Her condo nestled into the hillside along the peaks and valleys that made up Beverly Hills. From the floor-to-ceiling windows in the great room, the lights of LA spread below her like a glistening carpet. Her white baby grand sat in front of the windows, but Kynley ignored the impressive view. She plucked out a melody, more for something to do than any desire to play, and when the doorbell chimed, her fingers dropped from the piano keys, slick with sweat.
A huge bouquet of flowers greeted her, hiding Dalton’s face.
“Oh!” Kynley gasped.
“You’re not allergic, are you?” He lowered the flowers and gave her a worried look.
“No,” she said quickly.
Relief flooded his eyes. “Oh, whew.” He held the bouquet out and she took it, wrapping both hands around the thick bunch of stems. It was an exotic arrangement of white, pink, purple, and brilliant green. She couldn’t name all the flowers, but recognized the orchids and calla lilies.
“Thank you, this is beautiful.” Kynley tiptoed to kiss him, but guilt twisted in her stomach. She led the way to the kitchen, gleaming with white ice appliances and soapstone countertops. “Have a seat.” She gestured to the tall barstools at the peninsula while she pulled a crystal vase from under the sink.
Dalton sat and twisted around, taking in the great room with the piano and the view beyond the windows. “Wow,” he said. “Very inspirational view. No wonder you write such great songs.”
Kynley gave a small self-conscious laugh as she filled the vase with water. “Yeah, so great we had to buy the new one from a songwriter.”
“I didn’t mean it that way,” he said, turning back to her.
“I know you didn’t.” She shook her head. “But it’s the truth.”
He paused. “Is everything okay?”
“Um … no. Not really.” Kynley kept her eyes glued to the flowers she was arranging to keep from having to look at him.
He reached across the counter and gently tugged her hand away from the flowers. “What is it?”
She took a deep, shuddering breath. “I have to tell you something, and I don’t think you’re going to like it.” Quickly, she told him about Christian Conner and Sebastian’s plan that they pretend to be a couple. Dalton didn’t say anything as she spoke, but his jaw tightened. When she finished, he withdrew his hand from hers and sat in silence for a long time, one finger tracing the veins in the soapstone countertop.
“Well?” she finally said. “Say something.”
He lifted his shoulders. “What am I supposed to say?”
“Dalton, I promise I didn’t know about this,” she said earnestly. “He only finalized everything today with Christian’s publicist. I … I didn’t know what to tell him.”
“You could tell him no,” Dalton said evenly, raising his eyes to hers.
They stared at each other for a long moment as Kynley’s mind churned through everything she’d worked for, everything she wanted, everything she stood to lose.
The silence stretched on, and then Dalton sighed. “I guess you have to do what you have to do,” he said.
“I’m sorry,” she whispered.
“Yeah, me too.”
“It’s just for show. We … we can still be together.”
“But not when there’s a chance someone will see?” he said, jumping up from the stool and striding to the windows. “Can’t risk the internet finding out. The guys and Gabbi have already seen us together, but I guess you can depend on them staying quiet?”
Tears prickled her eyes. “I’m sorry,” she said miserably. “I don’t know what else to do. Sebastian’s been working on this for months, and if I say no, it’s not like there’s another huge star waiting in line to take his place. This is a one-shot wonder, and if I don’t take it, I’ll miss my chance.”
“Sweetie, don’t cry.” Dalton’s tone softened and he came around the corner of the peninsula, stretching out his arms. She went to him willingly, burying her face in the softness of his shirt. They stood in silence for a few minutes while he stroked her head, his hand moving slowly down the length of her hair. “Don’t cry,” he said again.
She raised her head. “I’m sorry.”
“I know.” He smiled, but the pain was evident in his eyes and when he left a short time later, he did not kiss her goodbye.
Chapter Seventeen
The limo pulled to a stop in front of Savo, and Kynley tensed. The crowd looked bigger than she’d expected.
Christian Conner pulled a compact from his suit pocket and dabbed powder on his nose and chin. He ran one hand through his sun-bleached hair to give it a sexy, rumpled look, then turned to her. “Ready?”
Before she could answer, he threw open the door.
A cheer went up as Christian climbed out of the back of the limo, then turned to offer his hand to Kynley. She slid across the seat and twisted to put both feet on the ground at the same time, vital since her dress was very short. No underwear shots floating around the internet.
She emerged from the car to the brilliant flashes from high-powered cameras. Dozens of voices called her name, each trying to be louder than any other. Disoriented and momentarily blinded, she clung to Christian’s hand and let him lead her between the long rows of people who were lined up on either side of the restaurant’s entrance, held back by a velvet rope strung between brass poles. The barrier seemed too flimsy. Kynley looked automatically for Marco or Carl, but they weren’t there. Christian’s security team was on duty tonight.
They moved slowly, pausing every few steps to pose for the cameras. Christian wrapped his arm around Kynley and she leaned into him, beaming, turning her attention to each camera in turn so they could get their shot. She tried to ignore the unwelcome press of Christian’s palm on the bare skin at her waist where her dress had triangular shaped cutouts.
By the time they reached the doors to the restaurant, there were spots dancing in front of her eyes and her head ached. The doorman quickly ushered them inside and shut the heavy doors against the noise and the lights.
“That went well,” Christian said. He craned his neck to see around the reservations desk into the dining room.
“I guess so,” Kynley replied. She was still a little dizzy and reached for Christian’s arm to steady herself, but he’d pulled away to follow the maître d’ into the restaurant.
Wobbling a little on her high heels, she followed, conscious of the slow buzz building in their wake. Savo was pretty exclusive, but still, it wasn’t every day a bona fide superstar came to dinner—though Kynley knew the majority of the excitement centered on Christian, not her.
Still, she’d been recognized in her own right. There were as many photographers out there calling her name as there’d been calling Christian’s, but her nerves were still wound too tight to feel any sense of satisfaction.
They were seated toward the back of the restaurant and Christian’s security guards took up positions on either side of the table, standing just out of earshot. The lights were very dim and Kynley could hardly read her menu, but it didn’t matter. She’d have salad and mineral water. She always had salad and mineral water.
Except for the time in Cookeville, Tennessee, when she’d had vanilla Coke and cherry Coke and probably even a lime Coke if Sebastian hadn’t interrupted them. What would Dalton make of the crowd out front? What would he say if he were here with her?
He wouldn’t be ignoring her, that’s for sure. She could have been a wax dummy for all Christian Conner seemed to care. He kept his head buried in the menu until the server came. He ordered the prime rib and she ordered her salad; then they lapsed into an uneasy silence. Kynley tried to think of something to say to him, but nothing came to mind.
“Tell me about your family,” she finally said.
Christian shrugged. “Not much to tell. They’re around sometimes, but I’m usually too busy.”
“I know how that is,” she said sympathetically. “I wanted to go home for Christmas last year, and—” She trailed off
as he took out his phone and snapped a selfie, then started typing. “Are you posting that?” Kynley asked.
“Sending it to my social media manager; she’ll post it,” Christian said. He looked up at her for the first time since they’d sat down. “You should do it too. It really helps build up your followers if you post things in real time.” His eyes dropped to her front, and he smirked. “Or I can take one for you, if you want. That’s a good view.”
She glanced down to see the neckline of her dress had slipped, revealing far too much cleavage. Flushing slightly, she yanked on the straps, pulling the dress back up.
Christian pumped his eyebrows and turned back to his phone.
They sat in silence until Kynley noticed the other restaurant patrons were throwing them curious looks. “People are watching,” she said quietly.
Without missing a beat, Christian broke into laughter and reached across the table to stroke her cheek. “Oh, babe, you’re so funny,” he chuckled. The look on his face was pure devotion.
He held her hand across the table until their food came, then dug into his meal while she picked at her salad. The bodyguards fended off anyone who might try to come too close, but Kynley was painfully aware of the room full of eyes staring at them.
Now that he knew people were watching, Christian kept up a stream of small talk, mostly about the film he was close to wrapping or the house he wanted to build in Aruba. Every so often, he’d pretend to laugh at something she’d said, or reach out to touch her arm or her cheek.
Kynley’s stomach felt like lead. How could she go on not one, but several, dates with this guy and pretend to be in love with him? She pictured long evenings filled with Christian’s bragging, broken only by fake laughter and occasional stroking touches, like she was some kind of scantily dressed lapdog.
She clenched her fingers under the tablecloth. Sebastian would tell her not to lose focus. The point wasn’t to have a pleasant evening; the point was to be seen having dinner with Christian Conner. By the time they showed up together for the BMAs, they’d be a full-blown celebrity power couple.
Dinner seemed to take forever, but finally it was time to go. Word had already spread, and Christian’s bodyguard reported the crowd outside was much bigger than before.
“They’re staying behind the ropes, so it shouldn’t be a problem,” he said.
Christian flashed his perfect smile at Kynley. “Awesome, babe! See how fast this is working?”
She nodded, but couldn’t quell the feeling of unease rising in her chest.
They stepped out to a deafening roar and more cameras. Kynley clung to Christian’s hand, unsteady in her heels, as they made their way to the car. People on all sides called her name and she tried to smile, praying Christian wouldn’t stop for pictures this time. Somehow, the mood had changed. This crowd seemed louder, almost dangerous. This wasn’t the group of delighted fans she knew; this was something else, something hungry.
“You stupid slut!”
Kynley gasped as a wave of cold liquid hit her face, baptizing her with a sharp, sour smell. Only Christian’s hand kept her from falling.
“Get away from him!” The voice was high pitched and shrill. Kynley searched the crowd until she saw a group of young women, their faces twisted with anger. One held a large empty cup; “He belongs with Serena!” she yelled.
Security guards rushed forward, blocking the women as Christian pulled on Kynley’s hand, hurrying her toward the car. He helped her in, then jumped in after her and slammed the door.
The wetness ran down her face and neck, into her bra and the smell curdled in her nose. Christian cursed as he grabbed a stack of napkins from a compartment in the limo and pushed them at her. “I think it’s vinegar,” he said, his nose wrinkling in distaste.
Kynley wiped at her face and neck with shaking hands.
“Sorry,” Christian said with a small chuckle. “Some of Serena’s fans are still upset about our breakup.”
She still couldn’t speak. The closest she’d ever come to being accosted was at a concert in Tucson when a man jumped the security barrier and tried to get on the stage. The security team had been right there and it was over in an instant; Kynley hadn’t even stopped singing.
But this was different. She’d never seen so much hate in someone’s eyes before, never felt such rage directed at her.
“Kynley? You okay?” Christian’s hazel eyes registered a beat of concern.
She nodded. “I think so.”
“You’ve got to brush that kind of stuff off,” he said matter-of-factly. “It happens.”
Was this the new normal? Slinking through crowds with her fake boyfriend and going home with something foul soaking into her hair and turning sticky on her skin? Her stomach tightened and she pushed the button to signal the driver. “Can you please take me somewhere else?” She said into the speaker.
They’d been taking her home, but she couldn’t face being alone right now. She gave him directions to Dalton’s hotel.
“Why wasn’t someone with her?”
Kynley came out of the bathroom to find Dalton on the phone, his face dark with anger. She texted him from the limo and he’d met them in the parking lot. His jaw was tight and he glared at Christian before putting his arm around her shoulders and guiding her into the hotel.
“I don’t care about his guys. Why wasn’t one of her guys there?” Dalton snapped into the phone. He looked over at Kynley and mouthed “Sebastian.”
She nodded and continued wringing water from her hair with a towel. Even after a very long shower, the sharp scent of vinegar still clung to her skin and hair. Dalton had given her a pair of shorts and a T-shirt to wear; her expensive black dress lay crumpled in the bathtub, probably ruined. Not that it mattered, she never wanted to wear it again anyway.
Kynley curled up on the couch, only partially listening to Dalton’s end of the conversation. She felt numb, like it had happened to someone else, not to her. What if someone had recorded it? If so, it was probably already online. She should Google it, but she didn’t have the energy.
Dalton snorted and hung up, tossing the phone on the bed. “You okay?”
“Mostly.” She gave him a small smile.
He shook his head in disgust. “I can’t believe someone would do that. Thank goodness it wasn’t something worse than vinegar.”
Her insides shriveled as she thought of all the things that were worse than vinegar. And she’d been standing right there, those women could have thrown anything. “It’s part of the business,” she said shakily. “Guess I need to get used to it.”
Anger flared in his eyes as he took a seat by her side. “I don’t think so. It’s never happened before, has it?”
“No, never before,” she agreed.
“So it’s part of Christian’s business, not yours.”
Kynley dropped the damp towel onto her lap. It wasn’t Christian. Yeah, maybe he had some crazy fans, but didn’t everyone who reached stratospheric levels of fame? It was part of the price of getting bigger—reach more people and you’re going to reach more strange people as well.
Wearily, she leaned into Dalton, letting her head rest against his arm. The muscles of his bicep swelled under her cheek.
“What did you do tonight?” she murmured, wanting to change the subject.
“Nothing much.” His shoulder lifted as he shrugged. “Ordered food, then played around on the L-5.”
He was so solid and strong, so safe. She nuzzled her cheek against the soft fabric of his sleeve, and an ache to be in his arms shot through her. She turned into him and slid her arms around his neck, working her fingertips into his hair in a way that was becoming so familiar.
Dalton’s arm slipped around her waist and he pulled her closer. She lifted her face to his, aching to feel his lips on hers, craving nothing but his kisses.
But he gave a small sigh and pressed his lips to her temple. “You’re probably exhausted. Do you want to stay here? I’ll sleep on the couch.”
/>
Her stomach plummeted as a cold dread replaced the yearning flooding through her. She drew back and looked at his face, and she knew.
In the space of a heartbeat, one stuttering breath, a heart had changed its mind.
His heart had changed its mind.
Pain surged raw in her chest. She pulled back from his embrace and cleared her throat, trying to maintain composure. “I’ll call Marco,” she said in a tight voice. “He’ll come get me.”
His brown eyes were sorrowful, deep with regret, but he only nodded.
Chapter Eighteen
The Villanio was one of the hottest event centers in Beverly Hills, and the ballroom was lavish with high, arched windows, columns topped by gold leaf, and an oval tray ceiling framing an enormous gold and crystal chandelier. A stage had been set at one end, and Jilted Storm’s technical crew was already there when Kynley arrived.
The industry party was tomorrow night. She sat with Sebastian in the front row of banquet chairs and watched as her new backup dancers went over their moves while a studio version of “Heart Is Breaking” thundered through the speakers. The lyrics were trite and banal, but Kynley’s throat tightened as the message hit home for the first time, because her heart was breaking. There was a dull ache in her chest, as if something heavy and dead were sitting there instead of a living, beating heart.
Dalton hadn’t said much when Marco had come to pick her up at his hotel room. She’d spent a restless night with her phone nearby, hoping he’d call or text. Hoping for reassurance that she hadn’t seen the spark fading from his eyes. But his silence told her more than words ever could, and as it stretched longer and longer, her hope faltered. She hadn’t seen or heard from him in three days. Three days that felt like three months.
The Glamorous One: A Billionaire Bride Pact Romance Page 12