“Well, find her.” Dorian Baxter’s voice was cold, sharp and impatient.
His assistant—what was his name? Ted? Tom? Tim—jolted.
“We’re looking, sir,” Tim said quickly. “We think she’s gone home to Montana.”
Dorian Baxter was forty-five years old, at the top of his game in Hollywood and had the biggest stars in the world on speed dial. He wasn’t used to being placated and wouldn’t accept it now. “You think?”
Another jolt from the younger man and this time the assistant took a step back, toward the door. Dorian noticed and told himself that it must be time for a different assistant. Why the hell hadn’t he hired another woman? At least when a woman was giving him grief, she was better to look at.
“The investigator is on it, sir,” Tim said, checking his notes briefly. “But apparently, there’s a big snowstorm and he can’t get out of the airport yet.”
“Snow? Why the hell does anyone want to live in snow?”
“I don’t know, sir.”
“Of course you don’t know. You don’t know a hell of a lot.” Dorian came out from behind his desk and only took a small zip of pleasure from the way Tim scooted farther out of his way.
He’d been on edge since the night before when he got the tip from a reporter he kept on his payroll. Someone had talked to another so-called “journalist” who was busy chasing down a lead that could bury Dorian if he didn’t kill it first. He had to find the damn woman before this story made the papers. In this climate, he’d be crucified by a bunch of screaming women demanding his head and he wasn’t going to go down like that.
His office, sitting high above Hollywood Boulevard, was an airy, modern place with chrome and glass being the main decorative statement. Chrome frames on the wall displayed posters from his award-winning movies. His desk was the most imposing piece of furniture in the room—as it should be. Careers were made and broken from behind that desk. And on either corner of that desk were the two Best Picture awards that his movies had won. Dorian had worked too hard and too long and kissed way too many butts to get where he was and damned if he’d give it up.
“You tell that guy to get his ass out on the road. I don’t care if he has to rent a snowplow to do it. I need to know where that bitch went.” Dorian glared at Tim and watched the man pale. Stabbing his index finger toward him, he said, “That article’s going to run in another week and I want this sewn up before then. You understand me?”
“Yes, sir. I’ll get right on it.”
Dorian turned his back on him in a clearly dismissive gesture, then walked to the closest window. He stared down at the ants streaming down sidewalks, driving along the streets. He had this city by the balls and he wasn’t about to give up any of it.
“I want this taken care of. I want answers and I want them yesterday.”
“Yes, sir.” Tim scuttled out of the office, leaving Dorian alone to muse over his lifestyle, his power and all that he’d managed to achieve.
No stupid bitch was going to ruin this for him.
* * *
Emma slapped one hand over her mouth the second she blurted out the words. But it was too late. Her secret was out now and the way Caden was looking at her in stunned surprise told Emma that there was no going back.
“What the hell does that mean?” He let her go and threw both hands in the air. “If Molly’s not yours, why do you have her? Why does your dad think she’s his granddaughter? And what aren’t you telling me?”
Oh, God. Emma took a deep, shaky breath and still her head felt light. To either help with that or make herself pass out, she picked up her wine and took a healthy swallow. Dutch courage, as her grandfather used to call it. Whatever, she appreciated the low burn the wine left in her system, fighting the arctic cold now pouring from Caden’s eyes.
“I can’t believe I’m telling you this.”
“You haven’t told me much,” he countered, then grabbed his beer and took a drink. “So why don’t you just dive right in and get it all out? You said Molly’s not yours. Explain.”
Her throat felt tight, so she lifted one hand to the base of her neck as if she could dislodge the knot of emotion inside. “It means just what you think it means. I didn’t give birth to Molly. My roommate, Terry Stone, did.”
He backed up a step, shaking his head as if trying to make sense of the insensible. Rubbing one hand across the back of his neck, he demanded, “Well, where’s Terry Stone and why did she give you her baby?”
“Terry’s dead,” Emma said and her voice broke on those two words. Because months-old memories enlarged that knot in her throat until she felt as if she was going to really choke. Images rose up in her mind, of Terry, curled up in a chair in their apartment. She hadn’t wanted to eat, to go anywhere, to take care of the baby. Nothing could reach her because she’d withdrawn so deeply inside herself.
“Emma,” he said and this time, his voice was lower, softer. “Talk to me.”
Another sip of wine, another deep breath and Emma murmured, “Terry got pregnant by a big producer who told her if she slept with him, he’d put her in his new movie.”
Caden looked furious at that piece of news. Well, Emma knew how he felt. She’d seen it too many times in Hollywood. Powerful men using young, hopeful, naive women, then tossing them aside for the next one in line. Terry had probably been one of hundreds.
“But he didn’t, of course. He used her, then hired someone else for the movie.” Battling the tears that blossomed in her eyes, Emma continued. Now that she’d finally started telling the story, she didn’t think she’d have been able to stop even if she’d wanted to. “Terry was so ashamed. So shaken. Then the bastard spread the word in town that anyone who hired her would go straight to his enemies list. She couldn’t get a job. Her agent dropped her. Then she discovered she was pregnant and she went back to Mr. Powerful and told him.”
“He didn’t help.”
It wasn’t a question. “No, he didn’t. He gave her five hundred dollars to ‘take care of it.’”
Caden’s eyes flashed and his hands fisted at his sides.
She took a deep breath and admitted, “That’s what broke her finally, I think. She didn’t talk about it again and all during her pregnancy, she just sort of drifted. We worked at the same diner as waitresses, so I kept an eye on her as much as I could. But I couldn’t reach her. Couldn’t make her see that there was so much she could do. She could go home. Teach. She had her teacher’s certificate, but she had dreamed her whole life of being a star.”
“Like you,” he said.
“Yes, like me,” she agreed with a little disgust because she’d wanted the same thing that Terry had. Dreams were bright and shiny and appealing and when they splintered in your hands, you were blinded by the loss and couldn’t see past the ruin to what could be. Hadn’t she been blinded herself? Hadn’t she stayed in Hollywood two years longer than she should have because leaving felt like more of a failure than staying?
Admitting you had failed was hard. For Terry, it had been impossible.
“What happened?” He came up close and smoothed a strand of hair back from her face. “Why do you have Terry’s baby?”
She couldn’t just sit there. Had to move. Being chased by her own thoughts, Emma pushed off the stool and started pacing the gigantic kitchen. She didn’t see the beauty of it, she was simply grateful that it was big enough to give her plenty of room to move. Her insides were jumping, her mind was filled with images of Terry. The tiny apartment they’d shared. Of Molly.
Emma swiped tears off her cheeks with her fingertips and kept walking. Tears were useless. They couldn’t change anything. Couldn’t help Terry. Couldn’t save her. And she’d never been the kind of woman to use tears to sway a man—or anyone for that matter. All she had to do was get through this.
She took a breath and started talking. “Once Terry had the baby I
thought she’d be okay. She was totally in love with Molly—we both were. She was so tiny. So beautiful. And for a while, things were better. I was convinced that Terry had finally moved on.”
She stopped, looked at Caden and said softly, “She went to see Molly’s father. I don’t even know what she was hoping for. Interest? Love? Whatever it was, she was disappointed. She took a picture of the baby to show him and he had her thrown out without even seeing her. Told her through his assistant that if she ever came back he’d have her arrested for extortion.”
In a split second, Caden muttered, “Sounds like a bastard.”
“That’s a generous name for him.” She breathed deeply in an attempt to steady herself. It didn’t really work, but she kept going anyway. “He knows enough powerful people that he could have made sure anything Terry might have said against him went away. And she knew it.”
Wrapping her arms around her middle, she continued in a rush. This last bit would be the hardest. “Molly was four months old when Terry went out for a drive. I was babysitting because she needed to get out, clear her head.
“Later I found a letter she’d left for me and she said she was sorry, but she couldn’t do it. Couldn’t be the kind of mother her daughter deserved. Couldn’t keep going on when there was just nothing left for her. She asked me to raise Molly and keep her away from her father.”
Emma looked at Caden. “Terry didn’t have any family, anyone else to count on, besides me. So when the police came and told me she’d died in a one car accident—she drove over a cliff in Malibu—I didn’t say anything about the baby. I let them think Molly was mine. And a month later, I came home.”
“So you came back because of the baby,” he said finally.
Emma shook her head and met his gaze squarely, making sure he could see the truth on her face when she said, “No. I’d told Terry that I was moving back to Montana about a week before she died.” More tears fell and she didn’t bother to try to fight them. “I think that’s why she did it. I think she knew that when I left, she’d be alone. She wouldn’t have anyone to give a damn about her or Molly.
“So she killed herself and left Molly to me.”
Eight
Caden was torn between dozens of different emotions.
Top of the list, though, were pity, fury, and finally, understanding. It was small of him to acknowledge, even to himself that he was damn glad Emma hadn’t had a baby with some other man. That had been hard for him to accept and he didn’t care if it did make him sound like a caveman or something. Knowing she’d rejected him and chosen someone else had been gnawing on him.
Now she was standing there, watching him and for the first time in her life, Emma Williams looked...vulnerable. She’d always been the strongest woman he’d ever known and seeing her unsure of herself was just wrong. Not to mention the fact that she was looking at him as if she were waiting for him to call the police and report her as a kidnapper.
“Jesus, Em. Relax. You did what you had to do. I’m not going to second-guess you on it.”
She blew out a breath. “Thanks.”
“Beyond that, I don’t even know what to say about all this.”
“That’s okay. Neither do I.” She took a shaky breath and straightened her shoulders, stiffened her spine. As he watched, the Emma he knew completely replaced the wounded woman she’d been only moments ago. “Weird, but I feel better after telling you all of it. It feels...good to get it out. To let someone know what I’ve been carrying around.”
He walked over to her and dropped both hands onto her shoulders. She still felt cold from being outside, so he did what came naturally to him. He pulled her in close and wrapped his arms around her, giving them both the heat and the comfort they needed.
And while he held her, he asked the one question that was now uppermost in his mind. “Did he try to use you, too? That producer?”
“No,” she said, and looked up at him. “But others did. He’s not the only bastard in Hollywood.”
Fury whipped through him like a lightning bolt and he held her even more tightly to him. Gritting his teeth, he asked, “Is that how you got that show you were on?”
“No!” She pushed away from him and stood there, with anger boiling in her eyes and simmering around her like a white-hot aura. “Is that what you think of me? That’s I’d trade sex for a job?”
“No.” Frustrated, he shoved one hand through his hair again. Of course he didn’t think that, but hearing that story had made him want to go back in time and pummel that man and any other who would use a woman—especially Emma. “But—”
Clearly insulted, she said, “There shouldn’t be a but in that sentence, Caden.”
“There isn’t,” he said abruptly. “Not really. I was just mad at myself because I wasn’t there when you needed me. Hell, if I know you, any man who tried that on you got kicked where it counts.”
Her lips twitched and the fire in her eyes died to a smolder. “No, but I thought about it. Not every man in Hollywood is like that, though. There are a lot of decent people. But the reason I was a waitress for the last three years is because I refused to play the game,” she snapped. Another deep breath and she held up one hand. “Sorry. It’s just... It’s so hard out there.
“Everyone’s scrambling to make the right contacts, to be seen in the right places. You can’t trust people like you do everywhere else. People in Hollywood are so insular, so worried about their own career or their next agent or the big audition. More worried about how things look than how they are. It’s easy to get caught up in it all and I can see why some do.
“I got that series job on my third audition.” She shook her head ruefully. “I’d only been in Hollywood for two months. I’m not even sure why they hired me. Well, maybe partly because I was so new, they didn’t have to pay me much. And because I hadn’t been seen at a million auditions all over Hollywood. They were looking for ‘fresh faces’ and I guess I qualified.” She gave a short laugh and even she winced at the bitter tone of it.
“It’s a pretty nice face,” Caden murmured.
“Thanks.” She gave him a wry smile and then continued. “Anyway, I got the job, so for one season, I was the airhead astronaut in space and then the show got canceled after twelve episodes.” She shrugged and sighed. “After that, almost every agent and casting director in town looked at me and said, ‘Nope, too soon. You’re typecast. Come back in a year. Or two. Or three.’”
“I didn’t know.” He gave himself a mental kick. He should have known. Should have made it his business to know. But he’d been too wrapped up in his own anger at her leaving to realize that things might not be going great for her. Caden would always regret that. “You never said.”
“What was there to say?” She laughed, but it was a short, harsh sound, scraping from her throat. “The few auditions I did get, didn’t go well. I was too tall or too short. My boobs were too big—”
“If it helps, I like them just fine.”
She laughed again. “Or my hair was too long or too dark—had I considered going blonde?”
“No,” he said, shaking his head. Her hair was gorgeous, tumbling dark curls with streaks of sunlight running through it. He wanted his fingers in it again, feeling that dark silk sliding across his skin.
“I have no butt—”
“Now I know they’re crazy.”
She grinned. “My favorite, though, was ‘Your nose has a bump in it.’”
“I don’t see a bump. It’s a pretty nose.”
“Thanks for the vote of confidence,” she said wryly. “But going on auditions for a month will reduce your self-confidence to a mere shadow of its former self.”
A woman as beautiful and talented and sexy as Emma should never doubt herself. He hated what they’d tried to do to her. “And yet, according to Gracie, you always talked about how great everything was.”
&nb
sp; “How could I tell them the truth?” she argued, throwing her hands up. “Was I going to call Dad and say, ‘Hey, Hollywood sucks, the dream is dead and I’m a waitress at the Loa Loa Coffee Shop off Sunset’?” Shaking her head, she said, “I couldn’t do that. He’d have worried himself sick.”
“He did anyway,” Caden pointed out.
Guilt washed over her features and he felt bad for reminding her. But truth was truth. If things had been that bad, what had taken her so long to come home?
“Yeah. I know that now. God I feel so stupid. But no one told me what was happening here.” She pushed her hair back, folded her arms across her chest and said, “If I’d known, I’d have come home sooner. Trust me, the only thing keeping me there was not wanting to admit that I’d failed.”
“Bullshit.”
Surprised, she said, “What?”
“I call BS.” Caden reached for her again. “I admit, I was pissed when you left.”
“I know but—”
“Not finished,” he said. “I was furious that you left me for some pipe dream of becoming a successful actor. But I’m not going to let you say you failed. You didn’t, Em. You went for it. You chased it. You were on TV for God’s sake.”
“One season,” she reminded him. “A short one at that.”
He frowned at her. “More than most aspiring actors get, isn’t it?”
She sighed and nodded. “Yes, I guess so.”
Looking down at her, he gave her something else when he confessed, “And I thought you were really good.”
Stunned, she stared at him. “You watched the show?”
He’d never admitted this to anyone before, but now seemed like the time to spill his own secrets. Hell, she needed it and if he wanted truth from her then he had to provide a few, too. “Yeah, I watched it. How could I not? I had to see if you’d done the right thing for yourself—and I’ll admit this, too, that I was hoping you would suck at it. To prove that you should have stayed here. With me.
“I watched one episode. You were damn good, Emma.” He huffed out a breath and said, “Seeing you on the TV, just shining and showing up every other actor in that stupid show—”
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