by Emily Forbes
Then she heard a voice through the speakers. A male voice. Unaccompanied.
There was still no one on stage but he obviously had a microphone and, whoever it was, he could sing.
Kat looked around the bar.
Oliver was walking towards her. His blue eyes pinned her to the seat and the spotlight followed him as he sang.
A second spotlight fell on Kat and she hurriedly hid her face behind her hands as Oliver continued to sing about how he couldn’t keep his eyes off her. She could feel herself blushing, and part of her wanted to slide under the table, but another part of her couldn’t look away. She peeked through her fingers in time to see Oliver stop just before he reached her and step up onto the stage. He was poised and confident.
The music started up in accompaniment, just loud enough to be heard but still letting Oliver’s voice shine. Kat was mesmerised. Oliver was born to be on stage.
The second spotlight dimmed, putting her back into the shadows.
The focus was all on Oliver. He didn’t seem to mind. Kat knew he loved an audience but she also knew he was singing to her.
The crowd had fallen silent as soon as he’d started singing. They were expecting something special, nothing had been anywhere near as good as what they were hearing now.
He reached the chorus and invited everyone in the restaurant to sing with him. They didn’t need to be asked twice. They didn’t need to know the words; it was a simple repeat.
Oliver jumped down from the stage and offered his hand to Kat as the audience sang and clapped.
She knew he wanted to get her out of her seat but she hesitated for a fraction of a second, reluctant to dance in front of strangers. She was so used to worrying about what people would think, but then she realised that no one here knew her and no one would care about what she did—they were all too focused on Oliver.
He had the room eating out of his hand as he performed, so she could probably do naked cartwheels across the stage and still no one would give her a second glance.
She let him pull her to her feet.
He twirled her around, spinning her out and away from him as the crowd accompanied them vocally before pulling her in close, her back tucked into his side as he sang the next verse. She swayed with him as they moved in time to the music, oblivious now to the audience.
Thunderous applause surrounded them as he kissed her at the end of the song and returned her to her seat. He took a bow before he was unanimously declared the winner.
He graciously accepted his prize before quickly settling their tab so they could sneak away.
‘Well, I don’t know about you but that Frank Foster sure can sing,’ Kat laughed as Oliver took her hand as they walked back to the hotel.
‘Did you have fun?’
‘I did.’ It was the most fun she’d had in a long time; perhaps she should care less about what people might think and just let her hair down more often.
* * *
Kat felt as if she were floating. She was relaxed, sexually satisfied. Happy.
She and Oliver had gone for an early-morning swim, followed by a room service breakfast, followed by more lovemaking, and then they’d wandered through the shops. She was carrying several shopping bags, filled with clothes that would probably never see the light of day in Coober Pedy but which Oliver had insisted on buying for her as well as some gifts for her family.
‘I could use a drink after that retail therapy,’ Oliver said as he offloaded their purchases to the concierge. ‘Would you like to grab a drink in the bar or...?’ He paused, his train of thought interrupted, his attention caught by something else.
Kat turned and saw a woman walking towards them. She was short, blonde, extremely thin and expertly put together. Her hair, make-up and clothing were all immaculate. She looked just the type of person who would be in the lobby of a five-star hotel, and Kat’s curiosity was piqued.
‘Philippa! What are you doing here?’ Oliver greeted her.
The woman looked over at Kat, not trying to hide her curiosity. ‘Who is this?’ she asked as she looked Kat up and down.
Kat frowned. She was wondering the same thing.
‘This is Kat Angelis; she’s an emergency paramedic, and she’s overseeing my stunt work.’
‘You’re not working right now, though. George is in hospital,’ the woman stated, clearly implying that she thought Kat shouldn’t be there.
‘Kat, this is Philippa Corcoran, my publicist.’ Oliver introduced her, choosing to ignore the woman’s implication.
Philippa nodded in Kat’s direction before turning back to Oliver. ‘I need to speak to you, Oliver. In private.’
Kat waited for Oliver to tell her that this wasn’t a good time, but Philippa hadn’t finished.
‘We have a problem,’ she added before Oliver could speak.
CHAPTER SEVEN
PHILIPPA WAS BEING rude and Oliver thought about arguing, but something in Philippa’s demeanour stopped him from dismissing his publicist.
‘How did you find me?’
‘You checked in with your credit card. I see the statements.’
She had tracked him down and then flown halfway across the world to see him. Her news must be bad. Too bad for her to deliver over the phone, and he didn’t want her to tell him what it was in front of Kat. Who knew what Philippa had to say? He didn’t want Kat to hear anything sordid about him. Not without his knowing first what was going on.
‘I’m really sorry, Kat, but could you give us a minute?’
‘I’ll get a coffee in the lounge,’ she said.
He could tell from her expression that she wasn’t happy, but she didn’t argue. He’d make it up to her later.
Kat headed for the lounge and Oliver swiped his card and called the lift for the penthouse suite.
The penthouse door had scarcely closed behind them before Philippa pulled a folder out of her designer bag and handed it to Oliver.
He took it reluctantly. ‘What is this?’
‘You’re being sued.’
‘Sued? By whom?’
‘The parents of Natalie Hanson, the girl who overdosed at your house.’
‘What? That’s ridiculous. I wasn’t even there.’
‘Unfortunately that doesn’t matter. She died on your property.’
‘And that gives them grounds to sue me?’ Oliver stood in the middle of the living room and rifled through the folder. There was a legal document, he assumed the lawsuit, and photos of a young girl. He knew it was Natalie. She was beautiful, happy, smiling, looking as if she didn’t have a care in the world. He felt for her parents, they didn’t deserve this, but that didn’t make it his fault.
Philippa took a seat on the sofa. ‘They’re saying you had a duty of care. They’re saying their daughter didn’t have a drug problem. That she must have got the drugs at your house.’
‘The police thought she brought the drugs with her,’ he said as he dropped the folder onto the coffee table.
‘They haven’t been able to prove that. There’s a copy of the police report in that file.’
‘Well, I definitely didn’t supply them!’ This could ruin his reputation. He’d been working hard to clean up his image, but stories about the number of celebrities he’d dated would seem trivial in comparison to an alleged drug problem. ‘In all the thousands of stories I’ve had printed about me there’s never been anything to suggest I’m into illegal drugs.’
‘I know that,’ Philippa said calmly. ‘I know most of what they print about you isn’t true, but you know the saying—throw enough mud and some of it will stick. We’ve worked hard to get you back in the good books, to keep you employed. The movie studios are jumpy. They don’t want bad publicity. We need to manage this.’
Oliver sank into a chair. He didn’t care what people thought about him but he did care about his car
eer. ‘How bad is it?’ he asked.
‘They’re not suing you as a dealer. They’re suing you as the landlord. Their argument is that you are liable because it’s your property. We need to make sure your name is cleared.’
He had been sent to Australia to make a film in the middle of nowhere as a way of supposedly keeping him out of trouble, but that plan obviously hadn’t worked and he knew this lawsuit could be a big problem.
How was he going to explain this to Kat? He really didn’t want her to think trouble followed him. Thank God she’d agreed to give him and Philippa some privacy. He hated to think of her hearing this.
Philippa was talking and he forced his mind off Kat and back to what she was saying.
‘This is serious. I’ve spoken to your lawyers already but we need to do some damage control and we also need some positive publicity to counteract any negative stories that come your way.’
‘What do you suggest?’ He couldn’t think straight. All he could think about was Kat’s reaction. She was so black and white; she thrived on following the rules. What would she make of this latest scandal? What would she think of him?
‘I think you should get engaged.’
‘What?’
‘You need to show that you’ve reformed your partying, playboy ways. I know you don’t have a drug-taking history, but drugs and partying are a marriage made in heaven for the media, and it only takes a few tabloids to make some suggestions and you have an even bigger PR problem.’
‘But that playboy persona was just an image. You know that’s not really me. You helped create it!’
‘Again, I know that, but it’s an image you’ve—we’ve—spent years selling. Now it’s about how we manage it. An engagement is a perfect solution. You need a fiancée, someone who will stand by you and support you while you sort out these allegations. It will give you some positive publicity.’
‘And who will agree to be a fake fiancée? Where do you suggest I find someone to play that role?’
Philippa didn’t miss a beat.
‘Someone trustworthy,’ she said. ‘An actress. We need someone who is wholesome, which will give you credibility. Someone the public can trust. A fan favourite. Someone they will believe is with you for all the right reasons and therefore you couldn’t possibly have done the things you’ve been accused of because otherwise how would you have got her to fall in love with you?’ She reached into her bag and pulled a stack of glossy A4 pages from it. Each page had a photo on it and Oliver could see they were actor bios. She handed him the sheaf of photos. ‘I have a short list of actresses who I think would be perfect. I’m pleased you’re out of America. That will work in our favour. We’ll get you back to Coober Pedy asap, where the paparazzi and the media can’t find you. You choose someone from those bios and I will organise a media announcement. I will control it all.’
‘Is that why you’re here, in person?’
Knowing that he, once again, needed someone to clean up his image was upsetting. Particularly as he was in this situation through no fault of his own.
Philippa was nodding. ‘I needed to find you and speak to you before the paparazzi did. I needed you to see that my idea makes sense.’
‘No.’ Oliver threw the pile of photos onto the table. ‘None of this makes sense. It’s ridiculous. I had nothing to do with that girl’s death and I will fight the lawsuit. Why do I have to create fake news about myself? I thought we were trying to clean up my reputation; I thought part of that was to stay out of the media spotlight. Isn’t that one of the reasons I’m down under?’
‘Yes. But the story is already out. Natalie’s parents have gone to the media. We have to do something. We really do need to counter-attack with something positive. We can’t have the media linking your name to a lawsuit and a lawsuit only. We need to give them something else, something good. I think it’s our, your, best option.’
‘I’m not interested.’
‘I think you should consider it. Maybe read the stories that have been printed so far. You might agree you don’t really have much choice.’
Philippa passed him a third stack of paper, this time printed copies of tabloid magazine articles. He took a cursory glance—he didn’t need more than that to see they were all saying the same thing—this actress had died in his house. His name was being linked by association and her parents were suing him. It didn’t matter that the tabloids weren’t actually mentioning that he hadn’t been in the house, that he’d been on location, filming. Fans would put two and two together and get whatever the hell number they pleased; he knew how this business worked. A few photos, a few quotes taken out of context, a few interviews with ‘close friends’ and there was a story. Suddenly he was into illegal drugs and a girl had died because of it. It was all that was needed to sell the magazines.
‘Think of it as a job,’ Philippa said. ‘A role. You can play the part of the law-abiding, conscientious, clean-living, loved-up fiancé.’
He sat quietly while he thought. He knew he would have to do something. He was at a disadvantage, on the other side of the world, away from the publicity juggernaut that was Hollywood. He’d have to go on the attack. His father, the military general, would be pleased, he thought wryly.
‘All right, I’ll go along with this but I have one condition.’
Philippa nodded.
‘I get to choose my fiancée...’
‘Of course.’ Philippa started to gather up the sheaf of actress biographies that Oliver had discarded but he shook his head.
‘... But not from those.’ He knew what he wanted. Whom he wanted. ‘I want it to be Kat.’
‘The girl downstairs?’
‘Yes. It will be far more believable to think I’ve fallen in love with someone in Australia rather than with a Hollywood actress who I’ve absolutely no history with.’
‘Give me some credit,’ Philippa argued. ‘If you have a look through those bios you’ll see several women in there with whom you have been romantically linked in the past.’ She shrugged. ‘I’ll say you rekindled an old flame.’
‘No,’ Oliver insisted. ‘It will be better if she’s not a celebrity. There’s no dirt to dig up.’
‘Are you sure?’
He wasn’t sure at all. Not about Philippa’s plan and not about getting Kat to agree—but admitting that would get him nowhere. ‘Yes. Trust me. I can do this.’
‘Yes, I don’t doubt that. But can she?’
Would she? was actually the question. ‘There’s only one way to find out,’ he said as he stood up. ‘I’ll go and get her.’
Oliver closed his eyes and rested his head on the wall of the lift as it descended to the lobby. How did he tell Kat about this? What if she believed that he was to blame for Natalie’s death? What if she believed he had a history of drug use? He knew she wouldn’t abide that. He knew she’d be disappointed in him and that was the last thing he wanted.
* * *
She was sitting at a table by the window, flicking through a magazine. He sat opposite her and reached for her hands, an apology ready. ‘Kat, I’m sorry about that.’
‘Is everything OK?’
‘Not really. Can you come upstairs? I’ll explain then.’
Kat followed without question and Oliver let himself breathe again. Maybe it would be OK.
He opened the door to their suite and held it for her. ‘Philippa is still here,’ he warned, ‘and there’s something I need to ask you.’
Kat looked wary. ‘What’s going on?’ She was looking from him to Philippa and back to him again.
‘Oliver needs a fake fiancée for a fake engagement—’
‘Philippa! Please.’ Oliver held up a hand. ‘I’ll handle this.’
Kat’s wary expression changed to one of confusion. ‘Handle what exactly?’
Oliver still had hold of her hand. He led her to the sofa in t
he sitting room. He sat on the edge of the coffee table, his knees touching hers. ‘Apparently I’m in the headlines again. You remember we spoke about the girl who died of a drug overdose at my house?’
Kat nodded.
‘Her parents are suing me. They’re saying their daughter didn’t have a drug problem and that as the owner of the property I am partly responsible for her death.’
‘Are you?’
‘No. I told you I wasn’t there.’
‘Where did the drugs come from?’
‘I have no idea. Not from me. I have never touched illegal drugs.’
He saw her glance down at the coffee table. The photo of Natalie’s smiling face was poking out from under the pile of papers, touching his thigh.
She picked up the photo. ‘Is this her?’
Oliver nodded.
‘Do you think they have a case against you?’
‘I don’t know.’
‘Oliver’s lawyer will have something to say,’ Philippa said.
Kat looked at Oliver enquiringly.
‘I have to argue this. I can’t stay silent. I am innocent.’
Kat was quiet. Oliver waited anxiously, his heart lodged in his throat, to see if she was going to believe him.
‘What if they win? What happens then? It doesn’t bring their daughter back,’ she said.
‘They want money,’ Philippa replied. ‘If they won there would be a financial settlement, but that’s not really the problem. If they win it could ruin Oliver’s career.’
‘What are you going to do?’ Kat looked at Oliver.
‘We’re in damage control,’ Philippa interjected. ‘Oliver will refute the charges but he also needs something to boost his image, to maintain his appeal. Something to counteract any negative publicity. He needs something to make him look like a saint, not a sinner.’
‘And what does this have to do with me?’ Kat looked at Oliver.
‘I want you to marry me.’
‘Marry you?’
He hadn’t just said that, had he? That wasn’t what he’d meant to say. He was sure that wasn’t what he’d meant to say.