by Nicole Helm
But telling Aubrey had been too risky, because just like Ryan of old, Aubrey would want to swoop in and control everything. She would want to save her from this, and Celia was determined to save herself, to fix this problem on her own. Because if Aubrey found out Celia had kept secret the fact that she’d once been married, Aubrey might not be able to forgive her—more as a friend than as a publicist.
She stepped into the house behind him. “Isn’t this…quaint.” She needed to play up the snobby starlet routine. Remind him she didn’t belong here. Remind herself.
Ryan glared at her and she laughed. But the laugh died. Because just as he wanted, she was here. With the man she was technically still married to. In a town that could ruin everything.
Nothing funny about that.
He shook his head as if he found her disgusting and pointed to a door at the end of the hall. “Extra bed is in that room.” It was his way of telling her to go put her things away, but Celia dropped her bags on the couch and toured the living room.
It was sparser than the homey outside might suggest, but there was a warmth to it, a comfort she didn’t get at her mansion in Hollywood. He even had pictures on his mantel, one of his grandparents in front of Harrington, one of him and his twin brother, Nate, in front of one of Harrington’s planes.
Harrington. In the minefield of memories that was Demo, Kansas, the airport was the place of all the positive ones. She wouldn’t mind helping Harrington out if it didn’t involve being here, if Ryan weren’t threatening to expose her for what she was.
Heartless. The kind of woman who’d leave her new husband just a few days after their wedding because she’d been so relieved their marriage was invalid. Leave without saying good-bye. Or explaining.
Ryan might have loved her at the time, and he had never laid a hand on her. When she’d said yes to his proposal, that’s all she’d really considered. No more people who hurt her. No more lies to cover up the bruises. He loved her. He’d cared for her. She hadn’t fully figured out that the way Ryan cared was by deciding what they were going to do or not do—without giving her a chance to weigh in. It was what he thought had to be done, and part of her had reveled in that. Part of her had needed that caring. But part of her had also felt buried under that kind of caring, as if she couldn’t voice her own desires or wishes, so certain he was that his were right.
Acting had been her only escape. School plays and drama club had allowed her to be someone better than herself, and when her drama teacher had actually said she might be able to make it in Hollywood, a dream had been born. When she’d put her in touch with a talent scout, Celia had been given the means to escape.
But she hadn’t been given the means to explain to Ryan her dream. Fear of failure had kept her from voicing all those opportunities, so when Ryan had laid out his own plan for their life, she’d felt suffocated and managed, and that had been what she was trying to escape when she’d married him.
And then there were the darker pieces of herself that could never be revealed. Because the kind of woman who withheld something that could have saved her father’s life, even if it wasn’t a life worth saving, wasn’t the kind of woman she’d made her Hollywood image into.
She’d had her reasons for doing the heartless thing time and time again. Good ones at that, but reason didn’t always matter over what made the most sensational headline.
And if her mother knew she was here, close enough to talk to, close enough to circumvent the lawyers Celia used to keep her at bay, the demands might get even more unreasonable. Seeing her mother in person would remind her of all those old feelings of being at fault, even when she knew she wasn’t.
Celia shook away the oppressive feeling of never, ever being free of secrets and managers and handlers. She’d chosen this life, done the best of it—why did it all twist around in her stomach as if she’d made the wrong steps?
She was Celia Grant. No wrong steps there.
She closed her eyes, breathed through the panic she’d been feeling since Ryan had first contacted her. She could do this. She could handle this. Seven days. That was it. She could handle Ryan and her past and keep her present and future intact. She’d gotten this far, and no one, not even Ryan Harrington, was going to screw that up.
“If you don’t give me a secret annulment once this is all over, I will take you for everything you’re worth.”
Ryan turned away from the picture of his grandparents, folding his impressive arms across his chest. She wouldn’t think about that, or the him he used to be. They were different people now. “Aren’t you worth enough on your own, sweetheart?”
It poked at old insecurities of not being worth anything, but she’d never let him see under the mask of armor she’d created for herself. “Just know that you can’t play me. My doing this show is your settlement. You won’t be screwing me out of money later, and I won’t let you screw me out of my secrets.”
“I don’t want your money.”
Sure. That’s what they all said. Until they did. “Good. You’ll keep your end of the bargain, make sure no one finds out, and then you don’t have to lose the thing you hold most dear.”
He didn’t flinch. Barely moved, but when he narrowed his eyes she knew he believed she had the upper hand, and that’s all she really needed.
Chapter Two
Ryan’s stomach might have sunk at the idea that Celia was turning the tables on him, but he knew how to fake a look of unaffected disdain. That was practically half his job description as a lawyer. He could walk into a room and know he was in charge, know he’d get what he wanted. Never let any doubts show.
He’d never been uncomfortable with his decision to work for a divorce firm instead of a family services organization as he’d originally planned. But being around Celia reminded him of that change in plans. Why he’d made that change.
After all, he hadn’t saved her. But divorce law had at least allowed him to help a few women and children get away from abusive assholes like Curtis McAvoy.
Hell. Why was he even thinking about this? Water under the bridge. He wasn’t a lawyer anymore, and she was threatening him.
“So what exactly is it that I hold most dear, Celia?”
“Harrington.” The smile never left her face; the cocky assurance that she knew just where to hit to make it hurt irked. “That thing your grandfather you love so much built.”
And, damn it, she did know just where to hit. “You can’t go after Harrington,” he said through gritted teeth. “And, if I recall, you loved him too.”
She examined her fingernails, not a spark of emotion showing on her face. “I’m pretty sure I can do whatever I like if you don’t hold up your end of the bargain.”
“Trying to counter-blackmail me. Aren’t you clever?”
“It’s not blackmail. I would never stoop so low. It’s a warning, Ry.”
“Don’t call me that.” Something about the way she said it, just that one little syllable, put him back ten years. Saying I do. That name on her lips grated away all the confident lawyer polish.
She raised one perfectly arched eyebrow. “Hit a nerve, sweetheart?”
She was threatening to go after Harrington. A place he’d once left for something bigger and better.
Harrington was what Ryan had come back for, to make amends for leaving Nate to take it over as Grandpa’s health failed and they’d had to put him in the nursing home last year. In his heart, even when he’d been determined to push it away, Harrington had been a piece of him. This place he couldn’t let go of, no matter how hard he’d tried. Gramps’s legacy.
And Celia was probably one of the few people who knew what it had meant. What it would always mean, and she was using it against him. He didn’t plan on breaking his promise for a silent annulment, but as much as he could control himself, he couldn’t control who found out once the papers were filed. But he wouldn’t let her win. No way in hell she would win.
“You can threaten all you like, but Nate’s name is
on Harrington. Not mine.” They were in the process of changing that since he’d come back, but if it meant keeping Celia’s threat from materializing, he’d keep his name off the deed and business forever.
But she shrugged, in no way concerned. “Don’t think I won’t hurt Nate if you screw me over.”
“And what about Gramps?”
This time, he hit a nerve. Her shoulders might still be back, her face unreadable, but she turned away. The surest sign of a lie he’d ever seen.
“Keep our secrets, and Millard never has to know.”
Gramps wouldn’t know anyway. The stroke he’d had a few years ago had sent his mind on a quick path to dementia. But Ryan would know.
The impotent anger at Celia’s threat amplified, thinking about Gramps in that dismal brick building of the nursing home. It was nothing more than a placeholder for death. And Celia stood in front of him beautiful and poised and…it seemed wrong. It was wrong.
“You can have your secrecy. I never threatened that.”
She whirled around. “Being here is a threat to that! If you haven’t noticed, I’ve done a lot of hard work to…to keep certain elements of back then a secret.”
“Actually, I hadn’t noticed.” It was a lie, but he’d tell her as many lies as it took to get what he needed.
Celia laughed, a full on throw-her-head-back laugh. Something about the sound, the disgust in her smirk, continued to grate, to scrape away at his control. Something about the elegant curve to her neck, the long, lean body he itched to touch, edged the frustration and anger deeper.
“Of course you didn’t notice. You never noticed. All you ever saw was yourself. What you wanted. What you got out of something. So it doesn’t shock me at all that you didn’t notice what I did, what I do. But you’ll notice this time. I’m not the same girl you can stomp all over.”
“What the hell are you even talking about?” Stomp over her? He’d loved her. He’d done everything in his power to save her.
And she’d disappeared the moment he had.
She rolled her eyes, a move he remembered well. When he’d bluster about turning her father in, or confronting her mother, or running away. She’d rolled her eyes just like that. Never believing. Not in him. Not in them.
And hell, hadn’t he figured out she’d been right not to? Wasn’t that just one in a long line of reasons he’d given up any dreams of family services law and helping people like her? Sometimes it just didn’t matter.
He needed to get out of here. Right now he was too…something he couldn’t quite identify. Edgy and angry, yes. but more than that. Somewhere in his gut, he felt a low, pulsing, searing pain.
What was that? Lingering. Quiet. Different from the anger and frustration. Vulnerable. Weak.
Hurt.
Well, fuck that.
“I’ll call Nate and Vivvy. Maybe they have room for you if you’re not interested in the hotel.” He moved to go outside to make the phone call, but she was in his kitchen, touching his things.
“I want to stay with you.” She popped open his refrigerator. “Got any yogurt?”
“Not only no, but hell no.” He crossed the kitchen and shut the refrigerator. She crossed her arms over her chest, defiant and… Well, he wasn’t going to think about the other descriptors he had in his head for her. Or the way crossing her arms pulled down the vee of her shirt, giving him a glimpse at creamy skin and—
He clenched his hands into fists. This was not happening. “You are not staying here.”
“Yes. I am.”
He didn’t understand why she was pushing this. Some kind of power struggle? Some attempt to exert some control? He had too much at stake to give up control.
And then her words from just a few minutes ago poked at him. I’m not the same girl you can stomp all over. He hadn’t done that. He hadn’t. In fact, he’d prove to her how wrong she was.
“All right. You want to stay here, be my guest. But stay out of my fridge and don’t go poking through my things.” Especially his entertainment center. Crap. He was going to have to do something about that.
“Why? A few secrets of your own?”
“Just you, CeeCee.”
The sneer returned, and it prompted his own.
“I’m not her. Not ever again. Remember it.”
“Good, because I liked that girl quite a bit. I’m not really interested in this shined-up empty-diamond version of her.”
“Why are you doing this?”
“Apparently we’re doing this.”
“Brought it on yourself, genius.” She went and scooped up her previously dropped bags. “Which room is mine?”
Hers. No way. “You can use the one at the end of the hall.” She nodded, marched off.
Ryan took a deep breath. He would not let her turn the tables on him. This was too important. The success of Harrington was everything. To him. To Nate. Even to Vivvy.
So he wasn’t going to let America’s Sweetheart sweep in and take him, no matter how much money or influence she had.
She could threaten all she wanted, but he had the trump card. He might not know Celia Grant, but he knew every last inch of CeeCee McAvoy. He had a marriage and a vanishing act without a good-bye, and that was obviously a secret Celia would do anything to keep.
…
Celia threw her bags across the room, and they landed against the beige wall with a satisfying thump. Nothing was going according to plan. She was supposed to show up here and be unaffected by Ryan. Grin and bear it through seven days of shooting and then disappear.
But he kept…being him and she kept remembering the her she used to be. And that was everything she was trying to avoid. She needed to suck it up and find some kind of armor against him and the memories. She needed to protect herself against that handsome face and the rumbly way he said “CeeCee” that sparked electricity across her skin.
She crouched to pick up the things that had fallen out of her purse. Wallet. Phone. The stupid little pouch she always carried with her.
It had been a mistake to bring it here. She should have left it in LA. But ever since she’d left Demo, she’d carried the engagement ring Ryan had given her in this little pouch, in her purse or pocket or whatever. The one and only reminder she allowed herself to have.
Not a reminder of him or Kansas or that life, but a reminder that she had once been loved. Sadly, there had been a lot of times she’d needed that reminder.
Her phone buzzed and Celia grimaced at Aubrey’s name on the caller ID. She’d told Aubrey she was on a supersecret vacation, and had tried to get her friend to agree not to call her. But Aubrey being Aubrey had insisted on a daily phone call.
Celia wasn’t ready for this, but not taking it meant the wrath of Aubrey and she wasn’t ready for that, either. She shoved the pouch back in her purse and hit the talk button. “Hey.”
“How’s the beach?”
“Great.” Celia winced at the note of panic in her voice. She was a better actress than that, and Aubrey was too good of a friend and publicist to let that go.
“Celia, if this is a breakdown, you have to tell me. I can do damage control in advance, I can—”
Apparently she wasn’t convinced this was just for fun. “I’m fine. You saw me before I left.”
“Celia was fine. I’m not so sure about whoever’s underneath.”
Celia swallowed down the little slash of hurt at that, because hadn’t she and Aubrey spent a lot of years making sure the girl underneath didn’t exist anymore? But still, it was nice someone cared enough to notice. “Don’t worry about me.”
“Don’t be an idiot.”
Good old Aubrey, never afraid to tell her how it was. “I just mean everything is fine. Don’t go preplanning for some bad thing that’s never going to happen.” Celia wasn’t going to let any of the bad things happen.
She’d sacrifice all her savings if it meant not letting anyone find out she’d denied her father a kidney, or that he’d been abusive and her mother had covered
it up. Even if it meant giving up all her anonymous charitable donations. She would spend every last penny to keep the end, or rather false end, of her marriage a secret. She didn’t want to be anyone’s overcoming-the-odds heroine, didn’t want to be forced to take roles that would make her relive the kind of hell she’d been through. The interviews. The questions. Over and over. Forever and ever. Those donations wouldn’t be anonymous anymore, the organizations wanting more from her than just money—her face, her story. The real her.
And how could she be America’s Sweetheart when she’d ditched her husband for a chance to be a star?
She couldn’t stomach it. Forgetting was better, with roles in romantic comedies and feel-good capers taking up her time instead of dark or gritty. She was being called the next Julia Roberts and Sandra Bullock. Smart and sweet and from a past that could never haunt her. She wouldn’t give that up. She wouldn’t let the court of public opinion make her into who she didn’t want to be, ask questions she didn’t want to answer, force her into the role of survivor. Role model. No.
She was in charge.
“Look, Celia, I wanted to leave this until you got back, but Brad called me.”
Celia squeezed her eyes shut, pressed a hand against the cramp in her stomach. Her lawyer. The only one who knew she was here, and her deal with Ryan. Surely he hadn’t spilled to Aubrey.
“Your mother got a hold of him last night. She wants more.”
“But…we just gave her money two months ago.” How could it have gotten out that she was here? So far only Ryan knew she had arrived, and from what she’d been told, only the producer knew she was coming, and probably Nate. The show crew wouldn’t be notified of the specifics of their mystery guest until the day filming started. So how could her mother know?
“I know. It’s escalating.”
“Did she…say why?”