by Lee Winter
Chloe gave her a speculative look.
“What?” Summer asked.
“You know, even if it’s not with Thornton, you’re way overdue a bit of lady lovin’. It’s been ages.”
“I’m too busy.”
“Oh please. Half the cast of Choosing Hope is married or hooking up, including your girlfriend.” Chloe snickered and called up a photo of Elizabeth from a red-carpet event. Next to her, dashing Amrit Patel ran his fingers through his swooping, perfect hair. “See? If she can find time for love, so can you.”
“I don’t have the energy.” Summer glumly regarded Amrit. “Aside from the emotional investment, it’s hard work sneaking around places. Hollywood’s such a fishbowl. I go out with someone new and I’m hyper-vigilant the whole time for smartphones and paparazzi, when I’d rather just enjoy a date like everyone else. It’s not fun.”
“That’d suck.” Chloe’s brown eyes radiated sympathy. “I hadn’t thought of that.”
“Besides, right now I just want to do well at this role. I don’t want to be the ‘former child star’ anymore. I just want to be actress Summer Hayes. And I sure as hell don’t want to be renowned for a workplace romance with a world-famous co-star.”
“Okay, that’s cool. So, you doing basketball with us today?” Chloe’s eyebrows slid up.
Summer knew that look. “Did you just mentally disregard everything I just said and plan to hook me up with that fangirl on your team?”
“Who me?” Chloe’s innocent look needed work. “Okay, maybe.”
Summer snorted as her phone rang again. “Ugh! It’s Mom. She’ll be so delighted I’ve ‘snagged’ myself an A-lister she admires. This is the worst.”
“No way, the worst is when your dad calls, eh?”
Summer’s stomach dropped. “Oh, God.” She squared her shoulders and took the call. “Hey Mom, and before you start, it’s not true. No, I mean it!”
Chloe rose from the bed and gave her a wave, leaving Summer to her fate.
Skye Storm’s excited tones burbled down the phone as she blew past everything Summer said. So Summer gave up trying to reason with a madwoman and tuned her out, focusing on what was really bothering her. And it wasn’t her gruff father’s impending lecture on the virtues of discretion, either.
No, it was: What is Elizabeth thinking right now?
Sitting up in bed at six in the morning, Elizabeth flicked through email after email, confronted with the same photo her agent, manager, and friends had all sent her in the past hour. Zara had added just one sentence: “Bwahahahahaha. Cougar! Too funny.”
Grace’s short email had made her stomach turn. “Oh dear. Are we a lesbian now, Elizabeth?”
The tone was bad enough—the hint of disdain that Elizabeth had been foolish enough to get caught in a scandal. Because despite the words, her censure had nothing to do with lesbians, whom Grace happily counted among her most devoted fans. No, what made Elizabeth’s stomach twist most was Grace’s ongoing obliviousness about her life.
In all their years of friendship, Grace had never asked why Elizabeth never seemed to date anyone. The rest of her friends had all nudged the question her way a few times, backing off when Elizabeth hadn’t engaged them. Alex had been the exception, of course.
The constant silence from Grace was revealing.
Of course, friendship was a difficult thing with someone used to being the center of the universe. Being engaged in a personal conversation with Grace made you feel special and lucky to be included. She’d drop intimate, secret snippets into discussions while twirling a martini glass expansively, her words part confession, part lesson, as she segued from the men she’d loved to those to be avoided. The guru on the mount.
Was that friendship? Grace’s version of it? Elizabeth had always liked to think so.
On days like today, though, her imperious, oblivious friend rubbed her up the wrong way—not for what she thought, but for what hadn’t even occurred to her to think.
Sighing, Elizabeth returned to the photos. It all looked so strangely sordid, as if Elizabeth was about to fling Summer down and wipe that stunned look off her face. It was bad enough Hunt was hated by fans; now they’d be openly speculating as to whether Elizabeth was a closeted lesbian—a question far too close to home to be safe.
Why did Summer have to look so…what was that look, anyway? Amazed? Incredulous?
Did Summer really think I’d let her break her neck and not lift a finger?
Elizabeth’s image was desperately needing some rehab if that were true.
Rachel called moments later, while rushing to a breakfast meeting. Amid the sound of her feet pounding up stairs, her agent gasped out, “Say nothing and don’t draw attention to it.”
“I’m not the one drawing attention to it. Everyone else is,” Elizabeth protested.
“Bess, I know. But picture this gossip as beneath you. Then act like it. If anyone asks about it outright, look surprised they would think something so ridiculous. Oh, and do yourself a big favor: Put some distance between yourself and the girl. There’s a leak on your set, so don’t give them any more grist for the mill.”
“What grist? We exited a building together!”
“Well, then don’t exit buildings with her anymore.” Rachel sounded long-suffering as ever. “Especially not one that fronts a parking lot with wide gaps in the fence, facing a public street. Look, it’s not hard: just don’t hang out together on set or after work—”
“But we don’t—”
“And before long everyone will move on to the next scandal, so you can reconnect later if you want. But for now, give her a wide berth so your sneaky set mole doesn’t get fed, and this will blow over. Oh, one last thing, before you give her the flick, get her to talk to her people and make sure they don’t get some half-baked idea to give this non-story any oxygen. Make sure they don’t put out a statement. People will think there must be something to it if they hose it down. Okay? Gotta go.” Rachel hung up.
Elizabeth had just finished getting dressed half an hour later when the next round of exasperated emails landed. This time it was Delvine. Her rant included a screen shot of Summer’s manager’s statement.
Well, that was fast. Rachel would be pissed.
By the time Elizabeth had dried her hair, Delvine was on the phone, somehow sounding both appalled and snide. “They’ve gone with a denial and are painting you as some hero for saving Summer from injury,” her manager said.
“Delvine, that’s what happened.”
“Yes, but people think denials are all fake. It’s a rookie error to issue one on something mundane. But I looked up the actress’s people and she’s only got one, if you can believe it. Worse, it’s her sister. So, what can you expect? Oh, and get this, the actress is called Summer, the manager’s Autumn, and the mother’s Skye Storm. Apparently she’s never married her live-in lover of thirty years. It’s like a hippie commune, that family.”
Elizabeth rolled her eyes. “I dread to ask who the father is. Moon?”
“Oh no,” Delvine’s voice took on a hint of caution. “Brock Hayes. One of the most respected stunt co-ordinators in the business. Man is a legend—knows everyone, been in everything. From what I gather, he won’t like this one little bit, people talking smack about his precious daughter.”
“Calling her a lesbian, you mean?” Distaste coated Elizabeth’s mouth.
“I have no idea if that’s an issue, but I don’t think that’s what’ll have his boxers in a bunch.”
“What will?”
“Darling, please don’t make me say it.”
Elizabeth’s lips thinned. “Whatever it is, I’m sure I’ve heard worse.”
“He won’t like that his perfect princess has been linked with you. Your reputation is not…stellar right now.”
“Great.” She ground her teeth. “Attila the Hun
t strikes again.”
“No, any disapproval will be about you. The British Bitch stuff.”
“It’s a lie spread by Lenton. That showrunner’s as thin-skinned as a jellyfish.”
“I know, I know. It’s all nonsense. You’re a doll to work with. No lies, no diva nonsense. You don’t run around nightclubs drunk or high or wave your tits about or get on Twitter and abuse the fans who rain shit over you. And you’re obviously discreet as hell with the women you date, because all I hear about is you and Amrit.”
“He does appreciate the publicity. Actually I’ve been thinking of retiring him and tapping Rowan in as the love of my life this year. His comedy act could use the exposure. He’s up for it.”
“Don’t you dare! The bored housewives lap up Amrit’s gorgeous British-Indian charms. He’s the only thing keeping the women’s mags fawning over you at all. They’re doing a good job at counterbalancing HGZ’s vendetta. Besides, didn’t you fake-date Rowan once before?”
“Years ago. And not fake-dated; I don’t do that. Just took him as my plus-one. As if anyone would remember that anyway. I was a no one.”
“Oh, trust me, they will. Stick with Amrit. In fact, more than that: I want to see the two of you lighting up Twitter within the next twelve hours and reinforcing all that lovely heterosexual sensuality you apparently ooze for each other.”
“You know I hate doing that. Taking a friend as a date to a red-carpet event is one thing. Letting people jump to conclusions is fine. But this is actively faking it. I’ve never done that. Besides, does anyone really care?”
There was a dainty snort. “They care. And this is about what sticks. What you do next after those photos is what people will remember about you. Think of that when you cuddle up to Amrit. Oh, and tell him to wear his burgundy tie. Looks stunning in photos.”
Elizabeth groaned. “Fine. Now, say something to keep me sane: Any word on Badour’s movie?”
“Yes, actually. Our Frenchman’s back in town in a few days. He’s going to call me to sort out our lunch date. Which is even more reason to get the British Bitch headlines out of circulation by then. You know HGZ is using these photos as an excuse to rehash all the ugly old rumors about you. I don’t want him second-guessing himself as to your suitability. Directors get twitchy about difficult actors.”
“I thought you said he wanted me, though?”
“He did. I’ll make sure he still does. So, are we clear? Amrit in his burgundy tie and dinner somewhere public tonight. Try Casa Vega or Hamasaku. Paparazzi are camped out front most nights. Maybe somewhere else tomorrow. Or a frolic on the beach for fifteen minutes, if your English-rose skin can bear it.”
Oh hell no. She was not cavorting on the beach for the public’s edification.
“And if you must comment on the story at all, stick to whatever Hayes’s statement said so your stories line up,” Delvine finished.
“Of course they line up—it’s the truth!” This was insane.
“Even better. You won’t have to remember any lines.”
Elizabeth glared at her phone. “Can I just say how ridiculous this is? I stopped a woman from splitting her head open yet now I have to fake-date a friend to appease fans who already hate me.”
“Yes, yes, we’re all mad, darling. Okay, Bess, I’ll let you know when I hear back from Jean-Claude. Oh and remember, try to smile once in a blue moon, it’ll be great for your image.”
Her phone went dead.
Elizabeth scowled.
Summer sat in her small on-set trailer, relieved for its solitude. It was about half the size of Elizabeth’s, containing only a couch, bathroom, and coffee-making facilities. She didn’t care. It was an escape from the stares and whispers.
Unable to help herself, Summer again called up the latest photos on her Twitter feed. Amrit and Elizabeth laughing. Eating at Casa Vega. Holding hands. Elizabeth playfully adjusting his burgundy tie. Well. That was one way to address the rumors.
Summer was no innocent. The timing on Amrit and Elizabeth’s date was as fake as most of the boobs in LA. But just because the pair had a sudden, burning urge to be seen in public didn’t take away from the obvious warmth they had for each other. His wide, flashing white smile as he gazed into her eyes with pure affection…
Summer didn’t know why she was fixating on this. Well, maybe she did.
There was a knock.
“Come in,” she said, tucking her phone away.
The door opened. Elizabeth filled the frame, dressed as Hunt, her hair in its starched bun. She closed the door after her and leaned against it. “Well,” she said. “I had an interesting weekend. How about you?”
Summer’s cheeks burned. “I’m sorry you had to haul your boyfriend around to prove you’re not…” she indicated herself. “You know. I am really sorry my feet got us into this mess again.”
“Amrit loves the publicity. He’ll probably send you a thank-you card. I, on the other hand, do not.” Her expression became pinched.
“I’m really sor—”
An impatient wave moved the air between them. “Obviously, it’s not your fault, but it is…irritating. Not to mention unedifying.” Elizabeth hesitated. “I’m here for two reasons. We know someone leaks to HGZ from our set. Until this…situation…with the photos blows over, my people don’t think it’s a good idea for me to be seen with you in any non-professional capacity that could be misconstrued.” Looking skeptical, she added, “Not even to exit buildings with you.”
Summer blinked. Exit buildings together? They’d done that once! By accident! And beyond a few brief conversations, they had only a professional relationship. So it sounded like Elizabeth was saying that she intended to avoid Summer like rancid milk now and would Summer mind not bothering her again with her inconvenient presence?
In the silence, Elizabeth shifted uneasily, then glanced away.
“And the other thing? You said you had two.” Summer prayed her anger and humiliation weren’t obvious.
“My manager, Delvine Rothery, has asked that Autumn not issue any more statements on this, and if she has a compulsion to do so, to consult Delvine first. Here’s her card. She’s one of the best, so…” Elizabeth slid a card onto the table.
The implication was clear. Your sister is a rank amateur, and my shit-hot professional manager thinks Autumn’s screwed up, but she’ll stop her from doing that again.
“What was wrong with Autumn’s statement?” Summer gritted her teeth. “It was the truth.”
“Yes. But apparently fans don’t believe the truth.” Elizabeth nudged the card closer when Summer made no move to take it.
A chill went through her. Elizabeth wore the face of the woman who’d made Summer love acting. She sounded like the woman for whom Summer had taken the biggest professional risk.
And Summer had no idea who she really was.
Because here Elizabeth Thornton stood, treating Summer like some flea-bitten dog she didn’t want around.
And Elizabeth had done it so casually, as if unaware of the pain she’d just inflicted, or how small she’d just made Summer feel. Maybe there was some truth to the British Bitch rumors after all.
Lips tight, Summer forced out a “Fine.” She felt every ounce of warmth, respect, and admiration she’d ever had for this woman drain out of her. “I won’t bother you again. I’ll only go near you on set when I have no choice. Does that satisfy you?” It sounded more bitter than she’d intended, but to hell with her.
Elizabeth’s jaw worked. “I’ve got a scene in five minutes. I have to go. Please get your sister to call my manager. Goodbye, Summer.”
Summer nodded curtly. Her hands balled into fists, the short nails biting into her skin. The fucking audacity of using her name now. Only once the door clicked shut behind Elizabeth did she exhale. And to her horror, she felt the sting of tears in her eyes.
Eli
zabeth had once likened Summer to a kitten. Well, that was like killing one, she thought as she closed the door to Summer’s trailer. There was no mistaking how all that softness and glow just seemed to deflate at her words.
Necessary words, Rachel had insisted. And yet…were they? Really?
The humiliation in Summer’s eyes at what Elizabeth had accepted as a practical plan had robbed her of speech. She hadn’t meant to make Summer feel rejected. And what had Elizabeth said to reassure her?
Nothing.
As Elizabeth strode back to her trailer to fetch her white coat for the next scene, she started rethinking Rachel’s strategy. Strategy? It was barely even that. Elizabeth should have questioned it, or even thought about it for five minutes before simply following it.
People shot out of her way as she thundered down the corridor.
She should have ignored Rachel and said to hell with what people would think.
And yet…she didn’t want to be “out”, which was right where those fake rumors would lead if they swirled around long enough. She wasn’t ready yet, personally or professionally.
So because of that, without even thinking, she’d done something that made her feel sick.
Reaching her trailer, she slammed the door behind her and reached by rote for a mug. Her other hand fell to the tea box. Empty.
Fuck.
Chapter 6
In the weeks that followed, watching Summer became a form of penance for Elizabeth. She glared at her hideous substitute tea, an ongoing reminder of why she couldn’t have the one she loved.
The lively, bright young woman she’d first met seemed to have changed before her eyes. Now she was subdued, withdrawn, and measured. She didn’t trip, flail, joke, or smile around Elizabeth. Maybe she did these things elsewhere, but for some reason Elizabeth didn’t think so.
