by Claire Raye
Beautiful Lie
Dirty Hollywood: Book Three
Claire Raye
Copyright © 2020 by Claire Raye
All rights reserved. This book may not be reproduced, scanned, or distributed in any printed or electronic form without permission from the author. Please do not participate in or encourage the piracy of copyrighted materials in violation of the author’s rights. All characters and storylines are the property of the author and your support and respect is appreciated. The characters and events portrayed in this book are fictitious. Any similarities to real persons, living or dead, is coincidental and not intended by the author.
Cover Design by Amy Queau of QDesign
Chapter One
Sadie
Chapter Two
Paul
Chapter Three
Sadie
Chapter Four
Paul
Chapter Five
Sadie
Chapter Six
Paul
Chapter Seven
Sadie
Chapter Eight
Paul
Chapter Nine
Sadie
Chapter Ten
Paul
Chapter Eleven
Sadie
Chapter Twelve
Paul
Chapter Thirteen
Sadie
Chapter Fourteen
Paul
Chapter Fifteen
Sadie
Chapter Sixteen
Paul
Chapter Seventeen
Sadie
Chapter Eighteen
Paul
Chapter Nineteen
Sadie
Chapter Twenty
Paul
Chapter Twenty-One
Sadie
Chapter Twenty-Two
Paul
Chapter Twenty-Three
Sadie
Chapter Twenty-Four
Paul
Chapter Twenty-Five
Sadie
Chapter Twenty-Six
Paul
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Sadie
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Paul
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Sadie
Chapter Thirty
Paul
Chapter Thirty-One
Sadie
Chapter Thirty-Two
Paul
Chapter Thirty-Three
Sadie
Chapter Thirty-Four
Paul
Chapter Thirty- Five
Sadie
Chapter Thirty-Six
Paul
Chapter Thirty-Seven
Sadie
Epilogue: Nine months later
Paul
Hey Reader!
About the Author
Books by Claire Raye
Acknowledgements
Chapter One
Sadie
“Fuck you!”
His rant has been going on for the last twenty minutes and somehow, it’s all my fault. It was my fault that our recent movie together tanked because I didn’t step in and stop him from calling our lead a cunt. I was to blame when she bailed on her contract and halted production, because I should’ve been the one to defuse the situation. I continued to make things worse when I ignored requests for comments on tabloid stories about his volatile behavior.
I can’t get away.
Marrying Noel Robinson was the biggest mistake of my life.
This latest argument started when Noel got word that a script I had written was picked up by Clapboard Films, a big-name production studio, and instead of bringing him on as the director, they’ve asked me to take on the role.
It will be my directorial debut; the first time my name will take top billing as the director. No co-director, no waiting on the sidelines to be recognized. Something you’d think he’d be celebrating with me.
But instead he’s nursing his wounded ego by hurling insults at me.
It wasn’t always like this. We met at an international film festival. I was nineteen years old and riding the high of winning a best screenplay award, an American coming-of-age dark teen romance, that would become my signature. Not only was I being recognized for my talents, but I was also now on Noel Robinson’s radar, and in this industry that was better than winning the lottery.
He was interested in working with me, which was how he drew me in, but it didn’t stop there. Within two years we had co-written and directed two award-winning films together and all of this turned into a whirlwind courtship, and a quickie marriage. It seemed like the next logical step. We were Hollywood elite, a power couple and a name that was synonymous with success.
Or at least that’s what I thought.
I was young and naïve and when he proposed I didn’t give it a second thought. I thought about my career and what not marrying him meant for it. It meant we were a package deal and that our names were forever linked, but I had no idea how deep manipulation runs.
And here I am ten years later with a flourishing career and the only thing tarnishing it is my husband. He’s as dirty as they come.
I’ve stopped listening as his expletive rant continues, because the more I listen the more I start to believe him.
“You’re nothing without me. You know that,” he spits out and his words cut like a dagger, deep and wounding. I’ve heard them before, and along with them I hear the voice inside my head telling me everything he says is true. This industry is fickle and I can go from a name that’s on everyone’s lips to a name that causes doors to slam in my face.
“I’m nothing with you too,” I shoot back, my voice calm, despite the thoughts that invade my mind.
“You know I’ll come back from this. I always do, and you’ll be on your knees begging me to take you back.”
“In order for that to happen it would mean you’d have to sign the fucking divorce papers.”
He laughs, but it’s humorless. This is the fourth time I’ve filed for divorce, at least the hundredth time I’ve tried to leave and the millionth time he’s reminded me that he created my career.
This business is about connections and those connections are always bigger than your name or your work or the awards you’ve won. But today I watched my reputation precede me, and a part of me thinks I can make it without him.
“I can ruin you with just one word, Sadie.” Every word he uses against me is calculated, manipulated to the best of his ability, and because he’s hurt and angry, he’ll continue to hit hard. “Hollywood doesn’t want women like you.” he sneers, looking me up and down. “You’re old now. Washed up. They think I’m the difficult one, but it’s the ten years I’ve spent with you that have made me the way I am.”
“What do you think these ten years have done to me? The only thing people think of when they hear my name is you. You trashing movie sets, you calling actresses vulgar names, and your reputation for…” I stop short of saying it because saying it out loud means I’m admitting to knowing what he does.
“My name is what keeps you working and what we have, Sadie, is a business relationship. You dissolve this marriage and you dissolve any chance of you ever fucking working again.” He shrugs his shoulders as if it’s that simple. It’s always been this way though, and it’s the reason I back down. It’s the reason we never go through with the divorce.
But this time, I’m standing firm. I want out and I don’t care if it takes my career with it.
“I don’t fucking care, Noel. I can’t do this anymore. I can’t be a part of the continuous cycle of you losing your shit and then your fake self-deprecating apologies that for some reason everyone just accepts willingly.”
Again he laughs, this time his head falls back dramatically. He’s mocking me and it’s taking everything in me not to punch him in the face.
“They accept it because I make them billions of dollars. What people won’t do for the all-mighty dollar and there will always be some desperate actor begging for their big break.”
“Well, I’m done accepting it,” I insist, my words firm, my stance solid. “My lawyer is going through with the divorce this time. You have thirty days to respond.” I let out a harsh exhale, impressed with myself for pushing through to this point. “And I’m leaving London. I start filming in Los Angeles next week.”
I begin to walk out of the room, the stunning view from our eight million dollar apartment that looks out on the London Bridge stopping me for a split second. And in that second it gives Noel enough time to process what I’ve just said to him. His mind working to realize that despite all the confidence he has in himself, I’m the one thing that keeps him grounded.
He reaches for me, his hand tightening around my wrist and pulling him back toward him. I crash against his chest, my eyes instinctively looking up at him as I feel my anger build inside me.
He’s as beautiful as the day we met and I hate myself for thinking it. I was drawn to the silence of his features, his quiet eyes that give nothing away, everything about him a muted pale gray: his hair, his suit, his eyes.
But today as I take him in, the slight lines etched around his eyes, the soulfulness of his worried mouth, a face of sorrow I have never seen before; it’s the face of a man who is about to lose everything.
And for a moment he has me fooled.
His mouth drops to my ear, his breath warm against my skin. I feel his lips graze my neck and goose bumps dot my sensitive skin, but inside my body burns hot.
“Don’t leave, Sadie,” he whispers in my ear, his hand slipping under my sweater and his fingers tracing the lace cup of my bra as he slowly kisses my neck. “I can’t do this without you.”
Everything he says, everything he does is calculated and intentional, and it stings. I’ve heard these words before, I’ve felt this touch and I’ve caved to it. I stay because I’m weak, but I also stay because I fear what will be said about me, how people in this industry will react. Noel and I created this persona of the American dream, a power couple, and to the public we have it all. But behind closed doors, I live in a cycle of abuse and right now it’s about to hit an upswing.
“Please, Sadie,” he begs, as the tears pool hot in my eyes, the bile rising up in my throat. “We’re better together. I promise…”
I shove him away, his fingers scraping my skin as his hand comes loose from under my sweater.
“You promise to what? To ruin my career? To make me think I’m worthless? To manipulate me? You’ve done all those things and more.”
“No,” he whimpers. “I promise things will be different.” The faux desperation is dripping from his words like a slow leak and I have to stop it. “Seriously, Sadie. At one time we were good, Remember?”
But this time it’s me laughing and wondering how he fooled me all these years and how I could’ve even fallen prey to his manipulation. His words all sound so forced and everything in me knows they mean nothing.
“No, I don’t remember. Don’t romanticize our relationship to subdue the guilt you have. I’m leaving and I’m taking the job with Clapboard.”
“Do it on your own.” He has no inflection in his voice; his words are cold and his stare even colder. “I won’t dust your knees off when you come crawling back.”
The conversation ends the same way it began, but this time they’re my words.
“Fuck you.”
Chapter Two
Paul
“How long will you be gone this time?”
I glance up, my gaze meeting Helena’s. “Three months,” I reply, but it’s said like a question, because in truth I don’t know how long I’ll be.
Shooting always runs over schedule and this will be no different, maybe more so because it’s a brand new director doing her first feature film. She’s gonna want to get everything perfect, which means endless re-takes and conversations about how things look, how they translate to the screen, what each of the actors think.
And while I’m only a stuntman and not even required for a lot of the on-set interior scenes, we’re often called to stand-in for the star, no one really giving a shit if we spend hours on a mark just so they can sort angles and lighting.
I don’t complain too much, at least this way I get three months’ worth of work instead of just a couple of weeks.
“Three months,” Helena repeats and I can hear the frustration in her voice, can see it written all over her face.
“Babe,” I say, walking over and placing my hands on her shoulders. “What do you want me to do?” I ask. “I have to work, you know that.”
“But why is it always so far away,” she asks, pouting a little. “Why can’t you ever just work here?”
I drop my hands, turning back to my bags as I attempt to pack. I’ve spent the past week staying with Helena, and although I brought everything I thought I’d need for this trip, I’m hoping I haven’t left anything behind at my place.
“You know why,” I say, as I throw in my phone charger.
“But can’t you just do something else.”
I stop, feel my body stiffen as I turn to face her. We’ve had this conversation before, many times, but it doesn’t matter how many times I explain it to her, she either doesn’t get it or doesn’t want to.
“Like what?”
Helena offers me a smile, as though to soften what she’s about to say as she steps toward me. “I don’t know,” she starts, slipping her arms around my waist. “Personal trainer? P.E. teacher? Banker?”
I roll my eyes. “That’s a new one,” I say with a touch of sarcasm as I reach for my wallet and keys.
Every time she brings this up, she tells me to consider a career change to personal trainer or teacher. For some reason she seems to think my martial arts training and background in personal fitness make me an ideal candidate for these jobs.
Maybe they do, who knows. I don’t ever bother to look into it because neither of them are something I want to do. I like my job, always have, even if I’m never considered the star of a film or receive any real recognition of what I contribute to it.
It’s enough just to see it all come to life on the big screen. To see my name buried among the hundreds of others in the credits at the end.
“Maybe a change would do you good?” she says, shrugging. “Maybe you’d like working in an office every day.”
I stop and take a deep breath, which I let out slowly. Turning to face her, I cross my arms over my chest. “What do you mean, ‘do me good?’” I ask.
“Well you’d be around more often,” she says, stepping closer. “And we’d get to see each other every day, have a normal life. Maybe even think about moving in together.”
I stare at Helena, unsure what part of what she’s saying to me has me the most pissed off. She looks back at me, a look of hope in her eyes as though she actually thinks I’m considering this.
“I don’t want to work in an office,” I eventually say, the words coming out slowly as though I’m trying to make her understand what I’m saying. “You know this, Helena and if you truly cared about me, you’d understand it too.”
“Yeah I know, but…”
“But nothing,” I say, cutting her off. “I actually love what I do,” I continue. “And I know it’s not glamorous and probably doesn’t fit into your idea of what we should look like, but it’s what I like to do.”
“Paul,” she says, her smile faltering as she reaches for my arm. “You know I didn’t mean it like that, I was only…”
“You were only saying the same thing you say every time I leave for a movie set,” I say, finishing off her sentence.
“I, I just miss you when you’re gone,” she says, her fingers curling around my arm.<
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“And I miss you,” I tell her. “But I know your job and staying in Vancouver is important to you, so I accept there are times when we’re forced to be apart. Why can’t you do this for me too?”
Helena stares back at me, her fingers digging into my arm as she swallows hard. Her eyes search my face, while my heart pounds in my chest. An air of uncertainty hangs between us now that’s never been there before.
“Is this not working for you anymore?” I eventually ask, my words low.
She licks her lips, blinking once. She opens her mouth to speak, but at first nothing comes out and it should be a sign. It should tell me everything I need to know.
“Of course it is,” she finally whispers. “I love you. You know that.”
I exhale, wondering exactly how true her words are, and why it looks so hard for her to say them to me. But I don’t ask, instead pulling her into my arms as I rest my chin on the top of her head.
“I really have to go, Helena,” I say pressing a kiss to her hair before pulling back. “Can we talk about this later? Maybe when one of us visits and we have more time? I promise I want to get this sorted out.”
She nods, her hazel eyes staring up at me. I smile, leaning in to kiss her softly on the lips.
“I love you, babe,” I tell her. “I’ll call you when I land.”
I’m two blocks from her apartment when I realize I’ve left my damn passport behind.
“Fuck,” I mutter before leaning forward and saying, “Hey, can you turn around, I’ve got to go back.”
The cab driver shoots me a quick look, his brows raised in question.
“Forgot my passport,” I reply, rolling my eyes.
He smiles. “No worries, what time’s your flight?”
I glance at my watch. “Two and half hours,” I say, mentally calculating if that’s enough time.
The taxi driver nods but says nothing as he cuts across two lanes before making a hard turn into oncoming traffic and heading back in the direction we just came in a move that’s reminiscent of when I was stunt driving on Fast and Furious.
Fifteen minutes later, we’re pulling up outside Helena’s apartment.
“I’ll be quick,” I shout as I’m halfway out the door. “Keep it running.”