Harlequin Desire January 2021--Box Set 1 of 2

by Maisey Yates

  End of video.

  Nina edged Valerie aside and refreshed the web page. “Is that it? That can’t be it.”

  “That’s it,” Valerie said.

  “An acquaintance?” Nina uttered. “Did he just call me an acquaintance?”

  Valerie dismissed this. “His publicist probably drafted that statement. A lot of celebrities have their publicists handle their breakups. It’s less complicated that way.”

  The room expanded and contracted around Nina. Julian’s statement was factually accurate. They were acquaintances. They’d met and worked together in Miami. They’d kissed in the moonlight, napped in the sun, swum naked in the bay and made love through the night, but that didn’t change the facts. If she’d been anything more than an acquaintance, he would have known that she could have never betrayed him for professional advancement.

  “Here’s my take,” Valerie said. “This was damage control. Nothing more.”

  Nina left the room and stumbled down the hall to the bathroom. Julian would have called her on this—she did have a habit of hiding out in bathrooms—but she couldn’t count on Julian to save her from herself anymore. He was an acquaintance. Someone that she’d met and worked with in Miami. Nothing more.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  By four in the afternoon, the two-story town house was filled with the scent of fried onions, fried plantains and fried pork. Valerie’s mother-in-law and other close family members had arrived early to help out in the kitchen and set up for the party. Nina’s bedroom window overlooked the back patio. Patrick and his friends gathered there, nursing glasses of amber liquor or bottles of beer. Laughter, chatter and riotous kompa music drifted to the second floor.

  Nina looked longingly down at the tableau. This was everything that she had been deprived of growing up. She had long wished to belong to a clan of some sort. And this was without a doubt a gathering of a clan. Valerie was extending an invitation, but was it too late?

  Do I fit in?

  She was itching to reach for a pen and write the words down. The sad thing was, she didn’t trust herself with a journal—not anymore. Julian was right about one point. When it suited her, when it was convenient, she did sell her private thoughts for profit. If she hadn’t given in to the childish need to “Dear Diary” every life event, she could have spared herself a lot of pain over the years.

  Valerie brought her a cup of tea. “I told ma belle-mère that you had a migraine and, she sent up ginger tea. She doesn’t believe in pills. It’s only weird because she’s a pharmacist.”

  Nina set the hot cup of tea on the windowsill. “Give me a sec and I’ll head down with you. I’m starting to feel like the disturbed woman in the attic up here by myself.”

  * * *

  Nina studied her reflection in her compact mirror and winced. She swiped on lip gloss to liven up her complexion, but that was a lot to expect from a fifteen-dollar tube of goo. The doorbell rang and, a moment later, a child let out a bloodcurdling scream. Nina startled and dropped the lip gloss wand. Next thing, she and Valerie had joined a stampede toward the front door. They rushed down the stairs but only made it as far as the landing. The foyer was cramped, everyone straining to catch a glimpse at whoever was on the other side of the screen door. There was one word on everybody’s lips: “Thunder!”

  Nina wished a bolt of lightning would strike her dead.

  Valerie turned to her, eyes bright. “It’s Julian!”

  Nina gripped her cousin’s arm. “How did he know where to find me?”

  “I don’t know!”

  The birthday boy, already a little drunk, had some insight. “He called the house and asked if he could come by!”

  “And you said yes?” Nina said.

  Patrick was a smart, attractive man. He had a quick smile and poreless chocolate-brown skin. Otherwise, he was a guy’s guy and proved it with his next words. “JL Knight calls and says he wants to come over on my birthday and you expect me to say no? Get outta here!”

  “He’s not here to see you!” Valerie scoffed and turned to Nina. “Don’t look so grim. He’s probably here to grovel.”

  “I don’t want him to grovel.”

  The look her cousin gave her left no room for misinterpretation. “Now I know you’re full of it.”

  “It won’t change anything.”

  “It’s a start,” Valerie said. “He grovels a bit, and then you work something out, come to an understanding.”

  Valerie’s mother-in-law came out of the kitchen brandishing a massive wooden pestle. She elbowed her way through the crowd and proceeded to question the intruder. Nina ordered Patrick to call back his mother. She didn’t want Julian pummeled to death with a wooden pestle. Her concern amused Valerie. “Let the groveling begin!”

  * * *

  If he groveled, they could work something out, come to an understanding. That was the rule. Except Julian wasn’t groveling, not even a little bit.

  Valerie had finally let him in, apologizing for the raucous welcome. “Sorry! My family is extra.” And there he was, standing in the tight foyer, looming over everyone, her tall, dark and handsome movie star.

  After Patrick gushed over him and they snapped the obligatory photo, Valerie led them to a quiet seating area on the second floor so they could talk in peace. They settled on opposite ends of an upholstered bench. He looked like a dream in a blue button-down shirt, his hair slicked back. He had no right to look so good when she felt and looked as if she were living a nightmare.

  “Sorry for crashing your party,” he said to Valerie.

  “Don’t be ridiculous,” Valerie said smoothly. “You’ve made my husband’s year. Anything to eat or drink? We’ve got plenty of food.”

  “No. Thank you,” Julian said. “I won’t be staying long.”

  He wasn’t staying long. Drive-by groveling? Did that count for anything?

  “Let me know if you change your mind,” Valerie said.

  Nina’s gaze stayed with Valerie as she headed down the stairs. What she would give if her cousin could stay and arbitrate. Julian was as stiff as a stick figure. He sat tilted forward, elbows on knees and fingers in a steeple under his chin. Silence pulsed around them. She felt sure it echoed the beat of her heart.

  “How are you doing?” he asked.

  “I’m flying home tomorrow.” That wasn’t the answer to his question, but that was all she had to say.

  He nodded as if processing her words. Then he very slowly opened the messenger bag that he’d dropped at his feet and pulled out her journal. The pages were waterlogged and the red leather cover had new scuff marks.

  Relief shot through her. “Oh, God! Where did you find it?”

  “Grace found it in the garden.” He flipped it open. “Someone ripped out a few pages before tossing it in the bushes.”

  He handed her the journal. She opened it on her lap and ran her finger along the frayed edges of the missing pages. “What sort of person does this?”

  “The sort of person that is Pete. He was caught on camera.”

  Nausea rolled through her. “I warned you about him.”

  “I know,” he said quietly. “And I’m sorry. That’s why I’m here. I could have had it shipped to you, but I needed to look you in the eye and tell you how sorry I am. Pete was working with that website, feeding them information and tipping off their photographers, and I overlooked the obvious signs. I just didn’t want to cost a working man his job if it wasn’t true.”

  Did this count as groveling? Nina wasn’t sure.

  “The only reason they did this to you was to get to me,” he said. “They used you, and I’m sorry for the hurt and embarrassment.”

  They may have caused her great embarrassment; only he had hurt her.

  Nina tightened her grip on the journal. “I saw your statement. I don’t want to take legal action. I just wa
nt this story to go away.”

  “I understand.”

  He rose from the bench and picked up the bag. “If I have any more information, can I call you? Will you answer?”

  Nina swallowed past the pit in her throat and nodded. He stared at her awhile, looking as if he had more to say but finally deciding against it. “Okay, Nina. Take care.”

  She nodded again and turned to stare at a framed painting of a rowboat. She could not bear to watch him leave.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  After Julian made a discreet exit, Valerie joined her upstairs. “How did it go?”

  Nina struggled to come up with an answer that simple question. “He didn’t grovel.”

  Valerie plopped down on the bench next to her. “Maybe your standards are too high. Nobody said he had to bend the knee.”

  “An apology would have been nice.”

  “He didn’t apologize? For anything?”

  “He said he was sorry.”

  “Okay. That sounds like an apology.”

  “But it wasn’t!” Nina blinked, her tears near. “He apologized for the wrong thing.”

  Valerie looked genuinely confused. “You’re not making sense.”

  “He kept going on about what they’d done to me. The driver who stole my diary…the website that published it. It was all their fault. He was sorry that they hurt me.”

  The light in Valerie’s eyes dimmed as her hopes for a happy ending died. “He doesn’t get it.”

  “No! He doesn’t!” Nina cried, but she was happy that her cousin did.

  * * *

  The next day, Nina flew home. She sat cramped in a middle seat, staring at the minuscule television screen. Meg Ryan was falling in love (again) with Tom Hanks. The actress opened wide blue eyes, filled with hope, and Nina wanted to punch the screen. The journal on her lap wasn’t the one Julian had returned. As a parting gift, Valerie had unearthed her father’s notebooks and offered them to her in a bundle wrapped in ribbon. Each notebook was inscribed with his name in ink: Raymond Pierre. Nina treasured them. She was not a fool for filling up diaries; she was carrying on a family tradition.

  * * *

  It was a relief to return to her quiet apartment. And it did not take long for her to resume her quiet life with its routines: mornings at the gym, writing sprints, cooking, some television and on occasion drinks with Laetitia. It was the best she could stitch together. She’d been banned from the creative carnival of which Julian was the center. So now she lived the low-key life of an exile. Her sleepless nights were more comfortable in her own bed, but her sense of loss did not lessen with time. Most mornings, she woke up confused to find that Julian wasn’t within arm’s reach. Then she’d go on with her day, her heart heavy, as if filled with slush. At night, she missed his overwhelming presence, the way he filled whatever bedroom they shared with laughter. She missed the sound of his voice.

  And days stretched into weeks.

  The paperback edition of her memoir steadily climbed the bestseller lists. Requests for interviews and appearances poured in. Only now she was known as that Nina Taylor—a virtually unknown author whose career had skyrocketed after she slept with an action star and wrote about it. To the dismay of her publisher, she turned down every interview request, but that only seemed to add to her mystique.

  She had no idea how Julian was doing, and that was a sort of torture. The one time she’d googled him, she’d stumbled upon this gem: If you thought JLK was a “Wham! Bam!” type of lover, think again! Diary excerpts paint a portrait of a sensitive and intuitive man. Men and women alike are clamoring for a piece of that action. The actor could not be reached for comment.

  * * *

  On a chilly Saturday morning in January, Nina and Laetitia, bundled in parkas, trekked back home from spin class. They spotted a woman on their stoop, frantically pressing the buzzer.

  “Looks like there’s going to be some drama!” Laetitia said.

  “Bet you anything that it’s Carl in 3F,” Nina said. “He’s so messy.”

  “I know! Right?”

  Laetitia sprinted forward. She was a decade older than Nina. Her sloppy breakup with Ted (an episode only referred to as TEDx) had done her good. Aggressive self-care was working wonders. Her inky-black hair was glossy and her olive complexion glowed. She was once again her upbeat self—and as nosy as ever. She hopped up the steps, pausing on the landing to peek over the woman’s shoulder. Nina caught her friend’s startled expression and stopped to study the petite blonde more closely. She suddenly looked uncannily familiar.

  “Don’t waste your time,” Laetitia said. “No one is in 3D.”

  The woman whirled to face Laetitia. “Why? Did she move out?”

  “Depends. Who’s asking?”

  “Katia Wells,” she replied. “I’m looking for Nina Taylor. Do you know where she is?”

  “I’m right here.”

  She narrowed her eyes at Nina. “Ah! There you are. That’s a relief!”

  Nina’s body stiffened under the down-filled parka, and it had nothing to do with the biting chill in the air. “Is Julian with you?”

  “No. Just me,” she said. “Is this a bad time? I hoped we could grab coffee.”

  * * *

  Moments later, Nina sat across from Katia at a bar-height table at a Starbucks, stirring sugar into an almond-milk macchiato. Katia lifted the lid of her cup and blew on the foam, in no apparent hurry to explain herself. Why had she shown up at her door? What was so urgent? Had Julian sent her?

  “I owe you an apology,” Katia said.

  That was not what Nina expected to hear. As far as she knew, she had no beef with Katia Wells. “What for?”

  “I misjudged you,” she said. “I thought you’d leaked your diary. I was sure of it.”

  Not. This. Again. “Why would I do that?”

  “Why do people do anything?” Katia fit the lid over the rim of her cup with a snap. “For money or attention or both.”

  This was absurd. Who, in their right mind, would want this kind of attention?

  “You had your chance to capitalize on the scandal, and you didn’t,” Katia said. “No talk-show interviews. No book deals.”

  Nina grabbed a packet of sugar and squeezed it between her palms. “You didn’t have to fly across the country to tell me that. I’m sure there’s a Hallmark card that fits the bill.”

  “I didn’t fly across the country to apologize. Thought it would be a nice way to break the ice, that’s all.”

  Nina had ice in her veins. There wasn’t much Katia could say to warm her disposition. Plus, she wasn’t the finest of diplomats; it was time this woman got to the point. “Did Julian send you?”

  “No!” Katia was emphatic. “He doesn’t know I’m here.”

  Nina prayed disappointment wasn’t oozing from her pores. Julian hadn’t sent her because Julian had moved on. If she could only accept that maybe she could move on as well.

  “As the head of publicity for Knight Films, I’m here to set up press for the New York premiere in April.”

  Nina couldn’t suppress a jolt of excitement. “A premiere? Already?”

  “Yup! It’s an exciting time for us. Midnight Sun is getting good buzz. We’ve decided on a limited release—New York and LA.”

  Nina had flinched at Katia’s use of the collective us and we, and now she was desperate to end this meeting. “What do you want from me, exactly?”

  Katia took a long sip of her soy latte, a reminder that Nina’s macchiato was cooling fast. “I’m here to coax you out of hiding.”

  “Coax me out of what?”

  “Hiding,” Katia said. “Here’s how I see it. You’re a woman, and you’re sexual. You wrote about a meaningful encounter with a man. There’s no shame in that.”

  “You make it sound like I’m cowering in shame. I�
��m not.”

  Nina was very strategically staying above the fray. She wasn’t making public appearances, but she wasn’t sequestered in her apartment, either. She’d resumed her routines, picking up freelance editorial work and tinkering with creative projects of her own. The problem was the “routine” part. Life with Julian had been anything but mundane. Bright and fun, every day had been an indulgence.

  “You are—kind of—and I can tell you it’s not a good look. You should speak up.”

  “Why?” Just a second ago Katia was praising her for not speaking up. What was she missing here?

  “To help the movie. Okay?” Katia spoke with caustic impatience, as if she couldn’t believe she had to explain this to a seasoned professional. “Right now, this movie release is covered under your big shadow. You’re the elephant in the room. You—”

  “Okay. Stop.” Nina couldn’t hear one more cliché. “I’ve done my part. I’ve stayed away from press and—”

  “And it’s only made things more awkward. You need to speak up.”

  “You mean throw myself to the wolves.”

  “No one is asking for a blood sacrifice,” Katia said. “Don’t forget, this is your film, too. It’s in your best interest to promote it.”

  How could she? She had a scarlet letter pinned to her lapel. “It’s not a good idea.”

  “I get your concerns,” Katia said. “But listen. The one thing I know is PR. How do you think I got this job? Up until now I was Julian’s capable assistant. I had to rebrand myself, and so do you.”

  This conversation couldn’t get more LA if they tried. “I think with time all of this will go away.”

  “No! You have to be proactive. Unless you want to be known as #sexgoddess for the rest of your life.”

  “Hashtag what?” Nina came close to knocking over her coffee. She moved her cup out of the way with a shaky hand.

  “Don’t you google yourself?”

  “No,” Nina said. “I’m not insane.”

  “Well, #sexgoddess is what you’re known as these days. Way better than #famewhore, in my opinion.”