Jonathan places his hand on my forearm and urges me to move aside as he steps closer to Marcus, clearing his throat so he can speak. “She’s disappeared again, mate,” he forces out. “I’m sorry. But she’s gone.” His hand floats to his throat and he coughs, and I can’t help myself, I’m rushing to his side again. He’s not dying on my watch.
“You need a doctor.”
“I’m OK,” he counters.
“Fuck!” Marcus is the Man in Black, screaming from the Pit of Despair when The Machine is turned up to fifty. It hurts my heart to witness his pain, but my moment of empathy towards him is slapped to the ground when he picks up one of my dining room chairs and hurls it through my front window. The glass shatters with a loud crash then tinkles musically while the chair hits the railing around my porch and splinters apart. The paparazzi lets out a collective gasp before flashes go off like tiny bombs.
I must let out a cry because Jonathan’s arms go around me. He holds me to him while Marcus just stands there, surveying his destruction. My ears buzz, the noise of the press indecipherable as Marcus walks out of my house. He doesn’t even use the door. He walks straight through the space where my window should be, the broken glass crunching beneath his shoes as he walks calmly away, his head held high while cameras capture the moment for all the world to see.
Marcus hops into a waiting van that spirits him away, leaving us to paparazzi.
“Where’s Leisel?” It’s the first thing I hear when the sound returns.
“Oh god,” I moan, dropping my head against Jonathan’s shoulder as I let out a sob. This isn’t how I pictured my day going.
This morning, I was helping out a friend by taking care of her dog. Now my front window is gone thanks to her feral rock star boyfriend, and I’m crying into the shoulder of her movie star ex-fiancé. Who knew the meek and mild Lisa’s life was this chaotic?
Jonathan puts his hand on the back of my head and draws me in closer, his embrace shielding me from the invasive clicking of the cameras. “We can’t stay here,” he says as he pulls me back from the window and into the privacy of my bedroom.
“My house,” I cry as he closes the door behind us. “He broke my house.”
“I know. I’m sorry.” He places his hands on my shoulders and pulls away from me slightly, looking down into my eyes from his six foot two height. “I’m going to help you, OK?” I nod, and he cups my face in his hands, using his thumbs to wipe away my tears. “Some of the paparazzi took off after Marcus, so there aren’t that many to contend with anymore.”
“We can’t leave with my house wide open, we’ll be ransacked.”
“We won’t. I’ll make some calls and get someone over here to clean this mess up and board up your window. But you need to come with me.”
I shake my head. “I don’t want to go with you. They’ll think we’re together. They’ll start following me around…”
He holds me still and leans in. “They already think that, Sandra. The best thing we can do now is get somewhere secure and lie low until this dies down.”
“But—”
“Trust me. I’ve been through this before.”
Six
Jonathan
“I could’ve just gone to my parents’ house,” Sandra says as I usher her into the hotel suite. Her eyes move around the large living area with plush neutral-coloured furnishings and pale green accents before they drift to the curtains billowing in the breeze from the open balcony. She lets out a gasp as she walks straight to the glass-panelled door and takes in the unfettered view of Observatory Hill. “This place is beautiful. I didn’t even know it existed.”
“They cater to a very limited clientele,” I say, approaching her with a glass of champagne in hand. She looks from it to me then shakes her head.
“I don’t think that’s a good idea.”
“Come on. It’s complimentary. It’ll go to waste if we don’t drink it.”
Straightening her mouth, she wraps her fingers around the cool glass, her cheeks flaming pink when her skin brushes against mine. “Do you think you should be drinking after you had your windpipe crushed?”
I chuckle. “The bubbles will soothe my throat. Quit worrying so much.”
“Ugh.” She steps away from the balcony and closes the doors. “It’s kind of what I do. I’m worried I’ll be spotted with you again. I’m worried my parents will think I’ve been kidnapped. I’m worried Lisa will think I’m breaking the girl code.” She stops fidgeting with the curtains and mutters something like, ‘Not that it means much to her’. I sip my champagne and take a seat on the couch, kicking off my shoes and stretching out my legs.
“Well, why don’t you call your parents to let them know you’re safe, text Leisel to tell her you’re not fucking her ex-fiancé and girl code is safe and sound, and keep away from the damn windows so you can’t be seen with me?”
She moves until she’s standing behind one of the single lounge chairs. “You have an answer for everything, don’t you?”
I shrug, taking a large gulp of the liquid gold in my glass. “People spend too much time focusing on the problem instead of looking for the solution. And there is always a solution.”
“You really believe that?”
“Sure. It might not be the solution you want, but there’s generally one there.”
“How do you even live like this?” she asks, sighing as she looks around again. “I’m afraid of touching anything. I could leave a stain or break this ridiculously delicate glass. I mean, look how thin this stem is.”
“Drink your champagne, Sandra. Sit down and relax. If you damage anything, I’ll gladly pay for it to be replaced.”
“Oh no. I pay my own way here. I don’t want to owe you something.”
“You mean like how I owe you my life?”
She frowns. “What? No, you don’t.”
“Sure, I do. You think douche face was going to let me go if you hadn’t beaten into him? The guy was in a rage. I was seeing black patches in front of my eyes.”
“He was that close to choking you out?”
I nod. “Another thirty seconds and I would have been unconscious on the floor.”
“Jesus. That was scary. I’ve never seen someone go crazy like that before.”
“Well, he doesn’t seem like the sanest creature on this planet.”
“Guess I dodged a bullet then,” she mutters, standing up as she downs the entire contents of her glass in one breath.
“Dodged a bullet?” I sit forward, picking up the champagne bottle before rising and refilling her glass.
“Not really.” She lifts her glass and drains half of it. She’s thirsty.
“Did you date him?” I press.
She drinks a little more. “No. Not dating. I spent a weekend with him a couple of years ago. I very embarrassingly thought there was more going on than there was. I had a bit of a hang up over him for a while.” She snorts and touches her head. “It sounds so stupid every time I say it out loud.”
“Why? Because you felt something for a douchebag?”
“Don’t you think that’s the pot calling the kettle black?”
“Ahh, you may think that, but I have never been dishonest with the women I sleep with.”
“Except Lisa.”
I drain my glass then refill it. “Except Leisel. There’s always someone who turns out to be collateral damage because of dishonesty. Leisel was mine, which is why I’m very honest with women now. And you were obviously Marcus’s.” I tilt my head as I study her a little more closely. “And possibly Liesel’s too if that comment you muttered over girl code is anything to go by.”
She finishes her glass then shakes her head when I lift the bottle to refill it. “I think she’s in love with him. So it’s kind of null and void in this instance.”
“I see. Because love conquers all?”
One half of her mouth kicks up and I decide she’s the most adorable thing I’ve ever laid my eyes on. “I’m not that naïve.” And ye
t her eyes are shining. Liar.
My phone goes crazy in my back pocket, and I pull it out to see my agent’s name on the screen. “I should probably take this,” I say, swiping at the screen to answer. “Give me one sec, Owen.” I tap the mute button and turn my attention back to Sandra. “Sorry about that. He’s obviously seen the news, so I have to listen to the damage control. But I want you to make yourself comfortable. Your room is over there.” I nod to the door directly behind her. “There’s a big tub in the bathroom and some aromatherapy shit if you want to relax. Or there’s TV, and we have twenty-four-hour table service if you’re hungry. Just, take advantage of anything you’d like. It’s all on me as a thank you for not letting me die at the hands of the brute.” I give her a wink and a grin as I un-mute my phone and lift it to my ear, turning away. “I suppose I’m on the news.”
“On fucking every channel.” My agent’s voice booms in my ear, exasperation apparent. “What the hell is it with you and smashed houses?”
I walk into the bedroom opposite Sandra’s and close the door. “Just a magnet for destructive people, I guess. Is it messing with my wholesome image?” Chuckling, I take a seat at the ornate-looking desk that sits in the corner of the room, putting my feet on the shiny wood.
“What wholesome image?” he scoffs. “The whole world knows you’re a walking hard-on. It’s practically your brand.”
“And here I was thinking it was my good looks and acting skills that got me where I am.”
“Ha! You’re where you are because women want to fuck you, and men want to be you.”
I roll my eyes and let out my breath. “OK. Awesome. Is that all you called to say?”
“I called to tell you that Marnie wants to cancel your arrangement. Said you’re making her look like a doormat.”
“Tired of playing the dedicated girl-next-door trying to tame the wild boy already is she?”
He chuckles then coughs because he has a seriously bad smoking habit. “She’s already taken to Instagram telling the world how devastated she is that you’d go running back to your ex.”
“That’s what they’re reporting?”
“You haven’t seen it? It’s everywhere. You stole Leisel from Marcus Bailey and he’s gone insane over it. Beat up his manager, charged with assault. If you can get Leisel to charge him with destruction of property, it’ll be the icing on the cake. You can’t buy press like this.” He chuckles even harder, and his chuckle actually sounds greedy.
I sigh. “I’m not with Leisel.”
“What do you mean you aren’t with her? There’s footage of you two running from the cameras together.”
“Well, the footage is wrong. She’s split again,” I say, not bothering to explain the true situation. The press will print what they want and he’ll get my publicity team to spin it so I look like a hero. It’s the way this gig works.
“Pity. You two rekindling your romance would have been worth millions to us all.” He releases a heavy breath.
“Sorry to burst your money bubble.” I’m not sorry at all.
“I’ll get over it. Just do me a favour and stay away from the cameras for a few days. Let the press run with this story. We’ll milk it for as long as we can.”
“Don’t count your chickens, Owen. They have photos of me with someone else already.” The line goes silent.
“What?”
“I’m not sleeping with her.” Yet. “But you should know there’s a blonde—”
“You and blondes.” He chuckles again.
“Yeah. Well, it’s her house Bailey smashed in. Just… I don’t know. Do your best to get ahead of it. She helped me out, and I’d like to keep the paparazzi out of her face as much as I can.”
He sighs. “I’ll try. But I can’t promise anything.”
“Thanks, Owen. I’ve gotta go.” I don’t, but I’m sick of this conversation.
“Sure. Talk soon,” he says, and I hang up, noticing a bunch of notifications I missed from family and friends. Inwardly, I groan. I’d like to shut my phone off and ignore them all for a while. But I’m a good boy at heart, and I don’t like making my mother worry.
Seven
Sandra
Sinking low in the giant bath, I blow slow bubbles that make a glug sound when they hit the surface. I haven’t had a shower since before I went out last night and this massive tub was too hard to resist. Especially since I’m feeling lightheaded from the champagne. Two glasses in ten minutes is a bit much even for a staunch drinker. Which I am not.
I slide even lower, leaving only my eyes above the surface. There’s some kind of lavender stuff floating in the water, the sachet provided making the tub milky and fragrant. It said it would make me destress. I don’t feel it. In fact, I feel downright odd. And if I’m honest, I’m angry. Furious, actually.
I’ve been trying to be understanding about Lisa keeping her real identity to herself. I reasoned it away because having the paparazzi swarm you is a scary thing to endure. I only dealt with them for maybe twelve hours and I’ll be happy to never see them again. So I can empathise with her desire to stay under the radar. But—and this is a big but—I’m supposed to be her best friend. She lied to me. And not just about who she was, but about dating Marcus Bailey too. Then her secrets exploded all over my life, broke my house and ended with me hiding in a hotel suite with her movie star ex-fiancé.
Her lies turned my life into a nightmare.
So I’m pissed. And I’d really like to be far more drunk than I already am. It won’t fix things, but it’ll take the edge off.
Standing from the giant tub, I pick up the fluffiest fucking towel I’ve ever touched in my life and wrap it around my body. It smells like sunshine and blossoms, and I wonder if I put it in my bag, would anybody notice?
Moving back into the bedroom, I pick up my overnight bag and pull out a pair of black pyjama pants, my underwear and a tank top. I don’t see the point in getting back in my jeans when I’m not leaving this hotel suite before it’s safe outside.
I called my parents a little earlier and so far, my name hasn’t made the news. But they recognised my house and were in a bit of a panic that I’d been harmed. After feeling sure I was OK, they told me to relax and enjoy a little luxury, which was something I needed to hear because I’ve never been one to take a handout, and being somewhere so fancy on Jonathan’s dime was weirding me out. Dad convinced me I deserved it since I risked my safety getting Marcus to stop strangling him.
Once I’m dressed in my pjs, I pull on the hotel-provided robe and head back out to the sitting area. I spotted a fully loaded bar out there before with some of my favourite, Trotsky vodka, on the shelf.
Pouring myself a couple of fingers before adding some ice, I lift the crystal tumbler to my lips, enjoying the slight sweetness in the scent. Then I close my eyes and take that first wonderful sip. The guy behind this craft vodka is a genius. It’s the only vodka I’d ever drink straight because it’s so deliciously smooth.
“Mixing drinks?” Jonathan is somehow in front of me when I open my eyes. It makes my chest jolt and the surface of my skin prickle. He looks more like a figment of my imagination than an actual person, and it’s weirding me out all over again, because yesterday, I didn’t spend time with famous people outside of the twenty minutes I had to interview them for work.
“Want one?” I reach up to the shelf and pull down another crystal tumbler.
“Why not? But I think we need food too. Did you get a chance to look at the menu while you were in there?”
I shake my head. “I was literally submerged in a milky liquid with bits of dried lavender in it.”
“Explains why you smell so good. And this.” He moves his hand close to my face, causing me to flinch slightly before he returns with a chunk of lavender that was obviously caught in my hair.
My god this man is good looking.
I feel like I’m in a movie right now. And I have to remind myself he’s not the characters he portrays. He’s also engaged.
/>
“Here’s your drink,” I say, offering him the glass.
“Nostrovia,” he says, a twinkle in his eye as he tosses the vodka back and drains the glass. The vodka feels warm in my belly, but being this close to a man like Jonathan Masters means I’m feeling warm in other places too.
“Uh, you mentioned food,” I say, needing him to back up a little so I don’t repeat the Marcus Bailey Fuckscapades and add another regretful coupling to my list of terrible decisions.
“I did. What do you like?” He moves across the room to where there’s a console with a phone and a bunch of folders that offer information about the hotel’s services.
“I’m easy,” I say, wincing slightly. “I mean, I’m not picky.”
He twists his mouth as he looks at the menu. “What goes well with vodka and champagne?” he muses as he strokes his long fingers down his chin before he looks at me and nods once. “Burgers. They do great burgers here. Big fat chips, and they make their own tomato sauce. They’ll go down well.”
My stomach grumbles at the thought.
While he calls through our order, I move to the couches and take a seat, tucking my feet beneath me as I look through the gauzy curtains to outside. It’s so beautiful here. I’d love to have a view like this at home, but all I can see through my windows are the houses surrounding mine. I guess that’s why most people have paintings on the walls. Makes up for the shitty views.
“Twenty minutes,” Jonathan says as he moves to sit beside me, bringing the bottle of vodka and our glasses with him. “You know, it’s hard to get this stuff in the states. The guy who makes it is Australian, and each batch is a limited run.”
“You should get your people to send you cases of it. Life’s too short to drink inferior vodka.” I accept the glass he hands me and tap it against his.
Star (Beautiful Book 5) Page 4