What wasn’t pasty gray on Max was puke green.
“Just a fucking minute,” he mumbled as his hand wrapped around the doorknob. “Stop the bloody hammering.”
His publicist Garrett stood in the doorway holding a giant coffee and a stack of newspapers. Max only had interest in one of those items so he grabbed the coffee and turned around, assuming Garrett would follow him into the house.
“You needn’t look so chipper this morning, mate,” Max said as he collapsed into a chair wearing nothing but his tuxedo pants from last night. Apparently he hadn’t had the manual dexterity to unbutton his trousers.
Garrett dropped the stack of papers next to Max on the couch and then took a seat opposite. He had that look on his face…the one Max hated. Like a disappointed father. Garrett needed to remember who worked for whom. Max was the client, not the employee.
“Are you still drunk or have you finally sobered up?” Garrett’s voice seemed overly loud in the quiet room. “I waited until later in the day before I came over hoping you might have slept it off.”
The coffee was rich, dark, and scaldingly hot. Just the way Max liked it.
“If I were still drunk I wouldn’t feel this awful, so I think it’s safe to say I’m sober. Now what do you want on this fine Sunday morning?”
“It’s afternoon.”
“Fine. Afternoon. What do you want?”
Garrett stood and walked over to the front window, peering out. Were the paps still there? Those vultures were waiting for him to do something newsworthy. From Garrett’s presence here, Max had a bad feeling that he had finally done just that. Fleet Street must be celebrating.
“I’m not even going to yell at you about the way you bungled that question from the reporter about your careers. That’s the least of your damn worries.” Garrett’s lips flattened into a straight line. “You and Carrie had a fight.”
Hungover, Max didn’t have the mental wherewithal to lie.
“We did. So?”
Max tried to push away the image of Carrie’s tearstained face as she’d left him at the party.
“The contract wasn’t supposed to end for another two weeks but it looks like things are over. Was it supposed to be so public? Is that what you and Carrie intended? Because if so, you really need to run this stuff by me first. The press is all over this and you are not coming out well, Max.”
Gingerly, as if it might bite, Max lifted the top newspaper from the stack. Photos and lurid headlines dripped from the pages. He hadn’t meant for this to happen but it looked like he’d dragged them both through the mud. Pawing through the papers, every picture was more damning than the last. Only an idiot wouldn’t be able to see the tension and hostility between the two of them from the time they’d exited the limo all the way down the red carpet. One lucky pap had captured Carrie’s face as she was leaving the venue, looking heartbroken and miserable, tears streaming down her face.
Max should have felt proud of himself but he didn’t have the energy. The photo caption called him a bastard, a title he couldn’t argue.
“It wasn’t planned.”
Garrett’s eyes widened. “Not planned? So you’re telling me that you and Carrie had a real breakup last night? As in…the romance was real and now it’s over? When did that happen?”
“Does it matter? It’s over.” He couldn’t stop himself from asking, his mind already thinking about the next time he’d see her. If ever. “Have you talked to her about the tabloids?”
“She’s not answering her phone. I left her a couple of voicemails but I didn’t hear anything back so I stopped by Nate and Paige’s place but there’s no one there either. Do you know where she is?”
His sluggish brain was beginning to work. “No one there? That’s strange.”
“My next step is to call Paige and Nate and see if they know where she is. I can’t let her walk into this paparazzi mess without preparing her. The papers smell blood, my friend, and they aren’t going to give up easily. After the way Carrie looked when she left the party last night, you’re being cast as the villain in this one.”
Remembering last night, Max took another gulp of hot coffee. “I am the villain.”
Garrett shook his head, his gaze taking in Max’s disheveled appearance. “I’m not sure which of the two of you is more stupid. You or Nate? Both of you don’t have any common sense when it comes to women which is ironic considering the way they chase you. Carrie is an amazing person and I doubt you could do better.”
“Thank you for those kind and supportive words.” Max put as much sarcasm into his tone as possible. “Now what do we do? Lie low? Call a press conference? Pretend last night never happened?”
Snorting, Garrett settled back into a chair. “Make believe isn’t an option after last night. These photos tell a bleak story, one that we need to spin. I’ll put out a press release that the two of you are reluctantly and regretfully parting ways. The usual stuff. It’s a painful and emotional time but you hope the press can give you the privacy you both need to heal and move on. You’ll always respect and care for one another and you’re sad that it didn’t work out. Then you do need to lie low. Don’t date anyone else for awhile. Be boring.”
Sad was a weak word for what Max was feeling. As for dating another woman?
There were no other women in the world.
“I cannot believe that I pay you for this.”
“And quite well too,” Garrett grinned, slapping his knee in what appeared to be glee. “A huge part of public relations is common sense. You know…the stuff you didn’t use any of last night. Now I come in and clean up after you. It’s that simple.”
Everything was complicated.
“I do have to ask you one question before I run off and start giving statements to the press. Is there any chance of a reconciliation? Because if there is, that changes everything.”
Max had literally no idea what he wanted or hoped for. He missed her dreadfully, thought about her all the time, but he couldn’t be with her if she wasn’t going to be honest. He had to be able to trust her. He understood her ambition. If only she’d just told him what she wanted when they’d signed the contract.
An image of her furious expression, stubborn chin, and stormy eyes flashed in front of him and his fingers automatically brushed against his cheek where she’d slapped him.
And rightly so.
“There’s no chance of a reconciliation. I’d wager, in fact, that Carrie might never speak to me again. At least not of her own free will.”
Whistling and rolling his eyes, Garrett tapped a note into his phone. “You must have had one hell of a blowout last night. I know it’s none of my business but what did you argue about?”
Max liked Garrett. The man was a PR genius and he’d helped get Max out of some sticky situations since marrying and divorcing Alana. He’d also helped Nate as well when the shit had really hit the fan. But there was a difference between a professional relationship and a private one. They had the former, not the latter.
“The usual,” Max replied, the lie bitter on his tongue. “You know how it is in this business, Garrett. The girl gets too attached and starts to plan a future while I’m thinking we’re just casual fun. I’m not looking to fall in love and make a huge commitment. Carrie is the marrying kind.”
He’d be alone. Because while Max didn’t trust Carrie to tell him the truth about the role there was one person he trusted even less. Himself.
CHAPTER FORTY-ONE
Paige was more upset than Carrie was. The author was pacing back and forth, her face red against her blonde hair, muttering about horrible medieval torture methods she’d learned about doing research for a book. If Max had had the bad luck to be in the same room with Paige right now Carrie had little doubt he’d be singing soprano.
“Next time I see him, I’m going to knee him right in the balls,” Paige declared, her eyes narrowed and her lips pursed. She stopped and nudged Carrie, who had draped herself over the leather recliner in the
impersonal LA condo. “Why aren’t you mad? He broke your heart.”
More than a few times in the last twenty-four hours, Carrie had asked herself that very question and each time the answer varied slightly. Mostly it was because she was too fucking exhausted to be angry. She’d been traveling round the clock since yesterday and she’d arrived at Paige’s condo needing a shower, a decent meal, and twelve hours of solid sack time. So far she’d had two out of three.
“I’m not sure it’s truly hit me yet,” Carrie replied, her brow scrunched up as thoughts of the last time she’d seen Max raced through her head. “But even if it has, how do I benefit from being mad? It just prolongs the hurt and I don’t want to hurt anymore.”
“I want him to hurt,” Paige said heatedly. “Just as much as he’s hurt you.”
Funny about that…
“I think he is hurting. That last night he appeared to be in great pain. You could see it in his eyes and the trembling of his hands. Even his voice didn’t sound like his own. Of course he thought I was fucking around with Tyler Gaylord so that was probably it.” Carrie sat up and tucked her legs under her. “Frankly I never thought I’d have enough power in Max’s life to make him feel that way. I didn’t walk away because he doesn’t care about me, Paige. I walked away because he doesn’t have a clue what to do about that. I think he was so scared he grabbed onto the first excuse to push me away even if it didn’t make any sense.”
Paige fell back into the couch cushions and huffed out a breath. “It’s no excuse.”
“No, it isn’t. That’s why I left. I think he would eventually figure it out but I can’t be around while he stumbles in the dark, taking a baseball bat to everyone around him. It’s not fair to me.”
Paige’s brows pulled down in a frown. “Why on earth would he think you were having an affair with Tyler?”
Another problem Carrie had turned over in her brain until it hurt. “I did run into Tyler at the movie studio after our meeting and we did go have coffee. Maybe a pap caught us?”
“It didn’t make the papers,” Paige reasoned. “If there was a photo you’d think we would have all seen it.”
Nate strolled into the living room and plopped down next to his wife. “Unless the pap brought it to Garrett and offered to sell it for a price.”
Carrie wasn’t sure why a photographer would do that. “I’m not following.”
Stretching out his incredibly long legs, Nate propped them on the coffee table. “Sometimes a pap can make more money offering an incriminating photo to the celebrity rather than selling it to a tabloid, depending on how dirty it is. I’ve got a call in to Garrett to find out. If Max never saw a picture of you and Tyler, why on earth is he accusing you of sleeping with him? That’s just daft.”
Nate was much calmer than Carrie had imagined. “Thank you for not flying off the handle, by the way. He’s your best friend and I don’t want to come between you two. This mess is mine and I’ll deal with it.”
Laughing heartily, Nate shook his head. “Darling, I am going to kill Max next time I see him. I’ve left several messages with him but he’s – not surprisingly – avoiding my calls. I warned him and he didn’t listen. He never listens.”
There was one more thing that was worrying Carrie. “Technically by leaving early I’m in breach of contract. You don’t think he’ll sue me, do you? Or throw me under the bus in some way? If he thinks I cheated on him with Tyler would he give the story to the tabloids? Because that’s all I need is to have my friends and family see something like that. The breakup photos were bad enough. I had to talk my brother out of catching a plane to London and beating the shit out of Max.”
“He’ll have to stand in line,” Nate said, his jaw tightening. “As for suing you? He better fucking not if he wants to look at this side of the grass. Honestly, if there was a story about you and Tyler it would already be in the papers. That’s what has me so confused. There’s no evidence that you cheated.”
Paige elbowed her husband. “Carrie thinks that Max was looking for a reason to end things.”
Nate exhaled slowly, his expression pensive. “That’s a real possibility. Max has, historically, had lousy taste in women so he doesn’t trust his own judgment. He’s skittish and jumpy when it comes to love. Then he finally gets a good one and he doubts himself. Thinks it can’t be this smooth sailing so he looks for reasons to run.”
Now that was hilarious. Nothing had ever been smooth sailing with Max.
Paige’s gaze darted from Nate to Carrie. “So where does this leave Carrie? What should she do?”
Carrie already knew exactly what she was going to do. She’d made her decision before her flight had landed at LAX. It turned out she had learned from her broken engagement with Mark.
“Nothing. I’m going to do nothing about Max. I’m going to move on with my life and be happy. Life is too short to be miserable because of love and romance. If Max wants to apologize and work things out he knows my phone number, my email address, my Skype handle, my Twitter handle, and he fucking follows me on Instagram. I think he can get me a message in this electronic age. If he’s forgotten all of those he can catch me at the coffee shop or the park. He can call you or Nate. He can literally sit outside the yoga studio I go to every Tuesday night and wait for me there. If he’s really desperate he could take out an ad in the London Times. He has no shortage of ways to contact me, but I will say that so far he hasn’t tried.”
Carrie didn’t expect him to either.
“That was definite.” Paige slapped the cushion she was sitting on. “I’m proud of you.”
“Don’t be. I have a feeling I’m not done crying over the asshole. I’m just too tired to muster up any more tears. Catch up with me tomorrow.”
And the next day, and the next. Max wasn’t someone Carrie was going to get over easily. This was going to take some time.
CHAPTER FORTY-TWO
All Max did for the next few weeks was work, drink, and sleep. It wasn’t so much sleep as an altered consciousness brought on by too much alcohol but it was mildly regenerative. Enough that he was able to function on some level without curling up in a corner and hiding from the world.
Ironically his pain from Carrie’s betrayal and subsequent departure only served to make his performance in the play deeper and more complex. Every night he received a standing ovation, and later he’d leave the theatre and face a throng of gushing fans who wanted him to sign their programs and get a picture. He did it all with a fake smile as if on autopilot. This was his secret and shame.
So when his mother and father wanted to meet him after a performance and have dinner he desperately tried to come up with a viable pretext. He already had plans with an unopened bottle of whiskey. Max loved his parents very much but comforting him was not their forte. Their own relationship had always been volatile and Max had grown up with slamming doors and shouting matches, then all would return to normal for their friends and family. The cracks in the veneer were never to be seen. In the last several years, Karen and Tim seemed to mellow in their marriage and there wasn’t much fussing and fighting. Strangely, the less the couple worked in the movie business, the less they argued. Maybe now that they were semi-retired there was simply less to get mad about. Or maybe they now weren’t competing with each other to see who could become more famous.
But his mother wasn’t having any of his lame excuses, which was how he ended up sitting across from them in his old friend Albert’s restaurant near the South Bank, eating pasta and checking his watch every five minutes.
Karen dove into her rosemary chicken. “Your performance is a triumph, dear. We’re so proud of you. You’re a shoo-in for awards season.”
He’d been hearing that quite a lot lately when people came close enough that he could speak to them. The wise ones gave him a wide berth.
“Thank you but who knows about the nominations. There are many wonderful performances this year.”
“None as good as yours, son,” Tim said with
a shake of his fork. “This is your year.”
This most assuredly was not Max’s year. If it were, he wouldn’t have been divorced and heartbroken all within months of each other. The work, the acting, wasn’t the panacea it had been in the past. When this play was over he might just take off several months or even a year providing he could get out of the contracts he’d already committed to. Alcoholism should scare off the movie studios. He was bound to be a full-blown drunk by the end of the play’s run.
“We’ll see,” Max replied, not wanting to get into an argument with his parents. A headache was beginning to make itself known right behind his eyes, pounding away with tiny hammers.
Albert sidled up to the table and slapped Max on the back. “How’s everything tasting here? Is my staff treating you well?”
“Delicious as always,” Max praised. “My dinner is perfect.”
Karen frowned and lifted up her water goblet. “That waiter hasn’t been by to refill my glass in forever. Can you find him? He seems to have disappeared.”
Snapping his teeth together, Max reined in a nasty response to his mother. Knowing Albert, he wouldn’t allow Max to pay for the meal.
“He was just here, Mother. You said you didn’t want any water.”
Max kept his tone as cool as possible but Karen wasn’t having any of it.
“That was ages ago, and I haven’t seen him since.”
One. Two. Three. Oh hell.
“He’s right there.” Max pointed to the young waiter a few tables away. “He’s been by several times.”
Tim squinted at the server and shook his head. “That’s not him. That’s someone else.”
“It is our waiter,” Max said, his jaw aching and tight.
Albert grinned and made a wave with his hand. “No problem, Mrs. Hayes. I’ll take care of it.” He noticed the empty chair beside Max. “Where’s your pretty girl tonight, my friend? She looked like she was a keeper.”
Swinging On A Star (The Hollywood Showmance Chronicles Book 2) Page 25