Hard to Hold (The Hold series Book 2)

by Arell Rivers

  McKenna nods and we both try to get our server’s attention, but she’s fixated on the spectacle. My eyes land on one of the drunk guys. “Oh, great. Just perfect.”

  McKenna sucks in her breath, telling me that my eyes aren’t playing tricks on me. “It’ll be okay,” she says, her voice shaking slightly.

  Cole stands less than five feet from me with his arm around Ozzy. They seem to be holding each other upright.

  I want to disappear so he won’t see me. He’s making enough of a scene with just Ozzy by his side. Crap, I have to get him under control.

  Swallowing hard, I say, “This is going to be a PR nightmare. The tabloids will be all over his behavior. Do you think you could do me a favor?”

  “Sure thing. What do you need?” McKenna whispers, as if anyone can hear anything above the guys’ loud, drunken voices.

  “See that guy over there?” She nods her head vigorously. “He’s Cole’s bodyguard, Wills. Please ask him if they drove here or came in a limo or something. Neither one is fit to drive.”

  “I’ll be right back.” She squeezes my shoulder and slides out of the booth.

  This latest drunken foray has the word “fiasco” written all over it. Both men are surrounded by fans with cell phones trained on them. I need to get a handle on the situation. Fast.

  Finally, I get our server’s attention and she comes over, check in hand. I ask, “Is there a backroom—a breakroom or anything—I could use for a few minutes?”

  The server cocks her head to one side. “There’s the employee locker room. But it’s only for employees.”

  Cole and Ozzy have broken into song, slurring their way through the ‘80s anthem “Cuts Like a Knife.” To my annoyance, it still sounds great.

  Her attention is now squarely on the singing dumbasses—and everyone else is watching them, too.

  “Which way?” She points vaguely toward a hallway.

  Fishing out the money to pay our bill, I drop it on the table. McKenna comes up and says, “Wills drove.”

  “Thank God. Okay, here’s my plan.” I give her a quick rundown of my hastily designed strategy, and we set off to work. McKenna heads in the direction of the employee locker room while I walk directly toward the singing idiots.

  “Okay, boys, show’s over.”

  “Flower! Looky who it is, Manchester, it’s Flower!”

  Ozzy slings his arm around my shoulders and kisses the top of my head with a loud smack. From behind me, Cole lets out a low growl.

  Using an assertive voice, I say, “Follow me. I want to talk with you both.”

  I place my arm around Ozzy’s trim waist and guide him toward the hallway where McKenna waves to us. We’ve almost reached her when I hear loud guffaws break out behind me. Turning my head, I see Cole following us with a smirk on his face. I don’t know what he did, but I certainly can’t address him in public. The diners’ clapping propels me forward.

  The three of us join McKenna in the locker room and she closes the door. Disengaging from Ozzy’s grip, I turn to the guys. It’s like I’m facing a firing squad and a kindergarten class, all at once.

  “Ozzy. Cole. What do you think you’re doing?”

  “Having fun.”

  “Well, fun time is over, Ozzy. What possessed you to come here anyway?”

  “We’re hungry, Flower.”

  Cole stands across from me, feet planted wide apart, hands in his pockets, looking so hot and sexy he should be arrested.

  “You should have ordered in.” I glare at Cole. “Do you know what the media is going to do with this? As if things weren’t bad enough for you.”

  Cole speaks for the first time. “You look amazing, Ro.”

  No, no, no! This is not happening. I give them both the evil eye. “Wills will take you home now.”

  “Can we at least get some food for the road?” Ozzy begs.

  I motion for McKenna to join us. “McKenna, meet Ozzy Martinez and Cole Manchester. Ozzy and Cole, be nice to my friend McKenna James.”

  McKenna nods and stands her ground, but her eyes betray a hint of some intangible emotion. Maybe she’s just impressed. The two drunken singers offer her slack smiles.

  “McKenna, I’m really sorry to ask this of you, but would you mind placing a take-out order for them and confirming there’s a back exit to this place?” She nods, gets their orders and scurries out of the room.

  The three of us stare each other down. Ozzy breaks eye contact first, saying, “Gotta take a leak.” He wanders off toward the bathroom in the back of the room.

  Cole sways on his feet. I stifle my impulse to steady him. Or knock him over.

  “Where were you before you came here?” I need to know how extensive my clean-up will need to be.

  “Martinez and I were drinking at my house. There was no food.” The pupils of his green eyes are dilated, presumably from all the alcohol in his system. I’ve never seen him this drunk. Hasn’t he learned anything? Angrily, I push my glasses up the bridge of my nose.

  “Ro, come home with me. We can work this out.”

  I grit my teeth. “Are you crazy?”

  He tilts his head up and juts his lip out like a two-year-old who didn’t get his way. “I told you I didn’t screw that Starr woman. I only want you. Then I got home from Vegas and all your shit was gone. C’mon, Ro, what’ll it take for me to make this right?”

  I bite my lip and remain silent, laser beams shooting out of my eyes.

  He takes a step forward but stumbles, only catching his balance by wrapping his strong arms around my shoulders. Dammit, why does he feel so good? And his scent beckons—the familiar musk, with a slight hint of fried chicken.

  Remembering the photo of his naked torso under her hand, I stiffen and push him away. “Get off me.”

  His back hits the wall, and he leans onto it for support. “Dammit, Rose. What will it take? I said I was sorry. Do you want me to beg?”

  The door to the bathroom flies open and Ozzy makes his way back to us. I cross my arms, refusing to look at Cole.

  As if on cue, McKenna returns as well, take-out bags in hand. She lifts them up. “Grub’s here, and so is your ride.”

  “Thank God,” I mutter. Addressing Ozzy, I say, “When you get to Cole’s place, stay put.”

  Ozzy grabs my hand and pulls me toward him. He kisses me on the cheek, then whispers in my ear, “You look much better than the last time I saw you, Flower. Cole, not so much. Keep your chin up.”

  Before I can respond, Ozzy’s gone, replaced by Cole. Glowering, he says, “Rose, I don’t beg.”

  He turns and follows his friend, walking with the exaggerated gait of someone who is trying to appear sober.

  I trail the two outside. McKenna gives them their take-out bags and Wills drives them away without any further incident.

  Turning to me, McKenna says, “You were amazing back there. I would have given that asshat a knuckle sandwich rather than chicken and waffles.”

  Tuesday morning

  PUTTING MY HAIR in its Greta-regulation ponytail, I apply extra concealer under my eyes. I don’t need anyone—Melanie or Kim in particular—to notice my raccoon eyes. I make my way to the kitchen for my daily bowl of cereal. Quietly, so as not to awaken my houseguest, I gather my breakfast fixings and sit down at the dinette.

  McKenna bounds into the room. “Good morning, Rose.”

  Cereal spills from the box onto the dinette. Shaking my head, I reply, “Good morning. You sure have a lot of energy.”

  “I’m on vacation in Los Angeles. Of course I have energy.”

  “Well, I wish I could spend it with you, but I probably won’t be home until late. I have to deal with any fallout from last night, on top of everything else.” I sweep the excess flakes into my hand and bring them over to the trash.

  “I totally understand. You don’t have to worry about me, I’m sure I’ll figure out something to keep me busy. Hey, why don’t I make us dinner?”

  “I’m not sure what time I’ll be
getting home.” I pour milk into my cereal bowl.

  “I’ll make something, and if you’re not home in time, I’ll put yours in the fridge. You can microwave it when you get here.”

  “Really, McKenna, you don’t have to do that. I can pick up something at the office.” Or not bother. God knows, I don’t have much of an appetite lately. “I wanted to thank you again for your help last night. The guys were really out of hand.”

  “It was fun helping out.”

  “I don’t know what I would have done if you weren’t there.”

  If not for McKenna, I wouldn’t have been there in the first place. I would have woken up to the debacle rather than done my best to mitigate it.

  “After I thought about it, I realized I shouldn’t have introduced you to Ozzy. You obviously know him, since we met in his hotel suite.”

  She pauses while taking down a coffee mug. “No harm done.”

  I take a spoonful of my breakfast. “Well, I still feel badly for how last night turned out.”

  “I know how you can pay me back.”

  “Name it.”

  “Can I use your washer and dryer? I was in such a hurry to pack that I didn’t have time to do my laundry.”

  “Boy, McKenna, you drive a hard bargain.” She giggles. “Knock yourself out.”

  “Do you have any laundry that I can do for you?”

  “I appreciate it, but you really don’t have to do this. You’re my guest, I should be doing it for you.”

  McKenna waves her hand in dismissal. “Go get your dirty laundry and then get to work and slay some media dragons.”

  Smiling, I dump the majority of my cereal in the trash, place my bowl and spoon in the dishwasher and return to my bedroom. I separate the dirty clothes from my hamper and pull the laundry basket out of my closet. A piece of paper on the bottom catches my attention. When I unfold it, I realize it’s Cole’s glossy headshot. Sprawled across the bottom is his autograph, Cole Manchester, with one other word, underlined twice. “MINE.” He left this here after one of our epic lovemaking sessions.

  Tears I’ve successfully held at bay come streaming down, followed by sobs. I crumple to the floor, trying to get into the smallest ball possible.

  “Shhhh, it’ll be all right.” McKenna magically appears, rocking me. “What brought this on?”

  I pass her the glossy, unable to utter a coherent word. She doesn’t say anything, just lets me get it all out.

  With a deep inhale, I say, “Thanks, McKenna, I’m okay.”

  “All I’m going to say is that from what I saw last night, you two are not over.”

  Sniffling, I stand up, make my way to the bathroom and splash cold water on my face. After reapplying my make-up, I gather my things and meet McKenna in the living room.

  Embarrassed, I offer, “I’m off, please make yourself at home.”

  She hugs me. “I’ll be fine. Now, go work your magic.”

  I’m certainly going to need all the magic I can muster. Not to mention a vanquishing potion or two.

  As soon as I get to the office, I head to the breakroom for a cup of coffee. Shari looks up from the coffee machine and smiles. “Good morning, Rose. How are you doing?”

  I offer her a wobbly smile. It’s nice to have an ally in the office. “It was a very long night, Shari. Cole got drunk and went to a restaurant that I just happened to be at. He made a fool of himself. I’m trying to keep it out of the media. How are you?”

  “Oh man. You can’t catch a break. Luckily, my clients didn’t get into any trouble, so I’m good.”

  “Yeah, you’re lucky.”

  “Hope your day gets better. Let me know if I can be of any help,” she says as she takes her coffee and walks toward her office. I get my coffee and do the same.

  Needing to follow up on the Gorman’s incident, I double-check the usual gossip sites. So far nothing has been posted. I’m glad that the calls I made to a few reporters last night were successful. At least that’s something.

  I pull up Cole’s social media, and it’s immediately apparent I was not as successful in containing the public. All of his feeds have exploded with photos and videos of him and Ozzy making drunken idiots of themselves. I’m about to click on a video when Greta passes through the front door.

  As per usual, she issues instructions to everyone as she walks through the floor. She stops at Melanie’s office, but I can’t hear what she says. I hope everything is going smoothly for Jessie and Brandan.

  She goes into Kim’s office next, and then the two of them emerge together. Walking past me, Greta says imperiously, “Rose, my office.” I grab my notebook and scramble to follow them into her vast office.

  “Ladies, I see that Cole was out again last night.”

  “I didn’t know he was going out. He didn’t tell me,” Kim whines, pointing her finger at me. “And you didn’t call me when you went out with him.”

  “I didn’t go out with him. I was having dinner with a friend when he and Ozzy Martinez showed up, drunk. I had no idea he was going to be there.”

  Kim flops into a chair. “You should have called me when you saw him.”

  I barely stop myself from making a very unladylike snort. As if she would have been any help at all.

  I take a seat and address my response to Greta. “There wasn’t time. He and Ozzy stumbled into Gorman’s, disrupting everyone, and then started singing at the top of their lungs. I got them out of the public eye as fast as possible.”

  My boss arches her eyebrow at me. “I saw the video. Multiple videos, at that.”

  “I was able to convince the reporters at the major entertainment and gossip sites to bury the story. As you know, I can’t do the same with the public and their smartphones.”

  “I suggest you go online and start handling the social media coverage. And by handling, I mean making the footage disappear.”

  My hand is almost to the doorknob when Greta says, “Kim, while Rose is busy with Twitter and Facebook, we need to handle Mrs. Manchester.”

  My spine stiffens when she says that name.

  Kim says, “The PI hasn’t found her yet.”

  My boss’s voice modulates lower. “I understand. However, she is reaching out to the media trying to make a deal for a tell all.”

  “She’s trying to sell her story?” I gasp.

  “I’ll take care of it,” Kim chirps.

  They put their heads together. Dismissed and shut out, I plod back to my office.

  I open Cole’s Facebook account and start going through his feed. Multiple videos have been posted of “dumb and dumber” singing “Cuts Like a Knife.” All are around two minutes long, from slightly different vantage points.

  One video is about a minute longer. It shows me walking up to them, followed by Ozzy grabbing and kissing the top of my head. Luckily, the audio didn’t pick up what he said. Next, Ozzy and I walk toward the employee locker room arm-in-arm, with Cole trailing behind us. After a couple of unsteady steps, Cole stops and thrusts his hips toward me several times, causing laughter to erupt, loud enough to be captured on the video. Now I know why I heard laughing. That asshat.

  I spend the next couple of hours pretending to be that very asshat, responding to the comments about Gorman’s as well as denying the marriage to Starr and reaffirming that Emilie is still very much in the picture. While dealing with social media, I also keep an eye on Greta’s office. Kim left a while ago, but I have no idea what strategy was decided. I hate being out of the loop for my talent, even if he is the biggest jerk on the planet.

  Needing a break, I refer to my to-do list and realize I never checked to see if a marriage license was actually issued to Starr and Cole. I go to the Las Vegas marriage license website, click on “Search” and type in Cole’s name. My heart sinks when a listing is returned for them. I pull out my copy of their marriage certificate, and the instrument numbers match. This can’t be true. It just can’t. Despite myself, I believe Cole.

  Grabbing my cellphone, I di
al Cole’s PI. “Hi, Nolan, this is Rose Morgan.”

  “Hi, Rose. Is everything okay with Roberto?”

  “Yes, everything’s fine. He’s keeping a low profile at the office. Actually, I’m calling to see if you’ve had any luck tracking down Starr?”

  “Not yet, but we’re getting closer. I promise we’re doing all we can.”

  I sigh. “I believe you. But wherever she is, she’s reaching out to entertainment reporters. Greta’s hired her own investigator.”

  “I thought she would. Listen, I know I don’t need to say this, but stick close to Roberto when you’re out.”

  “I promise. On another matter, I just searched the Las Vegas marriage certificate records, and one for Cole and Starr came up.”

  “I saw that myself late yesterday. I have someone digging into the computer records, and hope to get some intel back by the end of the week. We think the site was hacked.”

  To what lengths will this Starr woman go?

  “Oh, wow. Please keep me posted.” We say our good-byes, and I return my cell to my purse.

  Back to square one. My office is a mess. I’ve just picked up Cole’s file to return it to its drawer when someone comes up behind me and taps me on my shoulder, startling me. The next thing I know, the file is on the floor and papers are everywhere.

  “I didn’t mean to scare you,” Kim says insincerely.

  I bend down and collect all of the papers. Setting the pile down on my desk, I turn and face my “teammate,” who doesn’t, of course, offer to help me.

  “The next time you and Cole end up at the same place, I expect you to call me right away. I’m sure if I were there, I could have quieted them down much quicker and none of the other diners would have taken any videos or photos. But now we’ll never know.”

  I stifle my eye roll. “Duly noted.”

  “Now, I have to go. Greta and I are meeting with a bunch of reporters to see if we can get some dirt on Starr Manchester. Ta, ta.”

  I resist the urge to stick my tongue out at her as she sashays out of my office. Instead, I collapse into my chair and start reorganizing Cole’s file. A copy of his driver’s license catches my eye. Crap, he even looks sexy in this photo. It’s signed by “Cole S. Manchester.”