The heat washed over her as she rested against the marble tiles of the shower wall. For three days she’d done nothing, yet she felt drained, physically and emotionally. With a passing interest, she watched the rivulets of water splash over the jut of her hip bones. She had to eat something soon. Even by the too thin modelling standards, she was becoming scrawny. But the thought of food turned her stomach. God, would she ever feel normal again?
Drying herself off, she padded back into her bedroom. She’d bought the apartment two years ago, when she’d made the move from the chaos of New York to the craziness of LA. All part of a determined effort to put the past firmly behind her. It meant not living in the same city where her parents had been killed. Not living in the city where, on every corner, there was a cafe or a shop she’d taken them to. For a short while the excitement of a new city and a new place had helped. Yet it had been a long time since she’d smiled at the plush cream carpet she’d agonised over buying, or grinned at the gigantic sleigh bed that had cost her a small fortune. A long time since any of it had made her happy. And that was before this latest gigantic, sleazy balls-up.
Clothes. She needed to find some clothes and get dressed. How many hours had she spent lying in bed, crying? She couldn’t waste any more time like that. She had to pull herself together. To be strong. Heck, two years ago her family had been all but wiped out on a single, tragic day. This wasn’t the worst thing that had ever happened to her. If she could cope with burying her parents, if she could cope with seeing her brother lying comatose in a nursing home week, after week, after week, she could cope with this.
With those thoughts in mind, she reached for the jeans she’d thrown carelessly over the extravagant cerise velvet chair. About to pull them on, her eyes settled on the crushed newspaper lying on the floor. The same one she’d read three days ago. With a wail of anguish she lunged for it, tearing it into shreds. Leaving the tattered remains on the floor she yanked on her jeans, pulled on the nearest jumper – a baby blue cashmere she’d spilt tea down the moment she’d opened the damn newspaper – and walked down the hall towards the kitchen.
‘Lizzie? Are you in there?’
She froze, the voice achingly familiar. Perhaps she was hallucinating. She hadn’t eaten for days. Her mind must be playing tricks on her.
‘Lizzie, it’s me. If you’re in there, open the damn door.’ There was a pause, and a further knock. ‘Please.’
In a daze, Lizzie walked slowly to the door. Nobody here called her Lizzie. She was Elizabeth Donavue. She hadn’t been Lizzie for years. In fact there was only one person who still called her by that name.
‘Nick, is that you?’ Her voice came out as a strangled whisper.
‘Thank God.’ She could hear the relief in Nick’s voice. ‘Come on, Lizzie. I’m the only one here. Open the blasted door.’
With trembling fingers, she fumbled with the locks. Three days ago she’d secured the door with every security device she had. Now it seemed to take an eternity to undo them all. She barely had time to register it really was Nick standing on her doorstep, before she was bundled into his arms and pushed back into her apartment. He kicked the door shut with his foot and then stood back to look at her.
‘What the hell is going on?’
She moved her mouth, but no words came. ‘I …’ Shaking from head to foot, she walked away from him. Oh God, she was going to cry. Again. It was all she seemed capable of. She’d only taken two steps when a strong arm reached for her waist and dragged her back, turning her round to face him before holding her firmly in his arms.
‘Shh, it’s okay. Everything is going to be okay. I’m here now.’ Gently he held her, smoothing his hand down her back, just as a parent would comfort a small child.
Lizzie was dimly aware of being lifted and carried to the sofa. Nick sat them both down, cradling her against him, murmuring words she couldn’t hear. Despite trying not to, she began to blubber like a baby, all over again. The more she clung to the familiar strength of him, the more she was helpless to do anything but let it all come out. In the end, that’s what she did, crying until the tears ran dry and her body stopped trembling.
‘I’ve made your shirt wet,’ she whispered, pulling away, totally embarrassed at her meltdown.
‘Excuse my language, but sod the bloody shirt.’ He narrowed his eyes and scrutinised her face. ‘Christ, you look terrible. What have they done to you?’
Tears threatened again. God, it didn’t take much. Just a note of concern in his voice and she was filling up again. ‘Why are you here?’ she asked, ignoring his question. Maybe his arrival was just a fortuitous coincidence. Maybe he hadn’t seen …
‘I read the newspapers, Lizzie. Saw the photographs.’ He fixed her with his serious brown eyes. ‘Why didn’t you answer my calls?’
Shame washed through her. Now she knew exactly why he was here. Not to see her, but because he’d seen the mess she’d got herself into and felt duty bound to come and dig her out of it.
‘Lizzie.’ He was still looking at her, pinning her with the force of his gaze. ‘At the risk of repeating myself, what the fuck is going on?’
She recoiled at his harsh tone. ‘You’ve seen the articles. You know what’s going on,’ she replied stiffly, edging away from him.
Nick grabbed hold of her hand and pulled her back to his side. ‘Not so fast. Not before you tell me exactly what happened to get you into this state.’ He held her face firmly between his hands, angling it so she was forced to look into his dark eyes. ‘Damn it, I know what I read isn’t the truth.’
The certainty of his words, coupled with the sincerity in his eyes, forced a lump into the back of her throat. ‘The girl in those pictures is me, Nick,’ she told him shakily, moving to snatch a tissue from the box on her glass coffee table. ‘I can’t deny that.’
‘Did they blackmail you? Force you to do it? Were you drugged?’
Oh God. Dear Nick. ‘Thank you.’ Another sob wrenched from her. Heaven above, was she ever going to stop crying?
‘What on earth are you thanking me for?’
‘For believing in me.’ She sniffed and wiped at her eyes. ‘The truth is, I don’t know exactly what happened. One minute I was having a drink with Charles and his friend. The next Charles was shoving these disgusting pictures at me, threatening to go to the press with them if I didn’t give him a hundred grand.’
‘Christ.’ Abruptly Nick stood and walked towards the open plan kitchen. ‘I think you’d better start from the beginning, but before you do, I need a drink.’ His eyes wandered clinically up and down her body. ‘When was the last time you ate or drank anything?’
She tried to remember, but the days were a blur. ‘I don’t know,’ she admitted, sinking her head into her hands. ‘Oh, Nick. It’s all such a bloody mess. When I saw the pictures in the paper, I didn’t think of the implications. I just thought, what a bastard. Then the phones started ringing and the intercom kept buzzing, all with journalists wanting to speak to me, and suddenly I couldn’t cope. I didn’t know what to do.’
‘So you turned your phones off and went into hiding?’ He shook his head. ‘Maybe I can’t blame you, but it would have been a heck of a lot easier on your friends if you’d just screened your calls.’ Across the room, he sought out her eyes. ‘You had me worried, Lizzie. You should have phoned.’
‘I couldn’t. I was too ashamed.’ She’d reached for the phone a couple of times, but stopped when she’d begun to rehearse what to say. However she’d phrased it, the words had made her sound like a slut. ‘And anyway, I didn’t want to burden you.’
‘Burden me?’ he repeated incredulously.
‘Yes. I’m not your responsibility.’
‘Bloody hell, Lizzie, since when was helping a friend a burden?’ Obviously fighting for control he ran a hand through his hair before swearing again, this time more crudely. ‘Don’t ever do that to me again,’ he muttered finally. ‘Look, why don’t you go and finish getting dressed while I find us so
mething to eat and drink? Then we can start again, from the beginning.’
Lizzie looked down at her stained jumper, conscious it wasn’t the only part of her that looked a mess. Her hair was drying in knots because she hadn’t bothered to comb it. She knew if she stared in the mirror she’d see a puffy face and bloodshot eyes.
Squaring her shoulders, she stood. The time for wallowing in self-pity was over. She was a model. Her career might be crashing around her ears right now, but that was no reason not to start looking and acting like one again.
As soon as Lizzie left the room, Nick dropped his head into his hands and sucked in a deep breath. He’d imagined all sorts of things since seeing those disgusting pictures in the newspapers. The photographs of Lizzie and two men, having sex in a hotel bedroom. Dear God, he’d even seen the video of it on the internet. Watched how they’d degraded the only woman he’d ever loved. Of course he’d known straight away it wasn’t really Lizzie. It might have been her face and her body, but it wasn’t her free will. Yet if he knew it, why did nobody else realise it? The way it had been reported had implied she’d been a willing participant. One of the men in the photographs, the one claiming to be her boyfriend, had expressed outrage at his private life being made public. Then gone on to announce they often enjoyed three in the bed sessions. That in fact the Elizabeth Donavue he knew was a raunchy sex kitten, very different to the angelic image she portrayed in the media.
Nick had wanted to wring his bloody neck.
Beneath all the lies though, one thing was true. Lizzie was no longer the young innocent girl he’d fallen in love with. In his heart he’d known that, but knowing and having evidence of it thrust in his face were two different things. Over the years he’d got used to seeing her linked to a string of good-looking men. Most recently to some her mother would have been shocked at. But whatever her dubious choice in members of the opposite sex, he was sure the raunchy image being portrayed in the press was a false one. Lizzie might have grown up, become more sophisticated, but at heart she was still the girl he’d loved for most of his life.
Clenching his jaw, Nick opened the fridge door, horrified by how empty it looked.
He wouldn’t rest until whoever was responsible for hurting Lizzie was made to pay.
Lizzie hesitantly brought a forkful of scrambled eggs to her lips.
‘Come on, eat up,’ Nick encouraged. ‘You’re nothing but skin and bones under those clothes.’
She gave him a small smile. ‘Thanks. Your lavish compliments always did blow my mind.’ But she nibbled at the toast, took another mouthful of eggs, and gradually began to find her appetite. Within minutes she’d cleared her plate and washed it down with a large glass of orange juice.
Feeling slightly more human, she sat back on the chair and glanced over at him. Despite the trauma of the last few days, she felt the familiar tug on her heart. Age had only made him better looking. He still wasn’t dashingly handsome, not by the standards of the models and TV stars she mixed with, but he was, oh so quietly, extremely attractive. In fact, he was more than that. He was quietly sexy, which was a pretty breathtaking combination. Tall and lean, his thick dark hair was shorter than the last time she’d seen him, highlighting his seriously deep brown eyes. His long thin face still shrieked of intelligence, even without the glasses she was used to seeing him wear. Now she thought about it, this new, glasses free face was altogether more eye-catching than she remembered. His brown eyes larger and more eloquent. So no, he wasn’t extravagantly handsome, but she’d take his serious, intelligent good looks over those of the men she’d dated any day.
He looked up and caught her staring. ‘What’s wrong? Have I got egg on my chin?’
For the first time in days, Lizzie found herself wanting to giggle. Sitting at this table with Nick might be escapism, but for a few short minutes she was going to push all the crap into the background and just enjoy him being here. ‘I was trying to work out what had changed about you. Where are the glasses?’
He dropped his gaze back to his plate and started clearing up. ‘I decided to give in to vanity and have laser surgery.’ He shrugged. ‘Mainly I got fed up with losing them down the back of the sofa. I still haven’t got used to the fact that I don’t need them any more. The first thing I do when I get up in the morning is reach for the blasted things.’ Having piled all the plates into the dishwasher, he turned back to her. ‘Feeling better?’
She nodded. ‘A bit, thank you.’
‘Strong enough to tell me what happened?’
Was she? Lizzie took a deep breath and reached for the glass of wine he’d poured. ‘Yes,’ she said quietly. ‘But let’s do this somewhere more comfortable.’
Nick followed her back to the sitting room. There she curled up on the end of the sofa while he chose to sit in the armchair. He leant back and made himself at home, throwing one long jean clad leg over the other. ‘Why don’t you start by telling me who the hell Charles is?’
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To my boys (who will probably never read this)
To my husband (who was brave enough to read the unedited version)
To my mum (who reads everything I write)
I love you all to bits.
Acknowledgements
If you know a writer, be on guard. At some point, they’re bound to ask you for help with their next book. When I started writing Oh Crumbs, I didn’t expect to need advice on martial arts. The more Doug developed as a character though, the more I realised he needed a sport to help him channel his anger. But which sport? And who did I know who could help me decide? Stand up Alex Gee, ex work colleague and captain of the GB sport jujitsu squad. He was kind enough not to laugh too hysterically when I asked him which sport Doug could take up that wouldn’t hurt his pretty features but would look sexy when he was fighting thugs. Alex also went on to answer my dumb questions about BJJ, and even took the time to check the accuracy of what I’d written. So huge thanks to him and a warning to the rest of my friends. You could be next.
Now to the many other people who’ve helped me not just with Oh Crumbs, but with every book I’ve written. My sincere and humble thanks to the following.
My publisher, Choc Lit, who put their faith in me eight (yes, I can’t believe it either) books ago. And are still showing it now.
The Choc Lit Tasting Panel of readers who were kind enough to approve Oh Crumbs for publication:
My fabulous editor, so lovely to work with, and who always manages to add both accuracy and pizzazz to my original manuscript.
Book Bloggers, whose enthusiasm for reading, and amazing support of writers, is humbling. Thank you for taking the time to help this author.
My husband, who bravely reads and critiques every one of my manuscripts before I submit them (yes, incredibly, we are still talking to each other).
Family and friends, who still ask about my next book. It’s coming!
And finally, but most importantly of all, you. Thank you so much for buying and reading Oh Crumbs. I hope you enjoy the story of Abby and Doug. I recommend reading while eating a biscuit, but please watch those crumbs…
Copyright © 2018 Kathryn Freeman
Published 2018 by Choc Lit Limited
Penrose House, Crawley Drive, Camberley, Surrey GU15 2AB, UK
www.choc-lit.com
The right of Kathryn Freeman to be identified as the Author of this Work has been asserted by her in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988
All characters and events in this publication, other than those clearly in the public domain, are fictitious and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, r
ecording or otherwise, without the prior permission of the publisher or a licence permitting restricted copying. In the UK such licences are issued by the Copyright Licensing Agency, Barnards Inn, 86 Fetter Lane, London EC4A 1EN
ISBN (EPUB): 978-1-78189-350-0
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