Reputation in Tatters

by Maggie Cox

  ‘Like I’ve been knocked down by a runaway horse!’

  ‘I’m very sorry about that.’ His expression suggested her words caused him some pain.

  ‘It’s not your fault. It goes with the territory… I should know that well enough by now.’

  ‘I got up early to go and get those.’ Nash jerked his head towards the newspaper she was holding. ‘I wanted to see what they’d write.’

  ‘And? Wait… Don’t tell me. No doubt it’s something along the lines of “has-been actress falls down drunk in the street”!’ Angrily trying to field the fresh wave of injustice that ebbed forcefully through her, Freya knew that she failed miserably. Was there no end to this torment of mind, body and soul? Was she forever to be judged by everybody? Resigned, she waited for Nash to tell her the worst. Her French was fairly inadequate; there was just a minimal amount of words she understood.

  ‘It’s nothing like that.’

  ‘Then what is it?’

  ‘They’re suggesting that you and I are lovers.’

  CHAPTER NINE

  ‘OH.’ CLOSING the paper, Freya threw it down on top of the others. It was to be expected that if she was seen with a man—and a very attractive man at that—the press would have a field-day speculating on their relationship. The fact that what they were saying was true this time didn’t help. It only served to remind Freya how foolish she’d been when she’d succumbed to making her relationship with Nash more intimate. Being such an intensely private man, no doubt he must deplore the very idea that the details of his supposed love life were now splashed across all the newspapers. Well, perhaps it would help him understand the sense of violation that Freya had experienced when it was done so carelessly and thoughtlessly to her?

  ‘What does that mean?’ His shoulders stiffening, Nash contemplated her warily.

  ‘You probably hate the thought of your private life being pried into because of your association with me…don’t you?’

  ‘I admit that it doesn’t exactly fill me with glee, but it could serve a purpose that would be worth it.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘It could help you with some good publicity at last. I hate the fact that you got hurt yesterday, but at least if the press are speculating about your love-life then they’re not maligning you by suggesting you’re a drunk or an addict or your career is all washed up. In fact it suggests that you’re picking up the pieces again and starting afresh.’

  ‘So what are you getting at?’

  ‘What I’m suggesting is that we play along with them for a while. Let them believe that we really are having a relationship.’

  Scraping his fingers through his tousled blond hair, he gave her a boyish, lopsided grin…the kind of grin that could break a woman’s heart with destroying ease. Somewhere in the silence that followed Freya heard hers crack.

  ‘And that won’t cramp your style? What if you want to go out with somebody else in the meantime?’

  Even as she asked the question her chest tightened in anticipation of his reply. She really didn’t want to hear him tell her they’d get around it somehow. The mere thought of Nash wanting to see another woman hurt enough on its own without having the idea validated.

  ‘I’m too busy working to see anybody else,’ he answered, looking slightly aggrieved that she should even ask.

  ‘Of course.’ With a disdainful toss of her head, Freya walked across to the percolator to pour herself some coffee. ‘I forgot…I’m just another job to you, aren’t I?’

  ‘Will you drop that? You’re not just another job to me, dammit! I would have thought you’d have realised by now that this is not something I make a habit of—becoming intimate with the women I work with.’

  ‘How would I know that?’ Freya shot back. ‘I’ve only got your word for it after all!’

  ‘Are you saying that’s not good enough?’

  As she saw frustration and anger cross his handsome face, she despaired that they were rowing. Only yesterday Nash had been so playful, almost tender with her by the pool, and when he’d confessed that he didn’t really know who the real Nash was any more she’d seen past the outward façade of self-assurance and success and glimpsed a more complicated perhaps wounded man underneath. A man who carried hurtful secrets he could not bring himself to share…

  ‘Well…’ She lifted a dismissive shoulder, even though inside her courage and resolve to stay immune from his powerful attraction was rapidly deserting her. ‘I think we’re in danger of forgetting what’s important here, aren’t we? Getting back to the point in hand, if you think it’s helpful to act out that we’re having a relationship—and you don’t mind the personal intrusion—then maybe it would be a good idea? It’s already splashed across the newspapers so…like you suggest…we may as well play along with it. Do you want some coffee?’ She’d swiftly changed tack when she realised she was in imminent danger of revealing feelings that he would in all likelihood reject should she do so, which would leave her feeling like the biggest fool that ever was.

  ‘No…I think I’ll go for a walk before we leave for the airport. I’ll be back soon.’

  Watching him leave abruptly, and wishing he’d invited her to go with him, Freya couldn’t help but feel inexplicably abandoned…

  Nash knew that after the reports in the French newspapers they would more than likely be besieged when they arrived back in London. He was right. He’d arranged for a car to pick them up and take him and Freya back to his Westminster apartment, but from the VIP arrivals lounge all the way to where their car was waiting they found themselves deluged by photographers and reporters, harrying them for quotes and pictures.

  Freya said nothing, as Nash had instructed her to do, and he was the one to give the press the answers about their relationship that they were so voraciously demanding. As he did so he couldn’t help speculating on what—in their avid enthusiasm for salacious facts—they would dig up about his own past.

  Determinedly stemming the doubts and fears that ebbed through him, he let slip the information that Ms Carpenter would be looking at film scripts again in the upcoming weeks, and hinted that she was naturally back in demand by interested casting agents.

  Once cocooned in the luxurious passenger seats of the chauffeur-driven Mercedes he had hired, Nash witnessed the signs of strain on Freya’s beautiful face from this latest brush with the press. He deeply regretted that their sojourn in the South of France had had to be cut short, and he only hoped that it had not set her back in any way in terms of rebuilding her self-confidence. If she was going to give this upcoming audition her very best then she simply had to pull out all the stops to help her do so. She couldn’t afford any more setbacks.

  But as he examined the sublimely beautiful features he had come to know so well, Nash’s mind went back to that scene in the kitchen this morning, when she’d told him that they were ‘in danger of forgetting what was important here’—meaning the reason they had been brought together in the first place. Her words had seemed to be drawing some kind of line under their personal relationship, and Nash couldn’t deny that it had disturbed him greatly. He didn’t fool himself that once their time working together was over he would probably never see Freya again. She’d be swept back into that glittering world that seemed to bring her both anguish and pleasure, that set her apart from the lives that most ordinary people led. And apart from the severe blow to his pride, Nash realised that her words had set in motion an even deeper hurt inside him…a sense of rejection that he deeply abhorred.

  ‘That wasn’t so bad,’ he commented now, referring to the events inside the airport.

  ‘No…they were a little better behaved than when we were in France.’

  Her dark eyes seemed to flicker apprehensively as she considered him, and Nash had cause to wonder if his making love to her had made her completely doubt his integrity. Damn! He needed Freya’s trust in him if he was going to help put her career back where it belonged. More than that…he needed her to know that h
e would never betray the trust she’d put in him.

  ‘Do you think they really believed that we’re seeing each other?’

  ‘They’ll believe whatever they want to believe…whatever helps them sell more newspapers. And if I’m not mistaken they’ll have a car on our tail even now, following us back to my apartment. That should confirm the idea.’

  ‘I can’t stay there with you, Nash.’ Her disquiet about the matter was evident. ‘I know you said it was a good idea, but I think I’d prefer to go home. You have your work to do, and I have to prepare for this audition—whenever it might be. Do you have any more news on that?’

  ‘I rang Geoff this morning, while we were still in France, and he’s getting back to me later. As for you going home…it makes more sense for you to stay at my apartment. After all, you are my priority right now, and I can help you deal with the press as well as taking you wherever you want to go. You’ll also be able to rehearse for the audition without any distractions, and I can even stretch to a little cooking if you prefer not to eat out.’

  ‘What about my clothes and the things I might need from home?’

  ‘I can go and get them for you… Just give me your key and tell me what you want.’

  ‘And what about—what about if you want to entertain a friend? Won’t I be in the way?’

  Seeing immediately what she was getting at, Nash felt a flash of profound impatience assail his insides. ‘I told you! I’m not seeing any other woman but you!’

  ‘But this is only pretend, isn’t it? You’re not really having a relationship with me at all.’

  ‘What are you trying to say, Freya? Are you telling me that you want us to have a real relationship?’ His piercing ice-blue gaze left her with nowhere to hide.

  ‘No,’ she said firmly, her stomach clenching in protest at the lie. Succumbing to the need to retreat after almost exposing herself, Freya moved further down in the butter-soft leather seat to stare out of the window at the passing pedestrians and the shops that flashed by. ‘Of course I don’t! We both know we’re neither of us a good bet for any such thing.’

  ‘Yeah,’ Nash agreed grimly, turning to glance out of his own side window. ‘You’ve got that right.’

  Nash had gone and collected the things she needed from home and brought them back to his luxurious apartment. He’d also given Freya some long-awaited good news… The casting agents wanted to see her for an audition tomorrow afternoon, so she had in effect about twenty-four hours in which to prepare for the coming interview. She planned to spend the time reading some more of Nikita’s story, to refresh her memory about the character and delve as deeply into the woman’s psyche as she could, to give herself a real fighting chance to win the part.

  In the past she’d insisted on auditioning for every role her agent had set her up for—even the ones that had been hers for the taking—just to prove to herself and her employers that she could definitely deliver what they were looking for. Tomorrow she would be exhibiting that same passionate dedication. But that evening, as she curled up on one of the comfortable deep-cushioned sofas in Nash’s living room with her book, she couldn’t help but let her thoughts and her gaze stray from time to time to the man in whose apartment she was a guest.

  At home, his shoes immediately came off, she’d noticed, and he walked everywhere barefoot, his shirt-tails hanging loose over his softly napped jeans and his dark golden hair inevitably awry where he absently drove his fingers through it. Contrasting that much more casual look with the precision-perfect façade of his office apparel, she knew the two appearances were chalk and cheese—yet both were defined by a strong, dynamic sensual undercurrent that Freya couldn’t ignore. And he looked almost as good from the back as he did from the front… His shoulders were strong and broad, his back and his hips lean, and his legs long and straight, with taut well-honed muscles in his thighs. He also had a rear end that she couldn’t help but drool over whenever he walked away from her…

  He was currently ensconced in the bright modern kitchen, preparing some salad and a pizza for their supper, and from time to time—to Freya’s secret delight and surprise—Nash whistled as he went about the task. It seemed incongruous to her that a man with such innate charisma should do something so ordinary and endearing as whistle while he worked. It stirred renewed pangs of longing deep inside her heart for the chance to really get to know him, and for him to get to know her. But, telling herself that that could never be—and, more than that, she’d be crazy to risk another relationship when her previous one had almost destroyed her—she withdrew her gaze from the kitchen doorway, and the occasional tantalising glimpse of Nash moving back and forth between the worktops, and determinedly returned to the pages of her book.

  ‘I’ve been thinking about organising an appearance for you at a local children’s home I’m involved with.’

  They were sitting on opposite sides of the long chrome and glass coffee table in the living room, having just finished their late-night supper, taking their time over coffee, when Nash came out with this announcement. Freya’s dark eyes widened to saucers.

  ‘They’re doing a fund-raiser for some trips to the seaside next summer. The home is very near where you grew up, as a matter of fact, and I thought it would be a good opportunity to get you some very positive publicity. What do you think?’

  ‘A children’s home?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Do you mind if I ask how you got involved with such an organisation?’ Her interest quickening at the idea of Nash revealing something previously unknown about his life—Freya barely moved a muscle as she sat waiting for his answer.

  Hesitating, Nash told himself he should have known that she would ask questions about his association with the home, and couldn’t see how he could avoid telling her at least part of the reason why.

  Sliding his palms down over his knees, he felt his resistance momentarily forgotten as he became captivated by the rapt expression on her face. Whenever she was interested in something her features lit up like starlight. As diligent as he was about keeping his emotions in tight check, Nash couldn’t kid himself that it hadn’t hurt when Freya had answered with a firmly voiced ‘no’ when he’d asked her if she would want a real relationship with him. It had inevitably pricked at that sickening sense of rejection he’d borne since childhood—when his mother had more than once brought another abusive man into their home rather than take the chance of raising her son by herself and putting his welfare first.

  ‘Is it really so inconceivable to you that I might have some involvement with a children’s home just out of plain humanitarian concern?’ he asked, an unconsciously rough edge to his voice.

  ‘I wasn’t suggesting that I found it hard to understand. I was only interested that you—’

  ‘I didn’t have one of the most idyllic childhoods. I think I already indicated that to you before, so let’s just leave it at that, shall we?’ He almost had to force the words from his lips they were so repugnant to him. They couldn’t help but reignite the pain of old wounds he was in no mood to re-examine. Pushing to his feet, Nash couldn’t disguise his irritation. ‘Happy now?’

  Freya got to her feet too. The smooth skin between her perfectly defined velvet brows puckered. ‘That you suffered in childhood? No, of course not! But if you’re asking if I’m happy that you told me so, then, yes! I can’t help but feel it’s a huge step forward with you being normally so reticent about discussing anything personal with me!’

  ‘Well, don’t get your hopes up that there’ll be a repeat.’

  ‘Why not?’ she challenged, her dark gaze latching firmly onto his. ‘What are you so afraid of?’

  What was he afraid of? Staring at her as a man praying for divine aid stared at a vision of an angel, all his senses deluged by her dark exotic beauty and his whole body aching to go to her, to demonstrate to her without restraint what he really felt and thought, Nash didn’t have to search hard for the answer to that question. Yet still he shied away from it,
pushing it almost violently to the back of his mind, telling himself that such a conclusion was not for him.

  ‘Let’s just stick with the subject we were discussing, eh? Will you appear at the fund-raiser or not?’

  ‘Yes…of course I will! But why won’t you tell me a bit more about why you got involved with the home…about your childhood? I’d really like to know, Nash.’

  ‘You’re persistent. I’ll give you that.’

  ‘You don’t get anywhere in life without being persistent… You’d no doubt back me up on that.’ Venturing a grin, Freya silently admitted she would use every charm offensive she could to persuade him to open up.

  He grimaced, clearly not happy, but at the same time looking as if he might just relent. ‘Okay.’ A sigh escaped him, and he was displaying the resignation of a reluctant patient when forced to take disliked medicine. ‘I was raised by my mother after my father was killed in a road traffic accident when I was three.’

  ‘Oh…I’m sorry.’ Unable to hold back her feelings of empathy at the realisation that Nash had also lost his father at too young an age, Freya didn’t take her eyes off of him.

  ‘We weren’t well off, and my mother struggled to hold things together. Not very successfully, I’m afraid.’ Threading his fingers through his hair, Nash glanced briefly at Freya, then away again, as if the memories he was recalling were still too raw to contemplate. ‘From time to time she thought that being with another man might help improve our situation, but it frankly made things worse…a lot worse. The men she got involved with were total nightmares…the kind of walking disasters that mothers warn their daughters about. They used her and abused her and a couple of them beat the hell out of me too. One of them attacked me with a knife, and I ended up in hospital, having a blood transfusion. I was just fourteen years old. You heard enough?’

  The blue eyes that were so mesmerisingly flawless glimmered with clear disgust, and Freya sensed her heart swell with pain, shock and regret at the trauma he must have suffered.