And of course, I spotted Meghan across the room.
"This is the most incestuous bunch of people," I muttered. And heard a laugh from next to me. "Shit."
"Don't worry—I have weirdly exceptional hearing, and I feel the same way."
She was shorter than me. Very pretty, tanned, confident. And… "Wait, you're on TV."
She smiled. "I'm Gabrielle."
Gabrielle Weston. She was a TV star. She was really hot right now, according to the magazines Brayden had lying around. "I'm Ryn."
"Oh, the artist. Brayden's friend." She grabbed my hand and smiled even more warmly. "I've got your Color Study in my living room."
"Oh, wow. Cool." I never knew what I was supposed to say to that, but she said, "My manager dragged me here because the book's movie rights have been optioned." She shrugged. "I'm considering this an open audition since Jared has a say in the casting, which is really unusual."
It was, but it made sense to me. It definitely wasn’t the norm for the author of the book-turned-movie to have much of a say in the film—that’s what Jared had told me. But Jared’s family was wealthy, and in the film industry. Jared had always been working on screenplays as well as novels, and he’d sold a short-lived sitcom at one point. It wouldn’t surprise me if it was his family’s pull that allowed Jared to have more of a role than he probably should have.
I made some more small talk with her, until her manager came up and introduced himself, then said, "Gabby, Jared wants to meet you."
She handed me her card. "Call me for lunch so we can talk art, okay?"
Before I could promise anything, I turned to see Jared walking to meet Gabriella halfway. I turned and tried to be invisible, not ready to see him just yet. I heard Jared's voice, the slow, southern drawl, and humiliation flashed through me.
God, I thought I was past that. I edged into the crowd until Lucas's hand closed around my elbow.
"Where are you going?"
"Hungry," I lied. "I also need some air. It's too much in here."
Lucas knew what I meant. He pointed to a doorway. "There's an open foyer through there. Go hang out for a few—I'll hunt down some food for you but there’s a line. Call me if you need me sooner than later."
I didn't wait—I headed toward the open space and breathed deeply once I got there. It was quiet and private. A haven in the middle of the claustrophobia of the party happening on the other side of the wall. The door that led to the hallway of the building was open for better airflow and I could see out to the back set of elevators.
I leaned against a bookshelf by the opened door and closed my eyes.
When I opened them, I wasn't alone. Jared was there. "I thought I saw you earlier." He moved toward me, murmuring, "Fuck, I hate these things. I drank too much and I thought I was seeing things…"
And I thought I was the dramatic one. "You invited me, remember?"
"Right, yes. But I didn't know if you'd come."
"I RSVP'd," I said, but we both knew that didn't guarantee anything. It was kind of nice to see him admitting how unsure he was about me coming, how badly he seemed to want me there. "I didn't know your publisher would throw you such a big party."
He gave a small smile. "Way to massage my ego."
"I didn't think it needed to get any bigger."
"Ouch," he said, hand over his heart. "I guess I deserved that."
He did. The way I remembered it, at that time I'd massaged it way too much, until I'd realized I was part of a stable of women for him, all eager to heap praise on his latest manuscript.
He laughed. "God, Ryn, you always made me laugh. I'm such a moody fuck and you didn't let me get away with it."
He ran a hand through his short, dark hair. He was too close—literally. Too close to my truth. He was the kind of guy you ended up admitting too much to. He was like an archeologist, always digging, sifting through conversations, using what he discovered and capturing it in his books.
His book. This latest one was poised be an immediate, huge commercial success. There'd be a movie. International attention.
He'd already had some literary success but now, with this commercial success, he would become the sell-out he'd said he'd never wanted to be. But before I could remind him of this, a woman with a pinched face and severely pulled-back hair stuck her head in the doorway and said, "Jared, it's time for your speech."
She left without acknowledging my presence after he nodded at her. Then he told me, "That's my agent. She keeps me on track."
"She looks like a bitch."
"She was, until I made her money."
"Go ahead, they're waiting. It was really good to see you."
"Ryn, please." He took a step in my direction and his hand wound around my wrist gently. "Stay. I'd like you to hear me speak."
Thankfully he let go of me and moved away just as fast as he'd come in. My pulse raced, fight or flight, as though he was bringing me danger rather than asking me to listen to a speech.
Don't ignore your gut, Ryn.
I moved out of the quiet space and just enough into the crowd to hear the rustle of excitement beginning to spread about the impending announcement.
The contents and cover of Jared's newest book had been kept secret.
Gabrielle ended up in front of me. I tugged on her sleeve and she turned and smiled.
"How did the meeting go?" I asked.
"Really well. Like, really well."
"You sound like you got the part."
She shrugged modestly. "Nothing's official yet, but he did share the premise with me. And I've got a copy of the script." A woman began introducing Jared into a microphone, causing the room to quiet down considerably. "I'd share spoilers with you, but you're about to find out about as much as I know."
Jared got up in front of the crowd, looking very comfortable there. "I want to thank you all for your interest in my newest book, Over My Shoulder. The book is ready for release tonight at midnight, and you'll all leave here with copies. The movie script has also been finished for some time. We've begun the process of casting and I've actually given out some scripts tonight to prospective actors, so I'm really thrilled. This book—the first in what will be a trilogy—really pushed my boundaries, and will push yours as well. It's a dark, psychological thriller, and I know it's my best work to date."
I sighed mentally and wished I was anywhere but here. Once the speech was over, I was so out of here.
"The premise of this book is a woman with amnesia," Jared explained, and a strange buzz started between my ears. "Our narrator can't remember anything before the age of seventeen. She's an author—a relentless author, I'd call her. She can't help but write. She gets famous with the help of a benefactor, but her past comes back to haunt her, and our hero helps to heal her, so to speak, by discovering where she really came from."
A soft "ohhh" went rippling through the crowd at the same time a chill went down my spine. I managed to breathe.
"It sounds fascinating," Gabrielle whispered. "I can't wait to read it. I had to sign a nondisclosure about the script but I'm sure it's going to mirror the book closely." I was frozen. There was no way Gabrielle could miss it, and she frowned. "Ryn, come, you're pale as hell. You need to sit."
No, I shouldn't have come here. "I need to sit," I echoed. "I'll be okay. You stay. Mingle," I told her, my voice surprisingly steady as I made my way back toward the empty space where I'd first talked to Jared tonight. Except I moved farther, through the room and headed toward the doorway to lead me to the hallway with the elevator.
I'd become fodder for his book.
His goddamned book was about a man who wants to help a woman find her lost past. Enough would be changed to protect me…for now. But I knew.
"Is the heroine, Kaia, based on a real-life person?" one of the reporters was asking, and it was enough to make me halt my march out of the apartment. Another reporter called out, "An ex-girlfriend, maybe?"
The audience laughed, but not loudly. They were all inte
nt on hearing Jared's answer, which came after a momentary pause.
"Authors are always asked where we get our ideas, or whether we base our characters on real people. The answers are everywhere and yes, in that order, but that doesn't mean Kaia is based on any single person. There are parts of me in that character—in all my characters. And they always say, write what you know."
It was a good answer, but no one believed him. No one wanted to believe him.
"It's definitely based on a real-life person," I heard someone say.
"So, what do you think?" I heard Jared ask next and I turned, because he was asking me.
"You're kidding me, right?" I hissed at him. I had my arms drawn tightly against myself but I unwound them when I saw he was holding two glasses, and extending one in my direction. At least the asshole had the decency to realize this would be a blow to me, but not enough decency not to write the damned book in the first place. "What the hell, Jared?"
He sighed. "Look, I never planned this. Not when you first told me," he said, his voice quiet. "But then I saw your paintings at Brayden's gallery—a few years ago—and I started thinking about the story you'd told me. Frankly, I always thought you made it up. But it didn't matter because I was going to change it."
"But you didn't."
"Some of the details are changed—it's not a memoir. It's labeled fiction. I made up a past for you," he said helpfully.
"How awesome of you, really," I said, my voice dripping sarcasm and hatred at once. "You're so thoughtful. Makes me all warm and fuzzy inside. You asshole. And I can't believe you planned the release around my show."
"Well, just in case." At least he had the decency to look sheepish about that. It still made me want to punch him, especially when he added, "You'd get a shitload of free publicity if we did link our careers."
He didn't get that there might be a lot of danger involved. That's how wrapped up in himself he was.
I didn't know if Gabrielle, or whatever actress got the role of me, would be in danger as well. I'd think anyone playing me would be. Then again, I didn't know anything and Jared's made-up past was just that.
I flashed back to that Sunday afternoon, the day after I'd exposed what I knew about my past to Jared…and as he dropped me back at my Catskills apartment he decided that he couldn't be "tied down."
I knew it was partially the truth but I still hated him for saying it, probably because he wasn't the right man to help me leave my past behind. I'd wanted to seem more worldly, like of course I didn't want a relationship either, but I couldn't pull it off fully. It had been like a knife through the gut.
We’d been dating for six months up until that point. He’d been living in the city and commuting up to the Catskills because the quiet was necessary for his muse—his words, not mine. But on that particular weekend, he’d taken me away, farther upstate to a romantic inn, and that’s when I decided I’d spill my guts about my past.
I’d thought it would make us closer. That it would change things. I’d wanted to show that I needed him, because he’d always said, “You don’t need me the way I need you.”
Which was, of course, a lie on both ends.
And when I’d stood there, stunned at his words, he’d reassured me with, "Ryn, it's okay. You're young. We need to explore ourselves, spend time with other people. You'll thank me one day." But he’d also smirked a little as he said that, and it made him look more handsome. His face was sculptured planes. His lips were perfect. I'd fought the urge to close my eyes and trace them with my fingertips.
I realized I'd done that zone-out thing, and that he didn't seem to mind. He didn't find it cutely amusing or stupidly spacey like most. "You don't belong here. You have talent, Ryn."
"Thank you," I'd managed. "But I like it here. It's nice."
"You won't grow with nice."
I'd gotten angry then, at both myself and him. "Maybe I'm happy the way I am."
"Maybe you're lying to yourself. I can't figure out why, but it can't be as important as your art. Maybe you're not a true artist. Maybe you're just another sad girl thinking she's something she's not."
His words had hit home, echoed in my ears then and now, as though my past was standing next to me. As if I'd been transported back to a place I'd never wanted to be.
At that moment, Meghan came into the quiet room and put her arm through Jared's purposely. Possessively, even, as she smiled at my discomfort, but it quickly dropped from her face when she looked me up and down and noticed my hands fisted at my sides.
"This is Meghan," Jared said, oblivious to our tension—or pretending to be.
"This was a private conversation," I pointed out.
"He tells me everything," Meghan informed me smugly.
That wasn't true—I saw the denial in Jared's eyes that she was refusing to see. But that didn't mean she wasn't smart enough to put two and two together, if not tonight, then soon.
She smirked, as though reading my mind.
How long had she been hanging out by the door, listening to our conversation? Long enough, I felt, to have way too much of my private information. "We're done here," I announced to him. I took a step toward her and she moved back behind Jared, which had me smirking this time.
Sometimes, violence was the answer—the only answer.
To an outsider, we could be talking about anything, I supposed. I kept my voice level, my expression neutral so as not to give anything away in front of the crowd mere feet away. Whether or not this would fool Ann Maslow, who I noticed watching us through the doorway, was anyone's guess, but she wasn't stupid. This was how gossip started, and whether or not the gossip put me at the center of Jared's book or in his bed, it didn't really matter. I was standing between Jared and Meghan, and I was obviously angry.
Jared followed my gaze to Ann and he immediately put on his publicity face. Meghan locked her fingers around his biceps and smiled too as he said, "Ann, are you enjoying the party?"
"Very much. I didn't mean to interrupt—"
"Bullshit," I muttered into my drink, and I'm sure she heard. Meghan glared at me for not playing along but, as everyone knew, I wasn't good at that.
"But I knew I'd have to corner you to get any kind of exclusive quote," Ann finished with a glance in my direction. "I didn't know you and Ryn Taylor knew one another."
I glanced at Jared. We hadn't come up with any kind of cover story. I knew the truth was always better, but in this case, the truth was way too damaging. "We just met tonight. Brayden thought I'd enjoy this party," I said brightly, then raised my drink in a toast-like fashion to Jared. And then I downed it and walked away.
I had bigger things to be scared of than Ann Maslow. So did she—she just didn't know it.
I walked away from the three of them—they deserved each other—and I immediately ran into Lucas. He'd been waiting just outside the room holding a plate of food, and I wondered if he could sense the tension.
If the look on his face was any indication, the answer was yes. But all I could do was lean on him and say, "This has been such a shitty day." But then I looked up into his dark blue eyes and added, "Except for the shower."
"Let's get out of here and take another one, then," Lucas said, and began to steer me out of the apartment.
"Hey, wait up, Ryn."
Lucas and I both turned at the sound of Jared's voice and then Jared was handing me a copy of his book. "I'm so glad you came. I think you'll enjoy it. Really."
He walked away before I could say anything. I wanted to drop the book on the floor but I needed to read it, had to know what I was up against, so I clutched my new, made-up past against my chest and let Lucas take me home.
Chapter Eleven
My head was spinning. I could barely breathe, but I forced myself to put one foot in front of the other and let Lucas guide me out of Jared's building and into his car. I was still clutching Jared's book to my chest, hating to touch it but unable to let it go.
"What the hell’s going on with you, Ryn?
" Lucas was asking. When I looked at him, he'd reached over me and pulled the seatbelt over my arms, and the book, since I hadn't been responding.
Maybe I was in shock. I nodded, or at least I think I did. Lucas stared at me for another long moment and then he took off. I didn't bother to ask him to take me to my apartment. He wouldn't—not with the state I was in, and it didn't matter, really. As long as I had the book, which I had to read immediately. I needed to know what I was up against.
I closed my eyes and conjured up the vision of Meghan threading her arm through Jared's. What if Jared told Meghan about my past? And even if he hadn't, it wasn't that much of a leap for her to put two and two together, not after she'd seen my interaction with Jared.
"What's got you all fucked up?" Lucas asked finally, once he'd settled me inside his apartment. I barely remembered him leading me inside or sitting me down at the table, but here I was, still clutching the damned book.
I swallowed hard and put it down on the table between us. Lucas frowned and stared at it and I knew I'd have to spell it out, at least a little bit. "The premise…the seventeen-year-old girl with amnesia. He said it wasn't based on anyone he knew, but he's lying."
Lucas's expression hardened. "Jesus Christ. That fucking bastard. This book…this is about you?"
"I don't know how much. Jared said he made up a past for me, so not entirely," I managed. But I couldn't deny that the story was based on the past—or the lack of—I'd told him about, however loosely. He'd taken liberties, but it wouldn't take much to connect us…and anyone who did some digging would discover my life seemed to begin at age seventeen. Yes, Susan and Arnold did their best to fashion a past—I was adopted post-Katrina after being orphaned, and my records were destroyed in the hurricane. I became a fault of the system, a child who fell through the cracks, thankfully into a wonderful situation.
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