Hollywood Heartbreaker: Hollywood Name Game Book 1

by Alexa Aston

  He had to.

  But oh, God, she needed him, right here, right now. She needed his arms around her, his eyes dancing with mischief, his cocky smile and quiet strength. Cassie felt as abandoned as a litter of puppies on the side of a country road. Unloved. Unwanted.

  “At least the security guys deleted all the photos from that creep’s cell,” Chris said. “I can’t believe he would sell pictures of his own cousin’s funeral for a quick buck.”

  “He looked like a drugged-out lowlife,” Darin added. “Someone who knew Zak a long time ago and was desperate enough to stoop to pretty low.”

  “Was he arrested?” Jolene asked. “I know they escorted him out and I didn’t see him when we left.”

  Breck shook his head. “I doubt it. He hadn’t broken any law. I’m sure the security fellows took him for a ride and dumped his ass a long ways away.”

  “I’m going back up to the house,” Cassie announced. “I think I’ll stay there. Until he comes home.”

  Everyone murmured goodbyes to her, each promising to keep the group posted if they heard anything.

  Now, it was almost ten. Still no Rhett. Cassie reached for the remote lying on the kitchen table and turned on the TV sitting on the counter. The news sparked to life. Maybe watching how miserable others were might make her feel a little better. She had a great life. A great job.

  And a terrific boyfriend who would be back. God, he had to come back.

  “In an exclusive interview, KPTB entertainment reporter Monica Martell has a story to beat all others. Monica?”

  Cassie recognized the blonde from Ken’s premiere who’d interviewed Rhett right after their little restroom tryst. It hurt like hell to think about him teasing, telling the reporter about Cassie’s hot legs only a week ago.

  “Good evening, Mark,” she said breathlessly with a toss of her well-coifed mane. “I’m here with breaking news about the King of Hollywood. That’s right, folks, Rhett Corrigan.”

  She gripped the remote. No, it couldn’t be. No one from the funeral would spill to the media what Rhett had said. They were all close friends or Zak’s agent and he would know to keep his mouth shut. Everyone knew Rhett didn’t mean what he said in the heat of the moment.

  Then the camera panned across from Monica and there sat a living nightmare. Zak’s cousin, looking even more rumpled than he did this morning.

  “I’m here with Kenny Paulson, a cousin and close friend of Zak Mercury. Many of you will remember KPTB’s breaking news regarding Zak’s suicide on Christmas night, only days ago.”

  The reporter fluttered her lashes coyly at her companion. “So, Kenny, what is the story? Tell me about you and Zak Mercury and how Rhett Corrigan figures into all of this.”

  Kenny grinned broadly at the camera. Cassie thought from his glazed eyes he was either drunk or high. Probably both. “Zak and me grew up together. Our moms were close ‘n all, and Zak and me did like everything together. You know, steal magazines from Walgreens, toke up, hot-wire cars and do a little joyriding. Fun stuff.”

  Monica’s eyes widened. “Seems as if there was more to Zak than his funny bone.”

  Kenny laughed. “Zak was a crazy SOB. His dad ran off and his mom beat the bleep out of him for nothin’ most days. Then his mom died in a car wreck. Zak went into foster care after that. We didn’t see too much of each other then. He got shuffled around a lot.”

  The reporter nodded sympathetically. “I’m sure it’s hard for children to stay in touch in that situation. Tell me about Zak’s funeral, Kenny. What happened during it this morning?” She leaned in, the camera picking up a nice shot of cleavage.

  Cassie stood and moved closer to the set. She wished she could mute Kenny Paulson because she was afraid whatever came out of his mouth would be considered the gospel truth. He was on the news and people tended to believe whatever they heard on TV.

  “It was awful hearing about Zak killing himself and all. We’d just gotten back in touch. That guy was going places. He looked like a freakin’ ghost in that coffin. You could still see the scars under the makeup job they did. Not that it wasn’t good but, hell, you crash a car going ninety miles an hour, you don’t come out lookin’ like yourself, you know?”

  Cassie threw the remote across the kitchen. “It was a closed casket,” she screamed at the screen. “Why are you giving this creep air time?”

  The reporter rested a hand on her subject’s. “I’m sure that must have been terrible. How did Rhett Corrigan handle it? I know they’re very close. My sources tell me Rhett paid for Zak’s burial.”

  Kenny sniffed and wiped his nose with a sleeve. “I figure Rhett went off the deep end on this one. He could barely string two words together for the eulogy, all cryin’ and blubberin’ and junk. He didn’t make much sense so I guess he had to get drunk just to get up there and say somethin’ nice about Zak.”

  “Liar!” Her hands balled into fists, wanting to punch the idiot. What would these untruths do to Rhett’s reputation?

  “I’m sure Rhett was emotional. I’ve heard he really nurtured Zak’s career from the beginning. And you said he spoke about his own?”

  Kenny’s laugh sounded like a sick hyena. “He ain’t got no career now.”

  Monica’s brows rose. “What do you mean, Kenny?”

  “Right in the middle of everything, he just lost it. Man, I’ve never seen anyone melt down like Rhett Corrigan. He was screaming obscenities and cryin’ and shakin’ his fist like a madman. And then he said he was fed up with Hollywood and quittin’ for good.”

  “Quitting? Quitting show business? Are you sure that’s what he said, Kenny?”

  Kenny nodded. “He said nobody really cared about people like him and Zak and he told everyone to go to hell. Anyway, he called everyone jackals and said he was walking away. For good.”

  The camera zeroed in on a supposedly surprised Monica Martell. “Astounding news—and you heard it first on KPTB. Of course, our viewers will remember the very unusual situation between these two Hollywood titans less than ten days ago. Rhett Corrigan beat Zak Mercury to within an inch of his life at an after-party of Ken Cameron’s first feature film, supposedly over a confrontation involving ‘Ponytail Girl’ Cassie Carroll. This woman prompted the break-up between Rhett and top model Randal James and then she came between Rhett Corrigan and rising comic Zak Mercury.

  “And now, it seems Rhett Corrigan is sacrificing his acting career, distraught over the suicide of his closest friend, Zak Mercury. Let’s hope Rhett isn’t suicidal himself—unless ‘Ponytail Girl’ drives him over the brink. This is Monica Martell reporting exclusively for KPTB entertainment news. Thanks to our special guest, Kenny Paulson, for sharing his wonderful insight. Back to you, Mark.”

  Cassie numbly turned off the TV. Her legs began to shake, trembling so violently that she sank to the floor to keep from collapsing. Shep came and placed his head in her lap, whining softly.

  She had just witnessed the destruction of Rhett’s career. This story would be picked up by every wire service, replayed on national TV over and over, dissected in entertainment magazines, and gossiped about in offices and chatrooms across the world. People would speculate on Rhett’s sanity, his sobriety, and whatever other dirty little insinuations they could make.

  Her cell phone rang and she scrambled to answer. Her quivering fingers dropped it and she grabbed at it, willing Rhett not to hang up before she could answer.

  “Rhett? Oh, God, I’ve been so worried—”

  “Cassie, it’s Becky Bloss. What the hell is going on with Rhett? I come in from out of town and turn on the TV and see a train wreck happening. Has Rhett really had some kind of breakdown? I thought him beating the living daylights out of Zak and putting him in the hospital was bad enough. What—”

  “Becky, shut up.” Cassie needed the constant barrage of the publicist’s words to cease.

  “Well, excuse me. I’m simply trying to do my job. Rhett is a client but he’s also a friend.”

  “I
’m sorry. It’s just that I’m worried about Rhett.”

  “And I’m not? What happened at Zak’s funeral? Rhett was drunk? I’ve never seen him—”

  “You actually think Rhett would go drunk to a funeral and try to deliver a eulogy? Becky, you know Rhett. He would never do that. That creep lied through his teeth to get his fifteen minutes of fame.”

  “Rhett’s not leaving the industry?”

  Cassie didn’t know how to answer Becky’s question.

  “He was very upset. The creep you saw on TV starting taking pictures to sell to the tabloids, right in the middle of Rhett’s eulogy. And yes, Rhett yelled at him. The security team confiscated Kenny’s phone and threw him out of the service. Rhett said he was fed up with everything being about getting a picture and he would rather walk away.”

  “I can finesse this. He quit in a moment of rage, when he’s emotionally ragged. But he didn’t mean it, right?” Becky asked nervously.

  She swallowed. “I don’t know. He walked out and I haven’t seen him since.”

  “I’ll get on this right away,” Becky promised, her tone businesslike. “My phone’s already beeping. I’ll play it like this guy is a loser druggie and let it slip what he tried to do and how Rhett threw him out. Rhett is simply in seclusion now, recuperating from the death of his very dear friend. He will resume his career in the very near future.

  “Don’t worry, Cassie. I can spin this the right way. That’s what Rhett pays me to do. Still, let me know when you hear from him, okay?”

  “All right.”

  “Gotta go and put the fires out.”

  Cassie hung up, envying Becky’s control, only to have the phone ring immediately. She talked to Nadine, then Carreen, and told them to talk to the rest of the family. The phone kept ringing so she took it off the hook. Rhett would know why when he got a busy signal. He would call her on her cell.

  Close to one, she trudged up to his bedroom and crawled onto the bed. She took Rhett’s pillow and held it close, the faint scent of his cologne lingering, keeping her from sleep.

  She waited. For that one phone call from Rhett. Just to let her know he was okay.

  CHAPTER 26

  Rhett rolled over, pain exploding in his head, flashes of bright light sizzling like white heat. Every limb ached. Every muscle throbbed painfully.

  He opened his eyes slowly. Or tried to. Only one did. The other seemed frozen. He reached up to rub it and found the lid swollen shut and crusted over. Probably blood.

  He tried to glance around without moving his head and found that he was next to a metal dumpster. The smell of rotten trash wafted around him. His stomach lurched as a wave of nausea hit him. He opened his mouth and vomit spewed.

  Surprisingly, he felt a little better. Barely.

  Where was he? Sunlight streamed in a faint band so he figured it was early morning. But where? And how did he get here, wherever here was?

  Rhett pushed against the dumpster and forced himself to his feet. He wavered, clutching the open trash bin for support. He looked down and saw his clothes askew, both shoes missing. Instantly, he felt his back pocket. No wallet. He slipped his hand in his front pocket. No car keys.

  Had he been mugged? He couldn’t remember. Everything seemed fuzzy.

  He glanced down and saw black pants, badly soiled from the garbage heaped around the concrete alley. His gray dress shirt was torn. His knuckles were raw, as if he’d been in a fight he couldn’t remember. He thought he’d been wearing a jacket and tie but saw neither.

  His cell phone. It was in his jacket pocket. Slowly, he took a few uneasy steps around, looking for it. He needed to call Cassie. Why wasn’t he with her?

  The funeral.

  That’s the last thing he could remember—and that asshole, whatever his name was, snapping shots of Zak’s casket as Rhett tried to deliver the eulogy. He guessed they weren’t for the family scrapbook, either. Some tabloid paid the worthless cousin off.

  He needed his phone. He didn’t have a dime on him. How could he get Cassie?

  Rhett stumbled over to a door. Maybe they would have a phone he could use. He rapped hard on it for several minutes before it jerked opened.

  “Whaddya want?” A big, beefy, bald guy with tats up and down both arms glared down at him.

  “I need a phone,” he said, his voice unsteady.

  “Sorry.” The man slammed the door. The movement knocked Rhett off-balance and he hit the pavement hard.

  He stayed down, trying to catch his breath, wondering what his next move should be. He still couldn’t think clearly. Everything seemed hazy. He laughed, wishing he had a script that would tell him his next move. Rhett Corrigan, action hero, always knew what to do. Rhett Corrigan, real-life victim, hadn’t a clue.

  The door opened again. Rhett looked up and saw a scantily dressed redhead frown down at him.

  “Oh, my God. Lenny, get over here. Right now!”

  The tattooed giant reappeared. Or at least he looked like a giant as Rhett eyed him from the ground.

  “Get him up!” Red shouted. “Get him inside.”

  Lenny hoisted Rhett in a fireman’s carry over his shoulder. He groaned at the quick movement. Then he was inside the building in some kind of office.

  “Put him in the chair,” Red instructed. “Get him a shot of whiskey.”

  Lenny ambled off, leaving Rhett slumped in a chair next to a desk.

  “Are you Rhett Corrigan?” asked the woman.

  He started to nod, but Roman candles went off in his head. “Yeah,” he mumbled, not proud to own up to his real identity but not having any better ideas.

  “Oh, honey. Someone worked you over good.”

  “Where am I?”

  The woman smiled at him. “You don’t remember, do you?”

  Rhett frowned. “Remember what?”

  She patted his hand. “The Pussycat Lounge. You came in late yesterday afternoon and put away more than your share. Last I saw, you were headed out the back with Zoe around nine last night. I figured you had a little something private going on with her.”

  The woman thought a minute. “That slut. She probably set you up. Her boyfriend is a scumbag. Deals dope outta the laundromat two doors down. Roofies are one of his specialties.”

  Red pushed Rhett’s hair out of his eyes. “Do you feel all out of focus, honey? Confused? Sick to your stomach? What’s the last thing you remember?”

  He closed his one good eye since the room had started to swim. “A funeral. Then waking up out in the alley.”

  Red swore softly in her gravelly voice. Rhett opened his eye and saw she was a lot older than he first thought.

  “Hey, Gloria. Here’s the whiskey.” The tattooed man leaned around and set the glass on the desk. “I’ll be in the bar if you need me.”

  “Thanks, Lenny.” Gloria looked at him. “Drink it. I know it sounds like the last thing you might want, but you’ll need it, honey.”

  Rhett picked up the glass and swallowed the amber liquid in one gulp, his nose wrinkling as the whiskey slid down his throat and hit his empty stomach.

  “I suppose you don’t want the police involved, huh? You’ve been pretty busy lately, breaking up with your fiancée and fighting with Zak Mercury and dropping out of show business.”

  Rhett grimaced. “She wasn’t my fiancée. She wanted to be.” He looked at Gloria. “And no police. You’re right. They say any publicity is good but I’m the poster boy to shoot down that theory.”

  “Is she worth it?”

  “Who? Randi? She never was. Biggest mistake I ever made.”

  Gloria shook her head. “No, honey. Ponytail Girl. The one you beat up Zak Mercury over.”

  Rhett closed his eye again and saw Cassie’s image floating there. “She’s worth it. Scrappy as they come. Would give you the shirt off her back.” He looked at Gloria. “And as beautiful and un-Hollywood as they come.”

  The redhead smiled and, for a moment, Rhett saw the beauty she’d once been. “Your dream g
irl, huh?”

  He grinned. “One who’s probably worried sick about me right now.”

  “Then let’s give her a call, honey.”

  Rhett snorted. “I can’t. I don’t have my cell.”

  Gloria picked up the receiver on her desk. “Go ahead and use this, Mr. Hunk.”

  Rhett looked at her miserably. “I can’t. I don’t know the number. I don’t know any numbers. I don’t even know my own number. I have to change it so frequently. I put all the ones I really need on speed dial. The others are in the address book. Cassie’s number two.”

  “You’re telling me you don’t even know your own mama’s number?”

  Rhett blinked. “She’s number three on speed dial. It’s . . . it used to be . . .” He slammed his hand down on the desk in frustration. “That’s one I know. Or I used to. I can’t think straight.”

  Gloria patted his hand again in a motherly fashion. “It’s the roofie. They can totally wipe things out. They really mess you up for a while.”

  “That’s the date-rape drug? I saw something on 20/20 about it.”

  “Yes, it is. I’m sure you’ll remember all the numbers you need in time.”

  “God, I need Cassie.” His eyes searched Gloria’s. “I know I’m asking a lot but could you give me a ride home? I can pay you when we get there. I swear I’m good for it.”

  Gloria blushed. “Me? Drive Rhett Corrigan home to his mansion?” She stood. “You wait right there, honey. I’ve got to throw on some clothes and a little makeup.” She glanced down at her striped zebra bikini underwear set and sheer robe draped over it. “Don’t think your Cassie would want to meet me in these.”

  She put a hand on his shoulder. “Tell you what, honey. Maybe we should put you in a shower before we take you home to your girl. You smell like a sewer and your face is a bloody mess. Maybe if you can soak that eye, we can get it to open.”

  Gloria helped Rhett to stand. “Lenny’ll have a T-shirt and some sweat pants you can borrow. I’d suggest just throwing your clothes away. You can’t fix tears and stains like those.”