“Hmm.” She slid her reading glasses down her nose and took a long moment to study the gown and me. “It’s dramatic, but stark. With your coloring, I’m afraid it might wash you out.”
“Okay.” I spun back around to rehang it when she spoke again.
“However, if your hair color were different, say an icy platinum rather than strawberry blond—”
“I’m not dyeing my hair.” My response was immediate and firm. We’d had this discussion before. Recently.
“The Valentine people—”
“I told them I’d wear a wig if the blonde-bombshell look was what they wanted for the part.”
“You’ve blown them away in the test reads so far,” she said as I turned around. Her gaze was as firm as my clipped rejection. “They’re considering expanding your part. If you go all in to give them the appearance they want, you’re likely to impress them with your commitment to the role. I guarantee you, other producers are watching everything you do right now. Tonight, especially since Firelight is your first mature starring role, I suggest you look the part. The black dress is a solid choice. It’s daringly styled, and the cut will showcase your figure. A change to your hair would be the final piece to make everyone pay attention.”
“I’m not sure.”
“It’s only hair color. You can change it back.”
Could I? Probably. “But it wouldn’t be me any more being true to myself.”
“You’re an actress. You’re meant to be a chameleon. It’s good to reinvent yourself from time to time. Underneath, it’s always you, my lovely. Do this for me, if not for yourself. I think a change is just what you need to let out that bolder part of you that I rarely see surface except on film.”
I glanced at Max, unable to tell if he had an opinion. His gaze was straight ahead, his expression indecipherable.
I got it. He wasn’t my boyfriend publicly. But did he even want to be privately? In the heat of passion last night, we’d left so many important things left unsaid between us.
What if he was relieved to return to his bodyguard role? Had having sex with me only satisfied a curiosity? Was a curiosity all it had been? A dissatisfying one?
Had I misread everything with my hopes? Did he just want to fuck me like Diesel had said? Was he more like the Dirt Dog’s bassist than I thought?
Time would tell, I guessed.
On that discomforting thought, I dropped my gaze to the garment I held in my hands. With so much uneasiness floating around inside me, I found it difficult to decide what to do. Under normal circumstances, I would call Fanny. But I couldn’t call her. I could guess what she would say anyway. No. No to the revealing dress. No to the new hair color.
But it wasn’t up to her. I gripped the hanger tightly. It was up to me now. This was my career. My life. The time had come for me to live it, to fail or fly as the result of my own choices.
“All right, I’ll do it. The hair color and this dress.”
“Fantastic.” Olivia nodded with approval.
I heard a groan that sounded like a muttered no and turned my head toward Max. His eyes were bright, and he focused his gaze on mine with an intensity that renewed my mind spin. But other than the intensity, he gave no other clue to his thoughts.
“Tonya’s an expert at platinum,” Olivia said, refocusing me on her.
“If she can make my hair look as good as hers,” I turned to the hairdresser, “then I would agree.”
“Easily.” Tonya came toward me with a winning smile. “I think with your dark auburn brows and light complexion, the platinum blond will be a great look for you. I was hoping you’d agree. Would you allow me to trim the length afterward?” She reached up and smoothed her hand over hair that was shorn nearly as closely to the scalp as Fanny’s was after the street gang shaved her head. “Something like mine?”
“No, just the hair color.” Turning my head toward Max again, I added, “I’ve had enough changes in my life recently.”
• • •
Did Max get it? How desperate I felt, going from my first time with a man—my first time with him—to complete silence?
I wasn’t sure he did.
I wasn’t sure of anything with him.
Not even if he liked my new icy tresses.
I only knew that I did. The color was high drama. It made me feel different.
Olivia had been right. I now looked less like the girl next door and more like a vixen.
Exiting the limo, I threw back my shoulders and lifted my chin while cameras flashed all around me. I knew there were a ton of photographers, but my eyes couldn’t adjust to their individual forms through the brightness.
But I told myself that was okay, that I was okay. After all, Max was beside me.
He guided me, his hand warm on the small of my back, directly on the skin the plunging V of the dress exposed. His fingertips were practically skimming the swell of my ass. His touch felt proprietary, and my mind went where it wanted to, imagining things the way I wanted them to be. Floating down the red carpet on the buoyancy of those wishes, the red soles of my black-crystal-encrusted Jimmy Choos seemed to levitate above the ground.
Once we stepped inside the lobby of the historic theater, we paused yet again to be photographed. Both his hands at my waist, Max stared down at me, and when the vertical grooves in his cheeks appeared, he looked happy. His eyes sparkled, perhaps fueled on the same magical hopes as my own. He ignored the questions about our relationship status. Maybe he’d only needed to adjust to the idea of an us.
“Hollie.” Bronson Price, one of my Firelight costars, looking handsome in his tux, slipped through the throng of photographers and came toward me. “You’re late. Everyone’s been asking for you.”
His gaze dipped to take in Max’s hands on my waist, and when it rose, questions brimmed in his eyes that I wasn’t at liberty to answer.
Without a word of warning, Max abruptly released me. As he moved away, the grooves I loved disappeared, and his mask slipped back into place. He was a bodyguard once more before he even faded into the background.
My wishes crushed by reality, I numbly accepted the air-kisses my costar leaned in to give me.
“I’ll escort you to the others.” Bronson’s tousled brown hair falling into his dark eyes, he gave me his easy grin as he drew back. His effortless warmth usually made me smile, and I did smile, only it wasn’t easy or genuine. And even that fakeness disappeared the moment I heard a mind-chilling voice.
“Hello there, daughter.”
A renewed eruption of flashes blinding me took me off-balance as I turned to face my stepfather. Dread filled my body with lead. Dark memories assaulted me like he had that night.
My movements were slow, and my heart froze at encountering him and his icy expression. In the confusion regarding Max, Olivia and I hadn’t had time to discuss what to do about Samuel, and he took advantage.
He was always taking advantage.
“What’s wrong, dearest?” Samuel Lesowski’s gray-green eyes narrowed to calculating slits.
Where had he come from? It seemed as though he’d materialized out of nothingness.
“You’ve been talking and talking to anyone who will listen, telling extravagant tales, yet when I’m standing right in front of you, it suddenly seems as though you no longer have anything to say.”
“You . . .” I sputtered, unable to speak. This was the first time I’d come face-to-face with him since that terrible night.
His black hair shadowed his unlined brow like he shadowed my thoughts. Nearly at the half-century mark, yet he barely showed his age.
Emotions ripped through me as he stared at me. Cold then hot, fear and anger, they raced toward each other at top speed. The resulting collision rocked me like a bomb blast. Broken, I became that frightened little girl once more. It was on the tip of my tongue to apologize, to beg his forgiveness for crossing him.
Yet how could I possibly covet his approval after what he’d done?
I truly w
ondered, as I had too many times since that night in the library, if there wasn’t some fatal flaw inside me, instead of the other way around.
Samuel leaned in, and I trembled as his all-too-familiar bergamot scent assailed me.
Spiraling, my senses reeled me back in time, returning me to the library. Again, I experienced his unbreakable grip on my upper arms. His weight crushing me. His sloppy wet mouth on my skin.
“Don’t.” My protest was a plea, choked past caustic bile rising to burn the back of my throat, just like it had back then.
“Too late to stop. You should’ve walked away instead of making a spectacle of something between the two of us that was a private matter.”
“You tried to force yourself on me.” I found the truth and wielded it, ripping it free at the roots from the deepest pits of hell where I’d buried it.
“You look like your mother,” he said, his voice low and intimate, meant only for me. “It was late. I was drunk. I didn’t know what I was doing.”
“Are you serious?” Tears flooding my eyes, I curled my hands into fists. “Are those the lies you tell yourself to justify it? That is so beyond twisted. You are so beyond twisted.” I found the volume to volley insults, though my stomach roiled.
“Listen to me,” he said firmly and stepped closer. His custom tux appropriately cloaking him in black, his six-foot frame towered over me.
I staggered back, unsteady on my shaking legs in my heels. “Stay away from me.”
I cast my gaze around for something to hold on to. For someone to hold on to. For someone to help me. My lips trembled as I noticed the crowd that had circled us. On set, I might crave attention to validate my proficiency in my craft. But not this. Not everyone watching me while I faltered.
Alone, I trembled as tears gathered in my eyes, blurring the faces of those who surrounded me. Red lights on video cameras signaled the capture of my horror. Panicked, I searched for an opening to escape the spinning wheel of bodies around me.
Suddenly Max appeared. Head and shoulders above everyone, he moved beside me.
I wanted to throw myself at him, grab the lapels of his jacket, and suck in deep draughts of his scent, but I refrained. Mostly, I didn’t want to appear weak in front of my stepfather, but too much was because I didn’t know how Max would respond.
“Get back, Sam . . . Mr. Lesowski.” With his eyes twin bolts of cobalt fury, Max’s voice cracked the tension-filled air.
“Do not presume to tell me what to do, Mr. Cash. You’re the one who should step aside. This doesn’t concern you.”
“Like hell it doesn’t. She’s . . . I’m her . . .” Max’s gaze swept the crowd. He seemed to notice them and the expectant hush that had seized them, their cameras poised at the ready.
My heart thudded loudly in the silence. I held my breath.
Would Max acknowledge me? Would he acknowledge us?
“I’m her bodyguard. It’s my job to keep her safe.”
I dropped my chin and made excuses for him.
It’s okay. It doesn’t matter. All that matters is him and me inside the frame.
“Well, I’m her father.”
“Not anymore, sir. Not if she doesn’t want you to be.”
Samuel whipped his head toward me. “Does this man speak for you, daughter?”
I lifted my chin. “I’m not your daughter. That was a lie.”
“One your mother told to both of us.”
Briefly, his visage flickered. For a solitary beat of time, he appeared to be just a man, a sad, hurt one with vulnerabilities and insecurities like everyone else. A man who might care about my opinion of him. But the moment didn’t last, and his expression hardened.
“It would be wise for you to consider that fact.”
I had considered it. I’d considered it a lot. My mother had obviously wanted me to believe Samuel was my biological father. But why? And more disturbing, had she ever planned to tell me the truth?
“Miss Wood.”
A uniformed theater attendant emerged through a gap in the crowd. Their interest seemed to have waned since Max swooped in to rescue me.
“Sorry to interrupt, but Miss Avalon sent me to find you. The press junket has begun.” Appearing uncertain, probably trying to decide if not accomplishing my agent’s directive was worth earning my stepfather’s ire, he glanced back and forth between Samuel and me.
“Still taking advice from that dinosaur?” My stepfather raised a dark brow. It saddened me that my signature move was a modified version of his.
“She’s the same age as you are.”
Samuel scoffed. “She’s obsolete. On the decline. With only one other client besides you, she’s practically irrelevant.”
“She manages my career better than you did. She brokered the Firelight role and the Valentine part.”
“A vanity project and a bit part with an inferior director.”
I didn’t argue with him about Firelight. I knew what it was, but I’d also known it was a chance to project a different image to my fans, and maybe get better roles too.
“The Valentine film is generating Oscar buzz, just from the script alone, and is directed by a man who will likely become a bigger deal than you are. Especially if you continue to press me in public like this, showing everyone what a bully you are.”
“You’re thinking short term and too small, as usual.”
Samuel gave me an icy smile. Chill bumps appeared on my flesh as he leaned close and dropped the volume on his voice again, so only I could hear.
“I will remain at the top of my profession long after you’re a memory. Long after I have destroyed everything you hold dear. Give that some thought, my dear, and consider carefully your next move and who you trust. Not all inside your inner circle are the value to you that you think they are.”
The press junket was a whirlwind, one entertainment reporter or blogger asking a flurry of questions after another. Many stayed on topic about the movie, but a dizzying number peppered me with questions about my personal life.
Because of Olivia, I was prepared, and for the most part successfully deflected speculation about Max and me. But as I stood to exit the small windowless space I’d occupied for the past sixty minutes, one more interviewer entered.
Carter Besille.
“Good evening, Miss Wood. So kind of you to linger for me.”
In his tux, he looked as distinguished and handsome as my stepfather, but I knew that like Samuel, his good looks disguised a toxic heart.
Bracing, I sat again, my fingers curled into fists as he took a seat on the chair opposite mine, unbuttoned his tuxedo jacket, and leaned forward.
“Your GI Joe is as rude as ever. Unprofessional and underdressed for an occasion like this. Given the recent photos that have surfaced of you and him, I imagine you let him get away with a lot, but is that wise?”
“Is what wise?” I asked, pretending disinterest while flicking nonexistent lint away from the skirt of my gown.
“Oh, come now, you know I mean having an employee with benefits.” His eyes narrowed. “You’re only modeling the behavior of your sire in that regard. I guess the old adage is true, that the apple doesn’t fall far from the tree?”
“I’m not . . . I wouldn’t . . .”
“He’s in your employ? You pay his salary. Isn’t this sort of inappropriateness the basis for most of the allegations against your stepfather?”
My spine snapped straight. “Are you employed by my stepfather? You sound very much like you’re a spokesperson for him.”
“Samuel Lesowski has many allies in this town, Miss Wood. Most are smart enough not to cross him.”
“I’m not crossing him. He tried to . . . he attempted to . . .”
“You seem to have great difficulty articulating exactly what transpired between you and him in the privacy of your luxurious childhood home. Interestingly, where not a single witness was present to refute your charges.”
“You’re not the judge and jury, Mr. Besille.�
�� My fingers curling tighter into my palms, I bit my tongue about the housekeeper.
“Perhaps not.” His lips curled, his gaze flashing malevolence before he struck again. “But my many viewers and I hold a great deal of sway in the court of public opinion. Much more than an insignificant local talk show. More than Behind the Stars. I suggest you conduct yourself with a little more decorum with me. A little more bowing and scraping by your staff would go a long way. And a lot more friendliness by you.”
He leaned closer and reached across the narrow table to touch my hand. “Do you understand?”
“I understand perfectly.” I stood abruptly, holding on to the contents of my stomach, but just barely. My body vibrated with anger. “We’re done with the interview. Thank you for your time, Mr. Besille.”
I let out a relieved breath as he exited the room. I was repulsed by his advance, and angry, but I was also scared. What he’d said was true. He had echoed Olivia’s cautions.
In Hollywood, perception often trumped reality. I needed to be less concerned about some things—like what Max hadn’t revealed during my confrontation with my stepfather, or the fact that Olivia had been noticeably absent when I’d been ambushed by Carter Besille—and be more focused on my own behavior.
Instead of worrying about my staff’s loyalty, as Samuel obviously wanted me to do, I needed to project strength. Being on the defensive didn’t help my cause. So what if I was feeling more isolated than ever? If Samuel wanted me to feel that way, I was determined to feel the opposite.
I straightened my shoulders as my bodyguard and my agent entered the room.
“Are you ready?” Olivia asked, her head tilting to an inquiring angle as she studied me. Beside her, Max was a statue, his gaze crystalline blue.
I nodded to her while preparing myself internally. One of the biggest performances of my life was about to begin. Right now. Tonight.
Down a carpeted corridor we went after leaving the small interview room. Max was beside me, Olivia walked ahead. Marching straight to a side door marked CAST ONLY, she pulled it open and glanced back at me.
High Tide Page 20