Almost Like Love(37)

Simone sighed. “Zachary Hammond.”

“That sounds familiar.”

Simone slumped back against the wall. “Seven years ago he played Orlando in the movie version of As You Like It.”

Kate snapped her fingers. “Of course! That’s the one you made me see with you twice. And then, as I recall, you saw it by yourself another three times.”

“I was interested in the costume design,” Simone said stiffly.

“Of course you were.”

Simone slumped lower. “Okay, fine. I was totally obsessed with Zach Hammond that summer. It broke my heart when he announced that he was leaving the movies to focus on theater directing.”

“And now he comes to New York to work with your company. A very Shakespearean twist of fate, wouldn’t you say?”

“I would not. Especially since he’s making me get on a plane.” She sat up straight and smacked herself on the forehead. “I forgot to tell you worst part. Zach was outside the theater when Jessica dropped me off last night, and she recognized him. She hopped out of the car and introduced herself and talked for ten minutes about how she’d seen him perform Hamlet in London and how much she loved all his movies, blah blah blah . . . and then she asked him to do a reading from Shakespeare at her wedding.”

Kate’s jaw dropped. “What did he say?”

“He said yes.”

“He did?”

“Well, she sort of cornered him. She asked what the performance schedule was for the play and found out that opening night isn’t until two weeks after the wedding. Then she talked about what great friends we are and how I’m one of her bridesmaids—as if knowing me was going to be some kind of in with Zach Hammond—and then she hit him with it.”

“You must have been mortified.”

“I wanted to die. Once she finally left, I apologized and told him he didn’t have to do it. He just laughed and said he didn’t mind at all.”

“Wow. Handsome as sin and a nice guy to boot.”

“I don’t think he agreed because he’s nice. I think the whole situation amused him.”

Kate thought for a moment. “Okay, so what brought on the code red? The prospect of taking a six-hour flight across the Atlantic, your hopeless crush on a former movie star, or the fact that Jessica is making him perform at the wedding from hell?”

Simone slumped down again, sliding her hands into the pockets of her jeans. “I don’t know. Probably all three. I need chocolate.”

“Do you want to go to Jacques Torres?”

“God, yes.”




On Tuesday afternoon, Kate met Jacob after school again. It was raining, so they took a cab back to Ian’s apartment. They bought hot chocolates at the Starbucks next door and carried them upstairs to watch The Avengers on Ian’s big-screen TV.

Once the movie was over, Jacob disappeared to do his homework and Kate pulled out her tablet to work on a pitch for an appointment the following week. But the project she’d decided to present turned out to be uninspiring, and after half an hour she put the tablet back in her purse and got up to get a glass of water.

She’d learned over time that when she felt blocked creatively, it helped to take a break and let her subconscious work out the problem. After she drank her water, she wandered around Ian’s living room for a few minutes, wondering why it was so devoid of personality. There was very little of Ian—or Jacob—to be seen here. Everything she saw was high-quality, expensive, and generic.

There was more of Jacob in his room, of course. Maybe Ian’s bedroom revealed something about the man who slept there, too. And there were other rooms she hadn’t been in. Maybe he had an office or a study that was full of personal photos and knickknacks.

Not that she would ever know. She had no reason, absolutely none, to go snooping through Ian’s apartment.

Of course, the more she thought about it, the more she wanted to. What made Ian Hart tick? What did he love, hate, fear, wish for?

She remembered what Simone had said at the Met: that she was hanging onto the fact that Ian had cancelled her show as a way to avoid dealing with other feelings that might be developing.

There was no doubt that Ian was a complex man. He didn’t do relationships, but he had a chivalrous side. He could be cold-blooded when it came to business, but it was obvious that he loved his nephew with all his heart. She’d spent the last two years thinking of him as a refugee from a Brooks Brothers catalog, but it turned out that underneath those conservative suits he was sporting tattoos—tattoos he never let anyone see.

Kate went to the beige leather sofa and sat down, pulling out her phone and staring at it for almost a minute. Then she pulled up Ian’s contact info and started typing an email.