I turned back to face Harlow. “Yeah, I guess that today’s headlines are packed full of lies.”
“More than usual, anyway.” She rolled her eyes. “What’s Heather done now?”
I blew out a deep breath. “She claims that the mystery woman in the photo is the woman I left her for and that is why our marriage ended. What kills me is that Heather begged me to keep the cheating out of the tabloids.”
Her eyes went wide. “Wait, she cheated on you?”
“Yeah, with her personal trainer.”
“Oh my God, with Nate?”
I nodded. “Yeah, I walked in on the two of them going at in our kitchen.”
“Real classy, Heather,” she said, before polishing off the rest of her drink.
“Anyway, I ended up having to tell Haven that you were the one in the photo.”
Harlow curled one leg underneath her, and poured another glass. “Well, I’m sure that Haven had a good chuckle over that bit of news.”
I sagged against wall. “Actually, she said it would be handled, but now with your tabloid woes and mine, it’s got me thinking that we could use this to our advantage. What would you say if we pulled a publicity stunt of our own?”
She cocked her head. “How so?”
“Instead of denying the relationship, let’s admit it.”
DID I HEAR HIM correctly? A million negative thoughts ran through my mind and I couldn’t stop the obnoxiously loud laugh that shot out of my mouth.
“Have you gone crazy?”
He flashed me that irresistible boyish grin. “No, far from it . . . hear me out. Why not let people think that we’re in a relationship?”
I shook my head. “Right, and confirm that I’ve ‘already moved on’? The UK tabloids will crucify me. I’ll be the most hated woman in all of England.”
“No, we share our stories—the real stories. We let Haven work her PR magic and then we tell the world the truth. Heather cheated on me and that’s why we divorced. Harry stomped on your heart. You can choose to say as much or as little as you want.”
“I don’t know, Grady,” I said, twisting the ring on my finger. “This could go either way.”
“It’s a risk, but we’re the good guys here.” He crossed the room, and dropped beside me on the couch. “And in Hollywood, the good guys are supposed to win and get the happily ever after.”
“I’ve never pulled a publicity stunt before. Something about the concept has always felt . . . dirty to me.”
I never thought I’d be the kind of celebrity that would use the paparazzi for staged publicity. Even when my mother passed away, I wouldn’t let Haven leak the story. My mother died just before the Nadia’s Dream fashion show was scheduled to air on television. The special had already been taped, but Haven suggested that I allow the press to ask me about it during the red carpet. Haven was coming from a good place, she thought it might be an opportunity to start a dialogue about Alzheimer’s, but I had no interest in becoming a spokesperson for the disease.
Grady finished his glass. “Yeah, I get that.” He fell back against the pillows, and blew out a sharp breath. “Now I feel terrible for suggesting the idea. I’m sorry. I need another drink.”
His fingers laced in between mine as he grasped the bottle. My eyes landed on his—Grady’s brow game was strong. Those gorgeous blue eyes looking deep into mine, pulling me right in.
“No, don’t feel bad. Seriously. It’s my own issue. At some point, I should play the Hollywood game.”
Grady raked his hands through his dark hair and crossed them behind his head. My gaze darted to his arms and away from his mouth, giving me a moment to admire the honeyed bronze color of his skin. His forearms were beautifully toned and muscular. Playing polo does a body good.
I wondered what Grady James looked like on horseback, controlling a thoroughbred with one hand gripped on the reigns and the other wrapped around a mallet. Delicious was the only word I could come up with in my head. Tingles curled around my core, imagining the feel of his hands on every inch of my body—stroking, gripping and pleasuring me in ways I could only dream hands could.
“I can’t date someone prettier than me.” The words tumbled from my mouth, and I hiccupped. “People would never believe that you’d actually choose to date me.”
Regret hit me immediately, as I twirled the stem of the wine glass between my fingers. I wanted to grab the words that hung in the space between us and shove them back down my throat. Grady turned his head to look at me.
He cocked a brow. “What? Are you kidding me—you are gorgeous.”
The blush crept up my neck, heating my cheeks. His body was so close to mine that I could feel the warmth rolling off his skin. This man was making it difficult to keep my salacious thoughts at bay.
“Remember how I told you that I never lie?” he asked, tucking his fingers under my chin. Grady was touching me, those same electric feelings elicited once more.
“Yes.”
“You are gorgeous. That is not a lie or a line.”
I couldn’t help but smile. “You’re easy on the eyes too.”
Leaning up from the back of the couch, he twisted his body towards me. Breathing in his scent was intoxicating. My eyes dropped to his lips. I wanted to reach out and brush the tips of my fingers to his skin. I studied his five o’clock shadow and allowed my mind to explore the possibility of what it would feel like scratching against my thighs, my stomach, and my neck—everywhere.
The buzzing of Grady’s phone pulled my mind out of the proverbial gutter.
“It’s Haven. I should take this call.”
“I hope it’s not a Heather related matter.”
He stepped outside and I watched him as he leaned against the railing. I took another sip of wine, and contemplated his offer. Movie studios used to arrange relationships all the time for the sake of selling their pictures. During the Golden Age, Hollywood produced dreamy images of adventure, glamour, and most of all, romance. If an actor or an actress was rumored to be gay, the Hollywood fixers would leak rumors to the press of a budding romance.
I picked up my phone and swiped the screen, scrolling through the stories again. Whatever possessed me to read the comments was beyond me, my agent warned me time and time again to never Google myself.
“Luckily no Heather drama, there’s a charity event that I’ve been invited to attend,” Grady said, stepping in from the patio. “There’s an organization in South Carolina that rescues and finds homes for retired polo horses.”
“Oh wow, that’s wonderful.”
“Yeah, I’ve donated my time to a few organizations like this one,” he said, shoving his hands into his pockets. “Guess I should be going and get my things in order for the trip.”
“Okay, I’ll walk you out.” I stood up from the couch. “Where in South Carolina is the event?”
“Palmetto Bluff. Have you ever been?” he asked, holding the door open for me.
“The low country, not to Palmetto Bluff, but I have been to Hilton Head.”
He laughed. “Who hasn’t been there?”
“I know, right?”
We stopped just short of his Range Rover. “I don’t suppose you’d like to come with me to this event?” He avoided eye contact when the words rolled off his tongue. It was cute the way he shuffled his feet against the gravel. Shyness wasn’t a word I’d use to describe Grady.
It was a bit frightening how much I wanted him to invite me to join him on the trip. I found it even more frightening when I said yes.
I’D HAD MY HANDS on her for a few seconds and I wanted more, I was greedy. Another restless night—tossing and turning and thinking about Harlow’s body bowing beneath mine as I kissed across her abs, tasting the salt and sun on her skin.
Thinking about her led to something I’d never done, I spent an undisclosed amount of time stalking her social media accounts. She rarely updated her Facebook page, the last status update was from a month ago: Any good recommendations for cheesecake in The Harbour?
>
Her Instagram was filled with snapshots of her looking beautiful in various “outfits of the day” type posts. Stumbling across pictures of her and her ex, Harry, was a bit of a surprise. I’d scrubbed my accounts of all things Heather the day our split hit the media. Harlow’s Twitter account was nothing but business, mixed in with her Instagram posts. Did Harry take those “look of the day” pictures? Jealousy hit me hard.
So, I did the next logical thing, I Googled her name.
Jackpot.
Avoiding the posts about her ex, I skimmed over the current news. Dozens of articles that she’d written for One Park Avenue and Bella Magazine appeared. Harlow’s name was attached to featured articles, guest interviews, and photoshoots along with a ton of fashion and beauty edits. I read her words, devouring everything from juice cleanse routines to brow shaping. I didn’t care if it was feminine, girly stuff. It was all Harlow and she had a way with words. No wonder she was starting her own website. Everything she wrote oozed culture, intelligence and refinement.
Most people thought that I was incapable of having a discussion on complex issues. Even though I had a degree from Brown, it was hard to get people to take me seriously. I knew people made fun of male models—after all I’d seen Zoolander. Through the years, I heard the opinions regarding my gender in the fashion industry. When you typed, “are male models . . .” into the Google search bar, the suggestions included tall, stupid, insecure, rich, and photoshopped.
I think most people would be surprised to learn that my reading material included subjects pertaining to the destruction of marine ecosystems, particularly coral bleaching, and the benefits of offshore wind farms. I wanted to save the reefs, but the Earth was losing that battle far too rapidly.
Glancing at my clock I noted the time. Fuck. I needed sleep. In a few short hours, I would have to be up and at The Harbour Polo Club for my final practice before leaving for Palmetto Bluff. I tossed my phone onto the nightstand, flipped onto my side and blew out a breath hoping my mind would stop working overtime thinking about Harlow Trembley. I don’t know why I bothered though, since we were going to be together for the next several days in close quarters and if I was being honest I wasn’t sad about that—not one bit.
“AS YOUR FRIEND AND your consultant for ‘Operation Bone Grady James,’ I am giving you this advice, first you need to get your nails done, then your hair and you must stop by La Vienne Rose for some sexy French lingerie pieces,” Afton instructed over the phone. “And make sure you’ve waxed.”
“Oh my God, I am not sleeping with him. But, for your information, I’ve already been buffed and waxed.”
Sure, I’d fantasized about Grady, but over more than his body, I wanted his mind. It’s a different kind of intimacy to have someone who understands your mind. Things with Grady were interesting, he offered more than just a pretty boy smile and an ass that wouldn’t quit.
“He’s taking you to Palmetto Bluff. It’s beautiful, secluded and romantic—that place oozes sex. Grady will have no problem charming the panties right off you.”
“So, you’re saying that I’m easy,” I joked.
“No, but he did ask you to be his fake girlfriend. And in my opinion, he absolutely wants to sleep with you.”
Rolling my eyes, I pivoted on my heel and slid right into the display case of lemons and limes at the market. My shopping basket managed to hook the edge causing an avalanche of citrus fruit, nearly taking out a family of four.
Shit. I didn’t even say goodbye I just killed the call and dropped my phone into my bag. Mortified didn’t even begin to describe how I felt.
A little boy traipsed up to me and handed me a lemon. “Mommy likes these in her adult beverages too.”
The mom gave me a nod and mouthed, “Aisle twelve.”
Booze, here I come.
I’d seen better days. In under an hour, the morning went from bad to worse. I managed to break the heel of my favorite pair of shoes. The cherry on top was dumping a large iced coffee all over the side of my new car. As much as I hated to admit it, agreeing to go away with Grady might have set a series of unfortunate events in motion.
Perhaps this was the universe’s way of telling me I’d made a mistake. After a ten minute freak out session, and downing a glass of champagne, I searched the internet in desperation to replace my shoes. I hoped that I could order them and have them delivered to the hotel where we were staying.
Sold out.
Not the color I needed.
Had the color, but not in my size.
Instead of throwing my laptop into Afton’s pool, I decided to walk away slowly. A stroll along the beach would take my mind off my crappy day. The one thing about being near the water is that it calms the soul. Wading into the water, I watched as my feet sank deeper into the sand.
Thunder rumbled in the distance, as the clouds swirled and chased away the sun. I walked so long I hadn’t noticed the mass number of beachgoers had dissipated. Looking up at the sky, a droplet of water hit my cheek. My eyes redirected to the ocean, to see the storm approaching.
I darted back down the beach to Afton’s place. My lungs burned and my quads ached as I pushed myself further. I needed to take up running again apparently. Thunder boomed, doing its best to unleash the rain.
I made it back to Afton’s place just before the sky ripped open and unleashed a downpour.
Was it too early to just go to bed?
I had to finish packing because Grady was picking me up in twenty minutes. Fuck. I had some major outfit changes to make in a little amount of time.
Our car pulled up to the front of a beautiful white house that oozed classic Southern style. It reminded me of something out of a movie with its white columns and old street lamps. Once the driver unloaded the luggage, our butler took them to our rooms—separate accommodations.
After dumping my handbag onto the bench at the end of the bed, I flopped forward. I landed on the cozy comforter and grasped all the icy white softness I could. This king bed was like a dream, and I didn’t want to move. As I rolled onto my side I couldn’t focus on anything other than Grady. Staring out the window, I drank in the sight of the lagoon and the grounds.
Afton was right, this place is romantic. The first day of summer did not disappoint.
“Mr. James,” I heard our butler, Vernon, call out from the hallway. “The car will arrive in forty minutes to take you and Miss Trembley to the polo grounds.”
“Thank you, Vernon.”
“My pleasure. May I get you a drink, sir?”
I couldn’t make out Grady’s response, but I knew that I needed to freshen up. Haven had emailed our itinerary, and first up was the charity polo scrimmage match, followed by a cocktail reception. I’d purchased the perfect dress to wear to the polo event: a navy and cream striped dress with a belt at the waist. La Vienne Rose.
Knock. Knock.
At the sound of rapping against the door, I looked up from the bed to see Grady leaning against the doorjamb—shirtless. It took everything inside me to not let my eyes bug out of my head.
“I see that you are making yourself comfortable,” he smirked.
Propping myself up on my elbow, I smiled. “This bed is something else, and the view of lagoon is breathtaking.”
“It is.” He glanced at his watch. “Well, you better hustle, we have to leave soon.”
As I eased up off the bed, Vernon appeared in the doorway carrying a tray which held champagne and sparkling water. Grady smiled at me, and I shook my head.
After the glasses were poured, and Grady offered Vernon a glass of sparkling water, the three of us raised our glasses in a toast. Grady James was full of surprises. I really liked that about him.
I had a front row seat under a white canopy to admire my sexy roommate for the next few days. Gazing around the arena, my fingers traced over the neatly pressed linen. I spotted him right away in his navy and white jersey with the number four emblazed on the back. He looked regal, and handsome on horseback. Just
as I imagined.
The smack of the mallet lashed out like a thunderbolt, sending my heartbeat drumming in my ears. The horses galloped up and down the field in an exuberant fashion. Expertly hooking his stick around the opposing player, Grady swung in defense. The ball was knocked away, and they raced back up the field. Grady’s arm swung back in perfect forehand shot form. The ball flew to player number three allowing him to score with ease. Whistles and cheers of appreciation erupted from the crowd. After six chukkas, the match came to an end.
The players dismounted, and handed over their equipment. I sipped my drink, the specialty cocktail was an Elderflower Spanish Gin and Tonic. In the distance, the bright blue sky began to dim to a light grey.
“Well, well, if it isn’t my little Harlot.”
Fuckity fuck, fuck, fuck it all. I knew that goddamn voice—a voice that was attached to bad memories and laced with venom.
My father would have the ability to turn blue skies grey. “I’m not your anything. My name is Harlow, and in your old age you’ve probably forgotten the correct pronunciation. Shouldn’t you be jerking off somewhere else?”
He took a seat in the empty chair to my left and I scanned the crowd looking for Grady. “Sitting all alone are you?’
“Actually, this table was reserved for me, privately,” I said, gesturing to the card with my name on it that sat in front of a vase filled with an artful arrangement of delphiniums, roses, hydrangeas and hyacinths.
“Spreading your legs for a few polo players, are you?” he asked jutting his chin towards the field. Embarrassment flooded through me at my father’s words. My eyes landed on Grady, he was chatting with the player wearing the number three jersey.
“God, you are a piece of work. Do you think that it’s okay to speak to me that way?” I asked, feeling my cheeks heat.
Monty got to his feet, and leaned close. “Are you a lesbian or slut like that whore mother of yours was? I can’t imagine any man with any decency that would come sniffing around your worthless fat ass.” My father should take a good long look in the fucking mirror at his portly physique.
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