Honestly, the entire sideshow was fairly brilliant.
It was a shame she was going to have to pull back the curtain.
C hapter Seven
Summer had been correct about one thing—scoring an interview with Camdyn Taylor was proving to be a bigger challenge than Harley anticipated. She was able to get plenty of face time with the conference organizer and even some of the other attendees, but couldn’t score an interview with the woman herself. She had Kenny on standby at the hotel just in case an opportunity presented itself, but when Camdyn finally arrived on Thursday night, she was ushered straight into her room and no one could get close to her.
She managed to sneak over to the megachurch where the conference was being held on Friday morning to try to figure out where the weak spots in her defenses might be, but she was met by a very firm Lex Fairmont from Camdyn’s publishing company, definitely doing his best to handle his star. Harley attempted flirting with him to no avail. Even when she asked him to lunch (not for business, but for pleasure), he had an excuse. “No interviews,” he kept insisting. “Camdyn has a lot of work to do, and I don’t want her to have any interruptions.”
All the blockading of the rising star caused Harley to believe that her assumption was correct, and they were attempting to hide Camdyn from the public eye. Still, there seemed to be no getting past Lex that morning, so she left to finish the rest of her daily assignments and vowed to return later in the evening.
Sneaking out of work a bit earlier than normal, she returned to her house and dressed in a very ordinary pair of jeans, pairing them with a purple t-shirt claiming “I Am Not Ashamed” that she got from a youth lock-in at a church when she was in high school. If she wanted her plan to work, she needed to look like she might work at that megachurch. Not that she had any idea what that church’s workers would dress like—she hadn’t even been inside a church for at least five years, if not more.
She began to drive the BMW toward her destination, but soon realized her car was running on fumes. Pulling up at the first gas station, she exited the vehicle and grabbed the nozzle on the gas pump while she punched the buttons on the keypad. Mentally plotting her attack plan in her brain, she heard the roar of a motorcycle pull up on the other side of the pump, and she turned quickly to avert her face, in case someone saw her wearing that ridiculous getup.
The muffled sound of someone humming came from the reverse side of that pump, and she tried to ignore it. After a second, though, she turned her head just a bit and dared a peek around the side of the island only to see a very familiar old bike. Taking a step to her left, she nearly ran straight into the man she couldn’t seem to forget.
“Ryan,” she stammered, backing up a tad. The tattoo across his chest was visible at the top of his white V-neck T-shirt, and although it was a rather warm day, he was wearing a black leather jacket.
“Harley,” he acknowledged. “Wait, I guess I should clarify—it is okay if we use the same gas pump, right? I wouldn’t want to taint you or anything.”
“What?” She felt her cheeks burning and was immediately angry that he could instantly cause such a reaction.
“Where are you going dressed like that?” He stepped closer as her eyes widened in response. Tonight he didn’t smell like food. He smelled one-hundred percent like heaven, or at least like masculine body wash and some kind of sporty deodorant.
“I’m undercover, of course,” she blurted, feeling about ten years old and completely ridiculous.
“Are you ashamed?” he wanted to know. Glancing around to make sure no one was overhearing their conversation, she reluctantly returned her gaze to his cobalt-blue eyes.
“Why should I be?” She couldn’t determine what was causing her more frustration—the fact that he was taunting her, or the fact that her heart was pounding.
“Your shirt,” he said with a sideways smile, pointing down. Glancing at her clothes, she let out a short sigh.
“Very funny.” He was looking at her intently enough that she felt like shrinking. “Are you…” Edging towards him, she pulled herself within inches of his face. “Are you wearing guyliner?!”
Rather than reply, his warm fingers wrapped around her upper arm. “Come with me tonight,” he entreated softly, his scent clouding her mind. She forced a shaky breath, and he responded by stooping a bit so they were eye to eye. “You don’t have to ride the bike. Follow me with your… Wow, you have a Beemer. Come with me? Please?”
“I can’t,” she managed to whisper. “I’ve got this very important work thing—”
“On a Friday night?” The feel of his fingers against her skin was threatening to change her mind in a hurry.
“Yes, undercover, remember?”
“Of course, undercover. I forgot. Are you raiding a prayer group? Infiltrating a church camp, maybe?” He smiled, but he didn’t back away. She tried to balance being slightly annoyed with being enthralled by his nearness, but it wasn’t working the way she intended.
“Are you going to an all-night rave with that guyliner?” Her jab didn’t have the punch she planned, because he laughed, his breath hitting her cheek and sending her emotions into overdrive. “I have legitimate work to do, I’m not trying to be a jerk.”
“You mean I’m wearing you down?” When she didn’t answer and attempted to look away, he tipped her chin up and forced her eyes toward his. “The universe is pulling us together.”
“The universe…that’s completely preposterous.”
“Yeah, I know,” he admitted, releasing her arm, “but it was worth a shot.”
Pulling herself away from him, she grabbed the nozzle from the gas pump and shoved it back into place, twisting her gas cap closed. For a few seconds he stayed on his side of the pump, and she was slightly afraid that he would drive off without another word. The thought was jointly terrifying and unbearably disappointing.
“Hey,” she said awkwardly, poking her head around the side of the gas tank. “Um, just so you know, I like the guyliner. On you, I mean—not for the masses.”
He was leaned over messing with his motorcycle, so she stood there awkwardly until he straightened and turned his eyes toward her.
“Bonham Station,” he stated with a near-perfect grin, “if you change your mind.” Shoving his wallet in his pocket, he straddled his bike and grabbed his helmet. “Change your mind, Harley.” He gave her a parting wink before placing the helmet on his head, and then he was gone.
Getting into the megachurch wasn’t difficult, and she managed to pretend to be part of the catering team to sneak her way into Camdyn’s dressing room. Unfortunately, the lady of the hour wasn’t in the room at that moment, so she snuck out and investigated the back hallways, trying to make an escape plan should she need one.
Eventually she retreated into a side hallway where she had seen some of the others congregating earlier, and as though she were witnessing a miracle, the bathroom door swung open and out popped a pretty blonde, rubbing her hands together like she had just washed them. Recognizing her instantly, Harley moved forward to take advantage of the opportunity, but she suddenly halted when a couple other reporters appeared, chanting Camdyn’s name and trying to get her attention.
She knew Camdyn wouldn’t recognize a local reporter by face or name, but the others might, and she didn’t want her cover to be blown. Leaning forward, she allowed her hair to fall over her face as she rushed toward her prey, grabbed her by the elbow, and shuffled her toward the back hallway and the escape alley she had just been examining.
While the supposed authoress looked a little startled and uneasy for a moment, she relaxed as Harley explained that she was a church volunteer and had been catering her dinner. In fact, lying came very easily as she stated that Lex Fairmont had asked her to supply the items for the room, and she felt a little guilty when she realized Camdyn was buying her story hook, line, and sinker.
As they stepped into the room together, Harley studied the pretty blonde with the random curls who seemed gra
teful for the assistance while also coming across as slightly awkward and nervous—nothing like she seemed on television. In fact, with Harley in the room, she almost appeared to be mentally crying out for help as she scanned the room. Something was definitely making her uneasy.
Smiling to herself, Harley began recording their conversation on the device she held in her pocket. “Can I get you anything?”
“No, everything is great.” The presumed actress sat in front of her laptop as Harley leaned against the wall and studied her. On television she appeared so self-assured and confident. In person she looked much the same, but her personality seemed different somehow.
“Aren’t you going to watch the conference?” It was just a little prod, but Harley hoped it might get her talking.
“I doubt it. I’ve got way too much work to do.”
Sensing an opening, Harley settled into a chair. “I figured that’s why you didn’t want any of those reporters bothering you earlier.”
Camdyn glanced up from her laptop and laughed quietly. “Maybe someday I’ll have something useful to say, and then I’ll talk to them.”
“You don’t think you have anything useful to say?” Harley wondered, feigning surprise. “I’m sure they wouldn’t have asked you to be the speaker tomorrow if that was the case.”
Something in that statement must have clicked with Camdyn, because she seemed to visibly relax and let her guard down a bit. “They probably have expectations for me,” she admitted, “but I’m not sure I’ll live up to them.”
Is she going to flat-out admit to everything? Wow, it sounds like it.
“But you’re always so funny on television,” Harley tried, seeing if she could get her to bite.
“That’s the thing,” she replied breezily, as though she were chatting with a friend. “It’s a fluke. Everything I do is a complete accident. Practically televised miracles, if you want to know the truth.”
Fluke, fake—the words are very close. She almost admitted the whole thing is a sham.
“That can’t be true,” Harley protested, adding a slight laugh for good measure. “I saw you on the set of Almost Midnight with Jamie Price, and it was obvious he thinks the world of you.”
Maybe not the best direction of the conversation, because Camdyn sobered a bit at the mention of the television appearance, visually withdrawing a bit. In fact, her mood darkened quickly enough that Harley wondered if she had overstepped her bounds.
“Do you mind if I have a bottle of water?” Harley tried to stall as she considered the best way to reword her attack. A sad smile seemed a good way to indicate that she was in solidarity, so she gave it her best shot. “I feel for you, really. People are so cruel. I’ve heard some of them saying you made the whole thing up. Some think your whole persona is a publicity stunt. They think you’re a fraud. In fact, I’ve even heard people say that you’re not the one who writes the books—that you’re just an actress hired by Fairmont Publishing.” Taking a breath, she waited as those words sunk in before she continued quietly. “You’ve got to admit, from the outside looking in, it looks pretty strange.”
She seemed to take that criticism to heart, because she reached up and grabbed a fistful of curls and paused before she spoke. “I guess I’ve never really thought about it.”
“And that picture on that blog with your doctor…”
The mention of the doctor must have hit a nerve, because all hints of friendliness slipped off of Camdyn’s face.
“You really seem to know a lot about me,” she leveled at Harley, eyeing her suspiciously.
Fake you’re a crazy fan, Harley.
“Of course. We’re all huge fans around here. If I’d known I would bump into you in the hall, I would have brought my book in for you to sign.”
Will she buy it?
Harley stared at those blue eyes for a split second before adding to the conversation. “Do you know what you’re speaking about tomorrow night?”
“No.” It was a quick reply, and Harley was so surprised by it that she leaned forward slightly in her chair.
“What do you mean? They haven’t given you the speech yet?”
This is it! She’s going to admit it!
Laughing, Camdyn rolled her eyes a bit. “I only wish they’d give me a speech! Then I wouldn’t have to write my own.”
“Well, why haven’t you written it yet? It seems to me that a bestselling author like you could have a speech done in nothing flat.”
Cause you’re not an author, right? That admission will have Summer’s head spinning.
“It’s not as simple as that,” she said, twisting her wedding ring around in circles on her finger. “Writing a fiction work is taking me out of myself—pretending to be someone else. Giving something worthwhile as Camdyn Taylor is a little more difficult.”
“Why?”
“Because I don’t know what I have to offer anyone,” she admitted with a sigh, and Harley thought she saw a sheen of tears building in her eyes. “I’m here in this huge church, and they think I have words of wisdom, or hilarious stories, or some kind of insight into pop culture or the media. The truth is, though, I don’t have anything figured out. Lately, I’ve barely been able to pick myself up off the floor most days. I’m not even sure who I’m supposed to be.”
The sincerity with which she spoke those words pricked Harley’s conscience, and she felt a stab of guilt cross her body.
“But you know you’re supposed to be Camdyn Taylor,” Harley suggested gently, chiding herself for asking the question when Camdyn seemed slightly distraught, but she could see her own chance at the exclusive floating right out the window. All her preparation and presumptions would be for nothing, and wasn’t that what good reporters did? Push into the forefront when things got uncomfortable?
While Harley was wallowing in her own self-loathing, Camdyn simply wrinkled her nose a bit as she stared at the woman she thought was a volunteer. “Well, I know I am Camdyn Taylor, like it or not. I’ve just got to figure out what that means.”
The statement that she was trying to figure out who she was struck Harley at the heart as though the question ricocheted off Camdyn and somehow penetrated her own soul.
But you know you’re supposed to be Harley Laine.
And who is that, really? A sneaky reporter trying to pull the rug out from under a seemingly nice person? By lying? In a church?
“I guess I better get out of your way so you can get your writing done,” Harley quickly announced, rising to her feet in an effort to escape the room. If she stayed much longer, she might wind up being the one to confess.
After politely shaking Camdyn’s hand and exchanging some pleasantries, she pulled the door closed behind her and leaned against it briefly while she thought about her intentions. Did she really want to try to destroy someone simply to rise above Summer Davis? The woman behind that door didn’t seem fake or manipulative. No, she seemed rather sad and slightly confused. She almost wished she could go back in and try to help her, or see if she honestly needed something.
“What are you doing?” she heard from her right, and she turned her neck to see the representative from Camdyn’s publishing company rushing toward her. “I told you no interviews today.”
“Don’t worry, Lex,” she assured him, stepping away from the door. “Just a friendly conversation. Nothing newsworthy, I promise you that.”
C hapter Eight
Feeling rather frazzled, Harley departed the conference and headed across town to Tiny’s, merely looking for a little normalcy. It briefly crossed her mind that her version of normal had become being fed greasy food by a giant man who called her Miss Harley and sharing chocolate with a homeless person.
With her green military jacket pulled tightly across the T-shirt that she would not be caught dead wearing in public, she slowly ambled up to the sidewalk where Duke was sitting on the park bench. She had often wondered what his story was, but he was tight-lipped. When she dared to ask him the week before, he responded
by saying, “Sorry, ma’am—Duke doesn’t give interviews. Besides, I prefer the art of listening to talking about oneself.”
It was obvious he could see her coming, because those steel-gray eyes followed her movement as she stepped to the bench.
“Your date must have ended early tonight,” he surmised, his gravelly voice containing a hint of playfulness. She sat beside him, staring out into the street.
“Actually, I’m still looking for a date, as it turns out.”
“Well, Ryan’s not here tonight,” Duke offered, causing Harley’s pulse to jump at the name. She had no idea whether she was simply transparent or Duke was trying to be funny, but she felt terribly self-conscious either way.
“That’s very interesting, of course, but I had another date in mind.”
“Pray tell who that lucky young man is, Miss Laine.”
“My friend Duke,” she breathed quietly. His eyes lingered on her, and she attempted to give him a tremulous smile. “Would you do me the honor of eating dinner with me?”
Reaching up to stroke his beard, he cleared his throat. “Now, you don’t want to eat your dinner with this old codger.”
“You’re mistaken. Besides, you’re not going to make me eat alone, are you?”
He wrapped his arms around his broad frame under his charcoal-colored jacket, pondering her request. “Now what will people think if they see you eating dinner with me, young lady?”
Standing up, she placed herself in front of him and shrugged her shoulders. “I’d imagine they’d think that I’m a very lucky woman. Now are you getting up or aren’t you? Begging is not something I do for just anyone.”
“Please, don’t stoop to begging,” he insisted, grunting a bit as he rose. “I wish I had a suit jacket since I’m accompanying such a beautiful woman to dinner.”
Laughing, she latched her fingers onto his arm. “I dare say Tiny would kick anyone out who showed up in a suit jacket.” He didn’t bother replying as they strolled toward the front door, where he pulled it open and held it for her like a gentleman. She breathed a short “thank you” as she located a table and stepped forward. Duke was insistent upon pulling out her chair, so she let him do so before he sat down across from her.
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