Hard to Hold (The Hold series Book 2)

by Arell Rivers

  When I’m finished, Greta looks at me. “Time will tell whether they did or didn’t get married. I hope you weren’t wasting company time researching this.”

  I shake my head.

  “Good. Unless you can deliver me Starr, I don’t care,” she says, pointing to my little pile of papers.

  “As for your PR strategy for the father and brother, that’s fine. Kim, execute it.”

  Why is she having Kim execute my strategy? It’s pretty straightforward, but still.

  Greta continues, “Rose, stay on top of the social media. And make sure all the details have been finalized for this Friday’s taping of his anti-smoking Public Service Announcement. Now, unless you have anything else, I have another call to make.”

  Shaking my head, I leave. Kim follows me back to my office. “Trying to suck up to Greta? It’s not going to work. She gave me the assignment to get the reporters to back off the family.”

  I refrain from saying her assignment was based on my strategy, because it’s not worth it. I’ll never win a war of catty words with someone like her.

  “Make sure to call Ken and Jayson to let them know what’s going on.”

  “I’ll handle it. Don’t you worry. Oh, and that stunt with the driver’s license was real smooth. Makes me think you have a crush on him. As if Cole Manchester would give little mousy you a second look.”

  Kim’s zinger goes straight to my heart. She’s right; I’m nothing special. “Hey, Mel,” Kim calls to Melanie as she walks by my office. “Ready for this one?”

  Melanie walks into my office. “What?”

  “Our girl Rosie is crushing on Cole.” They break into cackles.

  “That’s rich. A guy like that with Rosie. Haha. Especially when he has Emilie Dubois on his arm and probably in his bed,” Melanie says, twisting the knife deeper.

  Emilie’s name snaps me out of my inner turmoil. The only thing that matters is my job, and doing it well. Nothing else.

  Ignoring their remarks, I ask Kim, “Speaking of Emilie, how’s everything going with her? What’s planned for after Fashion Week?” I know she’s done tomorrow, so I want to know what Kim’s arranged.

  “I told her people to get her out here as soon as she’s done and have her move in with Cole.” She adds, “That is, if you haven’t already taken up residence.” Both she and Melanie snicker.

  It suddenly occurs to me that Cole should have been in New York with Emilie as soon as this whole marriage thing hit. Why was he allowed to come back to Los Angeles? If I’d been on my A game, I would have insisted that he join Emilie in New York City. Damn, I need to get my head back on straight—fast—before anything else happens. Maybe Greta’s non-fraternization rule makes some sense after all.

  Clearing my throat, I say, “If you don’t mind, I have work to do.”

  “Me, too. I set up Brandan and Jessie with a lot of public appearances this weekend, but she just told me she’s not available Friday night. Now, I have to rearrange everything.” Melanie turns to Kim. “Can you believe Jessie refused to change her personal plans for Friday night?”

  “C’mon, Mel, let’s leave Rose here to do her little social media posts. We have hardcore PR work to do.”

  Thankfully, they leave my office. Melanie’s last statement bothers me. Jessie’s going out to dinner with me on Friday night instead of doing an appearance. Pulling my phone out, I text her: Just heard you turned down a PR opportunity to go out to dinner with me Friday. We can reschedule.

  I crumple into my chair. They may be overgrown mean girls, but their words have found every single chink in my armor. To torture myself even more, I do a search for “Emilie Dubois.” Now she’s a beautiful woman—blonde hair, legs that are implausibly long, a perfect figure—plus she has a French accent. I trace a photo of her with Cole in New York City last week. She’s taking a bite of a hot dog he’s holding out to her, and they look amazing together.

  Next, I go into my cell phone’s photo gallery and pull up the photo of Cole and me on the beach. Right before our “second first kiss.” He is so handsome and we look so happy. But I simply don’t compare with Emilie. No one does.

  Sighing, I toss my phone back into my purse. With renewed purpose, I attack Cole’s social media platforms, engaging with his legions of fans. When I can’t take another tweet or posting, I pull up the strategy for Cole’s Public Service Announcement against smoking, and make sure everything is on track for Friday’s shoot.

  At five o’clock, the office starts to empty out. Maybe I’ll have an early night, too. Spend some time with McKenna. No sooner does that thought flit through my mind than my office phone rings.

  “Rose Morgan.”

  “Well, hello there, Miss Morgan.” The “s” is elongated like the hissing of a snake.

  Ice runs down my spine. “Who is this?”

  Cackling erupts on the other end of the phone. “I’m the woman who stole your man out from under your nose.”

  “Starr?”

  “Ding, ding. We have a winner.”

  My breathing hitches. “What do you want?”

  “It’s more like what you want. Which is to keep your relationship with my husband our dirty little secret.”

  “There’s no relationship.”

  “That’s good to hear. So, listen slut. Here’s what you are going to do. You’re going to make the ‘Cole and Starr didn’t get married PR thing’ go away, or else I’m going to show the world what a whore you are. And I have proof. Don’t believe me? Get your ass to 232 Cedar Street, Apartment 14C in twenty minutes. Oh, and come alone. Tick, tock.” The line goes dead.

  I’m out the door almost before the handset settles back into its cradle. Roberto rushes to my side as I exit the office. I fill him in on my conversation with Star, and we race through the parking garage together. If she acts on her threat to expose Cole and me, I’ll be fired for sure. This is my chance to put an end to this madness, and I’m not missing it.

  He says, “I’ll drive.” I’m too hyped up to drive, so I don’t put up an argument; we pile into his car together. En route, he calls Nolan and tells him where we’re going.

  Nolan says, “The address is close to the office, so I’ll meet you there. Don’t worry about the police; I’ll call them, too. Be careful. Backup will be on your tail.”

  “Right, boss,” Roberto replies and disconnects the call.

  Looking out the window, I spot the apartment building. “Over there.” I check the clock. “Three minutes to spare. Park quickly!”

  Roberto parks and I jump out. He grabs my wrist before I’m three steps up the sidewalk. “Rose, I can’t let you go in. Stay in the car.”

  When I clued him in, I knew this would be a problem. However, I refuse to go down without a fight. “But, Starr told me to come alone.”

  “Which is exactly why you’re not going in. I’ll let you know when it’s safe.”

  I try to free my wrist, but he holds fast. I make my last stand. “She called me.”

  He doesn’t respond, but the set of his jaw tells me he’s not going to relent. He turns me around bodily and steers me back into the car. When I’m settled in the passenger seat, he tosses me the keys.

  “Lock the doors.” Cracking his knuckles, he mutters, “Time for me to catch a nutcase.”

  “Be careful,” I call out as Roberto strides up the sidewalk and slips into the massive brick building when a couple exits. Minutes click by on the clock. Two. Three. Four. With each passing minute, my breathing becomes faster and harder. Pulling out my cell, I text Roberto. No response. Five minutes have passed.

  Nolan parks in front of the car and I jump out. “Roberto went in five minutes ago, but he hasn’t called or responded to my text.”

  His eyes zero in on my fingers, which are touching my thumb sequentially. Embarrassed, I clasp my hands together. He replies, “He’s probably just securing the area.”

  A police cruiser pulls up moments later, and the cops motion for Nolan to come talk with them. The
three of them start walking toward the apartment building. Nolan turns to me and says, “We’re going in. Get back in the car and wait for a call.”

  Allowing myself a frustrated growl, I return to the passenger seat and lock the doors. Two more minutes pass. Detective Mahoney arrives on the scene and offers me a quick wave as he passes in front of the car. I text Roberto again. Still no response.

  Another vehicle pulls up with a screech. My stomach clenches; I know that car. Dammit.

  Wills and Cole emerge, and I get out of the car to join them. I refuse to sit and wait any longer. Cole looks tired and upset, but he’s as sexy as ever. In my best imitation of Greta’s commanding voice, I say, “I’m going in with you.”

  Cole looks at Wills, who pulls out his phone and texts someone. An intense minute later, during which I studiously study the lines left behind by a lawnmower, Wills clears his throat. He sends another text and nods at me. The three of us head toward the building.

  When we exit the elevator on the fourteenth floor, I immediately see Nolan bending down over a prone body outside of an open door. The next moment, I realize it’s Roberto lying on the floor. I gasp, putting my hand over my mouth, and run toward my bodyguard. He’s unconscious. Nolan stands and talks with Cole and Wills while I drop to my knees, checking Roberto’s limbs. Undoubtedly Nolan has already done this, but I need to do something. Nothing seems broken. No blood.

  Detective Mahoney comes to the threshold of the apartment and stands in the open doorway. The guys join him. After a brief discussion, the four of them disappear inside.

  I can’t take in their conversation at this moment; my focus remains on my prone bodyguard. I place my hands on Roberto’s shoulders and lightly shake him. “Wake up, Roberto, wake up.”

  He groans and opens his eyes.

  I force a smile. “Welcome back, sleepyhead.”

  The elevator dings. Paramedics rush down the hall with a stretcher and take over. When I get up, I realize Nolan has left the apartment and is waiting for me. “I pulled some strings to get the cops to allow us inside. Starr is a very sick woman. Follow me.”

  On shaky legs, we enter a big apartment. The living room has floor-to-ceiling windows. A large kitchen is off to the side. The dining room could easily seat eight people.

  I follow Nolan to an open door. Cole stands inside the room. He extends his hand, palm up, and I almost take it.

  Shaking my head, I walk into the room, forcing myself to look away from him. My gaze travels from wall to wall, all of which are covered completely with photos. Of Cole. Of Cole and me. Of just me, some of them with angry red lipstick scribbles over my face.

  Air leaves my lungs in a whoosh. “Oh. My.” My hand covers my mouth.

  Suddenly, masculine arms surround me. I crumple backward into Cole’s embrace.

  “She’s been—”

  “Following us since the beginning,” Cole completes my sentence. Pointing to one section of the wall, he says, “These are photographs from our first date at Santa Monica beach.” He points to two other sets of photographs. “There are some from outside my house, and those were taken at your place.”

  For the first time in days, I feel safe, but only because I’m wrapped in his arms. My breath catches. His stalker’s access to us is chilling, and we were totally unaware. She’s documented so many of our private moments.

  “How could we not have known?”

  “I’ve asked myself that question, too. She never stood out to me, although there are several photos of her and me together. She was even at the Planetarium.”

  “She’s insane.”

  “No argument from me.”

  We stand in silence, his arms wrapped around me, my back to his front. I should step away, but I can’t. Instead, I let my head rest back against his chest. Accepting comfort from the man who has nearly destroyed me on every level.

  Some of the photos of Cole date back at least a year, well before we were dating. Magazine and newspaper photos of him with the various publicity dates I had set up for him are among the collage. He is such a sexy man. That dimple. Those abs.

  Shaking my head, I admonish myself for even thinking such things while standing in his stalker’s apartment, surrounded by proof that she is unhinged. I step out of his embrace and walk closer to the wall of photos, examining them.

  Nolan walks into the room. “At least now we have a trail to follow.”

  Nodding, I ask, “How’s Roberto doing?”

  “He’ll be fine. He should be back on duty tomorrow.”

  I let out a long sigh. “Thank God.”

  “That’s good,” Cole says. “Until Starr is caught, I need to be sure that Rose is safe.”

  “She and McKenna have round-the-clock surveillance as well as the home alarm system you had installed.”

  Cole walks over to face me, his head tilting. “McKenna?” Nolan melts out of the room, probably sensing we need a minute alone.

  “You met her Monday night at Gorman’s. She’s staying with me.”

  Cole strokes my cheek. “It’s good you’re not alone.”

  Unspoken words hang in the taut air. My heart races. Cole’s green eyes search mine and he steps closer, licking his lips. His tenderness is almost my undoing. Ignoring every impulse in my body, I step back and rush over to Starr’s desk.

  “She has several of your autographs.”

  His arm drops to his side with a thump. “I saw,” he breathes out.

  “I’m certain that’s how she faked your marriage certificate.” Crap. I wasn’t planning to say anything yet.

  “What do you mean?”

  “When you sign a legal document, like your driver’s license, you use your middle initial—‘S.’”

  “For Stewart, Mom’s maiden name.”

  I point to one of the autographs. “When you sign an autograph, you don’t use it. To get a marriage certificate in Nevada, you have to show ID. The document Starr posted on the web doesn’t have your middle initial, because you didn’t sign it—she pulled your signature from one of these photos. McKenna is a graphic artist and she showed me how easy it would be for someone to create a fake document.”

  “That Psycho Bitch needs to be put away for a long time.”

  On that, we agree.

  Wednesday evening

  MCKENNA PLEADS, “Just do one shot of tequila. You’ll feel better.”

  Tequila reminds me of the body shot Cole did on some random woman at The Ice Lounge. Watching him do that was excruciating.

  I shake my head. McKenna sighs. The server waits, bored. “No. No shot. I’ll have a margarita on the rocks, with salt,” I acquiesce.

  “Make that two, and don’t let us get dry.”

  I grab a tortilla chip, drag it through the guacamole and tentatively bite down. My stomach doesn’t revolt, so I decide to test another one.

  We both reach into the basket at the same time, but I remove my hand and let McKenna have this one.

  “I can’t believe she really had a room with wall-to-wall photos of the two of you.”

  “Yeah.” I grab another chip.

  “I mean, actual photos and not just printed out from the internet?”

  Crunch, crunch. “Both.”

  “That’s just plain old creepy. I’m so sorry you’re going through this.”

  My eyes meet McKenna’s before dropping down to the basket of chips. I take another. My margarita is placed in front of me, and we give our dinner orders.

  McKenna offers a toast. “To finding your creepy stalker and making her pay.”

  We clink our glasses and then drink. The margarita tastes delicious. I take another long sip, making sure to get some salt on my tongue to add to the flavor. I eat another chip with guac.

  “I haven’t seen you this interested in food since I got here. Talk to me.”

  I look across the booth to my companion, but my brain is on overload after all of today’s events. “I’m overwhelmed.”

  “I can tell. C’mon, she can
’t run for too much longer.”

  “I just wish we’d been able to catch her and put an end to it once and for all.”

  Glancing around the room, I locate Roberto’s replacement for the evening. Jared is sitting at a nearby table, keeping a watchful eye out for us. “Poor Roberto.”

  “I’m glad he didn’t get badly hurt, Rookie.”

  “Me, too. I can still see him lying there.” I shudder, remembering how helpless he’d looked lying unconscious on the floor. It turned out that the doorbell had been booby-trapped to deliver an electric shock.

  “Can you imagine if you had pushed that doorbell? Roberto outweighs you by a good hundred pounds.” I reach for my drink with a trembling hand. After a minute, McKenna says, “So, how was it seeing Cole today? He wasn’t drunk this time, right?”

  “No, he wasn’t drunk.” But I wouldn’t mind being a little buzzed right now, so I down my margarita before continuing. “He looked worried. And tired.” I dredge yet another chip through the salsa this time. “And hot.”

  “He certainly is a sexy beast.” McKenna’s characterization makes me laugh.

  “Yeah, even back in college he was the hottest guy on campus.”

  The waiter gives me a fresh drink, which I sample to make sure it’s of the same quality.

  “Well, that’s certainly true enough.” She takes a sip of her own margarita. “God, you worshipped the ground he walked on during college.”

  “I did not.”

  I take an indignant bite of another chip. McKenna’s watching me. I wash it down with more of my margarita. She’s still looking at me.

  “What?”

  “Good try, Rookie. I was the one you dragged to every single one of his freaking performances, remember?”

  “Not every one.”

  I place my hand into the chip basket, only to find it empty. How did that happen? I take another sip of my drink instead.

  “We must have gone to at least fifty of his gigs freshman year.”

  “No way.” I do a quick mental calculation. “Probably more like thirty.”

  I finish off my second drink and raise the empty glass to the waiter.

  “No hero worship going on then.”