My dad turns to me. “It’s a strange thing to be a public figure. Your private life is not your own. You must always keep up appearances and never say a bad word against anyone. It will stick with you.”
“I didn’t say anything bad.”
He inclines his head. “I’m just sharing what I know after growing up in the spotlight. Never mistake a reporter’s friendliness for actual friendship. You must keep your thoughts and feelings close to the chest. That’s not for public consumption. What a reporter wants most is to catch you in a vulnerable moment, to hear an admission of something that they can spin a story out of.”
I nod.
His brows knit together, seeming deep in thought. “It’s hard for a public figure to know who to trust. Too many people hope to gain from the connection. Everyone wants a piece of you for what you can do for them.”
And there goes my righteous indignation. He’s speaking about himself, but I instantly see the truth of it for Harper. She’s being defensive because she has to be, especially with a guy. Men are a problem for her—stalkers, cheaters, users. It’s a wonder she’s willing to date at all. Of course, she is young and beautiful. It would be a shame for that to go to waste. Too bad she can’t enjoy it like a regular nonfamous person.
My dad continues. “As long as you plan on spending time with Harper, you need to be careful. Smile for the cameras, that’s fine. But give them nothing else. We don’t want any dirt associated with the Rourke name.”
Shit. I hadn’t even thought of that. It’s only recently that our family was welcomed back to the kingdom. It means a lot to my dad after his banishment. This press stuff is not just about me, it’s about my family.
“I’ll be careful,” I say.
He smiles. “I’m sure she has PR people that keep her on message. Let them do their thing.”
“Honey, he’s not spending time with her anymore,” my mom calls from the kitchen. “There’s a new story with Garrett saying they parted as friends. Are you okay, teddy bear?”
“I’m fine,” I say through my teeth. Not like it was a real relationship. I was a stand-in to make her look good. There’s that righteous feeling. Harper was in the wrong, not me.
My dad wags his finger. “That’s the kind of thing you shouldn’t share with the press. Now you’ve given them more grist for the mill.”
I tense. “I thought that would shut down speculation.”
He shakes his head. “Fuel on the fire. Any new piece of information keeps it alive. Just say ‘no comment’ from here on out.”
This is bad. First the story was about Harper being cheated on, then on our new relationship, and now on our breakup. Is she going to invent another fake relationship to counter our breakup? Show off some new guy her publicist vetted for her at the Rourke fundraiser next Saturday? I bet there’s plenty of guys she could choose from among the Hollywood elite. My gut churns at the thought.
“Garrett, are you listening to me?”
I focus on my dad. “Yeah, I get it. Keep my mouth shut.”
“You can say things that highlight what you really want them to report on. Like how much you support a cause, or you can talk about the good work you and your brothers are doing with the community garden in your latest project. Just not your personal business.”
I clench my jaw. Not much point in all these instructions since I won’t be seeing her again. “Okay, I doubt I’ll have to deal with much press anymore.”
He leans forward. “How did you get thrown into Harper’s orbit?”
I snort. “Long story. Short version is, I visited Josie on set for a taping.”
“Ah.” He leans back in his seat. “Good show. Your mother and I really enjoyed watching a taping a few weeks ago. You’re coming to the watch party on Thursday, right?” Living Gold premieres on Thursday night, and my parents are hosting a party for our family to watch it together.
“Of course. I want to be there for Josie.”
“Josie thinks highly of Harper.”
My brows lift in surprise. Family grapevine works fast.
He glances at my mom before leaning forward, speaking in a low tone. “Your mother checked in with her.”
“Daniel!” my mom exclaims. “You’re not supposed to tell him that part.”
His lips twitch. “This is a private conversation between men.”
She rolls her eyes.
He turns to me. “What happened that it ended so soon? You’re more long term usually.”
“Ego clash. Hers.” I spread my arms. “Huge ego.”
“Ah. I don’t have any experience with that, I’m afraid.” He winks.
“Ha!” my mom says from the kitchen. “That’s because you’re the one with the huge ego.”
He joins her in the kitchen, wrapping her in his arms and whispering something that has her pushing him away, laughing. They whisper to each other, smiling, and I look away. No need to see the parent nookie.
That’s the kind of love I’m holding out for. Maybe I should give Harper another chance. But, you know, she was so quick to push me away. Then again, I wasn’t exactly being conversational in our last phone call. I was insulted and hurt and pushed back.
Being home again reminds me of the Rourke family philosophy. Growing up, my dad always said be bold, take risks, you only get one go-round in this life. He risked everything to be with my mom, and now look at them.
I take a deep breath. I’m a Rourke. Time to be bold.
8
Garrett
I’m in a custom-made charcoal gray suit, courtesy of Josie, for the Rourke foundation fundraiser at the Metropolitan Museum of Art. It was black tie optional, so I opted out of renting a tux again. I love the fact that the blazer doesn’t pull tight across my shoulders like most do. I’m actually comfortable in this suit. Josie arranged for it through a stylist friend as a thank you for house-sitting when she and Sean were away last summer, but I know the real reason. She’s been trying to get me more involved in the Rourke foundation events. Not because I’m so great at networking with the wealthy elite. It’s because, well, okay, I’ll just come right out and say it—I’m her favorite in the Rourke family. Besides Sean, of course. She’s constantly inviting me to stuff. I usually decline, but not tonight. I’m on a mission.
I’m trying to give Harper a little leeway here. She has to be cautious about whom she gets involved with, and I’ve seen for myself what happens when she’s not. It’s all out there in big bold colors for everyone to see. I won’t seek her out right away. I want to see if she’s with another fake date for the PR. If she is, I’m out for good. I don’t want to be with a shallow, ego-driven woman, even if she does have some sweet moments.
I take a sip of champagne, scanning the room for her. Everyone’s gathered for a cocktail reception in the historic Great Hall, the museum’s entryway. It’s an impressive space made with limestone in that old Greek style with archways and columns running the length of the hall. Above us is a wraparound balcony, where more people are gathered. I scan the balcony space for a familiar face, taking in all the beautiful people in their fancy clothes, and then check out the three massive domes overhead. How did they get those into place back in the 1800s? Couldn’t have been easy. This reminds me a little of Amalie Palace in Villroy. Built to impress.
Harper’s been on my mind a lot this week, but I’ve held off on texting or calling her. I saw her on the premiere of Living Gold at our family watch party. She sounded every bit the sophisticated socialite, but when the camera got in close, her eyes showed such grief over the loss of her father. How did she convey so much without a word? It struck me that she must be sensitive, like me. That could be why we connected in the first place.
It’s different for people in the spotlight. I get that now. Who knows, maybe I’ll be in the spotlight soon too. My mom gave me a contact at her former modeling agency, and I’m supposed to get professional headshots taken on Monday morning. A buoyant excitement goes through me at the thought. A gig of my own
. Nothing I’ve ever done in my life has been just about me. It’s always been about the family.
I’ve already checked in with Josie and Sean. Guess it’s time for me to strike up a few conversations and do my part for the Rourke foundation. I spot a guy in a black tux who looks relatively normal. Probably because he reminds me of my brother Brendan. He looks around my age with dark brown hair and a neatly trimmed beard, leaning casually against a column, taking in the scene with a tired look on his face. I bet he got roped into this thing.
I walk over to him. “Hey, enjoying the gala?”
He remains leaning against the column and jerks his chin at me. “Who wants to know?”
I offer my hand. “Garrett Rourke. It’s my family’s foundation.”
He straightens and shakes my hand in a firm grip. “Wyatt Winters. So, are you one of the rainmakers like Sean?”
“Nah, I work construction. It’s a great cause. All the funds raised tonight will go toward the community garden in our newest development project. We have a mission to give back to neighborhoods. Mostly in Brooklyn, where I’m from.” There. See how I’m helping the cause?
“An admirable mission, which is the only reason I’m here. Tell me exactly how your company has given back to neighborhoods in the past.”
Straightforward and direct. I like that.
So I tell him all about Rourke Management’s projects so far, including building a wheelchair-accessible playground, low-rent space for artists and nonprofits, and parks. I’m damn proud of what we’ve accomplished so far. Our company has won awards for urban excellence and social responsibility.
“We build neighborhoods that people want to live in for generations,” I conclude. That sounded awesome. I should tell Becca to put that in our marketing stuff. She’s our chief strategy officer (and my brother Connor’s wife).
He cracks a smile. “Cool. Maybe I should’ve gotten into building something instead of tech. I’m done being chained to a computer.”
“What do you do?”
He stares at his untouched champagne. “I was one of those Silicon Valley whiz kids. Now I’m retired.”
I do a double take. “Little young to be retired.”
He lifts a shoulder in a careless shrug. “You want to hit up the bar for something stronger?”
“Sure.” I hadn’t realized they’d set up a bar. I thought cocktails meant just the champagne the waiters were circulating.
“Champagne is a candy-ass drink,” he says, setting his glass on a nearby table.
I leave my glass behind too. “Candy-ass, huh? Was not aware of that.”
“Oh, yeah. I’m partial to whisky. How about you?”
We make our way through the crowd in the Great Hall.
“Beer will do for me.”
“I don’t think they serve beer here,” he says. “Is this your first gala?” He turns into an alcove, where there’s a line for the bar.
I glance around for signs of Harper, but don’t see her. “Actually, this is my second event like this in two weeks.”
“Boring as hell, right? No offense to your family’s foundation.”
“How’d you get roped into this?”
He barks out a laugh. “I met Sean and Josie in LA at a fundraiser I was roped into by an ex. This is my last one for a while. I plan to lie low after this.”
“Prince Garrett,” someone calls.
Strange. There’s a prince around here with my name. Sean’s reach through royal circles must’ve expanded, probably through one of our cousins.
I turn to Wyatt as we shift closer to the front of the line. “So how is it you can retire at…”
“Thirty,” Wyatt supplies. “The big three-oh. I’m having my mid-life crisis early.”
I chuckle.
A bald guy in his forties appears at my side. “Prince Garrett, so glad I found you here.”
Why is he calling me Prince Garrett? I’ve never gotten any royal treatment in New York. That’s strictly a Villroy thing.
“Do I know you from Villroy?” I ask. It’s possible we met at some point. There’s a lot of people coming and going at the palace.
He flashes a dazzling white-toothed smile and offers his hand. “Mark Perlman, your new agent. And you’re the secret prince of Brooklyn.”
I give him a quick handshake to be polite. I’m not sure what he means by “my new agent.” The modeling agent I talked to was a woman.
Wyatt orders a whiskey. “You want one?” he asks me.
“I’ll take a tequila.”
Wyatt turns to Mark in question, but he declines, waiting patiently by my side.
Once the drinks arrive, Wyatt raises his glass of whiskey toward me and wanders off, leaving me alone with Mark.
Mark puts a hand on my elbow, guiding me to a quiet corner. “So, Prince Garrett—”
“Just Garrett.”
“You’ve got something here. A look. And I don’t know if you realize this, but the buzz is really building over you.”
I sip my tequila—a high-end label meant to savor—and stare at him. I’m sure he’ll get to a point soon. He’s a fast-talking, high-enthusiasm kind of guy.
“Ever think about acting?” he asks.
“No.”
“No problem. Many men start a little later, once they’ve filled out in the jaw and body.” He gives me a once-over that feels like I’m being inspected as a purebred at a dog show. I’m surprised he doesn’t peel back my lips to check my teeth. “Minimum, I can get you into commercials, but, Garrett, I have a good feeling about you. I think you can build on this and be a major star. Not just a working actor. I mean a household name, the kind that can headline movies!”
Adrenaline fires through me. Whoa. Imagine that! It’s a helluva lot more exciting than my current life, which isn’t bad by any means, but…a movie star? Me? Reality check. I know nothing about acting. This guy must have me confused with one of the real actors here that Josie invited.
“I don’t think I’m who you think I am.” I gesture around me. “Throw a stick and you’ll find an actor. I’m just a construction worker.”
He nods vigorously. “Yeah, yeah, I know who you are. The guy who was at the Best Friends Care gala last week with Harper Ellis. Good call getting with her. Oh, sorry. I heard you parted ways. I can arrange for another actress on the rise to be seen with you to get the ball rolling. Gotta keep feeding the PR machine.”
PR machine. Exactly why Harper asked me out in the first place, and now I don’t know what’s real or not. That’s messed up.
I lift my glass to him. “No, thanks. Nice meeting you.”
“Wait! Listen. Too soon on the dating front. I get it. I see great potential here, that’s all.” He pulls a business card from the inside pocket of his tux jacket and hands it to me. “Consider signing with me. There’s an aftershave commercial I can get you in for.” He raises a hand near my cheek. “That jaw is perfection.”
“Uh, thanks?” I can’t tell if he’s coming on to me or trying to sign me as a client. I glance around once again for Harper. She’s average height and could be hidden behind a big guy, maybe her bodyguard.
Mark continues in an urgent tone. “Do you know how much a commercial pays? Thirty grand for one day’s work, minimum.”
That gets my attention. “Seriously?” I could do that on the side and have a down payment on a house in no time. That’s even better pay than modeling. And I wouldn’t have to feel guilty about abandoning my family’s business. I could have both.
He grins. “Seriously. And if you’re on board, I’ll arrange for a personal acting coach. I see great things for you, Garrett. With me on your team, the sky’s the limit. Think about it.” He walks away.
I look at his card. “Is this a legit agency?”
He stops and turns, a wide smile spreading across his face. “William Morris Endeavor is the top of the food chain.”
“Huh.” I slide it into my pocket.
He taps his temple. “I can tell you’re t
hinking about it. You won’t regret it.”
I lift a hand in farewell and wander through the crowd, my mind whirling. It’s one thing for the press to say stuff about me being a model, a whole other thing for a legitimate agent from a top agency to approach about signing me for a commercial. Now that I could see giving a whirl. I had no idea a commercial paid so much. It looks so easy too. Three minutes or less with minimal dialogue. Hell, I could do that in my sleep. This could be a great opportunity.
That movie-star stuff is a wild dream I’ve never considered. For just a moment, I let myself imagine that life—doing a cool action-hero movie, living in a sweet house of my own, never worrying about money, going to the head of every line. Could it be that I was passed over for every important role in my family’s company because I was meant for another role in life? I’ve never felt ambitious until now.
I should talk to Josie about this, get her take on Mark Perlman. I weave through the crowd to find her and stop short.
Harper. And she’s alone. My pulse thrums through my veins. Time to make my move.
9
Garrett
She looks incredible in a pink one-shouldered dress that clings to her sexy body. A surge of raw lust has me frozen in place for a moment. I need to be in control, take it slow and easy. I spot her guard, Joe, standing a little behind her. That’s going to be hard to get used to, always having a witness, but I’ll do my best.
A tall blond guy in a tux approaches Harper. She smiles prettily and talks to him. A rare stab of jealousy hits.
I toss back my tequila, set the glass on a nearby tray, and stride over. “Hello, sweetheart,” I say in my warmest voice, tamping down the edge of jealousy threatening to break through. The “sweetheart” is to put the other guy off. Staking my claim. Deep down, my instincts are pure caveman.
Her hazel eyes widen. “Garrett.”
“Surprised to see me?”
She blinks. “I, uh, just didn’t think it was your scene.”
“Well, it is.” Not really. I glance at the guy trying to poach my potential date and turn back to Harper. “My family is the reason there’s an event.” I jab a finger at the banner by the front of the Great Hall that says Royal Rourke Foundation Gala.
Rogue Beast (The Rourkes, Book 12) Page 8