by E V Darcy
‘Breakfast?’ he asked his son, ensuring his lips were in view. Tyler was still developing lip reading skills.
‘Sharms!’ the boy squealed, suddenly awake and looking around the room for the candy-filled cereal. Marc peered down at Tyler with a frown, shaking his head.
‘That is not how you ask,’ he said softly, as his hands signed his words. Tyler bit his lip and pouted before indicating he was sorry. ‘Use the words too, Tyler.’
‘Sorry,’ the boy murmured before he brightened again as the red box came into view.
‘Well, Cami and I already own.’ Jen continued their conversation as Marc poured his son a bowlful of the worst-tasting concoction Marc had ever tried. He had no idea where his son got his taste buds. ‘So we’ll settle for a round-the-world honeymoon when she finally proposes to me.’
‘Why don’t you just pop the question to her?’ he asked, before thanking Cynthia for presenting him with bacon and eggs.
‘Oh, please,’ Jen as she settled herself opposite. ‘If anyone here is the man in our relationship, it’s her.’ Marc snorted at her comment, a long-running joke from when he’d once been ignorant of same-sex couples. He began eating as his personal emails loaded. ‘Anyway, I asked her to move in with me, so it’s her turn now.’
‘Really? That’s how you’re doing it? Romantic.’
The two traded conversation easily, back and forth, a quiet morning routine settling over them as they relaxed into the hiatus break. Most personal assistants spent more time off during hiatus than when filming—Jen’s girlfriend had pointed out that fact on more than one occasion—but for Jen, hiatus was when Marc needed her most.
Marc had barely spared a glance at his emails and schedule, instead giving his full attention to his son who was a miniature mirror image of his father. Jen smiled at the pair, as two identically messy dark heads moved in merriment and two sets of big blue eyes danced with glee. Tyler giggled with abandon as his father tickled his feet, and Marc chuckled wholeheartedly at his boy’s full body laughs.
‘Stop, Papa!’ he squealed. ‘Stop!’
‘Good boy.’ Marc ruffled his son’s hair and tucked into his cooling breakfast as the boy, a grin on his face, returned to his now soggy cereal.
~ ~ ~ ~
Just as the breakfast dishes were being cleared away, the good mood and relaxed atmosphere of the morning was shattered; Sonya Adams appeared, unannounced and unplanned. She was Marc’s agent of almost fifteen years and both Marc and Jen knew her unexpected and flustered arrival couldn’t mean anything good.
Settling Tyler down with his Lego set, Marc closed the doors to his office—just enough to give them some privacy, but slightly ajar so Tyler could get him if needed.
‘What’s going on, Sonya?’ he demanded, blue eyes narrowing in suspicion at his agent. He’d known her since she’d pried him out of being represented by another agency, the one he’d been with since he was six months old; she’d proved they were skimming money from his earnings. Partly because of this, he trusted her with his career and never questioned her judgement on scripts or contracts, as not once had she led him to a bad movie, show, or deal. Her carefully-maintained appearance of Gucci and Armani suits, perfectly manicured nails, well-tended make-up and raven dark hair immaculately styled into a no-nonsense twist, conveyed the cool exterior of someone in charge; it always filled Marc with a calm confidence in Sonya and her decisions.
Her current appearance, however, was making him anxious. Dressed in washed-out, stained jeans, a UCLA alumni jacket hanging open over a worn-out Beatles t-shirt and scruffy Converse trainers, she’d shocked him for a few moments, barrelling into his home less than ten minutes earlier.
‘Marc, I’m sorry, but I didn’t know!’ Sonya’s Texan drawl was pleading, causing Marc to shut his eyes and count to ten. Whatever screw-up she was pleading innocence for, he knew he’d be the one to pay for it. ‘I swear, they slipped it in without a word; you know I ask for all contractual changes to be clearly labelled or highlighted—they said they labelled it, but I know for a fact it wasn’t and now—’.
‘Sonya. Get to the fucking point.’
Marc hated surprises; he always had Jen map out his days—his whole damn life—to ensure these types of things just didn’t happen.
‘Like I said, I didn’t know; listen, I get a phone call late at night, just as I’m about to hit the hay, from some stupid limp-dick panicking because he can’t find your travel or hotel requirements for Desti-Nation—’
‘That silly convention for the show?’ Jen interrupted as she frowned and shook her head. ‘But Marc never goes—Oh my God, no! Oh, Son, please tell me they didn’t put that in his contract!’ Jen hurried around Marc’s desk and began to rifle through the bottom drawer.
Marc felt his stomach drop. They wouldn’t—no, he couldn’t go to that. The idea of being surrounded by hundreds of screaming fans, of them clamouring to get his attention, to touch him—
‘They’d better not have!’ Marc snapped, but Sonya’s immediate silence, slumped shoulders and inability to meet his eyes told him everything. ‘Sonya, what the hell? You’re supposed to check a contract thoroughly. That’s your job!’
‘I know, I know, I’m sorry! But like I said, every change from the previous contract is supposed to be labelled or highlighted. I swear they didn’t. I don’t care what their legal team says!’
‘Their legal team? You’ve spoken to them already?’ If the legal team had got involved, Marc was most certainly screwed. The new bigwigs at the network were notorious for ensuring contracts were adhered to by the letter.
‘Of course, I have,’ she snapped back. ‘I woke the whole division last night, on my way to catch the damn red-eye, trying to figure out what was going on. They have copies where it’s labelled as a change, but mine doesn’t have that.’
‘Are you saying they’ve done this on purpose?’ Jen asked as she stood, flicking through the contract to try and find the public appearance and interview clause; three promotional interviews a year conducted by the network. The first in the lead-up to the start of the season, the second after the mid-season hiatus and the third right before the season finale. She closed her eyes as she saw the tiny asterisk highlighting the change. There’d be no pre-season interview; instead, Marc Matthews would appear at the studio’s Desti-Nation public event.
No wonder Sonya had missed it; the other three changes had arrows pointing directly at them. This was tiny, minuscule, almost unnoticeable—unless you were specifically looking for it. She pushed the contract across the desk towards Marc, tapping at the clause with her manicured nail.
Marc’s eyes went wide, his jaw clenched. ‘Get me out of it, Sonya! Use the I have no childcare for Tyler excuse; it’s not as if I can just have anyone—especially right now!’
‘I know, I know.’ Sonya tried to soothe him. ‘I explained it all to the studio, but they just said they’d send someone over—’
‘Well, they have to be able to sign. He broke his processor jumping in the pool! Can they sign? I won’t leave him with someone unable to fully communicate with him.’
‘I explained about his hearing, but they said they didn’t have anyone on staff with that level of skill. They said we should either have arranged this or notified them in advance.’
‘In advance? In advance!’ Marc’s voice was loud now, bellowing. He ran his hands through his dark hair, making it even more of a mess than normal. ‘Are you kidding me! If they had told me— You know what—’
He paced in front of his desk. Sonya watched with wide eyes as Jen tapped furiously on her tablet.
‘Never mind, just get me out of it, I don’t care if I get fired, I’m not doing some public event with screaming fangirls! You know how I feel about them.’
‘Marc, not everyone is Kelly.’
He froze mid-step at his agent’s words, his face drained of colour and his blue eyes widened at the mere mention of his ex-fiancée.
‘I didn’t mean—’
Marc turned to look through the doors towards his son who was sitting silently, playing with colourful blocks and toy cars.
‘And,’ Marc continued, his voice soft, and a sadness deep within it. ‘If I have to tar all fans, all women, with the same brush to keep my son safe, to protect him, even if it means I never get involved with anyone again, I damn well will.’
‘Marc,’ Sonya sighed, collapsing onto the couch as she rubbed her forehead. It was a common argument they’d revisited time and again over the years, in fact, every time Sonya tried to get him to do a public event, but it had been nearly five years since Kelly had left; Marc needed to start living again. So instead of bowing to him, this time, Sonya simply tried the truth.
‘You know what Doctor Hasting says. Kelly’s unstable; she has a personality disorder. It was not you, it was not your fault, it was hers and hers alone. She could have focused on anyone. She chose you. You didn’t put yourself, or Tyler, into that situation.’
Marc clenched his jaw as he looked at his agent in disbelief. She’d been with him throughout the whole Kelly fiasco of a relationship; she knew what he’d been through, what he’d endured to get Tyler safe and away from the crazy bitch who’d given birth to his son. The woman who’d hurt Tyler before he was even born, used his son as a bargaining chip, a reason for Marc to stay at her side.
He opened his mouth to tell her exactly what he thought when a movement in the doorway caught his eye. Tyler stood there, between the doors, his blue eyes large and confused at the bickering adults in the room. Marc snapped his jaw closed, the muscle in his cheek twitching as he took a breath to try and control the brewing storm within him.
‘Get out,’ he said, his voice quiet. ‘Get the hell out of my house and don’t come back. You’re fired.’ He moved past his agent who tried to grasp his arm, but all he could focus on was his son, the only blessing from his time with Kelly. For all she’d put him through, Tyler was his reward.
‘Hey, Buddy,’ he said as he crouched in front of his son, signing his greeting. You all done with your toys?
‘Park now?’ Tyler whispered as he tried to peer around his father towards the two women in the room. ‘You promised.’
I know I did. Marc’s heart ached. He got so little time to focus on his son and now it was being taken from him and there was no way to explain it all to Tyler; for the first time in Tyler’s short life, Marc felt frustration at the language barrier. Papa has to do something for work. I’m sorry. He watched as his son heaved a huge breath, his shoulders slumped and his lip jutting slightly.
He couldn’t keep doing this.
He wouldn’t keep doing this.
‘Sonya,’ he called back. His voice was firm and brokered no room for argument. ‘Call the studio. Tell them they need to write me out of the show. I won’t be returning to Destiny after next season. C’mon, little man.’ He groaned slightly as he heaved Tyler up, carrying him on his hip. ‘Let’s go pack a bag.’
The two women stared at Marc’s retreating form. They hadn’t believed Marc had really fired the Texan—he said that at least once a month—but neither of them was truly certain if he was serious about quitting the show.
CHAPTER THREE
Thursday
Frank, Marc’s personal bodyguard, handed the luggage over to the bellhop before he turned back to the car where Marc and Tyler waited.
Frank noticed Tyler fruitlessly playing with the door handle as he tried to open it from inside; he had such a love for the kid, would die for him even if he wasn’t being paid. He tapped the glass, hoping to get the small boy’s attention, and when he did he wagged his finger at him. Tyler smiled sheepishly, at the man, having been caught once doing something he shouldn’t.
The bodyguard pressed the doors release on his fob and opened the door for the pair in time to see Marc signing to his son, How many times have I told you, only Frank can open the doors? He’s magic, remember? Marc lifted Tyler into his arms and climbed out of the car. He watched as the bellboy piled their luggage on a trolley and waited patiently to follow. It had taken Marc half a day—what the hell do you wear to a convention anyway?—to pack all three of those suitcases; it wasn’t easy travelling with a four-year-old, especially by car, all this distance.
‘If I’m pissed off at being dragged to this, how do you think he’s taking it?’ Jen’s voice drifted towards Marc as she got out of the car that had pulled in behind Marc’s. Sonya jumped out of the driver’s side, throwing her keys to the waiting valet as she looked around, trying to spot someone in particular.
‘No, Cami, that’s not how it works… Yeah I’ll call you later, and, again, I’m sorry—I’ll make it up to you, I promise.’ Jen rolled her brown eyes as her girlfriend spoke down her phone just as Marc’s blue ones caught hers. ‘Yeah, okay we can try that… Love you too, Babe. Bye.’
‘This causing you problems at home?’ he asked, watching her tuck her phone into a pocket on her bag as she pulled her tablet out and began tapping away. Marc knew she was having to reschedule several items this week, from Tyler’s paediatrician appointment tomorrow, to several nanny agency appointments on Monday.
‘I’ll sort it,’ she replied, her eyes skimming something on her device. ‘Don’t worry.’
As the small group edged towards the hotel, two large men wearing dark suits and formidable expressions walked towards them. When Frank greeted the pair with a head bob, Marc relaxed and didn’t flinch when they fell into formation around him and Tyler.
‘Are you Jake and Adam?’ Sonya asked as they entered the hotel. The two men nodded, but remained silent otherwise, their eyes darting around the hotel lobby and Marc could tell that they were as unimpressed with being surrounded by fans as much as he was.
Marc looked the two men over; both were easily six foot two, if not more, and if Frank approved them he knew they’d been something special in the past—he suspected either ex-marine or ex-Secret Service, from the way they held themselves. He nodded; they definitely looked the part
‘Fabulous,’ she said as she checked something off on her tablet-device. ‘I’ve already heard from Crystal,’ Sonya began as she walked with the group. ‘She knows you’re here. A suite’s been sorted as a crash pad for each of the actors—yours is ten-twenty-four—you’re between Harry and Tony, and opposite Luc. The entire floor’s locked down just for the convention guests, with hotel security on elevators and stairwells.’
‘Hotel security,’ Frank scoffed. ‘Don’t worry, I’ll check with Phil and tighten up where it’s needed,’ he reassured Marc.
Marc grunted at both their words, only half listening, anyway; his gaze was sweeping the lobby. The reception area was buzzing with fans, talking and squealing, pointing and gesturing his way. Their eyes watched as he and his entourage passed through, girls hurrying across their path to join other friends as they approached, shrieks following them down the long corridor.
‘Papa?’ Tyler tapped his father’s face for attention. ‘Holding too hard,’ he whispered against Marc’s cheek as tiny hands pushed at his arms.
‘Sorry, Buddy.’ Marc pressed a kiss to his son’s cheek as he released the breath he hadn’t realised he’d been holding, and forced his arms to relax. In truth, neither he nor Jen had ever attended a convention before. Comic Con, he’d done once in his younger years, but this was a completely different venture. There the stars had been hurried from place to place by large teams in specialist cars, organised well in advance, and, thanks to Kelly, he’d had nearly zero time with fans. Here, though, he had no idea of the schedule, the expectations, or the protocols for such an event.
Another set of squeals behind his group caused him to tense for a moment before Tyler wiggled again, forcing him to relax once more. He hoped his contact time
with the fans would be kept to a minimum. He didn’t want to plaster on fake smiles and listen to how he’d affected someone’s life. He didn’t act to end up doing that. He didn’t act to be famous. He acted because it was what he’d grown up with; he’d been acting since being a babe-in-arms and hadn’t thought of doing anything else when he got older. He did it because it was easy for him, because it had been fun, and as a result, he’d never been out of a job for more than a few months. It also ensured he didn’t turn into a recluse.
Ironically, he didn’t even need to act. Never had done, if the truth be told. Being an only child to independently wealthy parents meant that even if he hadn’t amassed his own personal fortune, the money he’d been left when his parents died would have ensured he’d never have to work again. Neither would Tyler, in theory.
‘Marc!’ Luc Truman’s surprised voice called out to him as they entered what he assumed was the Green Room.
‘Oh, fucking hell,’ Casey moaned from his chair. Marc looked at him, frowning at the use of bad language around his son.
‘Unca Luc!’ Tyler squealed and kicked excitedly in Marc’s arms. He pushed at them. ‘Down! Papa, down!’
‘Good job his processor’s broken at the moment,’ Marc growled to the British actor, who had the decency to look slightly abashed.
‘Sorry,’ Casey said, far too casually for it to be meant. ‘But you just lost me a hundred bucks.’ Marc watched as Casey fished into his pocket for his cash before he paid a beaming Nick his winnings.
Nick chuckled, snapping his new bill in front of the older star. ‘Contractual obligations—Marc’s a professional, he wouldn’t skip out on a contract clause.’ Nick eyed the man in question before he spoke again. ‘Even if he doesn’t like them.’