Holding Her Close

by Lexi Ryan

  Holding Her Close

  Lexi Ryan

  Contents

  Copyright

  Dedication

  Acknowledgments

  About This Book

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Epilogue

  Playlist

  Other Books in the Series

  About the Author

  Holding Her Close © 2016 by Lexi Ryan

  All rights reserved. This copy is intended for the original purchaser of this book. No part of this book may be reproduced, scanned, or distributed in any printed or electronic form without prior written permission from the author except by reviewers who may quote brief excerpts in connection with a review. Please do not participate in or encourage piracy of copyrighted materials in violation of the author’s rights. Purchase only authorized editions.

  This book is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to institutions or persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

  Cover © 2015 Sarah Hansen, Okay Creations

  Created with Vellum

  To Mira—for the chatty brainstorming sessions, for writing sprints, for Team Jake and Team Shut-Up-About-the-Jam, but mostly for understanding my neuroses in the way only a kindred spirit can. Thank you.

  Acknowledgments

  I owe huge thanks to my family for all their support. Brian, thank you for understanding my dream, for answering plot questions, and for believing in me when I don’t believe in myself. Jack and Mary, thank you for making me laugh and giving me a reason to work hard. I am so proud to be your mommy. To my sister Kim, for watching the kids and giving my husband and I much-needed date nights and for pimping my books to all her friends. Thanks to my mom, who checks on me when I’m putting in too many hours, who reminds me to take care of myself but is always careful not to nag.

  I have so much gratitude for my friends. You encourage me, you believe in me, and you remind me not to take myself too seriously. A special shout-out to Mira, whose calls save me from meltdowns; to Kylie, who introduced me to barbells and gave me a healthy new obsession; to my new neighbors, Amy, Amber, Tammy, and Sarah, who made me feel so welcome when we moved in; and to Justin, who answers almost as many book-related hypothetical questions as my husband and is the most dedicated Rick Roller I’ve ever met.

  To everyone who provided me feedback on Janelle’s story along the way—especially Heather Carver, Dina Littner, and Samantha Leighton—you’re all awesome. To Lexi’s Midnight Readers, who inspire me daily with their love for all things New Hope.

  Thank you to the team that helped me package this book and promote it. Sarah Hansen at Okay Creations designed my beautiful cover. You may have noticed I’m partial to her work, and will keep her on my team as long as she’ll let me. Lauren McKellar, thank you for the insightful line edits. Thanks to Arran McNicol at Editing720 for proofreading, and my new PA, Lisa, who posts all those pictures of gorgeous men on my Facebook page—a dirty job, but somebody’s gotta do it. A shout-out to all of the bloggers and reviewers who help spread the word about my books. I am humbled by the time you take out of your busy lives for my stories. You’re the best.

  To my agent, Dan Mandel, and my foreign rights agent, Stefanie Diaz, for getting my books into the hands of readers all over the world. Thank you for being part of my team.

  To my NWBs—Sawyer Bennett, Lauren Blakely, Violet Duke, Jessie Evans, Melody Grace, Monica Murphy, and Kendall Ryan—y’all rock my world. I’m inspired by your tireless work and always encouraged by your friendship. Thank you for being a part of this journey.

  To all my writer friends on Twitter, Facebook, and my various writer loops—especially to the Fast Draft Club and the All Awesome group—thank you for keeping me company during those fourteen-hour work days.

  And last but certainly not least, a big thank-you to my fans—the coolest, smartest, best readers in the world. I owe my career to you. You’re the reason I get to do this every day and the reason I want to. I appreciate each and every one of you. You’re the best!

  ~Lexi

  About This Book

  Holding Her Close

  HOLD YOUR FRIENDS CLOSE...

  AND YOUR ENEMIES CLOSER.

  She's everything he detests about Hollywood.

  After spending my entire acting career being cast as the airhead, I finally have the serious role I've been dying for, and I screw it all up during a four-martini dinner with my ex. Now, thanks to the morality clause in my contract, I might lose the role of a lifetime. My only hope is to convince the media (and my eccentrically conservative director) that I've entered a committed relationship. But when I use my brother's costume party to launch Operation Fake Fiancé, I end up in front of the camera with the wrong guy, leaving my reputation—and the fate of my career—at his mercy. Any other guy I could sweet talk into playing the supporting role I need, but not Officer Cade Watts. Not the man who hates everything about me. Not the man who would most revel in seeing me fail.

  He's everything she needs.

  I don't care how good it felt to have her in my arms. I don't care that I can't close my eyes without remembering the way she tastes or the sound of her moan. I want nothing to do with Janelle Crane. Her scheme to fake an engagement to save her own career is exactly the kind of manipulative Hollywood crap I left LA to escape. But when her fan mail turns threatening and the tragedies befalling her former co-stars seem to be anything but coincidence, everything changes. Now I don't just want to play the part of Janelle's fake fiancé, I demand it. I won't let my jaded heart cost me another case. I may not trust Janelle but I do care, and the only way I know she's safe is if I'm holding her close.

  Chapter 1

  Janelle

  The husband-stealing media whore on the screen tugs on her bottle-blond hair in a move that makes her look helpless and simultaneously thrusts out her breasts—breasts her husband bought her with my money. The camera zooms in on her face, then goes to a soft focus as her big blue eyes fill with tears. “We’re stronger than this,” she says. “Strong enough to weather any storm. But that doesn’t mean it’s easy. The truth is, Janelle Crane is obsessed with my husband, and some days I think she’ll stop at nothing to get him back.”

  I fucking hate that lying bitch.

  The television clicks off, and I spring out of my chair and spin around to see my twin brother with his arms folded across his chest, the remote gripped firmly in his hand. “I didn’t sleep with him.”

  Nate arches a brow. “I didn’t think you did.”

  “I’m not obsessed with him.”

  “Didn’t think you were.”

  I don’t want Tom back. That’s what I should say next, but I’m not sure those words are true. My ex-husband has always owned a piece of me. Since I don’t lie to my twin but don’t want to admit I’m not over the man who pulverized my heart, I don’t go there at all. “Will you turn the TV back on, please?”

  Nate frowns. “Why?”

  “I need to know what she’s saying about me.”

  “I disagree. What you need to do is ignore her. She’s trash, Elle. Not worth your energy.”

  “I know. But I fucked up. Everyone knows I fucked up.”

  “Let it pass.”

  Shaking my head, I sink back into the chair and fold my legs under me. I’m at my brother’
s home in New Hope. Again. I’m a loser who has no life of her own. Because everything in LA reminds me of my failed marriage and empty life.

  “No, she didn’t!” my sister-in-law, Hanna, shouts from upstairs. Seconds later, she rushes down to the living room. “Did you see that?” she asks me.

  I give my brother a pointed look. “Nope. Someone turned off the television before the interview was over.”

  Hanna frowns at her husband and snags the remote from his hand. “What’s wrong with you?” She clicks the TV back to life and uses the wonders of modern technology to back the show up ninety seconds.

  “Do you think your husband is still having an affair with his ex-wife?” the interviewer, Ina Turnstall, asks.

  Bella flutters her lashes until a tear rolls out of each corner of her eyes. “I think he’s only human, and can only be expected to turn her away so many times.”

  “I flipping hate that lying wench,” Hanna growls, and I smile at the censored echo of my earlier thoughts. My life in LA may suck, but my life in New Hope is pretty fucking fantastic.

  It’s not your life, the devil on my shoulder reminds me, it’s your brother’s.

  Nate scowls at the screen. “This is all his fault. If he hadn’t asked you to dinner with him . . .”

  If I hadn’t gone . . .

  Hanna looks like she wants to throw something. “You’re going to take an interview to set the record straight on these accusations, aren’t you?”

  “What’s the point? I got drunk, kissed my ex-husband, and got caught on film. This”—I wave toward the television—“is my punishment.”

  Last weekend, he invited me to dinner under the guise of a work opportunity, and then he fed me a story about his unhappy marriage. He said leaving me was the biggest mistake he’d ever made, and I believed him. I believed him when he told me his marriage was over. Then there had been more martinis and we finished our dinner and moved to a corner booth in the bar, and when the band started playing our song, my brain abandoned me, and I let him kiss me.

  Fuck, who am I kidding? I kissed him back. Because he’s Tom. He’s the first man who ever made butterflies dance in my belly. The first man who ever made me come. My first love. My husband.

  Or he was. Until he decided Bella was a better match for his sexual appetite.

  My stomach clenches, and I wrap my arms around my middle.

  My memory of our dinner is kind of sketchy after that kiss, but the pieces I retained include more martinis, laughter, and his hot mouth sweeping across my ear as he whispered all the things women want to hear. That I’m beautiful. That he never stopped loving me. That I’ve always been the one he thinks about when he closes his eyes at night.

  I do remember the end of the night. I remember he asked to take me home and told me he didn’t think he could breathe until he was inside me again. I refused. I said I wouldn’t sleep with him until his divorce was final, and the words made me feel so noble. I wanted to take my piece of shit ex-husband home with me. I wanted to let him in my bed, and imagined that the next morning, we’d start planning our lives together, as if his years with Bella were nothing more than an unfortunate detour on our path to happily-ever-after. And I know how pathetic that sounds. But when someone leaves you while still in possession of your heart, you’d believe anything if you thought it meant they’d come back.

  Now, I’m sickened by my own foolishness, and I have to cover my mouth.

  “You can stay here as long as you need,” Hanna says, her hand closing over my shoulder. “I mean that.”

  I’ve already been here all week, but if it were up to Hanna, I’d move in. “Thanks.”

  Nate clears his throat.

  “Oh,” Hanna says. “Right. I almost forgot. We’re having a Halloween party tomorrow night. I hope that doesn’t bother you.”

  People. Happiness. Ugh. “I’ll hang at Brady’s,” I say. “No worries.”

  “We’d cancel it,” Hanna says, “but we’ve already invited everyone. You should come. It’s a superhero theme.”

  “Don’t worry about me.” I smile, but inside I wither. The last thing I want to do right now is go to a party and pretend to be happy. “It’ll be a great distraction.”

  My phone rattles on the table next to me. When I see my agent’s number on the display, my skin goes cold, goosebumps and all. “I’m going to take this in the other room.” I sweep it off the table and answer as I head to the guest bedroom.

  “Janelle!”

  I cringe at the sound of Merriellen’s high-pitched greeting. “Hi, Merriellen. How are you?”

  “Fabulous. Listen, I just got a call from Helen, and she’s thinking someone else might be a better choice for the role of Trista.”

  I squeeze my eyes shut. Any other film would be thrilled with my scandal—quietly, of course, but publicity is publicity. Helen Kerensky, however, is notorious for her eccentric conservatism. Since she insisted on including a morality clause in my contract, her reaction to this scandal shouldn’t surprise me at all. “I’m not having an affair with my ex-husband,” I tell my agent. “That kiss was an anomaly. An accident.”

  “Sure it was, dear.” I’m not sure if Merriellen doesn’t believe me or doesn’t care. Probably both. “You know I’m not interested in playing judge and jury to your personal life. I’m just the messenger here. You know how Helen is. She prefers to work with the . . . the more wholesome actors.”

  Wholesome actors. I should get a bonus just for not laughing at that oxymoron, but I don’t so much as giggle, because this isn’t funny. I really want this role. It’s my chance to finally do a serious part in a film. Everyone in Hollywood has pigeonholed me since my days as an airhead on the sitcom Roommates, and this is my chance to prove myself. “Can you get them to hold off on making a decision? I really think this will blow over.”

  “I can try.” Merriellen sighs. “This would be different if we could deflect. If you were seeing someone and could flash him in front of the press a bit.”

  “I am.” Oh my God. It’s like my mouth has a mind of its own. A liar-liar-pants-on-fire mind of its own. Seeing someone? No, I’m really not. In fact, it’s been so long since I’ve had sex I’m not even sure I still remember how.

  “Really?” She draws out the word, as if it’s full of juicy innuendo. “Seeing someone or just sleeping with someone? You can be honest with me. Do you have a boy toy, Elle?”

  “Not a boy toy!” Oh, what a tangled web we weave. “He’s . . . It’s kind of serious.”

  “You are? Who? How soon can you be seen with him?”

  Oh fuck. What have I done? “Merriellen, I’m sorry. I’m at my brother’s and he needs me. Can I call you back later?” You know, once I’ve gotten my lies in order?

  “Of course. Good talk. Bye, hon.”

  “Good talk,” I mutter as I end the call. I lean against the bedroom door and knock my head against it once, twice, three times. Then I take a deep breath, swallow my pride, and dial the phone.

  “Well, if it isn’t my Elly Belly,” Matthew Hailey says when he answers. “I’m watching Bella’s interview. I would say I was expecting your call, but I believe you said you’d never use my services.”

  Closing my eyes, I prepare to eat crow. “I was wrong.”

  “Well, take a deep breath, sweetheart, because we’re gonna need to work fast.”

  * * *

  Tonight, I meet my fake fiancé.

  Those six words are enough to make bile climb up my throat, hot and sour. I’m pretty sure this is what hell tastes like. And I’m the one who put myself here.

  Guests have been arriving for the last hour, but I’ve been hanging down by the river like a convict relishing her last moments of freedom. I put my hand on the door handle and take a final breath of fresh air. My world is about to change.

  “Damn, girl!” someone calls behind me, giving me the excuse I need to delay my entrance into my brother’s Halloween party.

  Pulling my mask to the top of my head, I tur
n to see Krystal Thompson studying me, her hands propped on her hips. She’s dressed like one of the characters from X-Men with a streak of white in her dark hair. I only know this because she told me that was her plan. Truthfully, despite my brother’s best efforts, I don’t know much about any comic book character who hasn’t had a movie or two of his own. “Hey, Krys.”

  “Did you wake up this morning and think, ‘Today, I will become every man’s fantasy’? Because that getup is sexy as fuck.”

  I drop my gaze to my pleather costume—the heeled boots, skintight pants, and bustier that lifts my breasts to never-before-seen heights. Yeah. Not my choice. But the moment I hired Matthew Hailey to fix the clusterfuck I’ve made of my life was the moment I stopped getting to make my own decisions, right down to and including Halloween costumes, apparently. “It’s a little much, isn’t it?” The world already thinks I’m a skanky ho. I’m not sure how dressing like Catwoman is going to correct that problem, but Matthew is nothing if not thorough, and he insisted this was how I was to dress.

  “It’s perfect,” she says. “And I’m jealous. I want to look that hot.”

  “You look hotter.” I twirl my whip, but it falls limply to the side. “I just look awkward.”

  She cocks her head. “So is it true? Your boyfriend is here?”

  I swallow hard. This is just the beginning of the lies. I don’t know how Matthew managed to start a rumor about me within my own group of friends in less than twenty-four hours, but that’s pretty much his specialty. He insists that the best cover stories start at grassroots, which means no one but he and I know the truth. “He is,” I say, trapping my squeaky voice in my throat before it can give me away.