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The jazz club had been tucked away behind an unmarked entrance, hidden from photographers and curious eyes. Soft saxophone music drifted through the room while conversations dissolved beneath amber light.
She had asked him about overseas numbers again.
He'd smiled.
"You've asked me that four times tonight."
"I know."
"And every answer has been the same."
"I know."
"So why ask again?"
Nicole remembered looking down at her wine glass. "Because I wanted to hear you say it again."
He hadn't laughed. He had simply watched her.
Then he'd stood. "Come with me."
She hadn't even asked where.
He'd led her toward the quiet corridor beside the rear exit, where the music faded into little more than a distant rhythm.
There, beneath the soft glow of an old wall lamp, he stopped.
Neither of them spoke.
She only remembered how close he suddenly seemed.
"Still worried?" he asked quietly.
"A little."
"You don't believe me?"
"I believe you."
"Then what is it?"
Nicole had searched for an answer and found none.
Because the truth had nothing to do with box office anymore.
Before she could say another word, his fingers brushed lightly against hers.
A simple touch. Gentle. Patient.
As though giving her every chance to step away.
She hadn't.
When he leaned in, she met him halfway.
The kiss wasn't rushed. It wasn't reckless. It started softly, almost cautiously, until weeks of restraint dissolved between them.
It was wild, passionate, and deeply consuming. It was the kiss of a man who knew exactly how to dismantle a woman's defenses. She had melted into him, her hands tangling in his dark hair, entirely forgetting the age gap, the watchful eyes of Hollywood, and her distant, cold husband.
She still remembered the warmth of his hand at the small of her back.
The way he'd looked at her afterward—not with triumph, not with arrogance, but with quiet certainty, as though he'd known all along she would stop pretending.
She had been the one to pull away. Not because she wanted to.
Because she was afraid of what would happen if she didn't.
Even now, twenty-four hours later, her fingertips drifted unconsciously to her lips.
She could still remember the feeling. That frightened her more than the kiss itself.
'When had I last felt wanted instead of admired?'
'When had I last laughed without wondering who might repeat it tomorrow?'
'When had someone listened to me without asking what Tom thought beside him?'
She couldn't remember. That was the frightening part.
Somewhere along the way, she'd stopped counting the days since her marriage had begun to unravel.
Instead...
She had started counting the hours until evening.
Marvin was so romantic, so lovely, so outspoken and so handsome that she tended to forget who he truly was on paper. She forgot the numbers. She only felt the love.
Nicole let out a slow breath and reached for the glass of iced water beside her.
The cold barely registered.
She finished it anyway before setting the glass down with a faint clink.
She touched her lips now, remembering the taste of him. Suddenly, she realized she'd been happier in the days with Marvin than in all those years of her marriage.
Without giving herself time to reconsider, she picked up her mobile phone.
His private number was already near the top of her recent calls.
Her thumb hovered over it for only a second.
Then she pressed it.
Beep… Beep… Beep...
By the third ring, the line connected.
"Hello, Nic."
His voice carried the same easy warmth she'd heard the night before.
"What's up?"
Nicole smiled before she realized she was smiling.
She had rehearsed half a dozen sensible reasons for calling.
Every single one vanished the moment she heard his voice.
For several heartbeats, she simply held the phone to her ear, hoping he couldn't hear how quickly her heart had started beating.
---
Early evening. The Meyers Estate, Los Angeles.
Marvin came downstairs fastening the cuff of his charcoal shirt. The house was warm with the smell of dinner drifting in from the kitchen.
Grant looked up from the sports section, glanced at Marvin's clothes, then at his watch.
"Hold on," he said. "You're dressed like that. Don't tell me you're disappearing again."
Marvin smiled faintly. "I've got plans tonight."
"So no dinner?"
"I'm afraid not."
Grant folded the newspaper onto his lap. "Alright." He nodded thoughtfully. "Let's see if I can guess."
He pointed a finger. "Lindsay?"
Marvin shook his head.
"Jessica?"
"No."
"Dorothy?"
"No."
Grant's grin widened. "The singer?"
"Beyoncé?" Marvin laughed. "No."
Grant refused to give up. "The little blonde actress."
"Scarlett. No."
Grant leaned farther back into the sofa. "Well, you've officially beaten me. So who's stealing my son's evening this time?"
Marvin answered without hesitation. "Nicole."
Linda lowered her newspaper. "Nicole... Kidman?"
"Yes."
Grant stared for two seconds. Then burst out laughing. "Again?"
He slapped the arm of the sofa. "Son, you've had meetings with that woman three nights in a row."
Marvin remained perfectly composed. "We're finalizing the international promotion."
Grant looked toward Linda. "You hear that? International promotion."
He nodded solemnly. "Sounds important."
"It is." Marvin didn't even smile. "We're coordinating different press schedules. Europe. Australia. Asia. Every distributor wants different dates, and Tom's availability doesn't always line up with Nicole's."
Grant raised both hands. "Alright, alright. I believe you. ...Mostly."
He stood and walked over, lowering his voice as though they were discussing classified information.
"Between you and me..." Grant whispered, eyes wide. "That woman is a world-class beauty. Damn, I'm actually a little envious of you right now. You're going directly to her private place tonight, right?"
"Of course I am. What else would I do for a private meeting?" Marvin responded, his face showing a hint of confusion.
Grant coughed awkwardly, suddenly realizing the boundary he had crossed. Caught up in the Hollywood glamour, he frequently forgot that his son—who had intellect, financial power, and presence of a seasoned studio mogul—was legally just about to turn fourteen in September.
Grant clumsily corrected himself, trying to inject parental authority back into his voice. "No, no, I mean... just make sure you come home early, alright? You've been spending too many late nights locked in that Burbank office, or out at these 'meetings.' You need sleep."
"I know, Dad," Marvin replied casually.
Grant chuckled under his breath before letting out a whistle. "She's beautiful. You've got no idea how lucky you are. When I was your age, I was spending my summers mowing lawns just to make a few bucks."
Marvin looked genuinely puzzled. "I'll mostly be reading schedules."
Grant snorted. "I know. ...I'm teasing you."
He rested a hand on Marvin's shoulder. "Just don't work yourself into the ground. These last few months..." He shook his head. "I don't know how you've managed it. Movies. Books. Music. Meetings. Sydney. I'd be asleep under my desk."
"I'll be fine."
"I know." Grant smiled proudly. "I just like saying it."
Marvin nodded once. "I appreciate it."
He started toward the front door.
Grant called after him. "And don't forget your jacket."
"It gets chilly once the sun's down."
"I won't."
The front door closed behind him.
For a few quiet seconds, the living room was still.
Grant smiled to himself. "Our boy's growing up fast."
No answer came.
He turned.
Linda had folded the newspaper.
Very carefully.
She was looking at him.
Grant immediately recognized that look. "...Honey?"
Linda rose from the sofa. Slowly. Calmly.
"Grant Meyers."
"...Yes?"
She stopped directly in front of him. "What exactly did you mean by..."
She perfectly mimicked his voice. "Lucky kid."
Grant blinked. "...I meant he gets to work with a great actress who might be a nominee?"
Linda reached over and caught his ear.
"Ow!"
"You were admiring another woman in my living room."
"I wasn't admiring—"
She twisted. Just enough.
"I was making an observation!" Grant protested as his ear twisted another notch. "A professional observation!"
He bent sideways, trying in vain to escape her grip.
"Linda! I'm sorry! I surrender!"
"Oh?" she shot back. "So he's not coming home tonight? Is that what you're encouraging?"
She gave his ear another sharp twist.
"Hss—ah! That hurts!" Grant yelped. "I was wrong, dear! I was kidding! I was just teasing the boy! Please, let go!"
Completely at his wife's mercy, Grant looked to Marvin for help. Marvin was already gone.
Linda held the glare for another second before finally releasing him.
Grant rubbed his throbbing ear, knowing this conversation wasn't over. Encouraging their son to pursue a married Hollywood A-lister was a mistake he'd be hearing about long after tonight.
Grant rubbed his ear with exaggerated misery. "I swear… I've been married too long to win these arguments."
Linda smiled sweetly. "You were never winning them."
Grant sighed dramatically. "I know."
He slipped an arm around her waist anyway. "You know I only ever come home to one beautiful blonde."
Linda tried to keep a straight face.
She lasted three seconds. "Oh, stop it."
Grant grinned. "See?"
"That one still works."
Linda rolled her eyes, but she was already smiling as she leaned against him. "You're impossible."
"And yet," Grant said, kissing the top of her head, "you've kept me around all these years."
"I suppose I have."
"You suppose?"
"I've considered trading you in once or twice."
Grant laughed. "For a newer model?"
Linda smiled innocently. "No. They'd probably be even more trouble."
---
Meanwhile, far from the chaos unfolding across town, Marvin sat quietly in the back of a black armored SUV.
It wasn't one the press knew.
Before leaving the estate, he'd specifically told Gordon to pull a vehicle that had never appeared in a paparazzi photograph. In Los Angeles, anonymity was often worth more than horsepower.
The city lights gradually gave way to the dark coastline.
Sixty minutes later, the SUV rolled to a stop outside a secluded Malibu villa overlooking the Pacific.
The property sat behind high hedges and swaying palms, hidden from the road as though it had no interest in being found. A long stone driveway disappeared into the trees before ending at a house that seemed to belong more to the ocean than the city.
Marvin studied it through the tinted window.
Nicole had chosen well.
Private. Quiet.
Far enough from Sunset and Beverly Hills that photographers were unlikely to stumble across it by accident.
A faint smile tugged at the corner of his mouth.
Dinner... alone.
Either she's remarkably trusting... or remarkably brave.
Neither explanation convinced him.
He chuckled to himself.
"You're making this far too easy."
"What was that, Marvin?" Gordon asked from the driver's seat.
Marvin shook his head. "Nothing."
He reached for the door handle. "Drop me here. Find somewhere to eat nearby. I'll call when I'm ready."
Gordon glanced into the mirrors one last time, instinctively checking the street. "You sure you don't want me to stay close?"
"No." Marvin opened the door. "This is Nicole's place. We'll have more privacy if you're not parked outside the gate."
Gordon gave a single nod. "Understood." Gordon already knew the perimeter. The gated communities of Malibu were essentially armed fortresses with private security response times faster than the LAPD. After visually confirming the street was clear, he nodded.
The ocean breeze greeted Marvin the moment he stepped onto the pavement, carrying the scent of salt and the steady rhythm of waves breaking somewhere beyond the cliffs.
"My little Red Riding Hood is truly playing with fire tonight," Marvin murmured into the hush of the place, eyes fixed on the dark windows beyond. A slow smile curved his lips. "The wolf grandmothers in this town are all dripping wet and desperate to devour me whole… every inch of me."
He chuckled and adjusted his jacket, closed the SUV door behind him, and watched the taillights disappear into the night.
For a brief moment, the world fell silent.
Then he walked up the stone path toward the villa.
Warm light spilled through the windows.
He stopped at the entrance, pressed the doorbell, and waited.
Click.
The lock released with a soft metallic snap.
The front door swung inward.
Nicole stood in the doorway, dressed in a stunning, simple white silk slip dress that clung desperately to her curves.
The warm amber lighting from the hallway turned the delicate fabric almost translucent, softly tracing the graceful lines of her statuesque figure. As she stepped aside to let Marvin in, the deliberate play of light and shadow over her body made the moment feel breathtakingly dreamlike.
The sight was so flawless it took even Marvin's breath away for a microscopic second.
****
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