I AM HIS GIFT
Chapter 1
Where is Gemma Darlings? Gemma rolled her eyes and dropped the magazine in disgust. Someone had slipped it under her door late last night or early this morning. It was obviously at attempt to rattle her, but Gemma was better than that. She was far more resilient than the public wanted to believe.
Still, curiosity got the best of her, and she bent down to pick it up again. Flipping through its pages until she found her story, she leaned against the counter and skimmed over the first few sentences.
Six months have passed since American Sweetheart Gemma Darlings was caught in the arms of married photographer Spencer Harkers. Since the announced divorce of the Harkers couple, the model has since disappeared. Rumor has it that the make-up giant Flawless and clothing designer Stephan Tolstov had both broken their contracts with her. Will Gemma Darlings rise again?
“Rubbish,” Gemma muttered as she tossed the magazine on the counter. Of course, none of it was actual rubbish. There were pictures of her in the arms of her favorite photographer, Spencer was in the middle of a divorce, and she’d been fired from all of her contracts. The public might love a scandal, but no one wanted to be associated with the home wrecker. Spencer and his wife were a beloved duo in the photography world, and people couldn’t believe that Spencer would cheat on her.
All it had taken was one picture for Gemma to go from beloved role model to the woman in red. And the hits had just kept on coming. Piled next to her on the counter were the bills with past-due notices. Her phone and her electricity would be cut off within days. If she didn’t find a way to make some money soon, they’d repossess her car and kick her out of her apartment.
Her beloved apartment. Nestled on the California coast, it overlooked the majestic Pacific Ocean. She made a point to be home as much as possible so she could sit out on her deck and watch the sun set. The golds and reds across the horizon would shimmy and glitter across the cascading waves of the water. Growing up, she’d always wanted a beach view home, and this place was her crowning success. It was the trophy of all that she had accomplished, and she was going to lose it.
“How the mighty do fall,” she murmured as she swept her hand across the counter angrily. The bills fluttered to the floor, and she had to fight back her tears. She blamed Spencer for this. It was all his fault.
The phone rang, and she lunged for it. Normally it was only collection agencies calling for their money, but she never gave up hope that someone would want to work with her again. The name Elizabeth Towney danced across the screen. For a moment, she almost ignored it. Lizzie used to be one of her oldest friends, but they’d drifted apart with Gemma’s success. But this wasn’t the time to be ignoring contacts.
“Lizzie,” she said in what she hoped was a delighted tone. “How are you?”
“Hi Gemma,” she said cautiously. “I’m good. It’s been awhile. I’ve actually been in France for the past couple of months, and I just got back. My mailbox and voicemail is flooded with invites to do interviews about you. What the hell is going on?”
Gemma narrowed her eyes. Lizzie wouldn’t actually agree to do those interviews, would she? They hadn’t talked in months, but surely she wouldn’t betray her like that. “Just a little scandal,” she said breezily. “Nothing to be concerned about.”
“I read the article in Celebrity magazine. It seems like more than just a little scandal. Gemma, I know we’ve been a part for awhile, but I still love you, and now I’m concerned about you.”
Feeling the tears prick her eyes, Gemma took a deep breath. She and Lizzie had been roommates back before Gemma had gotten famous. Together they’d waded through the life that was the scum of Los Angeles. Now she had no idea what Lizzie was doing with her life. What kind of friend was she?
“I’m broke,” she admitted softly. “God, Lizzie, I’m about to lose everything. And I really don’t know what to do. Absolutely no one will hire me. I worked so hard, and now it’s all reduced to one stupid picture in a tabloid.”
“Oh Gemma,” her friend exclaimed. “Come over. We’ll open up a bottle of wine and talk all about it.”
Gemma sniffled and took a deep breath. “You don’t have to do that. I know I’ve been a shitty friend.”
“Nonsense. You need someone, and I’m here for you. And that’s all that matters right now. I’d come there, but I’m up to my elbows in pasta. I’ll text you the address, and you can come sit and chat. Together, we’ll figure something out.”
Up to her elbows in pasta? Lizzie always did like to cook. “Thank you,” Gemma said tearfully, and she meant it. All of her model friends had ditched her as soon as the scandal broke. When Gemma refused to talk about it, they put as much distance between them and her as possible. She’d almost forgotten what it was like to have a friend.
She was resilient. She reminded herself of that over and over again as she grabbed her coat. She’d make it through, even if she did it with a friend by her side.
***
Charlie Connor lounged on his couch and stared at the ceiling. He had three hours before he was supposed to make an appearance at his birthday bash across town, but he was still wearing only his silk boxers.
His thirty-fifth birthday party was the talk of the city. More than five hundred people were invited, and when Charlie glanced over the list, he realized that he didn’t really know even half of them. Those that he was closest to weren’t even on the list. Instead it was all about the A-list. Actors, politicians, models, and singers could celebrate his life with him, but his best friend wasn’t allowed in. Shawn Silva was hardly A-list. He was just an employee at Connor Industries. Apparently twenty years of friendship didn’t land a man an invitation.
The party was supposed to be spectacular. The Victoria secret models would be there. They were flying in the greatest mixologists from all over the world to come up with brand new cocktails, and some well-known blonde singer was supposed to debut her newest song.
There was also a talk of a floating pool. And Charlie didn’t give a damn about it. He had far more on his mind on his thirty-fifth birthday than attending yet another public function. He didn’t want to see the press. He didn’t want to schmooze investors. He just wanted to turn on the television and lose him in mindless dribble for the night.
Most would say that he’d accomplished quite a bit at the age of thirty-five. Connor Industries was thriving. It was one of the biggest corporations in the country, and he had his hand in countless pies. But Connor Industries had been his father’s brainchild. It had been great when Charlie inherited it. He’d made it better, but for Charlie, that just didn’t seem to be enough.
Something was missing. He’d been feeling it for a while now. But he just couldn’t figure out what it was.
Instead of reaching for the remote, he grabbed his phone instead. Shawn picked up on the first ring. “Happy birthday old man.”
“Old man? You turn thirty-five next month,” Charlie grumbled.
“Yup. And that still makes you older than me. Why aren’t you drunk by now? It’s three in the afternoon. Last weekend you said that if you remember anything from your party, you weren’t celebrating correctly.”
“What happens if I just skip the party? You can come over here, and we’ll order pizza and play on the Xbox all night.”
Shawn chuckled. “That sounds awesome, but I’m fairly certain your PR representative would have me assassinated if you skipped your party to be with me. And I have plans to live to see my thirty-fifth birthday. Besides, I’m in New York right now.”
“Why are you in New York?” Charlie frowned.
“Jesus Charlie, you are in a mood. I’m here for the investors meeting. Remember?”
“Ah, shit. That’s right.” Charlie closed his eyes and sighed. So much for hanging out with Shawn all night. “How’s that going?”
“It’s how you think it’s going. A bunch of white men with white hair trying to outdo each other with numbers and figures. I’m ready for a drink, and I haven’t even had lunch.”
“Guess I should get ready for my party,” Charlie grumbled.
“Dude, you are one of the richest men in the city. Barring that, you are a fucking adult. It’s your birthday. If you don’t want to go to your own damn party, don’t go. So it might be a PR nightmare. It’s not like your company is at risk of going under if you don’t make an appearance. Quit trying to make the important people happy. For once, do something that makes you happy. And by that, I don’t mean try your hand at banging all of the Victoria Secret models again.”
“There are still two holding out on me,” Charlie murmured as he grinned at the memory. The press had a field day with those photos.
“If you want to stay in watching television, do that. If you want to go skinny-dipping in the ocean alone, do that. If you want to join your best friend in a series of mind-numbing meetings in New York, I’m not going to stop you,” Shawn joked.
“Well, you’ve made it sound so fun,” Charlie said dryly. “But you’re not wrong. I should be able to say how I spend my birthday. And it shouldn’t be with a ton of people I barely know.”
“Whatever you decide to do, be careful. The paparazzi will eat you alive if they discover that you’re not at your party. Where are you?”
“Condo on Pierce Drive.”
“That’s good. No one has caught on that you own that place. Damn. Perkins is giving me the death stare. I’d better get going. Call me later.”
Charlie was about to say something else, but Shawn hung up. With a shrug, Charlie tossed the phone on the table and pursed his lips. Making a decision, he jolted up and ran into the kitchen. Opening up one of the drawers, he started pulling out to-go menus. As one slid out of his reach, he bent down to pick it up.
Towney Catering.
Someone had given it to him a few weeks ago and mentioned that it was new and hip. Just the two things he hated the most. But when he opened it up, he couldn’t help but see a few things that sounded good.
Vaulting over the couch back, he landed hard on the cushions and leaned his head back. He was going to spend the night with good food, good movies, and possibly good porn.
With a wicked smile, he picked up the phone and dialed his public relations agent. “Johnson,” he said brightly. “I’m really not feeling all that well.”