Harder than Steel Page 14

  “So,” said Jax, looking over the cocktail menu at Vanessa.

  She wagged her eyebrows back at him, somewhere between incredulity and amusement over his glee at the irony of bringing her here.

  “You bring all the paparazzi you’re bribing on the side here?” she asked in a low voice, pretending to look over the drink choices.

  “Mmm, just the ones wearing secret body cameras,” he replied.

  “Those things don’t get shots nearly as good as you’d think. Who’s that in the corner? She looks familiar.”

  “You could just turn your head and look.”

  “I’m trying to play it cool behind enemy lines. And she’s not actually interesting. Besides, it’s kind of tough to see in here. I get the fin de siècle look, but they could light a few more candles.”

  “I think they’re going for a certain atmosphere, like—” Close. Personal. Intimate. Romantic. “—Cozy.”

  Vanessa chuckled. Her long dark hair was parted into two wavy locks draped across her shoulders, reflecting the candles in flickering gold. She was wearing the blue and black SAFiYAA colorblock dress that the stylist in Juan had picked out; Vanessa had worn it once before while they were at a nightclub in Greece. Jax recognized the drop shoulder around her smooth arm from where he’d slid the body-hugging fabric over her breasts and down past her hips, letting the breeze off the ocean kiss her naked skin to excitement.

  “So what did you do today? Save any subways full of grandmas and children?”

  He suddenly remembered that the dress had a slit up the thigh and had to slap himself mentally.

  “I had an audition.”

  “Oh? Anything interesting?”

  Was there a coat closet in this restaurant? She could wrap her legs around his hips with that slit, he could pick her up and press his mouth over her throat, her collarbone, run his hands over her until she shook, move achingly, agonizingly slow—

  Jax tilted his head. “Knute Forsythe.”

  Her eyes grew satisfyingly huge, and Vanessa made the exact face he’d been hoping she would.

  “I’m picturing the two of you meditating on the edge of a cliff overlooking a strip-mining pit, and he makes you drink seawater and chant backwards while worms crawl out of his eyes.”

  “It was definitely weird, but I have to give him credit.”

  “For being terrifying and creepy?”

  Vanessa smiled as she said this and brushed a strand of hair out of her face. Jax found himself suddenly wanting to hold her hand, not for her, but for what he was going to say. He breathed in.

  “For actually figuring out what I want. I guess—what I’ve been wanting for a while.”

  Vanessa’s expression shifted, and she looked down at her plate.

  “What do you want?” she said finally.

  The waiter came over to place a plate of appetizers in front of them before disappearing again. Neither of them moved, and Jax stared at something that was probably caviar. Of course baring his soul would be the most excruciatingly awkward thing imaginable, and now fish eggs by candlelight to top it all off. Still. Vanessa had this look on her face like he could genuinely tell her anything. If Knute Forsythe didn’t laugh at him, maybe he’d get lucky again.

  “I want to be taken seriously as an actor,” he said, very quietly, and wasn’t sure if that was because he didn’t want anyone to overhear him or if it seemed that the space around their table had shrunk, pressing in on them.

  He’d never said it out loud before, never even thought it to himself inside his head. It still didn’t feel quite right, like when he first started deliberately and genuinely introducing himself to people by a different name.

  “Why?”

  Jax was momentarily thrown by her reply, and blinked at Vanessa a few times, unable to think of a reply.

  “The whole world loves you. You’re at peak adoration.”

  He opened his mouth, but she went on.

  “I get why a person, why anyone deserves to be treated with dignity. But why—for you? What about it sounds good to you?”

  It didn’t sound like such a judgmental question when she put it like that. Jax thought about the way he’d always relished the moment just before his dad found out he’d done something shitty, the rush of being recognized before the facts oozed out of some corner of a principal’s office and the hammer came down. He never thought it was worth it while he was locked in his bedroom, or cleaning the grout with a toothbrush, but it was like his brain forgot anything bad after a while and could only play the same loud recording of itself shouting at him to do it, do it, DO IT ALREADY.

  “Did you ever see the first movie I made?” asked Jax.

  Vanessa frowned, trying to remember.

  “It was this low-budget teen sex comedy. Easiest decision I ever made. Got the hell out of Ojai, for a start. Henry Butler showed up on set, day one, and played up the role—the douchey but lovable rich kid who wants to make everything a party—just so I could see how far the director would let me push it.”

  He’d given line readings so over-the-top that even the boom operator had given him a funny look from across the set.

  “But he loved it, he kept egging me on to go bigger, hammier, even crazier. And after a debut like that, the sequels were easy money, and pretty soon—I mean, typecasting is a special kind of hell, and when you finally get out of it, you look around and you realize that adding explosions and lasers doesn’t change the rich kid schtick as much as you think it does.”

  That was what he’d been trying to remember for so long. He’d tried to tell Georgina, but it always came out sounding like he didn’t give a shit one way or another if Card One ever wrote him a decent line or included him in a scene bigger than a cameo. It probably still sounded ungrateful when he said it to Vanessa, and now everyone in the restaurant had overheard, and the entire waitstaff was surely lined up along the kitchen door snickering.

  “I like getting to be Dirk Masterson,” said Jax, “but I don’t wake up in the morning thinking like him. The best part is taking all that off and going home and being my own stupid awful self.”

  She stared at him a long time with a slight frown, and Jax raised his hand to wave off the conversation like it was nothing. Vanessa’s expression didn’t change.

  “I don’t think paparazzi ever really wonder what goes on in celebrities’ private lives,” she said. “We just want the shot, and then it’s time to move on to the next.”

  “Well, but you’re different, though. The street photography proves that much.”

  Vanessa gave him a sardonic half-smile.

  “I’m different—because I took some nice shots of you on a beach? Or is this because of the other thing I do?”

  “Because . . . because you’re willing to go after something else.” He realized suddenly that he hadn’t seized on the teasing ambiguity of what she’d said. “Our job is to play dress up and lie to people, sell them some fantasy. And you’re good at using a lens to peel back the bullshit and see who people are under all the expensive watches and the performances.”

  Vanessa ran her finger back and forth across the edge of her plate.

  “I think I get what you mean,” she said slowly. “It’s difficult not to want something more. But it can be so grinding, such a crush on your sense of artistic possibility.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Like you said about being typecast—it’s easy to fall into it and hard to crawl out once you’ve set yourself up that way.” She sighed. “I have thousands of celebrity photos that are only important to the entertainment business. It doesn’t matter if my portfolio is full of great shots of someone leaving a fertility clinic or their secret lover’s house—they don’t add anything to my real portfolio.” She gestured with her hands. “It’s like, the work I do has no connection to the work I want to do, which is really more my hobby, which isn’t my hobby because I don’t work on it, because it’s impossible to show.”

  He waited.

>   “I’ve entered them in local showcases, but I always seem to get turned down for gallery showings.” She said it quickly, like she wasn’t trying to interrupt his sob story and go on about her own.

  “If it’s a case of being noticed, I know people. I have a friend who owns a place—” Jax shifted in his seat. “If you want, I can ask.”

  She gave him a flat look, but it had something behind it, the promise of a smile. “Come on, that’s . . . nepotism at the very least. I’m not that much of a mercenary.”

  “That’s what anyone else in this business would have done!” Jax chuckled and looked around the room.

  “So I’m an idiot for not playing the game.”

  “No, I think you and I both have a hard time connecting the two halves of ourselves.”

  Vanessa quirked another half-smile, this one a little sad.

  “I guess it is like having a secret identity, huh?”

  “And I don’t think there’s shame in using the connections you have—art can’t exist in a vacuum, pure and cut off from intentions. I think that’s another illusion.”

  Vanessa sat back in her chair and squinted over Jax’s shoulder.

  “Huh. I didn’t know Holland Matthews was growing his hair out.”

  “What?” Jax had turned before it hit him that whipping around in a sedate restaurant with low light was probably a great way to draw attention to himself.

  This time, half the restaurant did pause and shift their attention to the celebrities in the middle of the room.

  Shit. Of course his luck would have him sitting with Vanessa for this. Holland hadn’t noticed them yet, but was surveying the place while the maître d’ was moving around behind him, and Holland stepped forward to reveal—huh. Taran Pope was with him.

  Oh, wait—shit, that was a bad thing, because now the Soviet waiter had a smug look on his face and was going to seat them next to each other, the Protectorate franchise family members together. Gee whiz, now they just needed Lily Tran to rappel in from the ceiling on a cable. She’d be missing out.

  Jax was rubbing his temple on the side close to the newcomers, shielding his eyes, when Holland said,

  “I don’t think this table is going to work.” Jax was on the verge of relief when he heard the follow-up, “Oh wait, maybe I do want to sit here. This could be informative.” Looking up, Jax found Holland standing over them, staring down at Vanessa, who glanced between them with a polite detachment.

  “Holland,” said Taran from nearby in his usual undertone of a voice, like he was simply stating his costar’s name, like he had no idea what was going to happen. Taran was the definition of subtle—Holland’s presence tended to scream itself known while Taran could slowly seep into the landscape before you even knew what was happening. Kind of like the Phantom he played, Jax realized.

  “Who’s this?” asked Holland, almost politely, as he looked at Vanessa. “Whose girlfriend is it this time?”

  If Vanessa was remembering that she’d caught Jax sneaking this man’s girlfriend out of his apartment, she was really good at hiding it, and for that, Jax felt a devastating rush of gratitude towards her and that poker face that never budged.

  “The papers have been very nice to Jax recently, and I’m trying to be nice, too,” the beefy blond went on. “But this little surprise get-together does make it tricky. I could reach out and warn somebody that they’re making a huge fucking mistake.”

  “C’mon, Holl.” Taran rested his hand on Holland’s shoulder. “Let’s grab a drink at the bar. We can wait on another table to open up.”

  “Or are you in on this too,” said Holland too loudly when Vanessa didn’t reply. He turned and looked at Jax for the first time. If anything, Jax’s hiatus from set seemed to have made Holland’s anger worse. “So we’ve upgraded to someone who can actually make an effort to keep a damn secret—”

  “Keep a secret? I guess. I do remember hearing through the grapevine that you’re the one who freaked out about your gym not having your favorite flavor of protein shake. That was you, wasn’t it?” said Vanessa calmly. All three men stopped moving, and even the maître d’ quit shifting around, trying to gracefully herd the two new guests to someplace more discreet.

  Both Jax and Holland stared at her: Jax in awe, Holland with something close to disgusted offense. Or maybe it was panic.

  “What?” said Holland.

  Vanessa stood very slowly and took her purse into her hand, never looking away from Holland’s eyes. Jax followed her cue.

  “Hey, don’t worry—like you said, I can keep a damn secret,” Vanessa went on. Taran was glancing back and forth between them, actually looking awake for once. “Oh, and good luck with the house hunting,” she said lightly and made her way to the archway slowly, like Vanessa had nothing but sunshine and roses on her mind.

  Jax didn’t stay to find out what Holland thought of that.

  They were both already panting by the time they got into his apartment. He didn’t bother to hit the light panel and damn near fell over when he put one hand against the acacia wood divider in front of the bed. Vanessa’s lips parted over his throat, and every time she darted her tongue out against the skin there, his whole body seemed to clench and jump. He kissed her, and she spun little circles with her fingers into his hair.

  He remembered the slit in her dress while pushing her back, and Jax watched, dazed, as she pressed her shoulder blades into the mattress and rolled her hips toward him, lifting and peeling the dress away in one smooth motion to reveal an utterly bare expanse of skin underneath, just visible and glowing in the neon lights through the window bank.

  She’d been completely naked under that dress the entire time. God, she knew how to wind him up. He loved it.

  Jax dove in, wound his arms around the small of her back, and lifted Vanessa up, pressing hard kisses, sucking around the firm globes of her breasts to make her breath catch and shudder. He paused to pay careful attention to her navel and lifted his head to see her stretch her arms back, behind her head, and glide them against the bedsheets. He couldn’t stop shaking, even as he rolled a condom back over himself, but she was patient, and he caught the tail end of a smile through the darkness.

  And then he wasn’t even halfway inside of her, Vanessa sucking in air past her teeth and settling into a low, flexible hum of a moan, with promising ease and a satiny hot tightness that matched what he was sinking into. Jax stopped, leaned over, and she looped her arms around his neck, pressed her thighs and ankles around him, and he could feel the end spikes of her heels lengthwise along his back.

  “I can take them off,” she offered in a halting half-whisper, and brushed her mouth over his jaw, making him shudder again.

  Jax pulled her back and murmured in the negative before gathering her up, closer than ever, and then they were moving together, the soft sounds coming out of her stronger and in time with him, picking up speed, and he was pretty sure she had raked her fingernails down his back, but he couldn’t feel anything, could only feel Vanessa’s arms and thighs around him, grabbing hotter and faster.

  The Steel Knight leaned against a metal unit on the roof of University Research Hospital and watched from the safety of the shadow it cast. Seven blacked-out SUVs were parked in straight lines just across from the emergency room entrance. Federal agents would be leading researchers out of the building in a few minutes. The people in white lab coats were confused and asking questions they didn’t yet know could be erased from their minds forever.

  There was nothing else he could do here, not now, at least. He had to choose battles wisely.

  San Martinez had been harder, but this wasn’t an easier scene to process. Or walk away from. Dirk had already learned the hard way not to go in guns blazing; sure, the government-contracted civilians might not appreciate the fact that their free will was about to get a little less free, but at least they would keep their heads on their shoulders. He could still count it as a win.

  Pieces had started to come together, and
he was pretty sure he had a theory, but there was little evidence to go on. It was hard not to get inside his own head about it, start making connections and not be able to come out of it or reset himself. He couldn’t un-see conspiracy theories and grand plots where they were so sure to exist.

  Steel Knight flexed his hand, and the newest model of the exoskeleton flipped and slithered its way back into the band that Dirk Masterson kept around his wrist. He headed down a service staircase, adjusted his sunglasses, resisted the urge to pull up the hood on his cheap pullover hoodie, and strode past a group of janitors arguing with each other in the stairwell of the building on the ground floor.

  Chapter Twelve

  IT HAD STARTED raining around two and was still drizzling as Vanessa left the office that evening. She’d had a vague craving all afternoon and wasn’t able to place it until she crossed the street one block from the subway stop’s black iron gates and suddenly remembered. Mama had always made asopao this time of year, just when the weather was starting to cool. Claudia and Vanessa would sit at the kitchen table slurping down red soup in their school uniforms while the street lights came on outside, Claudia still with glittery clacker ball hair ties around her dark pigtails.

  She’d never been inside a bodega on this side of the city—it was cramped in the familiar way, but this one had brand new open-air refrigerator cases with vegetables and even a freezer with bags of shrimp. Vanessa had always liked the soup better with chicken, but Claudia might enjoy some seafood, and it would be good to actually use the stovetop for something other than storage space.

  Outside, with a very productive and promising-feeling bag of shrimp, some chilis, and garlic cloves, Vanessa stopped again in front of a newsstand, holding the paper sack close to her chest. It was hard to see all of the titles in the harsh headlights flashing past, but there was the usual lineup of publications whose parent companies traded off cutting her paychecks. Sam’s photo of Lily Tran leaving a yoga studio in Hell’s Kitchen was in the corner of Hollylofty. Dave had been shooting an up-and-comer who finally landed a glamor-flex feature in Powerhouse’s “Toned Women!” issue, showing off her abs and her ass at the same time with a neat little twist. And some healthy photo manipulation. No doubt he was already off finding the next big thing tonight.