by Mia Barrett
Chasing Zoe
Mia Barrett
Copyright © 2019 by Mia Barrett
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
Created with Vellum
For my Mother
Also by Mia Barrett
The Senator
The Man I Love
My Ward
Marry Me
Harmless Obsession
Contents
Prologue
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Epilogue: Two Years Later
Holiday Recipes
About the Author
Prologue
Zoe
Have you ever met a movie star? If you spent more than five minutes in their company, you were more than likely incredibly disappointed, and I don’t blame you. They’re the worst. I should know. I’ve been one since I was fourteen. Ever since my first big hit. Everyone says they want to be a serious actor, but if you want longevity in this business, you need to put asses in the seats. For that you need to be a Movie Star. You gotta create an image. A brand. Even actors who play it cool and keep out of the limelight, have a brand. They’re the mysterious Greta Garbos who are too cool for school.
They want to be left alone.
Whatever. They know the harder they hide, the more they’re pursued. You want to be left alone? Stay away from parties. Don’t attend award shows. Retire, damn it! No. They won’t dare do that. Like I said, it’s all part of a brand. They’re actors. It’s marketing. And a way to drive up their price.
No one is what they seem. We’re all fake, two-dimensional weirdos who spend way too much time concerned with our image. It’s exhausting. And it’s worse for women. We can’t just be talented. We need to be sexy. But not too sexy. Sexy with a touch of innocence. The sexy virgin. Smart but not too clever. Not too dumb. Painfully thin but maintain those curves! And then make it all look like you were born this way.
No wonder we’re so boring and self-absorbed.
But now, I’ve had enough. I’ve been acting since I was a kid. Theater in New York. Movies since I was twelve. I’ve stayed around for one reason and one reason only. I’m in love. Crazy, madly, hopelessly in love. With a director. Can you believe that? They’re worse than actors. They’re like bossy actors who think they’re geniuses rolled into artists.
His name is Ivan Pavlenko. Rolls off the tongue, doesn’t it? It sure rolls off mine. I purr those words every morning when I wake and whisper them every night as I fall asleep. And yet, as divine as they sound, they are not nearly as heavenly as the man who wears them. Dark auburn hair, haunting blue eyes, chiseled face, tall, lean with broad shoulders, a powerful chest and muscular arms that make me sigh every time I glimpse him in a short-sleeved shirt. He’s a god among men. The man of my dreams.
The only man I’ll ever love.
I sound pathetic. I know. But this isn’t going away. It didn’t happen overnight. My crazy obsession blossomed years ago. Seven years to be exact.
We were like two ships in the night.
No, not really. I was twelve, auditioning for a role in my first big-budget film and he was twenty-six, an up and coming director leading his first serious production. But it was magic. Kismet. When he introduced himself, I silently repeated his name over and over, until I nailed the pronunciation perfectly.
This was the man I would marry. I had to get it right.
I practiced all the way home, hoping I’d see him for the follow up. But, I didn’t. Weeks, then months passed before I saw him again and by then, he didn’t know who I was. I didn’t get the part. He chose someone else. But two weeks later, I won a bigger role with a bigger director who took me under his wing. That film made way more money, won an Academy Award, which led to more auditions and more films that led me back to Ivan.
This was destiny, I tell you. Destiny.
Finally, at sixteen, I got my chance to prove my worth, strut my stuff, and let him know what he’d been missing. He hired me for a lead role in a historical drama. A lead role! I was the leading lady! I spent eight weeks working closely with him, letting him give me direction and hanging on his every word. But unless he was directing me in a scene, he hardly knew I was in the room. As soon as he yelled “cut,” he disappeared, rushing away like I didn’t exist.
It’s understandable. As much as it hurt, how can I hold something like that against him? I was an underage girl. He would have been a creep to take a second glance.
But years have passed, we’ve worked together, run in the same circles, been to the same parties and nothing’s changed. Not for him. He thinks we’re friends. Good friends. Meanwhile, my love has grown to unfathomable measures. It grows every day, but it’s all for nothing.
Maybe, everything’s been for nothing. All these years. My work. My career.
If not for Ivan, I would have given this up long ago. I hate this profession. Despite my success, I’ve never enjoyed it. I hate the attention. I despise the lifestyle. It’s tiring to always worry about your weight, water retention, skincare, hair care and all the little things you occasionally want to stop caring about. Who wants to be stalked by paparazzi, treated like the hired help by producers and viewed as a dark-haired Barbie by everyone else? I have brains, too. No one ever asks me what I think about anything.
But if I walk away, I may never see my Ivan again.
And I live for those moments.
Two days ago, I turned nineteen and although I’ve seen him more frequently lately, he’s never tried to make one illicit move on me. Not one.
Not one damn wink.
No long lingering looks.
No inappropriate handshakes that make me blush.
I thought once he might come in for a hug, but he was only removing lint off my shoulder. I felt like such an idiot. After waiting so long to turn eighteen, I’ve been left wanting, loveless, without any displays of affection or nasty man passes.
Which brings me back to my decision. I’m taking a break from this business and mothballing my heart until someone better comes along.
Except, there’s no one better than Ivan. No one. We’re perfect for one another. If only he’d give us a chance. I know I’m young. But my heart... my heart knows where it belongs.
With him. Always with him. Forever with him.
And it wants to go home.
Chapter 1
Ivan
The wheels hit the runway and my heart feels like it’s just slammed into my sternum. It’s not the landing. It’s her. I can’t stop thinking about the last time we met. She never goes to parties alone, but she did this time. For some reason, she gave me her undivided attention. She was mine for the evening. I felt like the luckiest guy in New York and yet it was torture. I wanted do something. Say something. But once I open that can of worms and everything tumbles out, it’s never going back in. And she’s not ready for what I want. She just turned nineteen. I wish she was older. It’s been unbearable holding off this long, but I want to wait one more year. I don’t want her to have any regrets about what she’s missed.
Exiting the plane, I grab my carry-on bag and think
about the moment she walked into the party with that tight, low-cut black dress that left nothing to my imagination. And my imagination works overtime when it comes to Zoe Burton. It was stunning. Magnificent. I felt like a teenage boy falling in love for the first time, the way I always feel around Zoe. Every man there wanted to touch her, claim her, throw her over their shoulder and haul her off to their cave, but she came looking for me.
I should have said something. Declared my intentions. Given her some idea that I want to be with her. For good. Forever. But I chickened out. I left things hanging and maybe it’s a mistake. But she’s so young. How can I tell her I don’t want to date or have fun? I want to marry her. I want babies. I want it all.
She’s a young actress. She’s worked hard. Those things will ruin her career.
I didn’t plan on coming to Paris so soon, but her manager tipped me off about her decision. Zoe’s taking a short break from acting. For how long? She wouldn’t say. She doesn’t know. I don’t disapprove. She needs time to live a normal life but not here. I hate that she spends so much time here. Up to now, it was easier having her so far away. I feared having her close, in the same city, would be far too much temptation. I’m not myself when she’s near.
But I don’t technically need to behave myself. Not entirely. I just want to take things slow. And I have a plan. There’s no guarantee it will work. My willpower has waned and working side by side will only make things worse. However, it’s worth a shot to keep her close. I want her close. I can’t leave her here.
I’m no fool.
This city is full of men who would love to get their hands on my girl. We don’t have an understanding. We’ve never shared our feelings. We have a friendship. An ongoing, unrequited underlying flirtation. There are days I think she has feelings for me and others where I’m certain she doesn’t. She’s young. She may not know her own heart. And there’s nothing binding her to me.
But if we can move things along in the right direction without getting too ahead of ourselves. If I can tell her how I feel and allow things to evolve naturally, until the time is right, until she’s ready, then maybe we have a real shot.
This won’t be easy. The rewards will be huge, but she won’t make it easy. Things are already off on the wrong foot. She’s reluctant to meet. My assistant made several attempts to schedule an appointment with her for late this afternoon, a few hours after my arrival, but she dismissed each one. When I phoned her agent, he hinted she may collaborate with Gus Gallagher one last time before she retires. Bullshit. No fucking way. He always does this.
She’s his favorite. He’s monopolized her since she was twelve. They’re much closer than we are but I’m not letting him steal her away this time. In a desperate move, I called her from the air and asked her to dinner. I told her I was coming into town to meet with her personally and really needed to see her. She agreed. She was reluctant, but we’re meeting at 7:00.
While I sit in traffic, I thumb through my phone and gaze through the hundreds of photos I’ve collected over the last couple of years. She’s so fucking beautiful. She was a pretty little girl. An adorable adolescent. But now that she’s grown, goddamn is she fucking breathtaking. Straight black hair cropped at the shoulders, electric green eyes, milky flawless skin, ruby red lips that make me ache to kiss them. As I trace the outline of her face with the tip of my finger, I get that feeling again. The feeling I try to bury every time I see her in movies, photos of her in magazines or run into someone wearing her favorite perfume. I’ve felt it ever since Zoe Burton filled out, and it bothers the shit out of me.
I can’t help it. She grew up right in front of my eyes.
I didn’t raise her. We’re not related. But the more I think of her, the more I feel like a scoundrel. A lecherous fiend preying on teenage girls dressed in slinky black dresses and sheer, lacy lingerie that I slide off her body with my teeth. Like I said, my imagination works overtime with her.
But then, there are days it’s not so weird. Like now. Thinking about those eyes, those lips, the sound of her voice, and the way she pronounces my name so perfectly, as if she’s practiced it. It warms my heart.
I close my eyes and remember the curve of her ample breasts in that tight dress and the beat of my heart drowns out all other noise. Slowly but surely, my cock thickens against my thigh and all I want to do is slide it inside her tight pussy, thrusting over and over until I watch my cum spill out and smear it into her skin.
It doesn’t feel weird right now. Not at all.
Chapter 2
Zoe
One last spritz of perfume, a quick brush, some hairspray to keep it down in this wind and I head for the door. With my coat in my hand, I run down the stairs in four-inch heels and dart straight into the hired car. As we buzz through traffic, my heart pounds like a jackhammer in my chest. Why does he need to see me? Why over dinner? Is this it? Am I heading for a date with Ivan?
No, he would have said it was a date. But it is dinner. In Paris, the city of love. And we’ve never had dinner alone. A few weeks ago, I saw him at a party in New York. He spends most of his year there. He should have moved to California long ago, but like me, he resists and stays tied to New York. Since I turned seventeen, I’ve kept mostly to Paris and London. There’s more privacy in Europe. I can live where I please and travel for work. If I make this break permanent, maybe I’ll go home.
Yeah, maybe I’ll go home to New York. With him.
When we near the restaurant, the car grows warmer and beads of sweat trickle down my temples. Sliding off my scarf, I reach for my phone and scroll through my photos. Half are of him. Beautiful, perfect Ivan. I just know tonight will be different. There’s something in the air. Christmas is just around the corner. Perhaps, I’ll take him home for Thanksgiving. You never know. This could be the start of everything. Tonight, could be the first day of the rest of my life. But first I need to be brave. I need to get this off my chest. Put it out there. Say the words before I lose my mind.
I love you, Ivan. I love you. Oh, my god! I love you!
Okay, not like that. Take it easy, Zoe. Show some restraint.
“Merci, beaucoup.” I thank the driver and rush inside, straightening my skirt and subtly pushing my boobs together as I walk. This is a new dress. I wouldn’t typically wear something off the shoulder for a meeting, but since it’s the evening and this is Paris, the occasion calls for a certain amount of sophistication.
When I approach our table, Ivan shoots up and greets me with outstretched arms. I step closer, take a long whiff of his cologne and try my best to hide my shudder. For a second, I think he’s coming in for a hug and I reach out. But instead of taking me into his arms, he takes my coat. Oblivious to my mortification, he hands it to the hostess and leads me to the table. I cringe with humiliation.
That’s strike one.
This is starting out poorly, but I’ll cut him some slack. Ivan’s always been the strong, stoic type. Maybe he doesn’t want to show his cards too soon. I breathe a sigh of relief when he pulls out my chair and calls the waiter to bring us the wine list. Fidgeting in my seat, I peer through the selections and order a glass of cabernet. I’m too nervous to hear what he requests, but wait patiently for the conversation to commence, listening to the beat of my heart grow stronger by the second.
“Thanks for joining me on such short notice.” He flips out his napkin, folds it on his lap, then reaches for a piece of bread. I focus on his big hands, those thick, rigid knuckles and the signet ring with the letter P, handed down from his father. When he tears the small roll effortlessly, my eyes grow twice their size and I gasp quietly, clutching my heart as I envision a hundred things he could do with those mighty hands.
Flushed and titillated, it’s no surprise when seconds later, my nipples show up to the party. Good god, this dress hides nothing.
Stammering, I swallow hard and meekly reply. “Sure. Thanks for inviting me to dinner.”
The waiter hands me the glass of wine and I swipe it with a
n unsteady grasp, shaking as I bring it to my lips. Ivan’s eyes stay fixed on mine. Peering into my soul. He can tell. He knows I love him. It’s written all over my face.
“Zoe...” His voice is just above a whisper.
“Yes!” I yelp. Oh god... I’m going to make an ass of myself. “Sorry. I can hardly hear you.”
“Forgive me. The reason I needed to see you in person is because I have something important to discuss.” He leans in. His blue gaze simmers.
My heart beats wildly. My pulse spikes. Reaching for water, I miss and nearly spill it on the table. Calming myself with a quick sip, I bite my lip to keep it from trembling. If he tells me he loves me, I don’t think I can keep from crying.
I’ve waited too long.
Loving him has been the one constant in my life and I’m seconds from having my fondest wish realized.
Chapter 3
Ivan
“What is it, Ivan?” She squeaks. Her eyes wide with wonder.
“I spoke with your manager and she mentioned your plans after Christmas. I think that’s a great idea. Sincerely.” I mumble, struggling to steady my breath long enough to pronounce each word.
This isn’t what I want to say. How can I talk business when I can see the outline of her nipples staring back at me, ruthlessly mocking me through that dress? My mouth waters from all the corrupt thoughts flashing through my mind, each one filthier than the one before. I swallow hard. I can’t think. The carefully prepared speech, the one I memorized on the way here has vacated my brain.