CHAPTER NINE Jude

CHAPTER NINE

Jude

The message from Olive is exactly what I need as I climb the stairs to my apartment.

It's been a long day already, and it's not even over yet. I still have that damn Broadway show.

Why the hell did I let Dylan talk me into this again?

Oh, that's right. Because my big comeback is already failing, thanks to all the headlines about my alleged drug use. I'm the laughingstock of Hollywood and the internet.

My Instagram comments prove it.

Dude is washed up. They should have gotten someone else to be the lead.

Snoopy underwear? Grow up!

He's totally on drugs. You can tell in the trailers.

There's no way he didn't use steroids to bulk up like that! DRUG ABUSER!

Yeah, I'm not watching this trash.

@JasperRafferty: They made me dance with them. Like a full-blown disco party kind of dance. I was doing Greased Lightnin' and everything, complete with the gelled-up hair and cuffed jeans.

I press my phone against my front door to unlock it, then shove inside. My footfalls echo against the pristine marble floor in the foyer of my immaculate apartment. Just off Columbus Circle, the huge floor-to-ceiling windows let in almost too much daylight, giving me the kind of view of Central Park that most New Yorkers would kill for.

I make a mental note to have Dylan block off some time for me to meet with a decorator in a few weeks, then kick off my shoes and pad farther inside, setting my fresh coffee on the counter, grinning down at the cup stamped with JT'S COFFEE then there's a group photo, and finally they're all lined up and sitting pretty with who I presume is a young Olive in the middle.

@OliveMe: I'm like 99% certain these don't qualify as dick pics.

@JasperRafferty: I don't know. You did just send me ten pictures of nothing but cocks ...

@OliveMe: Hey! All of those chickens were lady chickens!

@JasperRafferty: Semantics.

@OliveMe: Now do you think I'm crazy?

@JasperRafferty: Nah. If anything, I think I like you more.

@OliveMe: Lucky me.

"Is that the girl?"

I snap my head up, effectively pulling myself from the spell Olive seems to have me under, to find my brother and sister staring at me with wide eyes.

"Huh?" I ask.

Cait nods toward my phone. "Is that @OliveMe?"

"And more importantly"—Jasper holds up a single finger—"who the fuck is @OliveMe, and when did this start?"

When I snooped around your inbox.

For obvious reasons, I don't tell him that. I can't. It would be admitting to entirely too much, and getting into a fight—another one, that is—isn't high on my list of things to do tonight.

I just want to get through this thing, then come home and forget it with a nice glass of whiskey. Only then will I consider telling Jasper I snuck into his messages and made a new friend.

"We should get going," I tell them, dodging their inquiries and grabbing my wallet from the coffee table.

They exchange a glance—one I really, really don't like—but don't say anything as they follow me from the apartment.

I'm thankful for it.

So thankful, in fact, I decide to pay Dylan back for sending them over here in the first place.

"Phone," I command Jasper as we step into the elevator.

"What for?" he asks but hands his device over anyway.

"You wanted Dylan's number, right?"

"Jude!" Cait admonishes, shaking her head.

"What? Apparently, giving out personal information is totally on the table."

It's not. But I'd much rather face Dylan's wrath than have my siblings grill me on who Olive is.

Lesser of two evils and all that, right?

The elevator hits the lobby, and we pile out, Cait leading the way. We're halfway to the revolving door when Jasper's hand lands on my shoulder, slowing me down.

We come to a stop, and I glance down at where his hand is digging into me. He doesn't relent. Instead, he steps closer, towering over me like he has our entire lives.

I lift a brow at him. "Yes?"

"She might be willing to drop it ..." He nods toward our sister. "But I have questions, little brother."

"Questions that you're not getting answers to."

"Oh, come on." He smirks. "You tell me everything eventually, Jude. I'm sure this will be no exception."

I want to argue with him. Want to tell him he's wrong and to butt out of it.

But he's right. I do tell him everything. I'm sure I'll come clean about this eventually, and he'll convince me of what I already know: it's all a bad idea.

But I'm not ready to get into that yet. I want to hold on to it just a little bit longer.

I nod once, and he claps me on the shoulder.

"Good." He taps the side of my face twice. "Now come on. We don't want to be late for the show. I have an early flight to LA in the morning, so let's get this over with."

I groan, then follow him from the building, wondering for the millionth time how I let Dylan rope me into this.

I love acting. I love acting. I love acting.

Maybe if I repeat it enough, I'll forget all the reasons I hate it too.