The Admirer's Secret (7 page)

Chapter 14

I
f Friday was any indication of how hectic Marc’s weekend would be, he would have rather skipped straight ahead to Monday. His day had been a blur of house calls, playing catch-up on client billing, and running errands long overdue.

Marc
opened a can of chicken noodle soup and made an extra buttery grilled cheese sandwich, musing over something, or some
one,
who secured more than her fair share of his thoughts. He couldn’t get her out of his mind, no matter how hard he tried. It had been long enough. He either had to make a move or move on. 

Marc had given himself enough time to think everything over—the pros and cons of getting back into the dating arena. Like Roman gladiator Maximus Decimus Meridius battling Commodus, Marc had battled the fear of losing his freedom. But unfortunately he was no Russell Crowe; eventually he’d have to remove the mask, drop the sword, and trust his future to fate. If she was brought into his life for a reason, who was Marc to get in the way of that bigger plan? But was
there even a bigger plan? That was the big question mark. How did anyone ever know what the future held? Were things just supposed to fall into place, or was he supposed to
do
something? Perhaps because they chanced into each others’ lives it was meant to be.

Logic advised
him that each man’s future was his own responsibility. If he wanted something to happen, the door would open but it was up to him to walk through. Every last detail wouldn’t be orchestrated to the point of making puppets out of us. So all Marc needed to know was if this was the open door… or if he had forced it open at his own will.

If Marc were to be completely honest with himself, his intensions for wanting to see her were selfish. He wanted someone to laugh with, take care of, and maybe even build a family with. Marc wanted someone to make him feel not quite so lonely anymore.

As he sat at his dining room table, with a heap of junk shoved to one end, he watched the climax of yet another incomparable sunset through the wall-sized picture window—this time deep blues mingled with yellows, highlighting billowing clouds. He hadn’t stopped thinking about her since he first laid eyes on her. When she called him out of the blue, he had no idea his life would be changed from that moment on. It was quite unexpected, because he had forgotten what it felt like—that swarm of butterflies and nervous chuckles—yet somehow this girl snuck in and administered CPR to his heart.

When he closed his eyes, he relived their last encounter. And though he knew it was silly to jump into the deep end of emotions, he simply couldn’t stop himself. The path of his future collided with designed purpose once their eyes met; he was immediately enamored with their warmth and sparkle. Moreover, what ultimately won him over was her contagiously friendly personality. Her smile, bubbly laugh,
her gaze locking in on his… it all burned in his memory. He replayed the image of her impish grin over and over in his head. He knew her inside and out. How, he didn’t quite know. He just did. 

While his heart entertained the idea of a relationship, his mind wailed its own warning signal. Since everything he had already endured at the hands of women, there was no vacancy for disappointment or heartache. Not again. The fear of losing the ability to be his own man had kept him a bachelor this long, and he was content with what he had. No women problems meant no drama. H
e ran his life his way.

Don’t ruin a good thing
, he reasoned.

So why do I keep thinking about her?
Every time he drove past her house—which was more often than he cared to admit—he was reminded of why he was so infatuated.

Already he made four phones calls to her house, each time hanging up before the first ring. Was he being too presumptuous by calling so
much so soon? Though, time is subjective when feelings are involved. Twenty-four hours felt like twenty-four days to him. And what would he say when she picked up? Either he’d stumble over his words and end up looking a fool, or else he’d chicken out and hang up at the sound of her voice. It was too soon for him to reveal just how much of an emotional wreck he was over her. The cool-calm-and-collected Marc was reduced to a bumbling ball of nerves. While he hated being so vulnerable, he loved what he felt.

Without definite assurance
she shared the same feelings toward him, he needed something better than a failed phone call to boost his confidence. He needed a run-in. Nothing too obvious. Just something to test the waters and see if he could figure out where she stood with him. Not that understanding women was ever an easy feat.

Darkness was settling in, and the clouds began parting, opening the sky to millions of stars twinkling in all their glory. In the expanse above, a shooting star streaked across the blackness, leaving tiny sparkles in its wake. The cold air began to shroud his dwelling deeply hidden within the confines of the forest as an owl shrieked in the distance.

He needed to see her again. But how? And where?

“God, please show me what to do,” he spoke into the night air. A puff of frozen mist floated out of his mouth and evaporated into nothingness.

Like a lightning bolt striking him from above, he knew his answer. He knew how to get her attention, and perhaps hold it, too. It just had to be planned perfectly if it was going to work.

Chapter
15

Entry 6942

Another Saturday come and gone. Another birthday come and gone. Oddly, it didn’t hurt this year. Maybe just a little numb. I got a birthday card from my admirer this morning. And red roses. The flower of love. I spent more time pining over my flowers than I spent on my assignment for class. I’m running out of time. It’s the biggest opportunity of my life and I fear I’m blowing it. The story won’t gel. The characters won’t speak. For years I’ve had no problems finding the right words, but the past week it’s been a blank canvas with nothing to paint with. Is it writer’s block? I’ve purged my mind of everything else—Jake, Marc, Mom. Less distractions, but it’s not working. So why can’t I create? I must conquer whatever is blocking me, lest I surrender my only chance to get out of here. Out of
Westfield. Please, Words, flow from my fingers like they do when I’m writing in my journal!

“H
aley, you done?” Allen’s voice broke her concentration, making her abruptly aware that everyone else had already left the classroom.

“Oh, yeah. I’m sorry. I was
just writing something.”

Watching him strain to see what she was writing, she slammed her journal shut and shoved it into her bag, then grabbed her belongings and stood up from her desk. Thoughts about last night’s conversation
with her mother had finally taken a temporary backseat due to more pressing matters—time was ticking before she’d have to produce a smashing final screenplay to impress Allen. Already her second class of four was regrettably over much too soon. With only two weeks left, she had to make these last two weeks count; she’d have to stand out somehow.

The end of the learning process was growing near
, and soon she’d be forced to keep her own head above water when his tutelage ended. Allen was her flotation device, and she feared her writing would sink below the surface once he left. There was only one way to rid her dependency, and that was through producing a brilliant final project. It was of utmost importance that Haley nail this last assignment, mainly because of the incentive attached to it: Allen would pitch the best final project to a producer friend in Hollywood. This was a huge break, a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity. Representation out in California was exactly what she had dreamed of all these years…

I
f only her father could see how close she was. He’d be proud.

I have
what it takes
. So what was the problem? Why wouldn’t her brain function? There was only one person who could help her now. She needed to pick the brain of a Hollywood success story. 

Her heels clicked against the tile floor as she walked to the door, then pivoted back to face Allen’s disheveled form hunched over his desk. There was a guarded something about him today that intimidated her, but she couldn’t quite put her finger on
exactly what that was.

From across the room she blurted out, “Can I ask you something, Allen?”

He waved her toward him, with eyes still focused on his work.

“I was wondering something.”
As soon as the words left her lips, she could no longer speak. This was harder than she thought, this asking for help. But she was desperate.
Just ask
. “I was hoping you’d still be willing to tutor me privately. Y’know, maybe look at my work and let me know if I’m on the right track.”

That wasn’t so hard.

“So you’ve decided to take this seriously, huh?” Allen asked. “I was wondering when you’d get around to finally taking me up on my offer.”

“I really want to succeed, but I’m having more trouble than I thought I would.”

“Writer’s block?” he probed.

“Exactly! How did you know? You reading my mind?”

Allen laughed. “It happens to the best of us.”

“So you can help me?” Haley asked hopefully.

“I have the perfect solution to that little problem of yours.”

Ten minutes later she heaved a sigh of relief as she
left the room, satisfied with their dinner arrangements for that evening. They had settled on a welcoming diner on the corner of Main Street and Holt.

As well as serving
a good meal, Vine City Restaurant housed several huge oak tables, wide enough for her to sprawl out her papers while leaving room for the oversized serving plates full of fish and a double helping of fries—one of her personal favorites. Locals joked that the building was so bound to its history that one could still hear the clink of milk bottles that once filled the rooms of this former dairy.

Haley pushed the heavy metal exit door that led out into the college campus parking lot. The northern February weather was just as bitter as ever. As she rushed to her car, battling fierce wind, she looked up and noticed
ominous storm clouds approaching and her pace quickened to a run. She hoped to make it home before the clouds opened up and cast down their snowy wrath.

Once inside the calm of her car, she
revved the engine and blasted her defroster. Even within the past couple of hours, a glaze of ice crusted all her windows. Reluctant to get out again to scrape them, Haley sat and waited for the ice to melt, mentally rehearsing some points she wanted to cover with Allen later that evening.

She tossed her bags in the backseat, when a sudden rattle startled her. Someone was prying at her door handle from the other side. The haze of ice blurred the intruder’s features. A fist smacked against the window, and she frantically pushed the lock down, thankful that her car door had a knack for sticking during winter’s bitter temperatures. The person was screaming, but the roar of the defroster muted the voice.

By the time she cranked the lukewarm heat down a couple of notches to a low hum, the voice stopped yelling. And then the shadow grew faint as the person, apparently, walked away.

Her heart raced and she sucked in a few throat-chilling breaths.

Whoever it was had given up. Haley peered through the glass, but a hazy outline still loomed on the other side, but this time at a safe distance. She pressed her face closer to the window, with her hands cupping around her eyes to remove the glare. It took a moment before she recognized the contour of the face and the color of the hair. Rolling down the window partway, she peered at the form. Sure enough, she found the bird legs of Allen Michaels pacing outside her car door.

“Allen!
” she called, then waved him closer. “You scared me half to death.”

“I’m sorry. I thought you might be having car trouble so I figured I’d check on you.”

“No, I’m just too lazy to scrape my windows. I’m fine, thanks.” Her heart wildly beat against her ribs as she took a couple calming breaths.

“Hey, um, I actually brought something to class for you but forgot to give it to you earlier.”
He pushed a rumpled brown paper bag toward her through the small opening in the window. She hesitantly accepted it and looked up at him questioningly.

“Go ahead,” he prodded, “open it.”

She opened the bag and pulled out a book. A dark hooded figure holding a gun to his head stared back at her from the cover. It strangely resembled Allen with his jutting cheekbones and thick lips.

“What is this?”

“It’s a book I wrote. I thought you might like a copy. It’s an autobiography.”

The clenched jaw of the gunman
on the cover evoked a foreboding expression. A shiver crept up her spine as cold, lifeless azure eyes leapt off the book jacket.

“This is you?”

“In a former life, yes.”

“Is that a real gun?”

“Yeah, but don’t ask if I used it. Just read the book.”

She arched an eyebrow up at the man who now seemed more like a stranger than a friend. She realized she knew absolutely nothing about him
. This cover picture depicted a… menacing killer, not a professional screenplay writer.
Who is he really?

“Th
-thank you very much, Allen,” she finally sputtered, at a loss for any other words. “I’m sure I’ll enjoy it. That’s so nice of you.”

“It’s about some of my experiences back in L.A. Kind of raw, if you know what I mean, but worth sharing. You’ll have to let me know what you think.”

What she thought? She was terrified to find out what exactly the book would reveal about the person she’d be dining with this evening.

“Okay, I’ll do that.”

“Seriously, I’d love your feedback, your opinion on the book.”

Allen Michaels was asking for
her
opinion? She couldn’t decide if she was freaked out or flattered. As she replaced the book in its brown bag home, she considered it might provide an inside look at the life of this mystery character inching toward her car door. Haley just hoped she didn’t find out more than she could handle.

A mesh of ice and rain began falling and Allen conveniently found refuge for his balding blond head
next to Haley’s window.

“Mind if I scoot in here?” he asked.

She leaned away to avoid his contact, then glanced at her defrosted front window and clicked on the wipers, pushing the remaining slush upward and outward.

“You should get out of this snow,” she suggested, nodding to her windshield. “You’re not exactly dressed for the weather. Gloves and a scarf are a must-have
here.”

“Not where I come from. Maybe you can take me shopping sometime to help me buy all the essentials.” Unsure if he was joking or not, Haley let out a huffed laugh. “Guess I better get going before the roads get bad. I’ll see you at seven o’clock,” he reminded her as the
icy mixture descended in quarter-sized drops.

“See you then.”

Haley watched h
er instructor trot to his car and disappear inside. She pulled the book out once again and stared at it, letting its alarming picture burn an image in her mind. With a goatee and sharp glare, he could have fit right into an
America’s Most Wanted
ad.

“Now I’m really curious to know what you’re all about,” she mumbled to the image on the
book jacket. When she’d get around to finding out, it would be more than she bargained for. Tossing the book on the passenger’s seat, Haley drove home.