“Fashion is my thing. And you know how much I love my surprises.”
I nodded. I certainly knew. I loved his high drama and the lavish affection he showered on me. “It’s just that . . .”
“You’ve probably had enough surprises lately.”
“Definitely.”
“I’m sorry. I made a mistake. I guess I should have called and made an appointment to see you.”
“No, that’s not it at all.”
“I’ve been so upset while you were gone. And I figured you have been too. I wanted to give you a gift. An unexpected gift, me and the dresses to make you smile.” His chin quivered.
“I’m sorry, Ernie. Forgive me.”
“You’re forgiven. Over and over. You must know I would forgive you nearly anything. Your clothing choices, however.” He clucked his tongue. “The press conference attire?” He shook his head. “That’s another offense entirely.”
He lifted his finger in the air and wiggled it. “You are the Firelight star, darling. Wielder of the flame. Queen of the cosmos. Presales for your upcoming release have gone through the roof since your disappearance. No one’s bigger or brighter. We’ll make you shine. That’s why when Olivia called, I rushed the designs and sent everything over to the Alluring reps.”
“Always my champion.” My eyes filled as his did.
“If you’ll allow me to be. Don’t shut me out.”
“I had my reasons.”
“Surely those reasons don’t exist anymore.”
“Some do.” I turned away from my best friend to find Cash closer than I remembered him being a moment before. “I’m quite safe with Ernie, Mr. Cash.”
He flinched. I’d not used my bitchy celebrity tone with him before. But he wanted things strictly professional, so that was what they would be.
“I’d like some privacy to speak alone with my friend.”
“Yes, of course, Miss Le—”
“Miss Wood will do.”
“Miss Wood,” he repeated, fire flickering in his eyes in response to my icy tone before he dipped his head and exited the room.
Directly behind him, I slid the bedroom door closed and beckoned my friend to the opposite side of the room.
“What the hell?” Ernie shook his head at me. “No more bullshit. Spill. All of it. Starting with what really happened with Samuel the night you took off, and ending with you telling me what’s going on with you and that man-na from heaven you just sent away.”
My cheeks immediately flamed.
“Focus, darling.” He gently turned my chin so I was facing him again. “We can start with the bodyguard, if you want, but I think it will all make better sense if you start at the beginning.” He gathered my hands and squeezed them encouragingly.
“I missed you.” I stared down at our joined hands, emotion welling up in me.
“I missed you too. So, why didn’t you call me?” He didn’t try to hide his hurt.
“I couldn’t.”
“You didn’t trust me.”
“Not me. Fanny.”
“Suspicious bitch.” He shook his head, and not a single strand of his perfectly gelled coppery hair moved out of its artfully tousled place.
“She’s protective,” I said, frowning.
“Overly. And jealous of your relationship with me.”
I shook my head to deny it, and Ernie’s fingers tightened on mine when I would have withdrawn them.
“She smothers you.”
I didn’t like anyone to speak badly of my sister. But deep down inside, I acknowledged that he might be a little right. Though I had to take some responsibility for allowing her to smother me.
“Can you forgive me?”
“I might.” He let go of my hands and crossed his arms over his chest, reminding me of Cash. “It’s up to you, really.”
“How so?” I asked.
“I love you.” Ernie’s expression was as solemn as his statement. His eyes glistened with the depth of his emotion. “But part of that love is genuinely caring about your well-being, and you look like you’re about to fly apart.”
He reached out to gently touch my nose. “Don’t bow up. It’s barely noticeable. You’re a stellar actress, my darling, but it’s there in your stormy gaze. Those who love you and care enough to look deeper than the surface of your beauty can see it. You said in the press conference that Samuel came on to you. That he threatened you. How far did he go?”
I started to turn away, but when Ernie took my arm and gently turned me to face him again, I said softly, “Too far.”
I didn’t hold back much. I told him nearly everything.
“Don’t look at me like that,” I said when Ernie just stared.
“Like what?” he asked.
“Like I’m damaged.”
“How could you not be after what he did,” he pointed out gently.
“I just feel so stupid.” I sighed, feeling more than stupid.
I did feel damaged, just like Ernie said. Like there was a heavy weight of shame bearing down on top of me. Much how it had been that night when Samuel pinned me beneath him on the floor of the library.
I shuddered and quickly returned the memory to the darkest corner of my mind, where it belonged. “I should have seen it coming . . . the increasingly suggestive comments, the derogatory comparisons to my mother, the obsession with my earnings, the pressure to take on more and more roles. But I believed that he was my father, and I couldn’t imagine he would ever physically hurt me.”
My throat tight, I turned away from Ernie and moved to the window. Looking outside, I focused on the water, wishing it were the soothing rhythmic swells of the ocean. The water seemed to represent many things to me. Cleansing. Freedom. Escape.
Ernie came up behind me and put his hands on my shoulders. His touch was warm on my skin and comforting. I relaxed back into him, and he pressed a soft kiss onto the top of my head.
“I should’ve avoided him, Ernie. I know how he is when he’s been drinking.”
“Hollie.” He turned me around, and I noticed he’d grown pale beneath his beautiful bronzed skin. “You’re making excuses for him. That’s what abuse victims do.”
“He didn’t abuse me.”
“He did. Verbally for years, and physically now, sexually. If Maria . . .”
“I know,” I said, my voice strained by the burden of my recollections. I might not have been able to stop him if our housekeeper hadn’t come in. “Hart’s team is trying to find her. We need her as a witness. Otherwise, it’ll just be my word against his.”
The plan was for me to be vague about the details of the assault until we located her and convinced her to testify.
“You should talk to someone before then. A professional someone, darling.”
“I just want to forget it ever happened.”
“It’s not healthy to suppress stuff that huge.”
“It happened to me.” My spine snapped straight. Anger uncoiled within me, and I lashed out with it like a serpent’s strike. “I choose how to handle it. He doesn’t get to take that away from me. No one does. Not even you.”
“All right, Hollie. I accept that. For now.” Ernie’s expression was sad but supportive. “So, where do we go from here?”
“We?”
“I’m part of your team now, aren’t I? Me and Olivia?”
“But you’re Saber’s personal stylist.”
“Was.”
“You quit?” I asked, my tone incredulous. The three-time Academy-award-winning actress paid him a fortune to be at her beck and call.
“Yes. I have something better to do.”
“I can’t pay you what she does.”
I was setting aside the money I earned before the lawsuit until the outcome of who it belonged to was decided. The legal wrangling could drag on for years. That was why it was so imperative that I return to work soon. I needed to be out from under my stepfather’s dark shadow, and I needed my bank account free and clear of his foulness too.
>
“I don’t care about the money, Hollie. I care about you.”
My heart swelled. “Thank you. You’re my most precious and treasured friend.” I threw my arms around his neck and lightened my tone. “With you on my side, I’ll make the best-dressed list. Win the People’s Choice. Get a Globe. Maybe even an Oscar.”
“Don’t get carried away. You’re not Shaina Bentley.”
Ernie drew me close, and I laid my cheek on his hard chest. The fresh scent of his cologne was familiar, his cashmere sweater soft against my skin, his body warm. And his comfort was a much-needed balm.
“Then again . . .” He had a smile in his slightly accented raspy voice. “Maybe the Oscar’s not too big a stretch. It is me dressing you, after all, darling.”
I lifted my head to look at him and thought, not for the first time, how his partner was a lucky man. Not only was Ernie Caballero a Brazilian hottie, he was also a genuinely good person whose heart was formed of the purest gold. The treasure of who he was shone like a beacon as his lips lifted, his eyes sparkled, and he gave me his blinding double-dimpled smile.
“I could lose the lawsuit.” I leaned back in his embrace and peered up at him. “I want you with me. I need you with me. But you might want to have a contingency plan, just in case.”
The bedroom door suddenly slammed open. Startled, I jumped, and Ernie stepped in front of me. Talk of my stepfather had us both on edge, but it wasn’t a threat.
It was Cash.
“What’s going on?” I asked my bodyguard over the force of his unanticipated entrance that continued to vibrate inside the wall. “What’s wrong?”
My supportive best friend found and took my hand. Cash’s gaze dipped to our clasped fingers for a moment.
“Nothing.” He gritted out the reply through clenched teeth. “Sorry to interrupt.”
But he didn’t look sorry. What he looked was a little too pleased to have barged in on Ernie and me.
Was Cash jealous? He had no reason to be, of course. Not that it mattered. Not after earlier, especially, and because of that, I wasn’t in a hurry to correct any misconception about my friendship with Ernie.
“You have a visitor, Miss Wood.” Cash seemed reluctant to make the announcement, and a reprimand evaporated from my tongue as another male breezed inside my bedroom without permission.
“This supersized GI Joe needs to go back to remedial training.”
Carter Besille, the infamous talk show host who oddly resembled a Ken doll dipped in orange dye and not an action figure, wagged his finger in Cash’s direction.
“He saw my credentials.” Besille put his hands on his narrow hips. He wore stonewashed jeans and a sweater like my bestie, but appeared slovenly in comparison. “Yet he had the gall to tell me I couldn’t come in here. I don’t know—”
“Knowing is half the battle.” I cut him off with a GI Joe cartoon quote, but Besille’s expression remained blank. He didn’t get it, like he didn’t get a lot of things. He might have a popular show with viewers, but he was not on the celebrities’ favorite list. “It’s his job to keep me safe.”
From the corner of my eye, I noticed Cash flinch. But he had no right to that flinch. He was the one who insisted we keep things strictly professional.
Continuing, I said, “He wasn’t trying to snub you. He’s only doing his job well and respecting my privacy, if he asked you to wait.”
I gave Cash a nod, and he dipped his chin in return.
“Why are you here, Mr. Besille?” I put my hand to my throat to hide my rapidly beating pulse. He exasperated me, even on his best days. I didn’t like being blindsided by his unexpected visit. “I’m not scheduled for the show until later.”
“I don’t want you for that.”
“So, what do you want?”
“I want to do an exclusive with you. A two-hour one. A two-part special.”
I shook my head.
“Don’t say no before you know what I’m offering. A backstory reveal—growing up as Samuel Lesowski’s daughter, only you weren’t. Then backstage at the upcoming Firelight premiere. Afterward, a discussion about the allegations and what really happened with him that scared you so badly, you ran away.”
“No. Not going to happen.”
“It’s a chance for you to tell your side of the story. I guarantee you, your stepfather is planning a tell-all of his own.”
My knees wobbled.
Besille grinned. “You need me.”
“I’m not that desperate,” I said, pressing my lips tight.
“You want her,” Ernie said. “She’s the talent. Beautiful. The injured party. She brings in the big viewership, the sympathy, the support, not Samuel.” My bestie turned to me and gathered both my hands in his. “You do whatever you want to, darling. Don’t worry about Samuel. You can find another interviewer.”
Besille shook his head. “She can’t find one at my level.”
“I know how you are,” I told him.
“And how’s that exactly?” He raised a brow.
“The recent Rush McMahon incident comes to mind. You exploited his grief. Bought and used pictures of him without his permission. Facilitated someone betraying his trust.”
Betrayal was a worry for every celebrity once they reached a certain level of fame where exploitation could equate to a large payout of cash.
“I didn’t betray jack. Rush is a rock star. A public figure. He has fans who want information about him. I only supplied what they wanted.”
True, and a warning to take to heart, should I agree to the notorious talk show host’s proposal.
“You know what you’re getting with me.” Besille’s teeth flashed white against his spray-tanned skin. “I know what I’m getting with you. We understand each other without a bunch of bullshit. That’s a more honest exchange than most get in the type of offer I’m making, and you know it.”
“You’re not gonna do it, are you?” Ernie didn’t even wait until Besille cleared the outer door of the suite to grill me.
It didn’t seem like Cash wanted me to do the talk show host’s special either. He was staring at the closed door, his jaw tight and his expression stonier than usual.
But then again, what did I know about what went on inside Maximillian Cash’s head beyond that I wasn’t what he’d expected. Whatever the hell that meant.
“I’m not sure what I’m going to do yet. I’ll give it some more thought. Talk to Olivia about it tomorrow.”
“But . . .”
“Let’s set further discussion about the interview aside.”
Everyone in entertainment knew how Carter Besille was. But he was a necessary evil, like the fact that who you knew or who you had slept with could get you the part you wanted. More often than not, the casting couch trumped all paths to prime roles. Samuel had been right about that all those years ago.
“I’m tired.” I rubbed my temples. They had started to throb at my tangled thoughts about the lack of morals in Hollywood. My stepfather had tried to warn me about them, which was ironic when he actually embodied them. Realizations like that made me a cynic like Samuel, when what I really wanted was to be was more idealistic like my mother and Fanny.
“It’s been a long, exhausting day.” I glanced at Cash, whose expression had grown less decipherable, if that were even possible. “I still have a workout with Ollie to survive.”
At least I wouldn’t have to be grilled for an interview while trying not to die. So I had that going for me.
“I thought you swore off the Dungeon Master after that last torture session with the ankle bands and boxes.”
“I did.” The next day, I was so sore, I’d barely been able to get out of bed. “Olivia insists. I’m several pounds over my ideal on-camera weight.” Drastic times called for kick your butt into shape by a sadistic trainer’s measures.
I had to look my best. I had offers on the table, but that didn’t mean the roles were mine yet. I had to meet the directors and the producers, win them over by
looking good and embodying the part, by being interested in their vision for the film, but I couldn’t appear overeager.
To the outsider, the process probably didn’t make much sense, but I wasn’t an outsider. I had made my choice. Acting was my chosen profession, a place where I belonged. Hopefully, a place I still belonged, though I was suing one of the reigning monarchs.
Hollywood looked after their own. Most of the time. Genuine talent like my stepfather had meant a lot of indiscretions could be overlooked. But Samuel had gone too far, and it wasn’t just me he’d hurt. Too many women had come forward and filed charges. We couldn’t all be ignored.
“And speaking of that workout . . .” I forced my tense muscles to relax. “Ollie will be here any minute, but I need to talk to you some more first. Can you stay a minute?”
“Absolutely.” Ernie gave me a nod.
“Thank you.”
I touched his arm and swiveled to face my bodyguard. I’d felt him behind me. His warmth, his cologne, his presence. It was less about not knowing how to act around him and more about not throwing myself at him.
“Why don’t you take off for a while? I’ll be in good hands for the next several hours, and you’re overdue for a break.” I held my breath, anticipating resistance from him.
“I thought we agreed on 24/7 round-the-clock protection.” Cash’s eyes narrowed. “About you not taking any chances.” His gaze slid to Ernie, and his eyes narrowed further.
“We agreed on a lot of things.”
Forty thousand for two weeks of work. It was the going rate for the full-time protection he was giving me. We had talked about a reassessment of my security needs once we cleared the first hurdle, which we had.
Charges had been officially filed. Samuel had returned control of my accounts to me. Unexpectedly. Prior to my eighteenth birthday.
A goodwill gesture? Because he was scared of the allegations?
My attorney certainly thought so. Hart had never lost a case. But I wondered if he was overestimating his own ability and underestimating my stepfather.
It seemed too easy. I knew Samuel. He had a countermove planned. And until he made that move, I wasn’t going to take any unnecessary chances.
High Tide Page 4
