by Lexi Ryan
“You and…Harry?” I sound like a child trying to comprehend a complex physics concept, and Mom looks one hundred percent blissed out.
“Yes. Can you believe it? He can’t hear us,” Mom says. “He loves those noise-canceling headphones.”
My heart lurches as she steps around the couch and into his line of vision. She pulls the headphones from his ears. “Harry, my daughter is here.”
Does she see it? The way his jaw goes slack and his face goes pale? He’s too good, though, and it’s only there for a fraction of a second before he replaces his shock with a smile. Harry Evans is a lifelong actor who works magic on stage; he’s certainly not going to be bested in a living room.
He stands and offers his hand as if I’m a stranger. As if we didn’t spend years secretly meeting in his trailer. Is this some sort of sick joke? My stomach churns. I can’t even speak, and I certainly won’t take his hand.
He covers my shock by pretending to be shocked himself. “What a lovely surprise to see you again. How long has it been? Months? Years?”
I look to my mom and back to Harry. “Are you kidding me?”
“He’s here for me, Emma.”
Harry’s eyes bore into mine. I see the warning there. That was the agreement, right? He said we needed to keep our relationship quiet. He said he’d be crucified if anyone knew he was sleeping with such a young girl—and of course it would have destroyed the future of the show—but he couldn’t stay away from me.
“What’s your problem, Emma?” Mom asks. “You can relax. Not everything is about you. I promise this isn’t some scheme to get you back on screen again.” Mom puts her hand on Harry’s arm. “She’s so defensive about leaving her acting, but really, everyone knows it’s better for her to get her weight in check before she takes on adult roles. Otherwise, she’s doomed to a career of being typecast as the funny fat friend.”
Normally, Mom’s jab would burn, but right now I’m too shell-shocked by the return of Harry to my life to be bothered by another low blow at my body. Swallowing hard, I force a smile. “Sorry about my manners. I’m not feeling very well today.”
“Well,” Mom says. “I’m just glad you stopped by. Harry and I are going to the Diamond Room for dinner. Why don’t you come with us? Surely you have some old boyfriend you can call and invite.”
I blink. The only man I’ve ever been involved with is slinging an arm around my mother’s shoulders and pressing a kiss to the top of her head. “I need to go. I really don’t feel well.” I turn to Harry and wince. “Good to see you again, Harry.”
His shoulders sag—with relief, or something else? “You too.”
I turn for the door and manage to make it to my car before I start crying.
The road floats before me in a haze of tears. I don’t know how long I drive aimlessly along the coast, but when I get to my condo in Laguna Beach, the sun has long since set, and I’ve talked myself down from the panic I felt at my mother’s. This doesn’t change anything. I got Harry out of my life and left Hollywood for a reason. Mom can spend every waking minute with him, and in the scheme of things, it won’t change my life in any remarkable way.
My calm disintegrates when I walk up to my oceanfront condo and find Harry waiting by my front door.
When I look at him now, my heart twists painfully with the confusing mix of emotions I’ve always associated with him. Tenderness, love, and something darker. Something twisted that screwed with the way I saw myself until I walked away from him and Lucy Matters at sixteen. “What are you doing here?”
Shrugging, he looks me over. “I missed you. What was I supposed to do? I didn’t want you to find out like that, but you changed your number.” He steps forward, and I hold up a hand.
“Don’t.” I turn and unlock the door. He follows me inside.
“Em, your mom and I… I can’t explain it. She and I are a better match, but my relationship with her doesn’t change how I feel about you.”
“You’re disgusting.” My voice shakes wildly. “How long has this been going on? Were you fucking us both?”
“My career is tied up with hers. It’s easier if we’re together.” His jaw is hard. He hates it when I don’t buy his shit. Normally, I’m happy to play along and listen to his skewed perception of reality, but I’m done accepting his fiction as truth to soothe his ego.
I shake my head. “This has nothing to do with me. Enjoy your life. If you want to live it with my mom, go for it, but if this is your sick way of being my dad in some capacity again—”
“Don’t you see this could be good for us? We could be together again. Think of all the opportunities we’ll have.” He tilts his head to the side. “There’s a reason you don’t date. You miss it as much as I do.”
My stomach heaves. “I miss nothing, and there is no us.”
“You’re letting this go? Just like that?” he asks. “After all we’ve been through together, it’s that easy for you to walk away?”
I don’t even know what this was. An affair that breathed only in dark corners? A secret that started as a dangerous and forbidden thrill and turned into something my teenage brain mistook for love?
I open the door. “You can leave now. Please don’t come back.”
“Don’t do something stupid out of anger.”
“Leave.”
He sighs and stares at me for a long beat before he walks out the door. I slam it behind him and turn the deadbolt with shaking fingers. I sink to the floor, pull my phone from my purse, and pull up a number from the memory. He picks up on the first ring.
“Keegan? This is Emma.”
“Hey. I thought you were busy tonight. What’s going on?”
“My plans changed. Could you come over?”
Chapter Fourteen
Keegan
I went back to my room and packed my shit in record time. I want to get away from here. Away from this hotel, away from Vegas, away from Emma and her fiancé. It’s not time to head to the airport yet, but I can’t sit in my room and stew, so I go downstairs.
“Keegan!” someone calls across the lobby.
My stomach goes icy with dread at the sound of the familiar voice. Fuck no.
“Hey, son!”
I turn to see my father walking toward me, a big, shit-eating grin on his face. Dad never had much time for me once I started college and stopped helping him on his most recent scheme, but that all changed a year ago when he learned I got signed by the Gators. Suddenly, dear old Dad was there again.
Not every NFL player is a millionaire, and though I have no complaints about my league-minimum salary, Dad refuses to believe I don’t have the disposable income to buy him Corvettes and beach houses and whatever the fuck else he pleases.
I lift my chin. “What are you doing here?”
“Can’t a father come visit his son?”
The question I should’ve asked was How did you find me here? It’s probably one of the worst things about my new life in the public eye—it’s hard to elude my greedy conman father.
“I stopped by your condo in Seaside.” He tucks his hands into the pockets of his dress pants. He’s dressed sharp today in pressed pants and a button-up shirt, and his silver hair is combed back. “Bastards wouldn’t let me up because, apparently, you’ve forgotten to put my name on some list with security? You need to remember to take care of that when you get back.”
“I wouldn’t count on it.”
“But luckily,” he continues, as if I didn’t speak, “I saw your girlfriend. What’s her name? Olivia?”
Olivia’s not my girlfriend, but I don’t correct him.
“She’s such a sweet girl. Real pretty, too. She said you were in Vegas for the weekend and where you were staying. Real helpful, that girl. Anyway, I thought what the hell? I haven’t been to Vegas in a while. I thought I should treat myself.” He lifts his arms from his sides. “So here I am.”
The man was absolutely no help when I needed him, and then when he thought I had money, he bec
ame like a parasite I can’t shake. “Well, you found me. Sorry I can’t spend time with you. I’m heading home today.”
“You never have time for your dad.” He looks around the lobby like he’s trying to spot someone. “Too busy hanging out with fancy bigwig NFL players to do a damn thing for your father.” Once, that guilt trip worked on me. Once, I believed almost all the bullshit that came out of his mouth, but we’re way past that now. I might be an idiot in a lot of ways, but when it comes to my father, I’m fucking ancient in my wisdom.
“What do you need?”
“Why do you assume I need something? I just want to spend some time with my son, maybe meet his friends.”
And have him con them out of everything he can? Fuck to the no. “That’s not going to be possible.” I reach for my wallet. “Do you have a room yet? A place to stay the night?”
He grins. “Some assistance with that would be fantastic.”
I walk up to the desk with him by my side and tell the petite woman behind the counter that I need a room. “Two nights,” I say.
“Two?” Dad says. “I don’t fly out for four nights.”
My jaw hardens and my eyes dart to the elevators as I pray Emma doesn’t appear. If he knew what she and I did last night and thought he could get ahead with that information…
I don’t want to think about it. I just need to get rid of him as fast as possible. “Four nights, then.”
“Okay, a standard room for—”
“Son, don’t I deserve a suite? I came all the way out here to see you, and you won’t even introduce me to your friends. A little comfort doesn’t seem like much to ask for.”
The woman behind the counter stops typing and looks at me.
I shake my head. “A standard room will be fine, thank you.”
Dad nudges me. “I guess. I mean, beggars can’t be choosers. What did I ever do to you but feed you and clothe you and make sure you had opportunities your mom wasn’t around to give you? I got you through college too, but no thanks to me for that.”
If the team doctor took my blood pressure right now, he wouldn’t let me play the damn game. This man is full of so much shit, but I don’t take the bait. Instead, I hand over my credit card.
“Can we charge incidentals to this card too?” the woman asks.
“No,” I say sharply. I just want to be rid of him. When I get my card back, I slide it into my wallet and pull out a couple of hundreds to hand to my father. “It’s all I’ve got.”
“I didn’t even ask for cash,” he says as he tucks it into his pocket.
He hadn’t asked yet. We both know I’m not usually this easy a target. I know better than to give in to him all the time, but I also know that as soon as I get him a room and some money, he’ll get out of my face, at least temporarily. I don’t want him anywhere near me in case Emma shows up. The possibility that he might see her with me and recognize her makes my hands shake. Fuck. He might even already know she’s engaged, and wouldn’t he have a field day with that information if he saw us together again?
“You’ve gotta quit doing this,” I tell him. “I don’t have tons of money. Most of my extra money goes into the bar.” All of it, actually, and then some. For someone who used to fear debt above all else, I’m carrying a ton of it right now. I shake my head. There’s no reasoning with him, so I don’t know why I keep trying.
“You wanna have a drink with me?” he asks. He’s happy now that he’s gotten a piece of me.
“It’s eight in the morning.”
“Right. No time for your old man. Not even to introduce him to his only granddaughter. But don’t worry. Met her while I was in Seaside too. Jasmine. She’s really something special. Olivia invited me to visit any time I want, so I’m really looking forward to that.”
My stomach cramps. I don’t want him around Jazzy, and I’ll need to talk to Olivia about that. “Enjoy your stay. Don’t get into too much trouble.”
“I’ll be on my best behavior. When can I come stay with you in Seaside? Maybe you need me to stay at your place when you’re staying in Blackhawk Valley? Can’t be good to leave a place like that empty.”
“It’s fine,” I mutter.
Dad’s talking, saying something about family and obligation and loyalty—bullshit that I wouldn’t believe even if I could get my brain to focus on his words instead of the woman walking out of the elevator. There she is.
My eyes are glued to Emma as she walks across the corridor to a tall, dark-haired man in a suit. She’s not wearing her wig today. She’s abandoned her Emily Zimmerman identity and is down here as Emma Rothschild, fiancée to whoever the fuck that is. She throws herself into his arms, and he slides a hand to the back of her neck and presses his lips to her forehead before whispering something into her ear.
I want so badly to go over there and tear them apart. It eats at my gut. How could she do that? How could she be with me last night when she’s engaged to someone else? How could she have slept with Harry when she was supposed to be in love with me?
She steps out of the man’s arms and turns my way as if she can sense me looking at her. When her soft eyes meet mine, the fury in my gut melts away, and I just want to protect her from all the shit I’ve ever brought into her life. I owe her that much and more.
I turn my attention to my dad. “Maybe I have time for one drink.”
“Thatta boy.”
I put my hand on his shoulder and lead him toward the café and away from Emma.
* * *
Keegan
Five Years Ago…
Emma Rothschild is sitting on the floor in the middle of her sun-washed living room, her legs folded under her as she rubs Bigsy’s belly. We’ve just gotten back from a walk in the sand, and she’s wearing shorts and a big T-shirt that’s slipped off one freckled shoulder. When she looks up at me and grins, there’s nothing in the world I want more than to be the man she thinks I am. She wouldn’t look at me like that if she knew the real me.
By the time I was fourteen, I knew all there was to know about running a good con. I knew all about choosing the story and how to decide on the long game or the short game.
Dad was best at cons that involved women, and he taught me how to spot the best mark. I think that most people believe they’ll never be victim to a conman, but the two biggest characteristics Dad taught me to look for were loneliness and insecurity. Once you learn how to read people, it’s almost shocking how many women fit the bill.
When I met Emma, I knew she was exactly what I was looking for. For two weeks, I’ve been hanging out with her, taking her to dinner, walking with her on the beach, playing with her aging miniature poodle she loves so much. For two weeks, I’ve been trying to convince myself that I can carry on with my original plan.
My dad told me once that my heart was too soft, that he’d never guess the son of a conman would have turned out to possess the personality of an ideal mark. He said I gave people too much credit. You see, when he cons a rich old lady out of ten grand, he doesn’t feel bad about it. He believes people like that would never get rich to begin with if they weren’t selfish and greedy. He believes that he’s owed more than life’s handed him.
While I might not buy into that, I had a plan when I paid the man to take pictures of Emma. I had a plan when I set it up so I could come to her rescue, introduce myself, and pretend I had no idea how famous she was. But two weeks later, I’ve laid the groundwork, and everything is going according to plan. Better than planned.
There’s a moment in a con when you know you’ve got it, and that moment came quickly and easily with Emma. But you can’t rush it. Even if you could get your money and run, that’s not a good con job. A good job leaves the mark feeling like a hero. It lets them look back on that time in their life when they knew that guy and did that great thing for him, and hey, I wonder where he ended up.
I haven’t kissed her. I haven’t touched her. Guilt eats at me every time she drops her gaze to my lips or sits a little closer
to me on the couch. There’s no place for guilt in a con, and I sure as fuck didn’t come out to LA for the summer to earn nothing more than shitty pay for a B-grade film.
She hops up and steps toward me. “So what are we going to do tonight?” She smells so good, like her citrus shampoo. She always smells so fresh and clean. It’s intoxicating and makes me imagine things can change, like a new beginning, a Monday morning, the first buds of spring.
My gaze drops to her mouth for a beat too long, and her smile falls away.
“You can kiss me if you want.” Her tongue darts out and wets her lips, as if they weren’t already inviting enough before. Every cell in my body pulls in her direction, fighting to be closer.
“I—” Shit. I don’t want to use her. I don’t want to take from her. I don’t want to do any of the things I set out to do. “I should probably head out.”
She flinches and steps back, and I feel like an ass. “Okay. Sure.” Her smile is fake, like hardened plastic pasted on her soft features. I love that she’s an actress by trade but when she’s with me, she can’t cover her emotions. “I’ll see you around. Sorry about saying that. It was…silly. I mean, you’re probably not attracted to me like that, and that’s really fine. I mean, I understand. It’s not a big deal.”
“Jesus.” With two long strides, I’m cupping her face in my hands and lowering my mouth to hers. She gasps against my lips, and she tastes so sweet that a soft brush of lips isn’t going to be enough. I sweep my tongue across her mouth, and she parts her lips and lifts a hand to slide into my hair.
I’m trying to be gentle, but I’ve wanted to do this since the first time she smiled at me. These lips were made for kissing, full and soft, and her body was made to be pressed against mine. She slides her tongue against mine and tugs on my hair. My cock hardens, and I want more.
“How could you think I’m not attracted to you?” I whisper against her mouth. I force myself to release her, to step back. I have to remember who I am. “Attraction isn’t the problem here. I want you so much it’s all I think about.”