“Wait!” Ian caught her arm. “Don’t leave. He’s upset, not thinking clearly.”
“He can’t control his emotions and appetites long enough to implement a simple plan, let alone one that’ll be as tricky as this,” she said. “That’s all we need to know.”
“I can do whatever I have to,” Simon said.
“Then why do you need me?” she asked.
With a grimace, he dropped onto the couch, leaned back and draped an arm over his face. “I don’t know. You haven’t helped matters so far.”
Gail told herself to leave, as she’d intended to a moment earlier, but she couldn’t seem to convince her feet. She wouldn’t let him purposely destroy this opportunity to get his life back on track the way he’d destroyed all the others since he started acting out a year ago. He had so much potential. It drove her crazy to watch him self-destruct, especially in the public eye. Regardless of her opinion of him these days, he’d once been her favorite actor. His performances still captivated her.
“You don’t get it, do you?” she said. “No one can do this for you. If you want to see your life improve, you need to stand up and fight.”
“What do you think I’ve been doing?” he mumbled into the crook of his arm.
Fighting the wrong kind of battles. And if he didn’t change that soon, he’d learn how much worse his life could become. “Lashing out randomly in anger isn’t what I’m talking about.”
When he didn’t respond, Ian’s alarm seemed to grow. “Simon, we talked about this. When you hired me back, you said you could do it. You said you would do it.”
“I know.” Deadpan. Resigned.
“So...are you backing out or not?” Ian asked.
Simon muttered something Gail couldn’t decipher; it sounded like a curse. But then he said, “I’m in if she is. I’d walk through fire for Ty. Do anything.”
That didn’t mean he had to be happy about it, and he wasn’t, which would make her job that much harder. “Give me one reason I should trust you to pull this off,” she said.
He lifted his arm so could look at her. “I can pull it off. I’ll pour it on so thick there’ll be times when even you’ll think I’m in love with you.”
More than a little fatigued herself, Gail slumped into a chair. “There’s no danger of that.”
The fact that she’d cracked, shown some exhaustion and weakness, seemed to surprise him. The tension in his body eased. “What about you? You don’t particularly admire me, and you’ve had no experience with acting. Can you be convincing?”
Self-conscious about her clothing ever since he’d made the repressed-PR-failure comment, she unbuttoned the top of her jacket. “I won’t have to be. No one will bother to question how I feel. They’ll take it for granted. Average-looking no-name lands big movie star. Why wouldn’t a girl be happy about that?”
He sat up so he could study her with that intense expression she’d seen him wear so often in the movies. She’d said something that made him think or caused him to reevaluate. After all the bickering and chafing at their new roles, she couldn’t imagine what it was. But acute interest transformed his face from dark and brooding to arresting, and she found it impossible to look away.
“Even if we do everything we can, it’ll take some luck for this to work,” he said at length.
“Yes,” she agreed.
A frown tugged at his lips. “These days I’m not sure I can depend on luck.”
She tucked the fine hairs that’d fallen around her face behind her ears. “Feel free to hire a real actress, if you think it’ll help.” She hoped he would. Then she could have him return as merely a client, which would be enough to protect her business, and life would go on as usual.
Ian jumped back into the conversation. “Simon, no. We don’t want anything to do with a woman who might be interested in using you to get famous. You never know what someone like that will do. I say we stick with what we’ve got. Gail’s a known entity.”
“She’s inflexible.” He spoke in the third person even though his gaze never wavered from her face.
“She’s trustworthy.” Ian shifted his gaze to her, too. “That’s more important than flexible. Two years will go by quicker than you think.”
Gail held her tongue. She got the impression Simon was testing her to see how she’d respond. But despite what he said about her, criticizing him further wouldn’t help. She had a feeling he already thought the worst of himself. At least she gave him credit for his talent.
“There’s just one more thing,” she said.
Stretching out his legs, Simon crossed one ankle over the other—another deceptively casual pose. “What’s that?”
“My father.”
Lines formed on his forehead. “What about him?”
When she’d agreed to be Simon’s “wife,” she’d been thinking of it primarily in the context of PR advantages. She’d been so focused on how to pull it off, she hadn’t considered the impact it would have on her other relationships—probably because, until now, L.A. and what she did here had always felt so removed from Whiskey Creek. Despite being a small town of barely two thousand, it was a world unto itself. But news of her marriage would travel everywhere. There’d be no way to keep it from getting back to her family and friends. She had to allow for that, prepare for it. Which meant she had to include them in the process.
“Before the wedding, we’ll need to take a trip to my hometown so I can introduce you to everyone.”
He didn’t consider that for even a second. “Absolutely not. I’m not going to some Podunk town to be judged by your family.”
Her friends would be just as hard on him, maybe harder. She’d hung out with the same crew since grade school. But she wasn’t about to mention that. “If we don’t enlist their support, my father or brother will drive to L.A. to convince me that I’m making a mistake marrying someone with...shall we say...such a tarnished reputation.”
Ian spoke up. “So go to your mother. Tell her you’re in love, get her to intercede.”
Gail straightened in her seat. “I don’t have a mother.”
Simon was still watching her. “Why not? Is she dead?”
“No, but she might as well be.” Gail hadn’t seen her in twenty years. “We don’t have a relationship.”
Ian raked his fingers through his hair. “We’ve got everything else worked out. This can’t be that hard. Tell your father he has nothing to worry about. You’ll get a big settlement even if your marriage turns out to be the worst thing you ever did.”
“News of the prenup will be in the press,” she said. “We have to make sure it is. It has to look like love and only love is the reason we’re getting together.”
“So?” he argued. “You’ll be receiving other money.”
“But I can’t tell anyone about that, not without letting them in on our little secret.” To Martin, having her marry someone he’d consider morally bankrupt would be bad enough. Getting paid for it would be worse. “Anyway, he doesn’t care about money. That’s not what matters to him.”
“What does?” It was Simon who asked. She could tell he was leery of the answer. Knowing her father, he had reason to be.
“Me.” Martin DeMarco also cared about character. But a list of Simon’s faults had come from her own lips as recently as a few days ago, when she’d last spoken to her dad. In retrospect, what she’d said during that phone call was unfortunate; telling Martin she was marrying Simon O’Neal would be no better than announcing she was marrying Charlie Sheen or Tiger Woods. “That means we’ll have to visit, show him you’re a changed man.”
“Forget it,” Simon said. “I’m a good actor but even I’m not that good, or I wouldn’t need to be doing this in the first place. If your dad is such a stickler, he won’t accept me even if I grovel.”
“So what do you suggest?” she asked.
“You’ll just have to cut ties with him for a while,” he replied.
“What?” She tightened her grip on her purse. “I can’t disappear from my network of family and friends for two years.”
Finished with his drink, Simon set it aside. “That’s what you’re asking from me, isn’t it?”
“It’s your image that needs improving! Your associates are the ones who threaten that, not mine.”
“I don’t care. Considering everything I’m giving up, you can make a sacrifice, too. I have enough to deal with. Why should I put up with people who are convinced I’m the devil out to drag you off to hell?”
“Because you’re the one who has to face down what you’ve done.” Why did her sacrifice have to be equivalent to his? She hadn’t screwed up her life the way he had.
“Not with your father looking on I don’t. I just have to survive the next two years without doing anything stupid. The rest is up to you.”
“Why are you making this so difficult?” she demanded.
“You started it.”
“Going without sex isn’t the same as giving up my family and friends!”
“I think it’s pretty equal,” Ian inserted, but both she and Simon ignored him. They were locked in battle.
“I make some concessions. You make some concessions,” he said. “How’s what I’m doing so unfair?”
He was attempting to punish her, but she wouldn’t let him. “You’d know if you had a family to bother with!”
When a muscle jumped in his cheek, she realized what she’d just said and had no idea how she’d allowed herself to be so callous, even to someone who provoked her as much as he did. His father, a dissolute movie star himself, had conceived Simon with his wife’s sister. For obvious reasons, the relationship between father and son had always been strained. His father’s wife refused to have Simon anywhere near her. And his mother, who’d been disowned by the rest of the family for sleeping with her sister’s husband, had died of breast cancer when Simon was ten. After she was gone, he’d been moved from the small house he’d lived in until that time to his father’s estate, where he’d been raised by the hired help that slipped in and out of Tex O’Neal’s life, not all of whom were particularly reliable. Rumor had it that the one nanny Simon had loved most had gone to prison for embezzlement.
“I’m sorry.” Her cheeks burned as she gaped at him.
He glared back. “I’m not going anywhere close to your family,” he said, and got up and walked out.
“Simon, you okay?” Ian’s expression filled with so much concern that Gail was tempted to believe he really cared about his employer, beyond just the paycheck, but Simon didn’t respond.
“Did you have to go that far?” He turned to face her once it was clear that Simon wasn’t coming back.
She was so busy kicking herself she didn’t need him to pile on, too, but she couldn’t blame him. “I didn’t mean it. I—I’m overwrought. Couldn’t sleep a wink last night. Other than that, I have no excuse.”
“You’re in the public-relations business, damn it!”
“I wish I could take it back.” She honestly hadn’t meant to hurt Simon, hadn’t realized she could. He seemed so...impervious. Still, she prided herself on using restraint and diplomacy especially in difficult situations. What had gotten into her?
Sinking onto the sofa, she tilted some of the ice left in Simon’s glass into her mouth. She’d turned him down when he’d offered her a drink, but she shouldn’t have. She needed something to relieve her dry throat, and she was rattled enough not to care where she got it.
“For what it’s worth, he’s going through hell,” Ian said.
She set the glass, now empty, back on the table. “You’ve mentioned that. But he’s not the only one, okay? I don’t like this any more than he does.”
“Of course you don’t.” He made a noticeable effort to calm down. “You’re out of your comfort zone, and that’s understandable. But...can’t you... I don’t know...put out for him once in a while? Just to help him stay on the straight and narrow? I bet he’d agree to meet your dad if you do.”
She smacked her forehead with the palm of her hand. “Tell me you’re kidding.”
“No! Come on, what would it hurt? You’ll be married so it won’t be illegal or immoral. Even Mother Teresa couldn’t object.”
When she didn’t respond, he seemed encouraged.
“It might be something you’d enjoy,” he added. “He could loosen you up. Teach you a few things. If this marriage is going to work, he’ll need an outlet.”
“I am not going to become his blow-up doll.” Something to be used and tossed away when he was done, something that would never mean anything to him. She had to live with herself when this was over.
“Forget it. I shouldn’t have brought the subject up again.” He shrugged. “Time will take care of it.”
“What are you talking about?”
“You’ll see. You’re going to want it as bad as he does. I mean, you’ve got to have some physical desires of your own. You’re what, thirtyish? And not bad-looking. A bit pale, maybe, but if you were to forget the business suits, let your hair down and laugh once in a while, you could get laid.”
She held up a hand in the classic stop position. “Please, don’t try to cheer me up.”
“Just my two cents,” he said with an attitude that indicated he was as obtuse on this as he sounded.
“Could you shut up for a second, please? I need to think.”
He shoved his hands in his pockets while she tried to sort out her thoughts and feelings, but silence didn’t offer the clarity she’d hoped for. She kept coming back to two things. She couldn’t bear to cast her employees aside. And she couldn’t return home in defeat. Whether she liked it or not, that left her with only one option—to ignore her frustration and unhappiness and marry Simon.
But the second she said, “I do,” she’d step into the spotlight that followed him mercilessly and attract far more attention than she’d ever feel comfortable with. And if Simon refused to make an appearance in Whiskey Creek, her father would be positive that she’d turned out as disloyal as her mother, and her friends would feel snubbed and betrayed that she hadn’t included them in the “courtship.”
“Don’t.” Ian broke into her thoughts.
She lifted her head. “Don’t what?”
“Back out. You’re Simon’s only hope for getting even partial custody of his kid. He’s counting on you.”
But what about her family? “What if something goes wrong—we can’t get along or...whatever? I don’t want to make matters worse.”
“This marriage won’t be easy, but if anyone can do it, you can. I’ve never met a more talented publicist.”
“Really?” His confidence in her actually made her feel a bit better. She eyed him, wondering what he was about to add that would twist the compliment into something less flattering, but he seemed to be in earnest.
He lowered his voice as if he thought their host might be standing outside the door. “This will give Simon a second chance. I think he deserves one, if that makes any difference.”
Someone as shallow as Ian probably wasn’t the best judge of character. But it would give Big Hit PR a second chance, too. Considering the money she stood to make, she’d have her payroll covered for a long time, even if things turned bad again. But could she really do this? Could she placate her family and friends with calls and emails for a few months by pleading Simon’s busy schedule?
If so, maybe she could convince her “husband” to visit Whiskey Creek for Christmas. Or at least let her return for a visit. “This is going to require such a commitment,” she said, feeling the weight of it. “And for so long.”
“Not that long, not as far as marriages go. Think of it as a job, like you told Simon to do.” He bent at the waist to catch her eye. “Okay?”
The years she’d toiled to get on top came to mind. So did the fact that she had nowhere to go if this didn’t work out. She couldn’t bear the thought of moving back home; she’d done everything she could to escape Whiskey Creek the first time. “Okay.”
“You’re making the commitment?”
She stood. “I’m making the commitment.”
He crossed to the minibar and brought the prenup they’d painstakingly devised on the phone last night. “So when should we have the wedding?”
She glanced over the legalese Simon’s attorneys had thrown together on short notice, made sure everything was in order and signed before panic could overtake her. “A month from now is the earliest we could have the ceremony and make the relationship seem credible. Check Simon’s schedule. See if he’s free the first Saturday in November.”
“I’ll clear off whatever else he has going.”
“What are you going to tell Chelsea Seagate?”
“Nothing. I’ve already called her to say we’re canceling our contract with Pierce Mattie and returning to you.”
She wished she could take some small pleasure in that. “Fine.”
When she handed him the contract, he smiled in apparent relief. “Thanks. First Saturday, private ceremony in Vegas. The two of you will take his jet, of course. But that doesn’t give us much time to prepare.”
“Then we’d better get to work.” She left the house but stopped in the drive, her finger hovering over the send button on the pictures he’d emailed her. Once she forwarded them to Josh and he leaked them to his friend at Hollywood Secrets Revealed, there’d be no turning back.
A creeping sensation gave her the feeling that she was being watched. Twisting around, she spotted movement in a second-story window. It was Simon, looking out at her. They stared at each other for a few seconds. Then she held up her phone to let him know they were at the point of no return.
After a slight hesitation, he nodded, and she pressed Send.