by Max Monroe
“Okay, then,” she said when I didn’t say anything. “Take a minute to get settled, and Brina will be in shortly. She’s been fully briefed on the situation and knows to keep this close to her vest.”
The discretion wasn’t exactly new—I’d been a celebrity for a while—but Camilla’s death took it to a whole different level.
This was about more than simple privacy.
This was about protecting myself from the world and the world from me.
As much as people thought they wanted a glimpse of me at my lowest, I could assure them they would regret it.
I knew.
I’d been looking at myself in the mirror for the past two weeks—since Camilla’s death—and last night, I’d finally broken.
“Thanks,” I murmured softly, glancing to my security as Holla stepped out the door.
They were huge guys, both over six feet and pushing two hundred and fifty pounds of solid muscle each. It was obvious they trained not only to keep their physique looking good, but to make sure it worked for them when they needed it to.
They kept to themselves, though, a trait I appreciated given the current state of my mind. I wasn’t fishing for small talk or compliments, and I didn’t have it in me to ask anyone about their families, significant others, or personal goals.
“We’ll be right outside the door if you need anything,” Baylor murmured, seemingly sensing my need to be alone. I nodded as he did one last survey of the room and then followed Hampton out and left me to my peace.
The stylist had yet to make her way back here from the front of the salon, and I didn’t care why. The quiet moment was welcome, and I used the time to remove the baseball cap from my head.
Knowing Levi would be worried, I dug my phone out of my purse, dumped the cumbersome bag on the counter, and sent him a text. I ignored the forty missed calls from Mariah, Jason, and everyone else. I hadn’t seen them since their brief drop-in at the funeral, and I didn’t have any desire to change that anytime soon. I couldn’t even think about work or acting or anything to do with something as trivial as normal, everyday life.
Reserved and to the point, I set out to put Levi’s mind at ease, but I didn’t give him much else.
Me: I’m here.
Levi: Good. I’m glad you agreed to go.
Like there’d been an option. I’d taken one look at the mess he’d made of me and known instantly that some things were better left to the professionals, no matter how much you didn’t want to visit them.
Me: Well, you pretty much mutilated my hair. I didn’t have much choice.
Levi: Well, you pretty much mutilated your hand and refused treatment until I did your hair. You only have yourself to blame.
I caught myself just before the corner of my mouth could curve up. A hint of happiness, a glimpse into the past. The crushing blow of reality was almost soul-destroying.
I wasn’t ready to smile.
I didn’t deserve to smile.
Me: Do you have to make jokes?
I cringed at my own bitchiness once I saw the text delivered inside our message box.
It seemed taking things out on Levi was my new MO. Rage, tears, inconsolable mumbling, he dealt with all of it.
And he’d been unflappable. An honest to God rock in the face of my turmoil. But I still found fault in nearly everything he did and everything he didn’t. It wasn’t about him, obviously, but that didn’t make my treatment any more pleasant.
I worried he might tire of having to take my beatings, but he’d yet to show any signs of fatigue.
God, I hoped and silently prayed it wouldn’t come to that. As much as I criticized and argued, Levi Fox was the only thing holding me together right now.
I needed him more than I needed oxygen…or this stylist to fix my god-awful hair.
Levi: Yes. Because as sad as it was that you were that desperate, the green vomit color of your hair right now makes it necessary.
Me: I’m not ready for jokes.
Levi: I know. But you will be one day. And I’ll be here, ready to make them when you are.
A knock on the door sounded as I put my phone away without answering.
I knew it wasn’t exactly the right thing to do, ignoring him rather than recognizing the sheer effort he was putting into being a foundation strong enough to hold me together, but I didn’t have the energy to argue.
He could see the light at the end of the tunnel, and I was trying to do the same—honestly. It was just that the more I searched for the beaconing light, the more the walls seemed to be closing in. I wasn’t ready to be done being sad. I wasn’t ready to be done being mad.
“Yes?”
Baylor pushed open the door just enough to lean his head in.
“Ready?”
I nodded despite the nerves fluttering inside my stomach and settled into the black leather of the salon chair in the center of the room.
A petite blond woman slid inside, and Baylor shut the door behind her. She looked even more nervous than I felt.
“Hi,” I whispered, trying to calm her down. There was only room for one basket case in here, and I’d sure as hell called dibs.
She squeaked.
“You know who I am?” I asked slowly—patiently, even. I was pretty impressed given my lack of impulse control these days.
She nodded, the bob of her head making her hair shake. It was big and wavy, but styled impeccably. I hoped like hell I’d come out of here looking a little closer to her.
Because right now, I was a disaster. Levi’s characterization of my hair as the color of green vomit wasn’t without basis. It was like a moldy blob on my head, and I wasn’t sure I’d ever be able to get the green hue all the way out.
The only thing I did know—the only thing that made it a little easier to breathe—was that it wasn’t red.
Eager to soothe the poor girl’s nerves, I stuck out a hand and introduced myself anyway. She might have known who I was, but introductions went a long way in opening the gates of communication. If I gave her my name, she had to give me hers and so on.
“I’m Ivy.”
She gulped but managed a hand in my direction and a soft breath of words. “I’m Brina.”
“Nice to meet you, Brina.”
I tried to lighten the tone of my voice. To save this stranger from having to carry the burden of my grief. “As you can see, my hair kind of had an incident.”
She giggled and nodded. “Yeah. It looks a little abused.”
I smiled as the ice between us started to crack. “Yeah. Well. I’m hoping you can make it look a little less like swamp thing and a little more like yours. Is that possible?”
Finally engaged in something in which she excelled, Brina dropped the timidity and stepped forward to pull the ponytail holder from my hair. As it cascaded over my shoulders, she oohed. “You have awesome hair.”
I warmed a little. “Thank you.”
“The good news is that it doesn’t look like you did too much damage. The worst part is your roots—I’m a little afraid to strip any more color from them. I don’t want to damage your hair permanently or burn your scalp.”
I nodded my understanding and bit my lip, wondering what she would do if treating that wasn’t an option.
“I think what we can do is just give you a dark, rooty look, instead of taking the blond all the way to the scalp. It’s really in right now, so it shouldn’t cause any problems for you work-wise.”
I winced at the thought of going back to work. I truly didn’t know if I’d be able to do it anymore. All I really wanted at this point was to be alone.
Alone with Levi, anyway.
“I’m not that concerned about work,” I told her. “Just wanting it to be different. And somewhat normal.”
“You should be perfect, then,” she assured.
I didn’t know about perfect—even the thought was horrendously abstract at this point—but at least there’d be one thing under my control.
And I really liked
the idea of that.
Color applied, foils installed, I was sitting under the dryer they’d wheeled in while I processed and flipping through a gossip magazine.
An article a third of the way in was talking about me, and like some kind of sadist, I hadn’t been able to stop myself from reading it.
Camilla’s name was a fleeting mention as they focused on me and what this would do to my mental health. One “source” speculated that I wasn’t that close with my sister and would be sure to recover quickly, while another predicted I’d be the next big celebrity breakdown. All of it was ridiculous and unfounded, and I wondered where on earth they found their material.
A commotion outside the door started up just as I tossed the magazine aside, and Baylor’s voice rose authoritatively.
Instinct taking over, my heart pulsed with fear. Even knowing I had two large, fully capable men outside looking out for me, I still flashed through the possibilities of someone else getting to me.
I jumped as the door opened, but it was just Baylor. He looked stern and unyielding as he asked me what I wanted to do. “There’s someone here to see you, Ivy. Says she’s your publicist.”
I swallowed hard around the lump in my throat and rubbed at it with a nervous hand. “Is her name Mariah?”
“Yes, ma’am. I noticed her at the service a week ago.”
I nodded, not really wanting to see anyone I worked with, but knowing it would just cause more of a scene if I refused her now.
Mariah shoved in the door, glaring attitude over her shoulder at Baylor as she did. When she got a look at me, though, all the fire died.
I could only imagine the state of my face. I hadn’t worn makeup since the funeral, and my sleep had been lacking, to say the least.
My cheeks felt cold and hollow, and my skin sagged with my misery.
“Oh, honey,” Mariah said, heartfelt and familiar. I didn’t expect it at all, especially not to like it, but it was good to see her.
She rushed forward as I opened my arms, and she fell into my hug. I fought hard against dissolving into tears. Lately, I had quite the problem with turning off the tap once they started flowing.
“God, Ivy,” she whispered near my ear. “I know I said all of this to you at the funeral, but I just can’t stop thinking about everything and I’m just…I’m so, so sorry about Cam. And that you had to go through all that. I had no idea about Boyce.”
The sound of his name so close to my ear was like a shot to the heart, and I pulled away. I didn’t want to have trust issues, but the fact was, I did. And she’d just reminded me that she’d been the one to get the meeting for my original casting call.
“About that,” I started as she pushed back to her feet and looked down to me earnestly. “You got me the meeting with him. It’s one of your biggest bragging claims to fame, Mariah.”
She was shaking her head before I could even finish, so I pushed on.
“No. I’m sorry to be like this, but I have to know why. What made you push for the meeting?”
She swallowed and turned to the door before turning back. Her face was sallow with guilt. “Okay, so…I didn’t. He called me, Ivy. Said you were just what they were looking for, and since he knew me, had been in touch with me before, he decided to go through me instead of Jason. I know I shouldn’t have taken credit for getting you a meeting that fell into my lap, but—”
“You’re saying you didn’t suggest it to him?”
“No,” she admitted softly and avoided my eyes. “He must have had his eye on you for a while.”
I swallowed at the pain of the truth. I really had been the driving factor behind my sister’s death. My actions had paved the way.
Mariah’s voice was soft as she asked, “Have they made any connections between your stalker and this?”
I nodded around a lump in my throat. In hindsight, it’d been pretty obvious. Boyce had been the one stalking me the entire time, and the other celebrities he’d been stalking had all worked with him on previous films. I’d just been the only one to anger him past the point of no return.
“Listen, Ivy,” Mariah murmured. “I know you need some time. So I’ll stop calling for now. You let me know when you’re ready, and we’ll talk press junkets and other shit then.”
My eyebrows drew together quickly.
“Press junkets?”
Mariah nodded. “For Cold. There’s still a good year or more before it comes out, but they’re wanting to schedule things now.”
My mind swam as she kept talking.
“Anyway, I found out you were here and wanted to check in, but I’ll tell everyone to wait. They can’t do much without the star of the movie anyway.”
The shake of my head was animalistic as I processed her words. “The movie…” I worked hard to breathe. “How can the movie still be happening?”
“What do you mean, sweetie? Why wouldn’t it be?”
“Why wouldn’t it be?” I gritted out, the pressure of my anger rising in my throat akin to thick bile. It was tangy and unwelcome, and I couldn’t fucking control it. “My sister is dead!” I yelled, startling us both with the sheer volume of my shout. She took a step back toward the door, but it opened, and Baylor was striding in before she could get any farther than that.
“My sister is dead, and you people still care about a fucking movie!”
Mariah grimaced. “I-I’m so sorry, Ivy. I—”
“I really need you to go.” I shut my eyes tightly. It was all too fucking much. “I just need you to leave.”
I couldn’t talk to her. I couldn’t even look at her face.
How could they move forward with that fucking movie after everything that had happened? I mean, one of the fucking producers was the sole reason I’d had to bury my sister two weeks ago.
Before she could try to interject, Baylor pushed Mariah out, and Hampton finished the job while Brina and Holla rushed in with a cup of water and cookies.
I fought hard against lashing out again, but my chest wouldn’t stop pulsing.
The news had been delivered, and it couldn’t be taken back.
Some things happened; often, whether you wanted them to or not.
“—is still happening!” Ivy yelled, only projecting the last half of her statement as the door slammed behind her so violently the room shook a little.
I could only imagine what the hell had happened since she’d left to get her hair done just four hours ago. Security had been with her the whole time, and I’d even checked in halfway through the process to make sure all was going well.
“What?” I asked, standing up from my spot on the couch. Her laptop was on the coffee table in front of me, and I’d been drafting an email to Jeremy.
He’d called and texted several times too, but Ivy and I had agreed not to get into any real details right now about timing or plans with anyone—even best friends.
We didn’t have a strategy for our next move yet, and we wanted to make one together rather than being influenced by other people. Of course, that left my communication topics pretty sparse, and all I’d actually managed so far was a Hey Jer, what’s shakin’? I imagined if Ivy’s grand entrance hadn’t interrupted me, I would have finished it off with an award-winning inquisition like How are the girls?
“What’s going on?” I questioned, rounding the couch to take in Ivy from head to toe. Her hair was greatly improved, even if the bags under her eyes were deepening by the day, and the spitting anger had put a little rose in her cheeks. All in all, she looked better than I’d seen her since the night everything happened.
With her showing no visible signs of injury, I’d have to rely on her storytelling ability to fill me in on the actual reasoning for her freak-out. These days, the cause could be nearly anything. “Are you okay?”
“No, I’m not okay! Mariah showed up!”
My brows drew together. “Where?”
“What do you mean, where?” she shouted with a stomp of her foot. “At the salon!”
My bo
dy instantly on alert, the line of my frame snapped straight and rigid. “How the hell did she know where you were?” And why the fuck hadn’t security told me about it?
“Apparently, she tracked my phone,” Ivy replied, tossing her hands in the air.
Any careful left in me fled with a vengeance.
“What the fuck?” I growled.
Ivy’s sister had just been killed by a crazy stalker, and now her publicist was tracking her phone? No fucking way.
And how in the fuck was that even possible?
“I’m calling the cops.” I rounded the couch again, headed back to the coffee table for my phone when Ivy stopped me with a tight grip around my bicep.
“No, no,” she insisted quickly and with seriousness meant to get my attention. “I made that up. I don’t know how she found me.”
“For fuck’s sake, Ivy,” I snapped, losing my cool a little bit. “You can’t just say shit like that.”
It was slander at the very least and a whole fuckton of cans of worms at the worst. When it came to Ivy, I wasn’t taking any fucking chances anymore, and any threat had to be treated with credibility on a large-scale level. One thing I’d never do again was trust her safety to just me. I was a trained professional, but quantity was important. I wanted several lines of defense all lined up in a row, and I’d be the last.
I made a mental note to have Baylor and Hampton start trying to figure out how the fuck Mariah had actually found her.
“Would you listen to the important part?” Ivy railed, throwing herself onto the couch and tossing her bag to the floor at the side. “Jesus!”
I clenched my jaw and reminded myself I’d pledged to let Ivy use me however she needed to feel better. And right now, she needed me to shut up and listen. It went against a whole lot of biological markers not to engage when someone argued with me, but for Ivy, I could find the self-control.