Simon had had every drop of alcohol removed from his house, including the cooking sherry. He’d canceled all outings and appearances, lest he be tempted. And he’d agreed to have his chef administer random Breathalyzer tests every day for the first week, as a fail-safe to keep him honest. If he screwed up, Ian and Gail would be notified and it would all be over.
Those were extreme measures, and yet he was beginning to wonder if they’d be enough. It was only day three of Operation Desperation, as he secretly referred to it, and already he was having fantasies about gulping down the rubbing alcohol under his bathroom sink—anything to give him a few moments’ peace from the constant craving. He’d let drinking become such a big part of his life, had used it to create a buffer from all the things he’d rather avoid. When he was too bored, he drank. When he was too angry, he drank. When he was too frustrated or disillusioned, he drank. Alcohol even helped him sleep, if he consumed enough of it. Now he had to deal with all the emotions he’d purposely dulled, and he’d never felt more exposed to his enemies, more...raw.
As he glanced around his son’s old bedroom, he suffered a tremendous sense of loss. That was what he’d really been hiding from—his own inadequacies and what they’d cost him.
“Simon? Where the hell are you?”
Hearing his manager in the hallway, Simon stepped up to the window as if he was interested in what was going on outside. He didn’t want Ian to know he’d been sitting here for an hour or more, just missing his kid. “In here.”
The thump of footsteps stopped as Ian came to the open doorway and leaned against the frame. If he thought it was strange to find Simon in Ty’s old room, he didn’t say. His eyes swept over the stuffed animals in the hammock, the portrait of father and son taken a few days after Ty was born, the alligator-shaped rug on the floor and the extensive bug collection hanging on the wall, but he said only, “Holy shit, man. You scared me. Why haven’t you been answering your phone?”
Simon turned back to the spectacle of a woman with a camera attempting to scale his back fence. “Don’t know where it is.”
“Might be wise to keep track of it for the next couple of weeks, make yourself accessible to Gail and me, don’t you think?”
No, he didn’t. Keeping his phone close by would also make him accessible to his other friends, and he wasn’t supposed to see them, didn’t even want to hear their voices. Although he’d promised himself he’d get control of his life many times in the past few months, now he had no choice. He had to hold the line without a single mistake. Gail had been right when she’d said he was on his last chance. His attorney had called this morning to tell him that Bella’s side had been successful in convincing the judge to postpone the next hearing. He no longer saw that as a bad thing, since it gave him a chance to prove he’d changed. But it was absolutely imperative that the next several months go by “without incident.”
There won’t be anything I can do, his lawyer had emphasized, unless you make this reprieve work to your benefit....
He got that. He was trying.
“Figured you’d find me if you needed me,” he said.
“You could make it easier. Takes twenty minutes just to go through this damn house.”
Simon preferred not to talk about why he’d been so hard to find. He didn’t want Ian to realize he was hanging on by such a slim thread. Somehow, despite the fact that he’d broken every promise he’d ever made to himself or anyone else since the real problems with Bella began, he’d managed to convince Ian and Gail that he could play the part of a sober, doting husband. Why erode their confidence? Their expectations, their willingness to trust him, were all that kept him going right now. That was why he’d sent Gail the necklace. In his better moments, he could acknowledge that his publicist’s life had been doing just fine until he’d come crashing into it.
He had a habit of bringing people down, whether he intended to or not. The least he could do was compensate her with a nice gift. “How’s the campaign coming along?”
Ian rubbed his hands. “Now that the weekend is over, the news is spreading fast.”
Simon was glad someone was excited about this. He was filled with trepidation and a sense of dread that he’d screw up again. “Good.”
“You haven’t heard anything?”
“No.” He’d avoided the computer and the TV, had spent his time in the woodshop, building a playhouse and jungle gym. He liked working with wood, enjoyed the physicality of sanding, sawing and hammering. And constructing something so elaborate for Ty helped him have faith that one day his son would be back to use it.
“Hollywood’s in an uproar,” Ian said. “Hollywood Secrets Revealed put the pics online right away. I guess they didn’t want to get scooped. Then everyone ran with the story. Facebook, Twitter, celebrity blogs. They’re all buzzing about it.”
Simon had witnessed some added activity outside. He knew that his security personnel were having more of a fight than usual keeping people off the premises. “What are they saying about the rape accusation?”
“That it’s bogus, just like we wanted. Have you heard from your attorney on that yet?”
Yes. Harold J. Coolridge, attorney at law, had used the false accusation as his excuse for supporting a postponement of the hearing. He’d told the judge that there were too many issues that needed to be resolved before the court could make a fair decision, so he agreed with Bella’s motion. But Simon didn’t want to go into that with his manager. The more intricate details of his personal life weren’t any of Ian’s business. “No.”
“Then you will, and I’m sure he’ll be relieved.” He gestured at the window. “What’s so interesting out there?”
“Some chick’s sitting on the fence. She just flashed my security guys.”
“No kidding?” Ian hurried over to see for himself. “Hey, look at that.” He whistled long and low. “Nice tits. God, it must be great to be you.”
Simon rubbed his neck. “This place is crawling with crazy people and paparazzi.”
Ian didn’t take his eyes off the spectacle unfolding outside. “It hasn’t been this bad since Bella called the cops on you. How’s security holding up?”
“They’re managing, I guess. Godzilla—” also known as Lance Pratt, Simon’s best bodyguard “—had to knock some fat guy on his ass when he slipped through the front gate along with the delivery truck that brings my groceries, but...that’s been the worst of it.”
Ian shook his head. “I wouldn’t want to tangle with Godzilla. He’s a bruiser.”
He was also a loyal friend. Simon knew Lance would get him a fifth of vodka if he asked for it and not tell a soul, but that wasn’t the kind of friend he needed at the moment. He needed more people like his hard-hitting publicist. Maybe she wasn’t a barrel of laughs, or even particularly good for his ego, but she demanded he follow the rules—more so than anyone else.
“How’s Gail handling the onslaught?” he asked. The paparazzi had to be all over her; she’d never had to protect her privacy so was therefore much easier to reach.
“Haven’t talked to her. She’s shut herself in her house like you have and won’t come out.” Pointing outside, he clicked his tongue. “Aw, they got her.”
Simon didn’t care about the girl with the camera. He had too many other things to worry about. Besides, women acted in zany ways to get his attention all the time. “Will Gail be able to handle the pressure when she does come out?”
Now that there was nothing exciting going on, Ian turned from the window. “Of course. She’s tough. You know that.”
Truer words were never spoken. Gail had such control of herself, her life. Simon envied that. When he’d married Bella, he’d been so sure he was doing the right thing, so sure he’d do a better job of being a husband than his father had.
“When does she plan on surfacing?”
Ian clipped his sunglasses to his shirt. “Don’t know. I checked in with Joshua this morning. He said Gail won’t pick up, even for him. I guess the news that she was seeing you got her in some kind of fight with her family.”
Simon felt his muscles tense. “They don’t think I’m good enough for her?”
“You know how judgmental people can be. Give her father a Ferrari and everything will be fine.”
Simon didn’t get the impression Gail’s father was that easy to placate. “She’s old enough to make her own decisions. It’s none of their business.”
“Doesn’t matter. They don’t want her with someone who has a reputation for sleeping around.”
Ian’s words cut, but Simon had gotten damn good at pretending nothing could hurt him. He was actually surprised that something this small could bother him. It was the lack of alcohol, the new vulnerability. He had to figure out how to shield himself some other way.
“On top of that she’s afraid her phones are bugged,” Ian went on. “She won’t trust her cell, either. Even Josh insisted on calling me from somewhere other than the office.” He chuckled. “She’s militant, man. That’s what makes her so great at her job. I’m being straight up with you. I wouldn’t want to go into this with anyone else.”
Simon agreed and—suddenly—wanted to see her. His manager meant well but often did more harm than good. Maybe he could draw some strength from Gail’s no-nonsense, do-or-die approach to life’s tougher choices. Maybe spending a few minutes with her would give him a fresh shot of determination. “When are we supposed to get together for that romantic dinner?”
“The one where we leak your location to the press but pretend we’re shocked when they show up? We talked about next week sometime, right?”
“Let’s do it tonight.”
Ian straightened. “It’s already after noon. How will I get a message to her if she won’t answer her phone? I guess I could text, but who knows if—”
“Go over there.”
“And if the paparazzi follow me?”
“That’s what they’re supposed to do, isn’t it? That’s what this whole thing is about.”
* * *
Simon wasn’t looking his best, but the restaurant was so dimly lit Gail couldn’t discern any one reason. He was well-groomed, well-dressed—more so than when she’d sat with him in the living room and plotted out their marriage. So...maybe it wasn’t his looks that were off; it was something else. The bravado that was normally such a part of him was gone. The way he kept shifting, he seemed tired, stressed, restless. She would’ve assumed he was bored, except that he’d drawn out the meal as long as possible, even though he had no apparent interest in eating. He’d downed five Cokes while barely touching the oysters on the half shell he’d ordered or the salmon and Italian sausage pasta he professed to love. When she asked him why he wasn’t eating, he said he wasn’t hungry.
“You okay?” This was the second time she’d asked, but she didn’t dare say more. Not in public. Although a gaggle of people holding cameras had thronged them at the entrance, the restaurant had done a good job of keeping out the paparazzi. That didn’t mean she and Simon could forget the roles they were playing until they had to emerge onto the street, however. The other patrons and the restaurant staff were watching them carefully and could report what they saw, especially if there was any money to be made.
To keep up the illusion of intimacy they’d come here to create, she reached across the table for his hand, and he threaded his fingers through hers. She’d expected him to be receptive. They were here to canoodle in public. But she hadn’t expected the little hitch in her chest at his touch, or the relief that came over his face when they joined hands.
There was more of the lost little boy in him tonight than ever before. Usually, he hid it quite well; at times, she wasn’t even sure it existed.
She cleared her throat. “Are you going to answer me?”
His chest rose as if he’d just taken a deep breath, but then a smile broke across his face. It looked so natural she was tempted to believe it was—but he was acting. She could already read him more deeply than even a few days ago. “I’m fine.”
In case someone was using a device that amplified their voices in an attempt to pick up on their conversation, she didn’t push for more. “My dinner was delicious. Too bad you weren’t very hungry.”
“How do you like the pendant?”
Although she could tell he hadn’t been too invested in any of their other chitchat, he seemed genuinely curious about this. The look on his face gave her the impression that he’d truly meant to please her, which was something new.
“It’s lovely.” She was wearing it; the solid weight of it rested just above her cleavage. “But... I’m not sure why you sent such an expensive gift. That really wasn’t necessary.”
“You’re worth it.”
More acting. Lies, false compliments and fake smiles were easy to combat on an emotional level. But his touch seemed so honest it confused her. It also set her on edge because she liked it. The movement of his thumb, rubbing lightly back and forth on hers, put butterflies in her stomach.
“I knew it would look good on you,” he said.
For the sake of anyone who might be watching, she gave him a smile to match the one he’d bestowed on her and resisted the urge to withdraw her hand. “It was very sweet of you.”
“Finished with your meal?”
“I am.” She used the fact that they were about to leave as an excuse to let go of him. But after he tossed a couple of large bills on the table, he put an arm around her shoulders, which kept them in close contact. At first, she thought it was part of the show but his sense of purpose soon told her he was preparing for the crowd that awaited them outside.
“Are you ready for this?” he murmured as he guided her through the restaurant.
“This?”
“The paparazzi.”
They wanted her picture as badly as his, and that was an experience she’d never had before. “As ready as I can be. I don’t know how you put up with the loss of privacy.”
“Part of the territory,” he said. But she knew it bothered him more than he was letting on. She’d heard him make statements about “being hunted.” He might have elaborated, but the restaurant manager darted into their path to thank Simon for his patronage.
“I hope you found each dish to your liking,” he said, all but bowing in deference.
Simon gave him a stiff nod. “Everything was delicious.”
Knowing the man must have noticed that Simon had eaten very little, Gail jumped in. “It was wonderful,” she gushed. “The best!”
Relieved, he thanked her profusely and begged them to come again.
“What I said wasn’t enough?” Simon muttered as they moved on.
Had she irritated him? “He was so...hopeful.”
“That’s how they all are.”
The constant attention would get tiresome. She could see that. She could also see that being a celebrity was exhausting. Tonight that was more obvious than ever. Simon could never give enough to the people he encountered because there was only one of him and so many of them. He never got to feel he’d met others’ expectations.
“There’s no break,” she said as they stepped out of the restaurant and into a sea of flashing lights.
Gail had told herself she’d smile and hold her head high whenever she encountered the paparazzi, just as she advised her clients to do. Make them think you enjoy it, that you have nothing to hide. After all, what were a few pictures? It was better to pose and get good ones. That was her classic line.
But because of the crush, there was a much greater sense of urgency than she’d ever seen or experienced before. And acting as if this was an unwelcome surprise was part of the campaign. She turned her face into Simon’s chest to avoid being blinded by the strobelike effect and felt his arm tighten as he sheltered her from the most aggressive of the cameramen.
“Car’s right here,” he said.
One of Simon’s bodyguards, who’d been waiting with their driver, had created a path. Relieved to have a safe resort, Gail slipped inside the same limousine that had picked her up at her house. Simon rarely traveled in vehicles like this, unless it was Oscar night, a premiere or some other special event where it was expected, but there hadn’t been any point in holding back on the accoutrements for this date. Tonight he’d planned to dive into the shark-infested pool of celebrity obsession—and he’d taken her with him.
The silence that met them as soon as the door was shut felt odd, oppressive. But it didn’t last long. The stereo went on, playing classical music, as the driver inched through the crowd, most of whom were still vying for photographs—from the curb, the street, anywhere they might gain advantage.
“Wow,” Gail breathed. This was what she had to look forward to. Could she keep up the charade?
She thought Simon might be as talkative on the drive as he’d been in the restaurant, but he didn’t say a word. Back to his laconic self, he stared out the window.
“So? How do you think it went?” she asked as they glided around the corner like a slow-moving parade float.
“Good.” His response was clipped, perfunctory. Apparently he’d been acting a lot more than she’d realized. Maybe that vulnerability that appealed to her was part of the character he’d decided to play. She hoped so. It made her too eager to defend him, whether he deserved it or not. She’d always been an “underdog” kind of girl.
But a movie star of Simon’s caliber and success could hardly be considered an underdog; she had to remember that.
They merged into traffic, finally leaving the scrambling photographers behind. “I played my part well enough?” she pressed. “It was convincing even though I’m not an actress?”
He didn’t turn to look at her. “You did fine.”
“Did it come across as natural when I reached for your hand?”
This seemed to pull him out of his brooding. “That was smart. It made you appear confident of my feelings for you and suggested that we’re comfortable touching each other.”
“Great.” Especially since nothing could be further from the truth. Although it was easier to touch Simon in public than anywhere else, even that simple gesture had given her pause.
“But surprised the hell out of me,” he added.
“Why?” He’d taken her hand earlier.
“Because you think I’m the big bad wolf.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Yes, you do. You’re afraid to make even accidental contact.”
Knowing him the way she did, she should’ve expected his candor. He always said what he thought, regardless of whether it put her on the spot. “I’m not afraid.” She searched for a better way to explain her reaction to him. “I’m just not groveling at your feet, dying to get a piece of you, like most people.” Because she knew how superficial his attention would be, how quickly it would pass. “You should find that...refreshing.”
The panel between the front and back opened before he could answer. “Boss?”
Simon’s gaze cut to the rearview mirror and the reflection of his chauffeur’s eyes. “What is it?”
“Where to?”
“My place.”
“Your place?” Gail echoed. “You mean, after you drop me off, right?”
“We’re being followed,” he said. “Might as well let them think you’re staying the night. We’ve already put this much into it.”
She twisted around to look behind them. It made sense that the paparazzi who’d staked out the restaurant would want to know where they were going next and follow in hopes of another photo op. She couldn’t pinpoint any specific driver as one of the people she’d seen outside the restaurant, but she hadn’t looked at them as individuals—only as a pack. “Okay, but...won’t they hang around for a while?”
Simon’s gaze returned to the buildings whipping past them now that they’d picked up speed. “Some of them will probably camp out.”
“How will I get home without them noticing?”
“You won’t.” His lips curved into a challenging smile. “I guess you’ll just have to share my bed.”