by Maggie Marr
“We have a problem.”
Lydia looked toward the seat to her right. A seat that moments before had been vacant but now contained the most unlikely of occupants. Lydia squinted and recognized the long, lean face and the body full of elbows and knees. Was it Lionel or Liam?
“Liam, right?” Lydia whispered.
He nodded.
“How did you know I was here?” She chose random theaters in the Valley at which to attend the opening nights of her films.
“I followed you,” Liam said. His tone was matter-of-fact, as though following one of the producers on his boss’s film was the most normal of Friday-night activities.
Lydia lifted her bucket of popcorn toward Liam, but he shook her off. “So what’s the problem,” she whispered and then stuffed two popcorn kernels into her mouth.
“Bikram doesn’t have the rights to Boundless Bound,” Liam said. “He never finalized the deal with Jeb.”
“Not a problem.” Lydia took a long drink of her soda. Her eyes remained locked to the opening scene of her film. “Nikki owns it; Worldwide will purchase Boundless Bound from her.”
“Not if she’s dead.”
Lydia’s heart fluttered in her chest. Her throat closed tight and the popcorn she’d placed onto her tongue turned from hot buttered goodness to the taste of used newsprint. She turned her head away from Nikki’s aunt, now inhabiting the screen, and locked on to the profile of Liam.
“Jeb is dead. Nikki’s security guard is in Cedars-Sinai. And I hear there’s been another tragic accident.”
“Another?” Lydia whispered out.
Liam nodded and turned his gaze toward Lydia. His eyes were bright in the darkness, his lips in a tight, grim line. “Yes. How is it that nobody seems to be able to figure this out? This connection? That Nikki Solange seems to be the key to all these people dying?”
Lydia’s ribs tightened around her heart. She closed her eyes for the briefest of moments. “Guess it’s a good thing Ted has a security guy permanently attached to Nikki.”
Where was Nikki? Lydia’s heart hammered harder. Where was Christina? “I have to…” Lydia scrambled to pull her phone from her purse. “I have to…” She’d tried earlier that night to ring Christina, to see if she wanted to come with her to the Valley to watch the opening night of Concession to Her Delight, but there’d been no response on Christina’s cell. The call had gone straight to voice mail. Lydia punched in Christina’s name and got the recorded message with her stepdaughter’s voice. Her heart dropped into the giant pit opening in her stomach. Her eyes stared at Liam. “I have to go,” Lydia said and grabbed her purse. She struggled past Liam’s long legs. He reached for the popcorn bucket she’d left on her seat. Lydia rushed out of the theater, dialing Celeste Solange before she hit the door.
*
Lydia pushed open the front door of Christina’s town house. She’d never before used the key that Christina had given her for emergencies. But tonight seemed like an emergency. Her pulse hammered in her chest. Zymar, Christina’s father, was in China, on set. She couldn’t call the police—all she had to tell them was that her stepdaughter had failed to answer her cell twice in one night. And Liam? Who was that wickedly strange creature Bikram had dredged out of some dungeon? He’d followed her, scared her, and then eaten her popcorn? A shudder raced down her spine with the remembrance of his eyes, bright with his morbid disclosures.
Lydia shut the door.
“Christina?” Lydia called. Her cell phone was clutched in her hand with 911 preprogrammed and her finger ready to press Send. She wasn’t normally scared, but having a run-in with a homicidal stalker while working on Vitriol had decreased her panic threshold. There were no limits to crazy where moviemaking was concerned.
Lydia walked toward the staircase and crept up the first step. Her insides jittered with nervousness. The light was on in the upstairs hallway. She pressed her body against the wall and climbed upward. She knew the layout of the town house. She reached the top step and turned toward Christina’s door. There was no light on in her bedroom. Lydia closed her eyes and took a deep breath. She reached for the handle and turned.
“Christina, are you—” Lydia stopped. She bit her bottom lip and then lowered her eyes. She had a talent for walking in on people in flagrante. “Sorry,” Lydia whispered. She’d caught the taut backside of a man’s naked ass as the door opened.
“Come on in, Lydia.”
She knew that voice. The entire world knew that voice. Lydia looked toward the bed on the far side of the room. Christina sat with the sheet pulled up around her chest. She flipped on the light beside her bed. A blush flushed around her neck. “Did something happen? Is Dad okay?”
“You’re…” Lydia looked from Christina toward her bedmate. “You’re in bed with Bradford Madison.”
A slow millions-of-movie-tickets-selling smile slipped across Bradford’s face. He was thinner, and his face seemed more angular and more worn than the boyish handsomeness Lydia remembered from Seven Minutes Past Midnight.
“Sorry.” Lydia shook her head, surprised at her obvious comment and shocked tone. Christina was an adult, Bradford was an adult, she was an adult. So why did Lydia feel so outrageously parental standing in Christina’s room? Because Bradford had, once upon a time, broken Christina’s heart, and after years making movies Lydia knew happy endings didn’t really exist. People didn’t change. Mistakes and hard feelings and broken hearts didn’t miraculously mend and the bad guys didn’t always get caught.
“Nikki? Do you know where Nikki is?” Lydia didn’t want to admit the fact that she’d completely come unglued because Christina failed to answer her cell phone two times, but Liam’s connect the dots with regards to Nikki was definitely worth discussing.
“She’s in Ojai with Rush,” Christina said. She crinkled her eyebrows and tilted her head. “Why?”
Lydia bit her bottom lip. “How much do you actually know about this Rush Nelson?”
Chapter 37
A Fair Trade
Nikki could get used to permanent luxury. She stretched her arms over her head in the king-sized bed. Sunlight streamed through the windows and bathed her in warmth. The spot beside her was empty and cool to her touch. Rush was gone. He’d left her naked and well fucked with a carafe of hot coffee and a promise of his speedy return. She pointed her toes and flexed her calf muscles her femininity appreciated in a grandly satisfying way. She’d slept with a man—not a selfish boy—but a real man. She’d had all of four bedmates, including Rush, in her entire twenty-two years, and the other three had been complete and irrevocable amateurs after what she’d experienced. A Cheshire grin settled across her face. She could get used to this life—every bit of it. A true Hollywood lifestyle. Why had she been so fiercely fighting against luxury? She should sink into the heavenly bed, accept the help of Ted and Aunt Cici. Hadn’t she proven her value, her worth, hadn’t even Lydia Albright, a box-office maven, insisted that Nikki get smart and start using not only her brains but her platinum connections?
Nikki flipped onto her stomach and reached for her cell phone. Today would be a wildly perfect day. She scrolled down her messages.
R isn’t who he says he is. Working security for Ted. So sorry.
Love, C
Iron clasped around Nikki’s chest and a giant hole expanded in her gut. This couldn’t be right… how could… but there were no secrets in Hollywood—none. Nikki pulled her knees to her chest and crossed her arms around her shins. Her throat thickened and the coffee she’d moments before enjoyed left a sour and bitter film on her tongue. She dropped her chin to her knees. Her heart sank. Every time she allowed herself to settle into a feeling of permanence, a feeling that something good had come to her, she got kicked in the gut. When would she learn? There was no permanent goodness, especially not in Hollywood. Slow, hot tears filled the corners of her eyes.
She was an idiot. Who was the guy she’d just fucked? What was his name—was it even Rush? Of course his feelings we
ren’t real. Of course he wasn’t who he said he was. Of course she was a dumb, naïve, straight-off-the-boat hick who couldn’t even figure out when a man was sincere or playing her for a fool. Her bottom lip trembled. Her back broke with three sobs, but then Nikki sniffled and raised her head.
Fuck him.
Rage radiated through her belly. She flung the covers off her legs. Her jaw clenched tight. She wasn’t waiting around for a liar—her security detail? She was fucking a guy who was assigned to be her security detail? Nikki marched across the suite toward the bathroom. She blasted water from the faucet and took a tiny glance over her shoulder toward the mirror, taking in her long, lithe legs, firm ass, and flaming red hair; she was young, she was smart, she was beautiful, and soon she’d be rich—she wasn’t about to be a fool again.
*
“Mr. Nelson’s car please.” Nikki’s shades hid the uncertainty in her eyes. Her hair was still damp and the valet’s gaze lingered over her neck and breasts.
“Excuse me, madame, but you are…”
“Nikki Solange,” she said and took ownership over the last name she shared with her famous aunt. The man’s eyes popped open as though something clicked. The similarity between the two women; the same body, the same sculpt of Nikki’s mouth, the tilt of her chin, the cheekbones.
“Of course, Ms. Solange.” He handed the keys to one of the younger valets, who jetted off toward whatever unseen realm stored Aston Martins and Bentleys.
The black convertible pulled to a sleek stop in front of the hotel. Nikki handed the valet a five and slid into the soft, supple leather of Rush’s car. Yes, she was stealing his car, but that bastard had stolen her dignity. This was more than a fair trade. Her fingers gripped the wheel. The power reverberated around her—a long way from her tiny blue Toyota.
She glanced through the driver’s side window and there, not too far in the distance, was Rush. He dripped sweat—his bare chest glistened in the sun. The bastard looked as though he belonged on a sports-drink ad. His chiseled chest, his six-pack abs, she could even see the hints of the muscles over his hips and the triangle leading to that lovely, lovely cock. Nikki’s toes curled. She hated him right now, but she still wanted to fuck him.
Rush covered his brow with his hand. He squinted. A redhead in his car? Nikki gave him a wicked smile. She pulled down the long drive that led from the luxury spa and hotel, knowing she’d come within inches of where he stood.
“Nikki?” he called and jogged toward her and his car. But when she didn’t stop, when she didn’t turn her head, when she didn’t acknowledge him and his beauty and the pull he had over her, he ran faster. Nikki’s foot pushed down on the accelerator. Maybe Rush needed more exercise.
“Nikki?” he called again, this time his voice louder, stronger, understanding finally what he was witnessing: Nikki leaving Ojai with his car.
She flashed him a quick smile over her right shoulder. “Bye bye, asshole,” she yelled and tossed her hand overhead in a wave.
*
Nikki clattered through the front door of Ted and Cici’s house. Her heels clipped across the marble foyer.
“Aunt Cici?” Nikki yelled upward in the open, two-story atrium.
Mathilde, her aunt’s housekeeper, scurried around the corner from the hallway that led to the kitchen. “Miss Nikki,” she said and plastered an anxious smile to her face. “You’re here. We didn’t expect you.”
“Where’s my aunt? Where’s Ted?” Nikki continued to the semicircle staircase that led to the bedrooms above. “Aunt Cici!” Nikki yelled. Fury had fed her fire all the way from Ojai. With each mile, she recounted all the times that Cici had tried to meddle in her life. Each remembered incident added a bit of fuel to the flame.
“Miss Nikki, your aunt, she was with her chakra healer. She is—”
“Aunt Cici!” Nikki yelled again, midway up the stairs. “The meditation room.” Nikki did a quick turn and pranced down the steps, then headed toward the back of the house. She pushed open the door. The meditation room was in the northwest corner of the house with floor-to-ceiling windows, blackout drapes, a Buddha, and a gong. Rosemary incense wafted from the room and recorded Gregorian monks chanted om.
Gamush, Aunt Cici’s chakra healer, walked around Cici’s empty Satsung pillow, wafting sage in the air.
“She’s not in here,” Nikki said. Mathilde was glued to Nikki’s side.
“Miss Nikki, I try to tell you. She was in here. Now she is with Mr. Ted.”
With the mention of Ted’s name, Nikki’s mouth dried. Ted was the obsessive paranoid freak who catered to her aunt’s biggest fears. He fed those fears by providing her aunt with security chips, monitoring chips, guard dogs, security guys with guns and now… Rush.
Nikki spun on her heel and headed toward Ted’s home office, located on the other end of the backside of the house. Good, Ted and Aunt Cici were together. Nikki would discuss what Ted had done to her with both of them. Shame wafted through her—even if it had been Ted’s intent for Rush to foster a “relationship” with Nikki, she had certainly fallen right into the plan. Fallen? She’d jumped—into Rush’s big, beautiful arms. Rush was a liar. The man lied for a living. How many women had Rush bedded in his job as security?
Nikki turned the corner and two giant mahogany doors loomed before her. She didn’t bother to knock. She yanked on the door and stumbled forward into the room, then steadied herself and pulled on the waist of her sundress. Her mouth set in a hard line, and she glanced toward her aunt on the left and Ted behind his desk. They looked at her, then toward each other, and finally their eyes veered past her to the right of the doors she’d entered. Heat prickled on the back of her neck. He was here. Rush was here. Heat coiled in her belly despite how much she hated him. Want pulled her toward him despite her anger. She turned her head and stared right at him.
*
“I’m not the bad guy here,” Ted said. His voice was calm, soothing. Nikki might have believed Ted if the hot imprints of Rush’s fingertips weren’t still seared into her skin. “And neither is Rush.”
Heat flamed through Nikki’s belly and breached her face. Not the bad guy? Her uncle had hired a man to fuck her—okay, maybe not fuck her—but to become her supposed boyfriend so that he and her aunt could keep tabs on her. That was pretty bad.
“Did you know?” Nikki eyed Aunt Cici. She couldn’t hide the anger and pain that seared through her. Aunt Cici dropped her eyes for an instant, then met Nikki’s gaze.
“I just found out Rush’s real identity.”
While the actual words might be true, Nikki realized Aunt Cici had known Ted was doing things he thought would protect Nikki. Things that Nikki had adamantly refused and told both Ted and Cici she didn’t want.
Ted sat at his desk. His long, lean fingers pressed into a pyramid under his chin. “Your protection is paramount to your aunt and to me.”
He didn’t raise his voice, and it was the lack of emotion, the utter matter-of-fact tone that cracked at Nikki’s heart. Her value, according to Ted, was in relation to her impact on her aunt. Her entire value seemed to always be in direct relation to her aunt. Her value to the studio, her value to her aunt’s friends, her value to Ted and now... She turned her head and looked at Rush, and now even her value to Rush. Her jaw tightened. She really didn’t have any value aside from being Cici Solange’s niece.
“You didn’t tell us about the break-in.” Cici’s voice quivered. “I had to hear about it from Lydia.”
Nikki’s heart palpitated and she closed her eyes. She filled her chest with a deep breath of air and then released it and let her gaze land on Aunt Cici.
“I didn’t want to worry you. I didn’t want—”
“You didn’t want us to do what you knew we would do,” Ted interrupted.
Anger and shame bubbled in her chest. She wasn’t a child. She was a grown woman.
“I didn’t want you following me. Tailing me. Hiring some goon.” Nikki jerked her head toward Rush without looking a
t him. Nikki fought to control the quiver in her lip and the hint of pain in her voice. “No, I didn’t want any of it, and I still don’t.” Nikki let her eyes lock onto Rush. “And I especially don’t want him.”
Her words were a lie. A blatant lie that needed to be told. She did want Rush. Even in this moment with anger raging through her chest—anger directed at Aunt Cici, anger directed at Ted, anger directed at Rush—she still wanted him. Nikki wanted that hard male body pressed against her. She wanted those lips tracing across her neck and her body. She wanted his hands pushing and pulling and pressing into every inch of her skin.
Rush’s eyes remained emotionless. He didn’t move. He looked at her, but when she looked into his eyes, now, so far away from Ojai, it was as if she looked into an empty black hole, void of emotion, void of feeling, void of connection. Nikki swallowed. Their night together had been a sham. Rush’s feelings for her, all of the moments, the sex, the words, merely an act to get close to her, to do Ted’s bidding, for Rush to do his job. He wasn’t much better than Adam really—Adam had used her to get publicity for Sick Puppy, Rush had used her to keep his job.
Nikki’s throat tightened and pinpricks of heat danced behind her eyes. She tore her gaze from Rush. She wouldn’t let any of them see her cry. She wouldn’t give them the satisfaction of seeing her crumble. Even her aunt had betrayed her. She guessed Christina was right—you really couldn’t trust anyone in Hollywood.