the meantime I want Paul and Diane to get busy with the secondary locations. We can’t afford to have this project fall behind schedule.” He paused. “Thanks, y’all.” He tugged in a breath and exhaled. “I know how hard you work, and you’re some of the best in the business. I don’t say it much, but I appreciate each of you.” He turned and walked into his adjoining room, totally missing the look of outright shock on the faces of his crew.
* * *
Craig closed the door to his room and crossed the plush carpeted floor to the minibar. He poured himself a shot of bourbon on the rocks. He took a deep, satisfying swallow and allowed the smooth liquor to seep into his veins, warming them before he went to stand in front of the floor-to-ceiling window. His eyes cinched at the corners while he rocked his jaw from side to side and looked out on the city that he’d once called home. Had anyone asked him a year ago if he would ever return, he would have said, “Hell, no.” But here he was, back home, doing the very thing that had sent him away in the first place. He snorted a laugh at the irony of it all. The prodigal son had returned. By now his father would know that he was back. Why did it still matter?
He turned away from the past, crossed back to the bar and refilled his shot glass. Jake Lawson had been very clear when Craig announced that he was uninterested in learning about, participating in or ultimately running his father’s global real estate firm. As far as Jake Lawson was concerned, Craig was on his own, cut off from the family.
It had been ten years, and though he would never admit it, even with all the success he’d attained since he’d left, what he missed was his father and his blessing on all that he’d accomplished. What hurt him the most was not understanding his father’s near irrational disdain for Craig’s chosen profession. Growing up, Jake had instilled in each of his children the belief that they could achieve anything that they wanted in this world—apparently as long as it was what Jake Lawson wanted his children to achieve.
Wallowing in self-pity and reflection was never Craig’s MO, and he didn’t plan to start now. What he needed to concentrate on was getting his movie filmed and produced. His work was what was important. It was his validation. Nothing else mattered.
His thoughts shifted to his meeting with Jewel Fontaine. She’d flat-out told him no. No was a word that never sat well with him. If he didn’t take it from his father, he wouldn’t take it from her, either. Everyone could be persuaded. Everyone had a button that could be pushed. He simply had to discover what her yes button was.
He tossed back the rest of his drink, a plan formulating in his head. He smiled. Tomorrow was another day. He might have lost the first battle, but the fight was far from over.
* * *
The house was blissfully quiet. Jewel walked out onto the back veranda and sat on a cushioned lounge chair. She placed her cup of tea on the table beside her and tucked her feet beneath her. The sound of cicadas peppered the night, and the scent of lavender from her garden helped to soothe her unsettled soul. Her nerves were still on edge, a combination of the unannounced visit by Craig Lawson and her father’s latest episode. It was hard to distinguish which event had the greater effect on her. Meeting Craig Lawson had had a visceral impact. She felt as if every sense, every nerve was suddenly jolted awake when they met eye to eye and he took her hand. It still seemed to tingle. But that was silly. It was no more than her overwrought emotions at work.
Then there was her father. Her heart ached as if it had been pounded and abused then shoved back into her chest. Watching the man that she loved, admired and worshipped slowly disappear was, on some days, more than she could manage. Today was one of those days.
Jewel got up from the lounge chair and walked over to the railing that embraced the veranda. She gazed out on the star-filled night. If only she could cast a wish upon a star. She would wish that she had her career back. She would wish that she had her father back, and she would wish that Craig Lawson had never entered her life to remind her of what she’d left behind.
The choices and sacrifices she’d had to make over the past few years had begun to pile upon her soul, weighing it down, an anchor determined to tug her into the depths of no return.
Her stomach twisted with resentment and the guilt of it. She had no right to feel those emotions. But she did. She begrudged the world that had turned its back on her. She cursed fate that had leveled its will upon her father and locked them both in a spinning cycle of decline.
She sighed heavily and searched out the heavens for a star. If only it were that easy. In another six months, she would lose the home she’d grown up in. She’d lose the ability to take care of her father. Opportunity had knocked today—literally—and yet she couldn’t let it in. What was she going to do?
Jewel had spent a sleepless night tossing and turning as dozens of unattainable scenarios played in a loop inside her head. Finally giving up on sleep, she rose with the sun, checked on her father to find him comfortably sleeping, and then puttered around in the kitchen, determined to find a solution to her untenable situation.
Making something always seemed to help clear her thoughts. Had it been at an earlier phase of her life, she would have been found in her studio, sculpting her next piece of art or creating her next abstract on canvas. She couldn’t remember when she’d last molded a piece of clay or chiseled granite or stroked vibrant colors with a paintbrush. Instead her hands and her mind realigned themselves and found a new purpose in baking. The same artistry that she’d used in her work transferred itself to create unique and sumptuous cakes, pies, cookies and muffins. She sold some of her confections to a local baker from time to time and had even prepared one-of-a-kind wedding cakes. Minerva, her father’s home attendant and Jewel’s pseudoconfidante, had for the past year been encouraging her to pursue her baking—take it to the next level, build a business, she’d said. But Jewel couldn’t. She was an artist—at one time a renowned artist who traveled the world and held standing-room-only launches in galleries here in the States and abroad. Baking was a poor second cousin, an outlet for her idle hands and nothing more.
Today felt like a blueberry muffin day, she reasoned, and while the house remained under the blanket of slumber, Jewel created her other brand of magic.
By the time the sun was in full bloom, Jewel’s kitchen was filled with the warmth and aroma of a high-end bakery. She eased the tray from the oven and placed it on the counter to cool then prepared a pot of chamomile tea. With her cup of tea, she took and a plate with a muffin and homemade jam to the veranda and picked up the newspaper en route.
Nestled in her favorite spot, she opened the paper and was hit in the center of her being by the virile image of Craig Lawson, whose face graced the cover with the caption New Orleans Prodigal Son Returns.
The two-page article went on to talk about his meteoric rise in the movie industry and of course the iconic Lawson family, of which he was a part. It hinted at a rift between father and son, but the details were sketchy, giving way to more questions than answers. The one steady theme was that his return and the ensuing project would bring business to the city, as the article indicated that Lawson was a staunch supporter of employing local talent for his projects.
“A regular saint,” Jewel murmured around a mouthful of muffin. She washed it down with a healthy swallow of tea.
She gazed off into the distance. Craig Lawson. He was like many of the stars that peppered his films—larger than life. There was a magnetic pull about him, a swagger and self-assurance that was nearly impossible to resist. She’d felt it when they faced each other, when he clasped her hand in his. She’d
