I Loved You First

by Suzanne Enoch

  “Nope. We’re almost there. If they don’t have rooms, though, it’ll be back to that Motel 6 we passed on the Interstate.”

  “As long as they have a toothbrush, I don’t care.”

  She felt his glance at her. “I can do better than that, I think.”

  Five minutes later, he turned up a still narrower road that curved through dark trees and up a hill before the way ahead of them opened to reveal a Victorian-style house with a wraparound porch decorated with string lights, a porch swing on either side of the wide front, and a six-car parking lot to one side. If not for the parking lot, she would have thought they’d arrived at somebody’s pretty impressive private residence.

  “We’re here,” he said unnecessarily, sliding into the nearest parking spot and shifting into park. “Do you want to wait here while I check to see if we can get in?”

  She looked toward the front the porch, finally spying the shadowed sign that read “Starlight Bed and Breakfast Inn” in neat blue lettering. Eleanor wanted to go with him, both because she felt safer with Brian Cafferty and his lean six-foot-two well-muscled body around, and because everything so far tonight had been out of her control. But people tended to take to Twitter and Instagram when they spied her, and going anywhere private had become virtually impossible about seven years ago. “Yes, I’ll wait here.”

  “I’ll be right back. Keep your phone off, and don’t turn on the radio.”

  If she’d felt up to arguing that she was an adult and could make her own decisions, she would have done so. After this catastrophe, though, maybe she should be listening to somebody else’s advice. To Brian’s advice. He’d disliked Rod Bannon from the beginning, anyway.

  When Brian opened his door and stepped out, the sound of crickets and frogs poured into the car, only to be silenced again when he shut her in. God, how long had it been since she’d heard frogs? Not since the Hawaii shoot for Primitive, probably. That was when she’d had the idea for the Wild Wind Summer Camp, in fact. And Brian hadn’t laughed when she’d told him about it, even though they’d just broken up. Instead he’d used his real estate attorney contacts to help her get the deal put together.

  The driver’s door opened, and she jumped as Brian sat again. “Well?”

  “They only have one room available,” he said, closing them in and starting the Jeep. “I’ll find us somewhere else.”

  That would mean more driving, more moping, and longer without taking care of this mess. Eleanor reached over and covered his hand before he could shift into reverse. “Take it,” she said.

  He cocked his head at her. “You heard me, right? One room. If anybody recognizes you, the—”

  “What, I’ll be ruined? We’ve spent time together before, Cafferty, and I’m still here. I want to start pushing back against this before it’s all completely out of my hands. I’ll take the couch or rollaway or whatever they have.”

  Cafferty narrowed his eyes a little then shut off the car again. “What they have, El,” he said, exiting the car and coming around to pull open her door for her, “is a king-size bed.”

  3

  “That’s fine,” she said, not even hesitating as she walked around the Jeep to join him. For dinner at Almuerzo she’d worn a pretty pink V-neck T-shirt with streaks of silver beading running down it like rain, black capris, and black sandals that sparkled with silver beading that matched her top.

  Eleanor Ross always looked good, but even tonight with her career ready to fall down around her ears, she still made the Kardashians look gaudy. It was all about class, about being a woman who was comfortable with herself even if she didn’t trust the rest of the world. The woman to whom he’d tried to give the moon, until she’d decided she would rather fetch it for herself. Or that was the impression she’d given him, anyway. He’d spent several sleepless weeks trying to figure it—and her—out, and still wasn’t satisfied with the answers.

  “Cafferty?”

  Brian shook himself, realizing he’d been staring at her as she stood on the porch waiting for him to get his ass back into gear. “Right. We’ll go with the usual.”

  He passed her to hold open the screened-in front door, then followed her inside. The man standing at the short counter set into the house’s foyer blinked twice, his expression going from mildly annoyed at people arriving so late in the evening and without reservations to less annoyed and intrigued.

  Celebrities had stayed here before, Brian knew, because he’d heard about the Starlight Bed and Breakfast Inn from Rita Wilson’s assistant when El had played Tom Hanks’s granddaughter in Grampa Henry Likes to Bake. Under normal circumstances, he would have done more vetting, made some phone calls to make certain their reputation for discretion was legitimate. Tonight, though, wasn’t normal.

  “We’ll take that room after all,” he said, pulling his personal credit card from his back pocket. “Brian and Rose Cafferty.”

  “Phillip Eaton, owner and proprietor of the Starlight Bed and Breakfast Inn,” the guy behind the counter replied, nodding. “My wife Joan is cleaning up the kitchen. We have eight rooms here, walking trails, a pond for fishing, and a staff of four. We serve breakfast from seven to nine, and you can arrange for other meals if you let us know ahead of time. The fee, as I mentioned to you earlier, is four hundred per night per room, with a minimum two-night stay.”

  “Sounds good,” Brian returned, handing over his Visa. He’d repay himself from her business account later, but keeping this in his name would make her harder to trace. “You wouldn’t happen to have any toothbrushes or anything, would you? Or is there somewhere close by I could get some stuff?”

  Eaton’s jaw twitched, and Brian clenched his own in return. He knew what the guy was thinking—that one of those flighty actresses had run off for a one-night stand with some dude and they were in such a hurry to get naked that they hadn’t even remembered to bring luggage. Defending El’s honor against some random man’s imagination wouldn’t do any good, but he still wanted to say something. He still wanted to protect her, even after her troubles were already out in the world.

  “We have spare toothbrushes in the rooms, along with soap and hand lotion, but I’m afraid we don’t stock miscellaneous clothes or deodorant or hairbrushes. There’s a CVS Pharmacy three miles down the road.”

  “That’ll work,” Eleanor said, flashing her famous disarming smile. “Thank you, Phillip. I just really need some peace and quiet.”

  The proprietor returned her smile; not doing so, Brian had discovered, was a physical impossibility. “You’ll find that here in spades, Mrs….” He glanced down at his computer screen. “Mrs. Cafferty. We value our guests’ privacy. We wouldn’t continue to be in business if we didn’t.”

  Well, that at least sounded reassuring. “Where’s our room?” Brian asked.

  Eaton picked up two key cards, inserted them into a scanner slot, then handed them over. “All our guest rooms are named after painters, so you’ll be in Renoir, up the stairs here and all the way to the back on your left. The other rooms are all occupied tonight, but we do have a parlor on the main level here just through those doors if you have need of some work space, an ethernet computer connection, a fax machine, or phone chargers.”

  “Perfect. W—”

  “The Wi-Fi password is on the back of your door,” the proprietor continued, clearly not about to prematurely end his recitation, “along with this week’s breakfast menu. If you have any special requests, please fill out the form hanging on the inside of the doorknob and put it outside your door before six a.m. Anything else I can do for you this evening? Your key card will also work on the front door, so you can come and go as you please. There won’t be anyone manning the desk here between eleven at night and seven in the morning.”

  “I think that covers it.” Brian started to reach for Eleanor’s hand then stopped himself and clenched his fingers. They weren’t dating, they weren’t a couple, and just this afternoon she’d reminded him about boundaries and basically told him to min
d his own business. Of course these days his business was her, but he wasn’t going to forget that she’d basically called him a glorified secretary. He just didn’t think it was necessary to remind her about that tonight.

  “Shall we?” he said instead, gesturing her to precede him up the polished black oak stairs.

  The Victorian feel of the house continued on the inside, with busy blue-and-gold floral wallpaper and oil-style table lamps, ornately carved dark furniture, and lacy window curtains. It was a little froufrou for his taste, but they weren’t there to visit the décor.

  “How did you find this place?” El whispered as they topped the stairs and continued up the narrow hallway. “I’ve never heard of it.”

  “I keep a file of getaway places people recommend,” he answered in the same tone, leaning around her to slip the key card into its slot and then pushing down the door handle at the corresponding click. “I figured it would be out of the way but close enough to get back into town on fairly short notice.”

  “It’s perfect,” she said, stepping past him and flipping on the light. “There you go anticipating my every need again, even when crazy shit happens.”

  “It’s my job,” he reminded her again, noting the burgundy couch with a thousand mismatched pillows piled on top of it, the small writing table and pair of chairs, the door to the small bathroom with its clawfoot tub and small shower, and the giant king-sized brass-framed bed with its burgundy-and-silver duvet and another million complementary pillows. “You don’t need to flatter me for doing what you pay me for.”

  “I wasn’t… Oh, never mind. I’ll call John if you’ll start with Fiona. She thinks you’re gorgeous.”

  “You’re okay calling?”

  Eleanor shrugged, sitting on the sofa and curling one foot beneath her. “I have to be.” She held down the power button on the side of her phone and watched the screen light up again. “Wow. Thirty-one missed calls and…seventy-two messages. In what, two hours?”

  “Something like that.” Brian powered up his own phone. His numbers were pretty close to hers.

  “There’s no television in here.”

  At El’s abrupt comment, he looked up. Paintings all over the walls, along with bookshelves and knickknacks and silk flowers everywhere, but she was right. No television. No place for it even to drop down from the ceiling or up from the floor, and no remote anywhere. “Maybe that’s good.”

  “It’s not going to stop me from obsessing.” Hunching her shoulders, she tapped the photo of John Radley and lifted the phone. “Hi. Yeah, it’s me. This is a nightmare, John. I don’t know if I should name names, or if that’ll make me look like I’m trying to worm out from under something.” She paused. “Yes. I’ll tell you the whole story, and then please, advise me. Cafferty’s calling Fiona.” Eleanor scowled, gesturing at him to pick up his phone and get to work.

  Right. Work. Save Eleanor Ross’s career while she still had one. Save his own employment by rescuing hers. Rod Bannon deserved a punch in his fucking mouth. As for Brian, well, he seemed to be performing this rescue regardless of whether he wanted to bellow “I told you this would happen” at her or not. Because he was an employee. Not a fiancé. Not a lover. Maybe a friend, unless she decided tomorrow that he wasn’t that, either.

  After this damned thing was over, they needed to have a chat. If he could wait that long.

  The next three hours, with the exception of the interruption for delivery of a pair of toothbrushes and a half-dozen freshly baked chocolate chip cookies, were quite possibly the worst in Eleanor’s life. Well, in the top three, anyway.

  After her first phone call put John Radley on her side and on the attack, she apologized to five execs at Paramount for “the mistake of trusting a new assistant,” which was the tack John had suggested they take with this. Getting into a shouting match with the currently less popular but ultimately more bankable Rod Bannon wouldn’t help anybody. That line of thinking was probably what Rod had figured on all along. Yeah, his last movie had tanked, but he was gorgeous and a man, so his next movie could be gold.

  The rest of his line of thinking, as she and Cafferty and John considered it, was more than likely that getting Prosecutor derailed or delayed would give another superhero movie room to exist—and that superhero movie could well be his. She knew he’d been chasing a role in Crimewave since he’d lost out on Fallen Angels to Zac Efron. That would fit the bill.

  It was all petty and stupid and ego-driven, but the fallout, for her and her career, at least, was deadly serious. The worst phone call was the one to Enrique Vance, whom they’d had to awaken in Brussels where he was doing pre-production scouting. He’d sent her the pictures, and she’d allowed them to be stolen less than an hour later. She’d fired the mythical Judy Howard, her nonexistent new assistant, immediately, and the young lady would never find another job in the industry. The fact that somebody, real or not, had been punished seemed the most mollifying to everybody else.

  “What’s her name again?” Cafferty whispered, lowering his phone to press it against his thigh.

  “Judy Howard,” Eleanor whispered back, sinking onto the couch and throwing her feet up over the back of the overstuffed monstrosity as she finished apologizing to Enrique for the ten-thousandth time.

  “Judy Howard,” he said aloud, lifting his phone again. “No. She’s gone. Miss Ross knew immediately where the leak had to have come from, and Judy admitted to it. Apparently, she was dating somebody on the TMZ staff.”

  “Nice touch,” Eleanor mouthed.

  He shrugged at her, rolling his eyes as he continued elaborating on the life of the nonexistent traitor. “Yes, she’s still in shock. I mean, this is her dream role, Mr. Machinak. She’s in hiding right now, yes. She wanted you and Mrs. Valenti to settle on a course of action before she says anything publicly. Of course. No, she’s the grateful one. And she told me to assure you that she will remain one hundred percent behind whatever you decide.”

  After a chorus of more “of courses” and “thank yous,” he hung up the phone and dropped onto the couch beside her. “I hope there isn’t a real Judy Howard working anywhere even entertainment-adjacent,” Eleanor commented, sipping at her complimentary bottle of water and wishing it was something stronger.

  “I checked all the lists I could and didn’t find anybody with that exact name.” Leaning forward, he set his phone face down on the table and sat back again. “At least you’re banned from any interviews now until you hear from Machinak or Valenti. Nothing to do but wait.”

  “That suits me just fine. You’re sure no one followed us here?”

  “For the last five miles I didn’t even see another pair of headlights.”

  “It’s so stupid when you look at it from outside,” she commented, curling her legs beneath her. “Millions of dollars in flux, careers threatened, because people saw a photo of a blue-and-purple spandex bodysuit.”

  Cafferty glanced at her. “I haven’t even seen it, so I can’t comment on whether the uproar is warranted or not.”

  “I thought you saw it on TMZ.”

  “Nope. They teased it, then you called.”

  Eleanor opened her phone, pulled up the pics Enrique had sent her, and handed it over. “There you go. You should at least have an idea why you’re spending the night in the boonies without a TV or clean pants.”

  A fleeting smile touched his mouth. For a lawyer—ex-lawyer—he had a keen sense of humor, and a wicked awesome kiss. And a couple of other very nice qualities that had nearly lured her into a marriage. He was perfect. And that had been the problem. She wasn’t anything close to perfect. Sooner rather than later he would have realized that, would have gotten tired of cleaning up her messes and anticipating her every need and whim. She would have relied on him for everything, and when he left, as he inevitably would, everyone including her would know that she was a big, helpless fraud. This way she could at least pay him for his trouble—and keep him from blabbing about her and her disaster of a life.

>   He’d switched gears pretty easily, too, going from fiancé to employee/handler with only a four-week break in between the two, or so she’d told herself anyway. And she only occasionally needed to remind him about boundaries. She took a breath. “What do you think?”

  “I think if they don’t find some way to keep you in this suit or something really close to it, they’re all idiots. This thing is you, El. Wow. I can see why you were so excited about it. And I’m sorry it might not happen.” He gave the phone back to her.

  “Thanks. Me too.” She checked the time. Nearly eleven. “We’ll need some stuff for tomorrow. Stuff other than free toothbrushes.”

  “Right.” Cafferty pushed to his feet. “I’ll go see what CVS has to offer.” His phone buzzed, and he checked the screen. “TMZ. Sorry, kids, not happening. Not tonight.”

  “Not ever.”

  “I’ll be back as soon as I can. Should we coordinate a secret knock?”

  That made her grin. “You have a key card. Nobody else is getting in here.”

  “Okay. No phone calls. Unless they’re from me or John.”

  “I know. I do try to learn from my mistakes.”

  With another glance at her, he left the room, closing the door softly behind him. Without his solid, safe presence the room immediately felt too quiet. The whole building was silent, in fact. Jeez, had the other guests heard all the phone calls? She hoped not. Some of them were bound to see her tomorrow, and she didn’t need anybody ratting out her location to the press.

  Perhaps she could comp their stay here at the Starlight Bed and Breakfast Inn. That might buy her some privacy. She’d leave that to Cafferty, though; he would have a better sense of whether they needed to take any extra steps for security. He could still go out and not have people pointing phones at him or demanding photos or refunds for past movies they hadn’t liked.