None of Ryan’s friends knew what had taken place that night. He’d decided he wouldn’t share–not even with Don. He’d done something good, and it hadn’t been exactly easy. After hearing Anya’s story, he’d decided that somehow or other it was his calling to help her obtain a fresh start. He didn’t know why he had to do this, he just knew that it was important to him. After all, he’d had all the breaks in life–a loving family–a a college education–a burgeoning career–and on the horizon, marriage to a wonderful woman.
It seemed in his mind that it was time to give back, and helping a young girl who’d experienced nothing but misery was definitely the right thing to do.
It had cost him plenty, but he’d happily paid for her freedom. Once he’d ascertained that she was safely in America, he’d never heard from her again, which was the plan, and also fortunate, because if Mandy ever found out what he’d done, she would’ve been convinced he’d had sex with the girl, and then the proverbial shit would’ve hit the fan.
“You’d better tell your punk brother-in-law to stop bothering my wife,” Phil said, sidling over and growling in his ear. “The putz is following her around as if she’s a bitch in heat. I do not appreciate assholes ogling my wife.”
“Hamilton’s here,” Ryan said, reaching for a drink.
“Are we pleased or pissed off?” Phil inquired, well aware that Ryan and his uber-successful father-in-law were not exactly close.
“Neither,” Ryan replied. “I try not to let him bother me either way.”
“That’s the right attitude,” Phil said, tugging on his beard.
“He’s with the new wife.”
“Another one?” Phil bellowed.
“Keep it down. Here they come now,” Ryan said, watching Phil closely as Hamilton and Anya entered the living room.
Phil whistled through his teeth, making a sucking noise. “The old bastard sure knows how to pick ’em,” he said admiringly.
“Yeah,” Ryan agreed, relieved that Phil seemed to have no recollection of the girl.
Suddenly there was a shriek of anger from Lucy on the other side of the room–a shout out of “Take your disgusting hands off me, you drunken moron!” Then she tossed her drink in Marty’s face.
Marty stepped forward and lifted his arm as if he was about to slap her, but before he could do so, Ryan was there, preventing Marty from taking any action, and telling them both to calm down.
Evie hurried over, ready to defend her husband. Ryan glared at his sister, who should know better than defending her piece-of-shit husband. “Be cool,” he warned.
“We’re out of here,” she responded, grabbing Marty by the arm and marching him to the door.
Ryan shook his head. There was nothing he could do to help her, she had to find out for herself that her husband was nothing but a hopeless lecherous drunk. She’d better wise up soon and divorce the loser before it was too late and Marty totally lost it, although his mom would probably be upset.
His other two sisters wanted to know what had happened. He planned on telling them what he’d witnessed at Evie’s house that morning, but he wasn’t about to get into it tonight.
“Everything’s fine,” he assured them. “Marty just had a few drinks too many.”
Gritting his teeth, he got through the rest of the evening.
Not once did Anya glance in his direction. So much for playing the Good Samaritan, although it occurred to him that perhaps she was being discreet.
He’d not acknowledged her either, which meant that she must realize it wouldn’t be a wise move to bring up their history. He could just imagine Hamilton’s face if he found out the truth. As it was, Hamilton had spent the evening telling everyone that his bride was a former Russian ballerina who’d come to America to study economics. They’d met at a party and fallen instantly in love.
Sure, Ryan thought. The sixty-five-year-old billionaire and the twenty-something ex-child prostitute. A true love connection, anyone can see that.
So much for romance.
Later, Ryan stood at the door next to Mandy bidding everyone good night.
Mandy turned to him when the last guest had left. “I simply adore your mom,” she gushed, spewing insincerity. “Why couldn’t Hamilton have found a woman like her? They’re about the same age, aren’t they?”
Ryan shrugged. He felt drained and exhausted. This was not the time to get involved in a heated discussion.
Tomorrow, when things were calmer, when he could get his head straight.
Tomorrow he would tell Mandy he wanted a divorce.
Chapter Twenty-Four
Mary Ellen stayed the night. Don had not planned on her spending the night in his bed, but how could he throw her out right after they’d made love? He’d never been adept at getting rid of women after he’d slept with them. As soon as they were off the premises it was easy–don’t take their calls, don’t answer their e-mails, and never reply to their texts. But once they were snugly settled in his bed it was a different situation.
Quite frankly he preferred sleeping alone, but what could he do? Hiring professionals had worked for a short time, although the shine of paying a woman to do things that most women would give their left tit to do for free, had soon worn off.
Now it seemed he was back on the dating trail, a place he wasn’t so sure he wanted to be.
What he wanted was Cameron Paradise.
What she apparently wanted was not him.
But he could change her mind, couldn’t he?
With Mary Ellen snuggled up beside him, he slept fitfully, not falling off until three a.m., then oversleeping, so that when Cameron rang his doorbell at seven a.m. he was still totally out of it.
The bell rang several times before the sound got through to him. Usually Butch woke him up with a few solid licks to the face, but Butch was outside by the pool where Mary Ellen had requested he stay.
“Isn’t that your doorbell?” Mary Ellen murmured, twining one leg over his, her warm body closing in.
“Uh, yes,” he mumbled, disentangling himself and jumping out of bed. “Stay here. I’ll be right back.”
He almost made it to the door before realizing he was stark bollock naked. He hurried back into his bathroom, grabbed a white terrycloth robe and headed for the door again. This time he flung it open.
“I see we overslept again,” Cameron remarked.
She was standing there looking so fucking gorgeous he could barely take it. “You got me,” he said ruefully.
“Y’know,” she observed, walking past him into the house, “you really should stop with those late nights of yours, ’cause if I’m getting here at seven, I expect you to be ready for action.”
“I’m ready for action all right,” he joked, tightening the belt on his bathrobe.
She smiled slightly. “Not that kind of action.”
“What kind did you have in mind?” he asked, moving closer.
“Are you always such a flirt?” she said, backing away.
“Only when I’m around you.”
“Sorry that I bring that out in you.”
“Never apologize, it doesn’t suit you.”
“Hmm…I suppose you’d like me to put on the coffee before we get started.”
“How’dja guess?” he said, attempting to suppress a yawn.
“It’s becoming our routine, isn’t it?” she said crisply. “I make the coffee, you get into your work-out clothes, that cuts our time by about half an hour.”
“You wouldn’t be accusing me of slacking off, would you?”
“Never!” she said, laughing. “By the way, when is this event you’re hosting? The one where you expect to be in optimum shape?”
“Too damn soon,” he groaned. “I hate doing that shit.”
“Maybe I should call you when I leave my house in future, make sure you’re out of bed,” she said. “What do you think?”
“I think you’d be the best-looking wake-up service in town.”
“Only for you,”
she said with a smile.
“Why?” he said, somewhat encouraged. “Are you saying I’m your favorite client?”
“No, but you are coming to our opening party and bringing a few celebrity friends. So…I guess I’m obliged to give you some extra perks.”
“I’ll take ’em,” he said quickly.
“Where’s Butch?” she asked, glancing around.
“Out by the pool.”
“How come?”
“’Cause that’s where he slept last night.”
“You shouldn’t leave a dog outside at night in L.A.,” she scolded. “Even a big dog. There’s coyotes everywhere. A friend of mine had her little puppy eaten by one, and that happened during the day.”
At that moment Mary Ellen emerged from the bedroom. She had put on one of his shirts and nothing else. Her hair was pinned on top of her head, and her pretty face was makeup-less.
“Oh!” she said, taken aback when she spotted Cameron. “Sorry, am I interrupting?”
Cameron glanced at Mary Ellen, then back at Don. “Now I understand,” she said knowingly.
Jesus Christ, he thought. Why couldn’t Mary Ellen have stayed in the bedroom where I left her? Why does she have to appear, parading around in one of my shirts? Fuck!
He’d wanted to make Cameron jealous, but he hadn’t wanted her to actually run into the girl he’d spent the night with.
“Uh, Cameron, this is Mary Ellen Evans,” he said, keeping it smooth. “Mary Ellen, meet Cameron, my personal trainer.”
“Oh,” Mary Ellen said, relieved that this tall blonde goddess wasn’t competition. “Are you planning on working out? Can I join you?”
“Of course you can,” Cameron said, shooting Don an amused look. She knew he was furious that Mary Ellen had emerged from his bedroom, but so what? It was fun to watch Don almost lose his cool. “It’ll be a blast. I’ll put on the coffee while you two get into your clothes. We’ll have a joint session.” A long beat. “And you know what, Don?”
“What?” he said, frowning.
“I won’t even charge you double.”
Later, after an uncomfortable work-out with both women, Don met up with Ryan at The Four Seasons dining room.
“So then,” Don said, gulping down his second cup of strong black coffee, “Mary Ellen comes waltzing out of my bedroom in one of my shirts and nothing else, like she’s taken up residence. I was pissed, I can tell you that.”
“What did Cameron do?” Ryan asked, thinking that only yesterday he’d had breakfast with Cameron in the same place. He hadn’t called her. Couldn’t call her, especially now with Don carrying on about her as if she was the only woman in the world.
“She kind of got off on the situation,” Don admitted. “Jesus, Ryan, I think I’m really falling.”
“Yeah, you’re falling so hard that you slept with Mary Ellen.”
“It meant nothing. Cameron’s the woman for me.”
“That’s probably because you can’t have her,” Ryan responded dryly, feeling a frisson of satisfaction that Cameron hadn’t fallen into Don’s bed like most women.
“Bullshit,” Don objected. “She’s just…well, I don’t have to tell you. You met her at the party. Isn’t she something?”
Ryan nodded silently. She was something all right. She was beautiful, and smart and caring and kind. And much as he loved Don–his best friend, his buddy, she was too good for him.
Or was he thinking that because he couldn’t have her for himself?
Man, he was confused. And he hadn’t brought up the subject of divorce with Mandy because by the time he’d got up that morning, she was busy hosting some kind of spiritual yoga class in their living room with three girlfriends.
Chanting was not his thing, so he’d made a quick exit. Now here he was with Don, and all Don wanted to talk about was Cameron.
Ryan realized that he couldn’t call her. No. Not while Don was so enamored. In all the years they’d been friends they’d never allowed a woman to come between them, and he wasn’t letting it happen now.
“Sorry,” Don said, realizing he’d been hogging the conversation like a teenage boy with a crush. “Tell me about your evening?”
“It was okay until Hamilton showed up with his latest.”
“Oh, shit!” Don exclaimed. “How did Mandy take that?”
“She was okay, really. On her best behavior.”
“How come?”
“’Cause Hamilton scares the crap out of her. She’s always edgy around him.”
A waiter approached their table, the same waiter who’d served him and Cameron yesterday. Handing them menus, the waiter greeted Ryan with a cheery, “Nice to see you again so soon, Mr Richards.”
“Thanks,” Ryan said.
“Will you be ordering the same as yesterday?”
“Uh, sure.”
“I hope you don’t mind me asking, but was that lady you were with a model?”
Don put down his menu and threw Ryan a quizzical look. “A model?” he questioned. “Have you been getting a little on the side?”
“Excuse me, Mr Richards,” the waiter said, flustered. “I shouldn’t have asked. It was most indiscreet of me.”
Somehow Ryan managed to maintain his cool.
“That’s okay,” he said easily. And to Don–“I was interviewing an actress.”
“Over breakfast?” Don said, grinning. “You old dog, I do believe you’re holding out on me!”
Chapter Twenty-Five
“Good morning, Mrs Heckerling,” said Madge, Hamilton’s Scottish housekeeper who’d been with him for over twenty years.
“Good morning,” Anya replied stiffly, as she entered the spacious kitchen in Hamilton’s Bel Air mansion.
She still could not get used to being called Mrs Heckerling, nor could she get used to the way people treated her with deference and respect, as if she was someone important.
She was well aware that they only regarded her as important because she’d married a very rich man–a billionaire, in fact. However, being married to Hamilton J. Heckerling was not all easy. She lived in fear that one day he would find out about her past, and abandon her like everyone else had–one way or the other. First her parents; then her surrogate family; next Serge; followed by Igor; and finally Velma–who’d vanished and left her in the hands of Joe–a man who’d made the rest of them seem like kindly amateurs.
The two years she’d spent in Amsterdam were worse than anything that had gone before. The things Joe had forced her to do were unspeakable.
Many nights she awoke in a cold sweat–imagining that she’d been exposed as a fraud and was forced to return to her old life, a life she’d sooner die than go back to. The sad truth was that she lived with a cloud looming over her, imagining that one day someone would discover who she really was, or perhaps recognize her.
That someone had finally appeared a week ago. That someone was the American man who’d helped her escape from Amsterdam seven years ago.
It was a cruel twist of fate that the man who’d rescued her turned out to be married to Hamilton’s daughter.
Did his wife know about her?
Had he told her everything?
And if he hadn’t–would he do so now?
Anya had no idea how she was supposed to handle the situation. Should she run? Take off in the middle of the night and hope that Hamilton would not come after her?
No. That would be foolish, for surely if she vanished, Ryan would talk, and then everyone would know her dirty little secret.
It was imperative that she speak to him alone, find out if he’d told anyone. Because if he had…
I will kill myself, she thought. Swallow a bottle of Hamilton’s potent sleeping pills and end it all.
She’d tried to kill herself one night in Amsterdam after Joe had forced her to perform at an orgy with two lesbians, and seven drunken German men. She’d found a razor in the hotel bathroom where the orgy was taking place, and attempted to slit her wrists. But Joe had come
across her slumped on the floor covered in blood. He’d kicked her as if she were a dog, and shouted that she was the most useless whore he’d ever had to deal with. Then he’d dragged her to the Emergency Room where they’d stitched her slashed wrists and sent her home.
The next night it was back to work as usual.
“Can I get you anything, Mrs Heckerling?” Madge asked, standing with her arms crossed in front of her formidable bosom.
“No, thank you,” Anya replied politely.
Madge had already decided that she did not approve of her boss’s latest wife; however, she always remained polite. This one was tricky though–not as transparent as the others. Madge was certain that this one had something to hide.
“Perhaps I’ll make my own tea,” Anya said, edging toward the fridge.
“Not necessary, Mrs Heckerling,” Madge said, blocking her way. “I’ll bring it out to you on the terrace.”
“Fine,” Anya said, realizing she was not welcome in the kitchen–it was Madge’s domain and the woman wanted her to stay out.
She wandered outside. Hamilton was sitting at the breakfast table reading the Wall Street Journal.
“Hi, honey,” he said, barely looking up.
She sat down and gazed out at the vast expanse of green lawns surrounded by well-tended flower beds and blossoming jacaranda bushes. In the distance she could see the blue sparkle of an Olympic-size swimming pool, and an all-grass tennis court.
She was married to the man who owned all this. She was married to a billionaire.
And did she love him?
No.
And was she planning on staying with him?
Yes.
Hamilton glanced up from his newspaper. “Has Mandy called you yet?” he inquired, peering over his horn-rimmed glasses.
Anya shook her head.
“That girl!” he muttered, irritated. “I told her to show you around, introduce you to people. She gets plenty of perks from me, and yet she can’t do one damn thing I ask.”
“Maybe she is busy,” Anya said. Or maybe she knows who I really am and wants nothing to do with me.
Married Lovers Page 18