Heartbreaker (Hollywood Hearts Book 2)

by Belinda Williams

  Faith gave him a haughty look. “I’m not scared of you, Romero, and she’s tougher than she looks.”

  Marc caught my gaze and I swallowed.

  Chloe was watching us with interest and I turned back to the rest of them.

  “Yeah, I’m tough. Come on. Dish the dirt will you so I can enjoy some of Ally’s cooking.”

  “Right,” said Faith. “So there’s been all the usual, ‘Poor Lena, her house has burned down, victimized by a stalker, oh my God she’s in hospital, but wait, now nobody knows where she is so it must be bad, and maybe she should reconcile with Duncan because he’d fix everything’, blah, blah, blah, blah.”

  Marc cleared his throat at the mention of Duncan and took the beer Jake offered him.

  “But that’s when it all turned weird,” Chloe interjected.

  “Weird how?”

  “Your father,” said Ally, confirming my worst fears.

  I picked up the glass of water she pushed my way. I took a sip before I said, “What about him?”

  Faith put the back of her palm to her forehead and pretended to swoon. “He’s out of his mind with worry, darling. He just can’t bear it.”

  “Ha!” My sharp laugh sounded bitter even to my ears. I could feel Marc’s eyes on me but remained focused on my friends, a sinking feeling in my stomach. “So he’s gone to the media?”

  “Yup,” said Faith. “Apparently he’s desperate to know where you are so he can find out if you’re OK.”

  “What a load of shit.”

  Everyone stared at me. OK, so I wasn’t known for my profanities, but it felt appropriate right now.

  “What?” I said to them. “I haven’t spoken to him for years and now he wants to contact me? Give me a break.”

  Marc came to my side. “How long has it been?”

  I didn’t look at him and ran a finger through the condensation on the side of my glass. “I haven’t had anything to do with him since the funeral.”

  “Your mother’s funeral.”

  “Yes.”

  Jake reached around and squeezed my good shoulder. “I feel your pain.”

  I gave him a grateful look. Jake’s family issues had been all over the media earlier in the year so I knew he understood exactly what I was going through.

  “That’s over fifteen years,” said Marc.

  “Yep.” It didn’t surprise me he knew that. He was good at his job.

  “Why do you think he would go public now?” he asked.

  I finally turned to him. He’d gone into investigative mode, his dark eyes narrowed like he was suspicious with the world, because basically he was.

  “Who knows, Marc? Can we find out if he needs money?”

  He frowned. “That’s pretty unlikely.”

  “Why?” said Chloe.

  “He’s an investment banker,” I explained. “Or was. I suppose he could have come undone during the global financial crisis, but you’d think if that was the case I would have heard from him before now.”

  “Maybe he thinks you’re worth more now,” suggested Faith. “You’ve got an Oscar and you’re in the middle of divorcing Duncan. He’s worth millions.”

  My lip curled in distaste and Ally eyed me with concern.

  “I’ve got my own money,” I told them. “I don’t need any of his.”

  Faith held up her palms. “I get that. But does your father? Especially if he’s been reading the papers.”

  “It must be some other reason.” I had a sinking feeling I knew exactly what it was, but I wasn’t going to air my thoughts here. I saw Marc’s troubled expression. He didn’t nod, he didn’t move at all, but I knew he was sorting through all the possibilities in his head.

  Ally clapped her hands together and we all jumped.

  “Enough of that,” she announced. “Let’s eat!”

  *

  “So are you going to stay here?” Ally asked after we’d all helped ourselves to second servings of lasagna.

  “I hadn’t really thought about it. Until yesterday I wasn’t sure how long I was going to be stuck in the middle of nowhere at the ranch.”

  “The ranch?” said Ally.

  I felt Marc’s eyes on me. “Anyway,” I continued, “I had no idea of the extent of the damage to this place, but now I see the ground level is inhabitable I’ll stay here for a little while. But I’m going to start looking for somewhere else.”

  Ally put her fork down. “You are?”

  “Yes. It’s time. I’m moving on with my life and that includes fixing this place and selling it. I don’t really want to live here while all that goes on, so I’ll start looking straight away.”

  “I’ll talk to Jay,” said Marc. He was sitting down the other end of the table next to Jake and hadn’t said much during dinner.

  “What about?”

  “Security considerations. Unless the new property meets certain criteria, you don’t want to touch it.”

  “Sounds like a good idea,” said Ally. “We want Lena to be safe from now on.”

  Everyone murmured their agreement.

  “It’s nice in theory,” I said, “but as we’ve seen already, there’s no guarantees.”

  “The price of fame,” said Marc, but I didn’t detect any sarcasm in his tone. Maybe just weariness. “I’ll put Jay in touch with Kaden, he’ll sort things out.”

  “Kaden?” I didn’t disguise my surprise at the mention of his fellow Marine.

  “Yeah. He’s in charge of the security consulting side of the business.”

  It was the first time I’d heard Marc call what he did a business.

  “Is it your business?” asked Ally. Obviously she wasn’t the only one curious about Marc.

  “It’s ours.” He stood up from the table. “Anyway, I’ll check in with Jay before I leave.”

  I got up too and followed him to the front door.

  Before he could open the door, I reached out and touched his arm. “Was it your idea to start the business?”

  “Kaden’s.” He didn’t let go of the doorknob, but he didn’t move to leave either.

  “I had no idea you had a partner.”

  “That’s because he’s the face of the company. We keep my role in the division quiet.”

  “Division? What’s your division?”

  He dropped his hand from the doorknob and turned to look at me. “Counter-terror.”

  “Counter-terror?” I echoed. That didn’t make sense. I thought Marc only worked with Hollywood clients.

  “Yes, Lena. Stalking is a form of terror, wouldn’t you agree?”

  I wrapped my good arm around the front of my body. “Yes. You’re right.” I blew out a long breath. “It just sounds kind of over the top, that’s all.”

  “I know I’ve expressed my dislike for Hollywood, but living in fear of your safety isn’t fair, no matter who you are.” He turned to go, but I grabbed his arm again.

  “Marc? I know you probably don’t want to hear it. But you’re good at this. Really good. You’ve made a choice to be there for your family, which is admirable, and working in Hollywood is an excellent use of your skills.”

  “You sound like Kaden.”

  “He convinced you to go into business with him, didn’t he?”

  “Yeah, something like that.”

  “It’s you,” I said, suddenly understanding.

  He frowned. “What?”

  “It’s you who doesn’t like the money, isn’t it? You use it as an excuse to do it, but you don’t like it, do you? You feel it cheapens all you stand for.”

  A muscle in his jaw twitched and he didn’t say anything.

  “Marc, haven’t you figured out by now that we’re just people? People who are trying to live our lives like everyone else, safely and freely, while still doing what we’re good at? There’s no shame in taking our money and you should be proud of what you’re doing. You served your country and now you’re using those skills to serve the people of America in a different way. So what if we’re movie star
s? We need you. I need you.”

  I stopped and let go of his arm, realizing what I’d just said. I cleared my throat then continued. “You can’t just be expected to come back and go sit at a desk somewhere. That’s not you. It will never be you,” I said with certainty. “Why do you think I hired Jay? I’m proud to employ him and his qualifications are second to none. You’re good at what you do,” I repeated.

  After a beat of silence, he spoke. “Can I use that as a customer testimonial?”

  I flinched.

  If he noticed, he didn’t show it. “Thanks for the feedback, I’ll pass it on.”

  Then he was gone.

  I stood by the door, at a loss and deeply disappointed. I thought after he’d shown me his scars, he’d let me in and was prepared to open up to me, but obviously not. Rather than feel hurt, I felt like an idiot. He’d put me back in my place with a few words. I was his client and he ran a company, and I’d tried to make it personal.

  Marc wasn’t a character to figure out. He was a real person with scars on the inside as well as the outside and his personal feelings were none of my business.

  He’d found the stalker so now his job was over. End of story.

  Chapter 26

  So much for taking the time to get better. The following days proved frantic. There were daily physiotherapist appointments to rehabilitate my shoulder; meetings and phone conferences with my agent and PR team; media interviews to reassure the world at large I was doing fine; discussions with contractors to get the repairs on my house started; and meetings with realtors so I could find a new home.

  By the time I set foot on-set two weeks later, Marc’s ranch felt like a distant memory.

  A cheer broke out from the crew as I arrived for the morning’s take. I waved a hand at all of them and gestured for everyone to be quiet. It was good to be back, but I didn’t want special attention. I just wanted to do my job.

  Chloe, Ben and I waited to one side while the crew finished setting up. One of the make-up artists hovered nearby ready to remove my sling when the time came.

  “Are you sure you’re OK without the sling?” Ben asked, his blue eyes full of concern.

  He really was sweet. “I’m fine.” Always fine, but it wasn’t a lie this time. The physiotherapist had been great. She was confident periods of time without the sling would be fine, so long as I rested it when I wasn’t filming.

  “Well, if you get tired or it hurts, just say something, OK?”

  Chloe patted Ben’s shoulder. “Lena’s tougher than she looks. Or are you getting the script mixed up with real life?”

  My outfit for this take wasn’t my favorite. I was sporting a hospital gown and was glad I’d been able to wear shorts and a T-shirt underneath to protect me from the breeze where it opened at the back.

  Ben blushed. “I know that. It’s the media who are getting it mixed up, not me.”

  I crossed my arms—something I’d finally been able to do since last week—and gave him a long look. “What? Don’t you want to carry my baby?” I asked sweetly. I knew he’d been referring to the media’s obsession with my broken collarbone, but Chloe and I made a habit of teasing him.

  Ben turned a shade of beetroot red and I immediately felt bad. It had been too good to resist, though. In the story, I had just given birth to a little boy who was meant to be my husband’s but turned out to be Toby’s, Ben’s character in the movie.

  “No, I didn’t say that. I mean, of course I’d want to carry your baby,” he stuttered, then coughed, the shade of red intensifying. “Not that it’s appropriate to say that, of course, especially with you being the older woman—”

  Chloe tapped Ben on the shoulder and he snapped his mouth shut, obviously glad for the interruption. “Ben? Little hint. Never point out a woman’s age, OK?”

  He nodded and kept his mouth closed, so I slung an arm around his shoulders. “Sorry, Ben. We’re not making fun of you, not really. We’re just being silly.”

  He shot me a shy look. “I don’t mind.”

  Chloe gave me an isn’t-he-so-sweet look behind his back. I left my arm resting on his shoulders until we were told to take our places. He was a great actor and needed reassurance. Offscreen he was a charming mixture of sweet, funny, shy and caring, but when the cameras were on, it was like a switch had been flicked on. He found his confidence and his charm turned to sex appeal.

  As I climbed into the hospital bed waiting for me, Ben took his seat beside me, and Chloe waited a few feet away off-set. In the script, she’d walk in and interrupt us just as I told Ben he was the father of Jean’s baby.

  He cleared his throat. “Hey, Lena?”

  “Yes?”

  “Um, is everything OK with your boyfriend?”

  I blinked. “My boyfriend?”

  “Yeah. Nathan.”

  “Oh.” Oh. He meant Marc. Well, that had almost been awkward. “Yes, he’s fine.”

  “That’s good. It’s just that I haven’t seen him on-set lately.”

  “Oh,” I said again, thinking quickly. “Well, you see, we’re not actually together anymore.”

  “No,” Ben said, frowning. “That’s not what I meant. Isn’t he an extra?”

  “Um, oh right, sorry, I see what you mean. Well, yes, he was an extra, but he got work on another project, a bigger project. It’s a better opportunity for him so he’d have been crazy not to take it.” And I was sounding crazy, so I had to tread carefully.

  “Right. That’s good news for him. I’m sorry things didn’t work out.”

  I gave him a bright smile. “I’m OK. It was for the best.”

  I tilted my head so the make-up artist could touch up my blusher.

  “I’m kind of relieved, actually,” Ben said. “And that came out wrong, sorry. It was just that it seemed like it might have been a rebound thing, that’s all.”

  The make-up artist stepped away and I tried not to smile. Ben’s concern really was touching.

  “That’s OK, don’t apologize,” I told him. “And you’re probably right. It was a bit of a rebound thing, but it’s over now. I’ll be waiting a while to get involved with anyone else, I think.”

  “I get it. You’re waiting for the right person.”

  I lay still as the sheet was pulled up to my waist.

  “You know something, Ben? I’m not sure everyone has a ‘right person’, but I’m OK with that.”

  “Don’t give up, Lena. You might be surprised.”

  I bit off a comment about the innocence of youth and was relieved when Manning called out for everyone to take their final places.

  The less I thought about Marc, my failed love life and what the future held, the better.

  *

  It was midnight when I saw the email.

  It had been a long day filming and I’d just showered and had my laptop open on the bed.

  Edward Lyons update, the email subject read.

  It was from Marc.

  I stared at the screen for a long moment before I hit ‘open’.

  Lena,

  At this stage, I have my theories on your father’s sudden reappearance in your life, but I’ll let you make your own conclusions. Take a look at the summary below. Let me know your thoughts.

  Marc.

  I ignored the formal tone of his email and studied the list of bullet points he’d sent. I raised my eyebrows, impressed. It was a run-down of my father’s life since I’d last seen him at my mother’s funeral over fifteen years ago.

  It appeared he’d continued to work for the same firm he’d been employed by when I was a teenager. He’d taken an extended leave of absence after my mother’s death, but upon his return to work stayed another eight years. He was based in New York and then he’d moved to Florida and worked for a smaller firm for the next two years. I tried to imagine my father in Florida. He’d always dressed impeccably in tailored gray suits, which matched his neatly cropped gray hair—even in my teen years he’d been gray.

  Then, around the time I’d
just started to make it big in Hollywood, he moved to Hawaii. Again, a picture of my uptight father sitting on a beach in Honolulu was a stretch for me. Marc’s information stated he’d lived with a woman, Tina Ponds. She was a divorcee with two grown daughters of her own.

  Two years later, Tina had passed away—cancer. Despite the years that had gone by, I felt a cold stab of pain for him. Another woman he loved lost to cancer.

  That could have been reason enough to contact me again, except he hadn’t. The date of Tina’s passing was two years earlier. Tears sprang to my eyes when I read the next line:

  Nursing staff commented on how doting Edward was throughout Tina’s illness and how he remained at her bedside until her death.

  I pushed the laptop away, suddenly angry.

  No, that wasn’t right. It couldn’t be. My father had barely set foot in a hospital the entire time my mom had been sick. He didn’t do doting. He wasn’t capable of it.

  Tears still stinging in my eyes, I forced myself to read the rest of Marc’s points.

  He was currently living in New Orleans, unemployed and single. There were reports of him frequenting a particular bar.

  That was it.

  I sat back again, my head hurting. It was late, I was tired, and now probably wasn’t the time to be dredging up my dysfunctional family history.

  As far as I was concerned, my conclusions were pretty cut and dry.

  I hit ‘reply’.

  Marc,

  I appreciate you taking the time to do this. I’m sure you’ve already read between the lines but just in case:

  Edward Lyons is an alcoholic. I would have said recovering alcoholic, but does anyone ever recover from this horrible disease? Because that’s what it is. A disease. It wasn’t the cancer that killed our family, it was my father’s illness. It appears since Tina’s death his habit has worsened again. His addiction nearly cost him his job when my mother was ill. Fortunately, he was able to hold it together until her death to pay for her medical bills, but afterward I was left to survive on a small trust fund from my mother until my modeling gave me financial security. I assume his current situation is similar to fifteen years ago. That is, he is sick and feeling sorry for himself and wants someone to pull him out of his despondency. I tried, more than once. I won’t be trying again. Maybe Tina was successful for a time. I don’t know. I know it sounds heartless, but I can’t have anything to do with him. I’ll be instructing my team not to respond to any news stories and intend to have no further contact with him for the foreseeable future.