An Accidental Love Affair

by Davida Ann Samenski

“I can explain . . .”

  Her mouth twisted. “I tried explaining, but you wouldn’t listen either. Instead, you stole my manuscript.”

  “I didn’t steal it, Nicole,” he stated firmly, frustration in his voice.

  “I don’t want to hear it, Reece.” She was whispering at this point; her throat was dry. “Can we meet? I have something I want to give to you.”

  “I’m hotel-bound until tomorrow. Can you come here?”

  She slid from the bed. “Are there reporters hanging around outside?”

  “Not that I’m aware of. I’ve been trying to keep a low profile.”

  She snorted. “That must be a new experience for you.”

  He chuckled. “You have no idea. When can you get here?”

  “I’m getting dressed now. I can be there in forty-five minutes,” she said as she pulled up the zipper on her jeans.

  “I’ll meet you in the lobby.”

  Her heart jolted. “No, tell me your room number. I’ll come to you. We don’t need to be seen together.”

  There was silence on his end of the line. “All right. I can understand that.” He gave her the room number and hung up.

  Nicole took a deep breath, letting it out slowly; her nerves were jumping under her skin. She would go there, give him the deed to the cottage, and demand her story back. Then she could walk away from him, never looking back.

  ~ ~ ~

  Reece paced the room, moving from the window to the bar to the bedroom door, and then to the couch and back to the window. He wasn’t sure how many rotations he’d made around the room as he waited for the dreaded, but anticipated, knock.

  When it came, he rubbed his sweaty palms against the legs of his jeans, striding slowly toward the door. He hadn’t been this nervous about seeing a girl since he was seventeen. In fact, he’d never been this nervous about seeing a girl.

  He unhooked the safety bolt, opening the door, his heart plummeting to is toes. “Mum? What are you doing here?”

  She stood on her tiptoes to kiss his cheek. “I know it’s the middle of the night, darling, but I couldn’t sleep. I’ve been awake for hours, trying to think of a way to help you out of your dilemma. I believe I’ve come up with a solution.” She grew puzzled when he didn’t move from the doorway. “May I come in or is this a bad time?”

  Nicole was due any moment, but he couldn’t be rude to his mother. He shifted to the side. “By all means,” he said, poking his head into the empty corridor before closing the door. He led her down the hall to a seat at the bar. “Would you like something to drink, Mum?”

  “Oh, you have wine. Lovely.” She noticed the two wineglasses on the tray. “Are you expecting someone?”

  Reece didn’t look up from the wine he was pouring into the glass. “Nicole is coming over to talk.”

  His mother smiled. “That’s wonderful, darling. What I have to say concerns her as well.”

  His head tilted in puzzlement, but before he could ask her meaning, a knock sounded at the door.

  His palms began to sweat again. “That must be Nicole.” He didn’t move.

  “Well, aren’t you going to answer the door?”

  He raked his hand through his hair. “I’m not certain if I should. The last time we saw each other, we didn’t part on the best of terms.”

  His mother’s eyes narrowed. “I’ve never known you to be a coward, Colin. Let the girl in. I’m eager to meet her.” He hesitated another moment. “Go,” she ordered firmly. He moved to obey.

  Reece stood at the door, breathing deep, his hand clasped firmly on the knob. Another knock sounded before he built up enough courage to open the door.

  Nicole stood there, the hood of her sweatshirt obscuring her face. He stared at her, and she stared right back, neither of them making a move.

  “Would you like to come in?” He moved out of the way, allowing her to walk inside.

  “I wouldn’t want to have this conversation in the hall. It needs to be private.” She paused, waiting for him to pass. As he moved under a shaft of light from the overhead fixture, she gasped. “You dyed your hair. When did you do that?”

  He ran his hands through his sable locks. “I had it done a few hours ago. I needed it for my new role.”

  She blinked. “It looks good on you.” Black hair for a black-hearted villain.

  “Thank you. I’m going to be playing Orsino, Duke of Illyria in Twelfth Night.”

  “That’s impressive. How did you get the slime-ball to agree to that?”

  His lips twisted. “I didn’t ask him.”

  Took you long enough, she thought.

  “Colin? Are you coming back, dear?” his mother called down the hall.

  Nicole’s eyes widened. “Someone’s here with you?” She took a step backward. “Why didn’t you tell me that when I called?”

  “She wasn’t here then.” He was trying to steer her toward the sitting room. “Come in. I’ll introduce you.”

  She waved her hands in front of her. “No, that’s all right. I’ll come back when you’re not so busy.” She turned on her heel, mumbling under her breath. “You must have your women on speed dial.” Her voice echoed down the hall.

  Reece grasped her elbow. “It’s not what you think.” He pulled her with him into the other room. “Nicole, allow me to introduce my mum, Clarissa Woodhouse.” He turned to his mother. “Mum, this is . . .”

  “I gather this is Nicole. It’s lovely to finally meet you.”

  Nicole blushed to the roots of her hair. “Yes ma’am.” Could this be any more embarrassing? Talk about open mouth, insert foot, and chew vigorously. “Sorry. I thought . . .”

  His mother laughed, waving her toward the bar. “Come have a seat, dear. Let Colin pour you a drink.”

  “Thank you, Mrs. Woodhouse.”

  “Clarissa, dear, but my friends call me Rissa.”

  “Thank you, Mrs. Woodhouse.”

  Clarissa Woodhouse laughed with delight. “I think we’re going to get along, Nicole. Maggie has told me wonderful things about you.”

  Nicole lifted her head. “How is Maggie? I was hoping to see her during my stay in London.”

  “She’s well. I’ll tell her you said hello.”

  “Thank you, Mrs. Woodhouse.”

  “Clarissa, dear.”

  Nicole didn’t reply. When Reece placed a wineglass before her, she drained it in one pull. The room descended into an awkward silence.

  “Well, Nicole, what is it we can do for you?” Clarissa asked.

  Nicole breathed deep. Might as well get to it, she thought as she pulled a manila envelope out from beneath her sweatshirt, tossing it on the counter.

  Reece stared at it. “What is it?” He refilled her wineglass.

  She pointed to the envelope. “I’m willing to make a trade with you, Reece. My manuscript for the deed to the cottage. While it’s been in my possession, it’s undergone a few needed repairs, so it’ll be in tip-top shape when you take it over.”

  The wine bottle hit the counter with a thunk. “What?”

  “That’s what you wanted when you stole my manuscript, right? I’ll give you the cottage. You give me back my manuscript.

  “I don’t have it, Nicole. Marcus does.”

  She stared across the bar at him for five seconds, absorbing the disastrous news. “Well, that’s that, I guess. If he has it, I’ll never get it back.” Her eyes raked down Reece’s form with scorn. “This is perfect for you, isn’t it? You now have everything you want.”

  He pressed his hands against the bar. “This isn’t how I wanted things to be.”

  She swiveled on the stool. “Yeah, okay. Look, Reece, I didn’t do anything wrong, but what you and your brother have done . . . you stole something from me I
will never get back.”

  His eyes moved to his mother’s, his look one of disaster and desperation.

  Nicole didn’t fail to notice it. “What now?”

  Clarissa intervened, patting her knee. “Nicole, please don’t worry. I’m handling the situation. I’ve already contacted . . .”

  “What happened to my manuscript, Reece?”

  His knuckles whitened against the countertop. “I hate when you call me Reece. When are you going to call me Colin again?”

  “Not until you tell me what I want to know. Probably not even then.”

  He stepped out from behind the bar. She jumped from the stool, moving out of his reach.

  “It’s best you tell her, Colin,” his mother stated.

  “I’ve been offered a new movie role. I haven’t received the script yet, but the basic plot is my character is a movie star who meets an aspiring writer in unusual circumstances.”

  Nicole sank down on the arm of a chair. “Mrs. Woodhouse, could you pass me my glass, please?” The moment it touched her hand, she knocked it back, swallowing the contents. “You’re making a movie from my manuscript?”

  “Not exactly,” he said, gripping the back of his neck. “There’ve been a few tweaks made to it.”

  She closed her eyes in dread. “Such as?”

  “The couple have a torrid love affair, but when my character finds out the girl is only with him to gain his fame and fortune, he dumps her.”

  Nausea rose in her throat. She covered her mouth. “I suppose that was the slime-ball’s idea?” she asked in a strangled whisper. “That freakin’ Wanker!” she yelled stridently.

  Clarissa frowned. “Slime-ball?”

  “Marcus,” Reece and Nicole replied together, their eyes focused on each other. He smiled, but she frowned, glancing away.

  “So, the story I wrote, but for the basic premise, no longer exists,” she surmised.

  “That about sums it up.”

  Nicole stood, her stance a bit wobbly. “Thank you for telling me. I think I’ll be going now.” She moved around Clarissa’s seat, offering her hand. “I’m so glad we got to meet at last, Mrs. Woodhouse. I’m sorry it wasn’t under more pleasant circumstances.”

  “Likewise, dear, but . . .”

  Nicole barely glanced at Reece as she moved down the hall. He followed silently. She paused with her hand on the doorknob. “Goodbye, Reece. I hope your play is a success.”

  “If I send tickets to the flat, will you come?”

  She shook her head. “I’m not sure how long I’ll be in London.”

  He frowned. “I thought you said you were here for research.”

  Her lips twisted. “Yes, on how best to get my manuscript back from you, but that’s a moot point now.”

  He touched her arm. “We’ll figure a way out of this, Nicole.”

  She flinched away. “Yeah, sure we will.” With a shake of her head, she glared up at him. “I bought a house, Reece. You and your brother set out to ruin my career.”

  He ground his teeth together. “I had no idea what he was doing. You have to believe me.”

  Her foot was tapping against the carpet. “I may want to believe you, and I may choose to believe you, but I don’t have to believe you. You’ve ruined me, Reece. My career is pretty much over. A romance writer can’t spin stories about love conquering all when she doesn’t believe it anymore.” She opened the door, walking away.

  He watched her retreating form before closing the door, leaning his head against the wood.

  “She’s truly lovely, Colin,” Clarissa called down the hall.

  He ran his hand down the wood softly, wishing it was her skin beneath his fingertips. “Yes, she is.”

  “Come back in here, dear. There are a few things we need to discuss.”

  He retraced his steps, slumping down on Nicole’s stool. “It’s late, Mum. I’m feeling awfully low right now.”

  His mother slid the envelope in front of him. “Nicole gave you the deed to the cottage. She must care for you a great deal.”

  “She used to, but I’m not certain of that anymore.”

  She tapped the envelope with her fingernail. “Open this. Have a look at it, Colin. We need to make certain everything is legal.”

  He shook his head. “I don’t care about the damn cottage, Mum,” he shouted, instantly contrite at the pained expression on her face. “I’m sorry. You don’t deserve to be yelled at when you’re only trying to help.”

  Clarissa squeezed his arm. “Would you like me to tell you a story?” He cut his eyes to her, but she ignored him. “A year ago, your Nicole called my office, introducing herself to me. She wanted to apologize for any embarrassment those horrid pictures had caused your father and me. I assured her no one knew of our connection with you. She seemed satisfied.”

  Reece was sitting up straight, staring at her.

  “She then told me she couldn’t accept our money for keeping silent about the affair.”

  “Did you try to blackmail her?”

  “Of course not, dear. I had no idea what she was alluding to, but I did a bit of checking. I discovered your father and brother sent that check to her.” Her eyes blazed. “I was livid with them both for meddling in your life that way and decided a little payback was in order. I phoned Nicole straightaway, explaining my plan. I arranged the sale of the cottage to her as the buyer. She endorsed the check, cashed it, and wired the money back to me.”

  His brow was furrowed as he glanced down at the envelope. “I’m not following you at all, Mum.”

  “I gave the cottage to Nicole, dear. I told her to do with it what she wanted.” She picked up the envelope, pressing it to his chest. “Now break that official looking seal. See what’s inside.”

  Reece was hesitant to know, but slit the seal, pulling the documents out, his eyes widening the longer he read. “She signed it over to me.”

  “Keep reading, Colin.”

  His gaze continued down the page. “It’s dated nearly a year ago. His mouth fell open. “The cottage has been mine for a year. She signed these . . . over . . . a . . . oh Mum, I’ve made a royal cock up of this, haven’t I?”

  She shivered in distaste. “Language, dear, really.”

  “Sorry, Mum.”

  “And yes, you’ve made a complete arse of yourself. Nicole told me how much the cottage meant to you. She never tried to dupe you or steal from you.”

  “And I accused her . . . she’s never lied to me about anything. I should’ve let her explain when she tried.”

  Clarissa tilted her head. “Love isn’t always rational, darling.”

  “What am I going to do?”

  “I’ve scheduled a meeting tomorrow with everyone involved in this muddle. I’m positive we can work out a solution beneficial for all.”

  “What am I going to do about Marcus?”

  She patted his knee. “Leave that to me, darling.” She smiled. “I can’t believe she called him a freakin’ wanker. That girl has quite a vocabulary on her.”

  Reece leaned his elbow against the bar, relaxing for the first time since this debacle began. When his mother got that look in her eyes, he knew to run and hide because she was about to do some damage. “Believe me, Mum, you haven’t heard anything yet.”

  ~ ~ ~

  The rain was pouring down from the sky, but Nicole didn’t seem to care as she wended her way through the streets of London, flipping off drivers as they honked their horns at her for crossing the road at the wrong time. The downpour was hiding the tears in her eyes—tears of rage, desolation, and heartbreak.

  What was she going to do? Was there anything she could do? Was there any way to fight against what had been done to her and her story?

  There was no use pressing ch
arges against Reece or his brother. She had no proof, and no one would believe her over the great and wonderful Reece Collins.

  As she turned the corner onto her street, she noticed lights flashing up ahead, wondering what was wrong. Had there been an accident?

  As her strides drew closer, she groaned. The paparazzi were everywhere. That meant only one thing: Reece Collins was somewhere nearby.

  Sure enough, he was sitting on her front stoop, drenched and looking like a drowned pirate. Damn that black hair.

  The photogs shifted as she slipped through their ranks, standing at the bottom step.

  “We really need to stop this,” she yelled over the pouring rain, extending her hand to him as she climbed upward.

  His head lifted. “Stop what?”

  “Stop making ourselves fodder for the morning papers.” Cameras were flashing in her peripheral vision.

  He grinned devilishly as he stood. “Or we could give them a show.”

  She swatted his arm. “I am not getting naked for them. Been there, done that, moving on.” She tugged him into the house, slamming the door on the paparazzi with their flashing cameras.

  Leaning against the door, her eyes narrowed on him. “What are you doing here, Reece?”

  “I wanted to talk to you. You weren’t answering your cell.”

  “You don’t have my number anymore.”

  “Mum gave me the new one.”

  And she thought Mrs. Woodhouse liked her. She took the phone from her pocket, noting the ten missed calls. “Sorry. Couldn’t hear the ringtone over the rain.” She pushed away from the door. “You’re soaked.”

  “So are you,” he stated, watching the rain drip down her nose.

  “Yeah, well, no one is going to care if I succumb to pneumonia, but you . . . it would start a riot.”

  “You could offer to be my nurse.” He waggled his brows at her.

  She began to laugh. “Not interested. Knowing my luck, I’d have to change your bedpan.” She moved to the stairs.