time I’ve been in Jayden and Chloe’s company, they spend the entire evening eye-fucking each other. Both Jayden and his brother, Ryan, got lucky in love.
My palm instinctively brushes over my sternum as a pang of envy shoots through me.
