Page 65 of Hot Nights in Morocco
“Walt’s just promoted his son to some top production position without even consulting Jake. Can you imagine? No wonder he’s spitting blood.”
“You mean Brad Wilson?” I ask in surprise.
“The blond Viking himself.” She sighs dramatically. “He can conquer me any day of the week. Have you met him yet? He’s lush.”
I nod. “Briefly, last month.”
“Not surprising he looks like that though, is it? Godlike genes totally dominate that family.”
I bend down to remove a stray white jasmine petal from the water. “Is Walt Wilson attractive, then?”
“Not Walt, silly. I meant Jake and Max.”
I’m confused. “What did you say?”
Zoe frowns at me. “Oh, you didn’t click? Brad’s their half-brother.”
“But that’s—” I’m gobsmacked. “Are yousure?”
“It’s no big secret, Charlie. I’m off to the bar. Do you want a top up?” She makes to stand up.
“But that would mean Jake’s mother—”
“Married Walt Wilson,” she finishes, rooting around in her purse again for her cigarettes. “They had Brad soon after they were married. Bit of a shotgun thing, I gather.I can’t believe you don’t know this.” Zoe eyes me suspiciously. “You’rethe one who works in an office all day with him.”
“I’m not his assistant. Rachel is,” I say automatically.
“Yes, well, you won’t be anything of hisorMax’s for much longer.” She looks down her long nose at me. “You’re freelance, aren’t you? You’re contracted for this movie only. That means they won’t be taking you back to L.A. with them.”
Those words… They’re like darts dipped in venom.
I watch Zoe disappear into the bar, and then I’m jumping up from the edge of the pool and heading indoors to find Jake. I can see Rachel over by the patio heaters flirting with one of the art directors. Max is hovering nearby. With every fresh peel of her laughter, he glances over in Rachel’s direction and scowls.
As I draw closer, I catch snatches of their conversation.
“How long do you think our lead actor’s been locked in the closet?”
“Oh, honey, it was obvious from day one. No one gets that many supermodels on his arm without some kind of incentive.”
“Hollywood’s streets are paved with sexual contradiction. Is it just me, or is this industry close to running out of sexy heteros?”
Forthcomingsexy heteros, I muse, running through that roulette wheel of emotions again—the one that Jake has such a deft hand in spinning. I hate how he’s so reluctant to open up to me. Even though I realize I’m the biggest hypocrite in the world by thinking that.
I smack my hand against the call button, but the descending lift is too slow. I take the outside staircase up to Jake’s suite instead—the one that climbs around the side of our hotel like twisted iron ivy.
I raise my fist to bang down his door, and that’s when I hear Cassie’s voice.
In there.
With him.
“Charlie’s only been working for you for a matter of weeks, Jake. It’s such a cliché, carrying on with your assistant.”
“She’s not my fucking assistant, Cassie, she’s Max’s. Or rather, she was—on both accounts. I fly back to L.A. tomorrow. She flies back to London. We’re done. Finished, ka-fucking-put. Happy now?”
Breathe, Charlie, breathe.
“She’s not really your type, is she? Bit funny looking, and her attitude is awful. She’s nothing like me or Sienna.”
