Chapter Twenty-One

Alex

I stepped into my cabin and leaned back against the door.

Holy fucking hell.

My brain spun in frantic circles trying to process the last twelve hours.

First, there was the sex. Obviously, I thought there was at least a chance we would sleep together last night. I mean, I went over there in my pajamas with a DVD case full of condoms. But even I couldn’t have anticipated...what exactly.

That it would be better, way better, than any of my last partners combined. Or that I would willingly stay the night in his bed. Not accidentally fall asleep on the couch the way I had the past two nights. No, this was very intentional, because wild horses couldn’t have pulled my naked ass out of that man’s arms. Thinking about spending the entire day at work without him sounded awful.

Almost as awful as his mom making a surprise visit. Which brought me to plot point number two. Damian’s mom was Penelope freakin’ Alworth. One of the most influential women, no persons, in media. There had been a time before I realized I could make my own choices in life when I’d wanted to be just like Ms. Alworth. I used a quote from her as my quote in my senior yearbook. Don’t allow a single day to pass without taking at least one tiny step toward your goals.

And her first impression of me was a disheveled, sexed-up home-wrecker.

Bizarro moment number three. Damian had spent the last three years convincing his mom that he and Walsh were lovers. What in the name of sweet baby Jesus was that all about? Why in the world would Damian need to concoct such an obviously fake scenario with his mom? And what else was he pretending about?

My stomach dropped. This is why I didn’t do relationships. In my experience, men lied. They lost interest and were too chicken shit to tell the woman about it. There was always a sexier, prettier, shinier plaything around the next corner. And they always lied about it. If he’d lied to his mom about his sexuality for three years...well, that just sent up all kinds of red flag warnings. Warnings I’d be smart to heed.

My phone buzzed in my pocket. I pulled it out and glared at the incoming call.

As if summoned by my thoughts, the king of liars himself had called. No one told a lie in the name of love like my dad. No time to think about Damian now. I pressed the call button.

“Hello, Daddy.”

“Good morning, princess,” my father’s deep voice boomed from the other end of the line. “Anything interesting going on in that sleepy little town you live in?”

I swallowed. I loved my parents, but it was barely after six in the morning in California. The only reason for my father to be calling this early was because he needed something. Did he know that Penelope Alworth was here? I wouldn’t be surprised, considering his Hollywood circle seemed to trade in gossip instead of cash. If he wanted a favor, I was going to make him work for it.

“Nope.” I forced my voice into chipper PR Alex mode. “Everything is as normal as always.”

“I think we might have a very different definition of interesting.”

“Really.” I laid on the mock surprise as thick as humanly possible and headed to the kitchen to make coffee. I had a feeling I was going to need it. “I can’t imagine what you’re talking about.”

My father laughed, a booming chuckle that probably rattled the shelf of Emmy and Oscar trophies in his office. “That’s my girl. Never give up for free what someone else will gladly pay for. Even if that someone happens to be your devoted father.”

Devoted? He was laying it on thick. I braced myself.

I could hear ice tinkling against glass, and I imagined him sitting in his oversized leather office chair, swirling a small glass of bourbon. Small because it was still early in the morning after all. Just a little nip to get him through until his three-martini lunch with some new producer or budding starlet looking to catch her first big break.

“Look, Dad, it’s been kinda a morning already, so it would be a big help if you could just cut to the chase already.” I carefully measured out my coffee grounds and added them to the bottom of my French press. Then I dug the spoon back into the bag and added another scoop. It was going to be one of those days.

“Perfect.” His voice switched from devoted father to seasoned director accustomed to being accommodated. “It’s been brought to my attention that a young Mr. Damian Thorne has taken up temporary residence in Aspenridge. Can you confirm this?”

“How in the world did you...nope, never mind, it doesn’t matter. Yes, Damian is here for a few weeks. Why?”

“Damian, is it?” I could practically hear the gears in his head spinning. “So you’ve met already. Perfect. I’m going to need you to...warm him up for me.”

I froze with my hand poised over the French press. Blood flooded my neck and...other places. Damian and I were definitely well past warming up. But the thought of my father using that connection made me feel dirty, and I didn’t even know what he wanted yet.

“Warm him up for what?”

“A new project.” The excitement in his voice was tangible. “People are obsessed with hero stories right now, and it’s past time that Americans heard Mr. Thorne’s story of bravery and triumph. He gave up a life of wealth and privilege to become an American soldier, putting his life on the line when he could have sat on his duff in the lap of luxury. It would be like you joining the Peace Corps.”

Yeah, right. It had taken an entire year of begging, pleading, and master-level manipulation to convince my parents to let me attend an out-of-state college. “Since when do you care about heroes?”

“Alexandra.” His tone was still light, but the use of the real name meant I was skating on thin ice. “I’ve always cared about bringing to life stories that will touch and inspire our fellow citizens.”

I pressed down on the plunger and watched as the hot water turned a dark, caffeinated brown. “And if those touching stories happen to rake in millions at the box office, that’s just an added bonus of inspiring the nation.” My snark was showing, but god, I hated this. Damian deserved better from me and my dad if Damian did decide to work on this project.

“Careful, Alexandra. You’re beginning to sound an awful lot like your mother.”

I pursed my lips. That definitely was not a compliment coming from the man who had barely tolerated a marriage to my mother for the past twenty-five years.

“Will you talk to him or not?”

“Of course, I’ll do it.” I hated this part of being my parents’ daughter. From the time my birth had been announced on the cover of People magazine, I’d been trained to be part of the Nichols PR machine. So, of course, I’d say yes to helping my dad. That didn’t mean Damian would, though. I already knew his answer would not only be “no” but an emphatic “Hell, no!” Getting involved in a high profile film about the worst experience of his life was the last thing Damian would ever dream of doing.

“Wonderful.” Jolly and slick public-appearance Dad was back, and ice clinked against his glass again. “And one more little thing, sweetheart.”

I pulled a mug down from the cabinet and waited for the other shoe to drop. With my parents, there was always another shoe.

“A producer I’m hoping to work with on this is currently vacationing in Aspenridge. Of course, I let him know what a quaint town it was with a perfectly mild summer climate, ideal for a little, pre-summer, blockbuster vacation.”

As if he’d ever set foot in Aspenridge. “Go on.”

“I just thought it would be nice if the two of you could get together for dinner and drinks one night while he’s in town. His wife is there with him, and I’m sure she’d love to have another woman to chat with while she’s there.”

If I knew my father, he’d already set up the dinner with his producer friend and had made the reservations. “Send over the info, and I’ll make it happen.” Yep, I was totally their trained monkey.

“That’s my girl.” His glass thunked against the solid-wood top of his desk with a thud I could hear all the way through the phone line. “Listen, I’ve got to run. I’ve got a tee time coming up soon and then an early lunch at the club. No rest for the weary. Right, my love?”

“Of course, I’ve got to get ready for work, too.”

“Perfect. I’ll have Brenda send over the details. Bye, darling.”

The line went dead before I could even say goodbye. Not that it mattered. Once my father achieved his goal, his mind was already focused on the next order of business.

My phone chimed with an incoming email from his overly efficient assistant, Brenda. I wondered idly if she’d been in bed with him. It sure as hell wouldn’t have been the first time. She’d been with my father for the past two decades and managed every aspect of his life, including me. Brenda was personally responsible for every birthday card I’d ever received.

I shook my head. It didn’t matter. My parents might be ladder-climbing Hollywood bigwigs without a parental bone in their bodies, but they were still my parents. I poured the steeped coffee into a mug and took my first sip straight. The bitter liquid coated my tongue and slid down my throat.

It was too early in the morning, and I’d already faced down an angry PR mastermind who’d thought I was trying to steal her son away from his gay lover and an overbearing father, incapable of telling the difference between a favor and coercion.

I reached into the cabinet and shoved aside an expired can of carrots to grab the sugar. I added three heaping teaspoons to my mug and stirred the crystal gold into my coffee. Taking another sip, I leaned back on the counter and gave myself a full minute to process the last half an hour.

I opened my eyes. Nope, quiet contemplation wasn’t going to cut it today. I kicked my shoes off into a pile of dirty laundry and took my cup into the bathroom. Shoving aside a dozen half empty bottles of hair products, I set my mug on the counter and took in my reflection.

Good god. That was some seriously bad sex hair. Sugar in my coffee wasn’t going to cut it today. This required a strawberry cheesecake Danish from Em-dash. I needed the extra sugar to help me process everything. My dad. Penelope Alworth. Sleeping with Damian.

Damian. Was it possible this project might actually help him heal? There was no doubt the incident with his friends haunted him. He’d loved them. Eventually he very well might regret not taking this opportunity to honor them. I shouldn’t let the fact my father was involved color my perspective on the validity of the project. But how could I get Damian to see that without him immediately shutting me down?

Better make that two Danish.