by Amy Andrews
Taylor laughed and shook her head at him. She was hardly a star but things had gone very well for her and she was grateful. It was a sobering thought, given what had happened last night. Would she have died last night if Rick hadn’t been there?
“You okay?”
Taylor met Rick’s concerned gaze in the mirror. She nodded. “Just thinking about how lucky I am.”
“I don’t know if luck has much to do with it. Don’t sell yourself short.”
Taylor wasn’t so sure about that. “Well, I was lucky last night to have had you by my side.”
Rick swiveled in the chair so he was talking to her and not his reflection. “I think you might have surprised yourself. It’s amazing what we’re capable of when our lives are threatened.”
Taylor shuddered just thinking about it. “I guess. I’m just pleased it didn’t come to that.”
He nodded. “Me too.”
She wandered over to a rack of clothes sitting to one side of the room, conscious of him watching her as she idly flicked though them, wondering what to wear for today’s taping. She almost asked his expert opinion but didn’t want to invite comment about what would look good on her. She didn’t need his eyes on her body any more than they had been.
“Are you going to let your bosses here know what happened last night?” Rick asked.
“I wasn’t planning on saying anything to Rosco.”
“Rosco?”
“He’s the producer of Mind Matters. He’ll tell the studio boss and it’ll escalate and they’ll all just get in a panic and since the police are confident they’ll make an arrest soon, there doesn’t seem to be much of a point. Not to mention this place tends to leak like a sieve and we’ve managed to keep it quiet so far. I really don’t want this to be fodder for every celebrity blogger.”
“I think the more people who are aware of your situation, the more people there will be looking out for you. That can only be a good thing.”
Taylor shook her head. Her increasing celebrity meant she regarded her privacy as paramount. As far as she was concerned, the more people who knew meant the more people who knew.
“I don’t want to make a fuss, Rick.”
“Taylor.”
She shivered at how one little word could carry such command. “Let’s just see how it goes with the police, okay? If they haven’t caught him in a few days then I’ll let them know.”
“I think that’s a mistake.”
Rick’s gaze didn’t waver but Taylor was over being bossed around by Forrester men—she’d moved to the other side of the country to get away from them. “Noted.”
Rick looked like he was gearing up for further protest but Taylor was saved by the arrival of her makeup artist. “Oh, hi,” the young woman said, coming to an abrupt halt, clearly surprised to find the dressing room occupied. “Sorry, Dr. Hayes, I didn’t realize you were in already.”
“It’s fine, Jenny.” Taylor smiled, beckoning for Jenny to enter.
She performed the introductions. Rick shot Jenny his most charming smile and the poor woman practically melted. Not that Taylor could blame her—Rick at his charming best was utterly swoonworthy.
“Would you like me to come back?” Jenny asked. “There’s still half an hour until you have to be on camera.”
“No, no,” Taylor said, shaking her head. “Now’s good.” She had no desire to continue her conversation with Rick and, given her sleepless night, she was going to need some extra time in the chair. She shooed Rick out of her chair. “Just ignore him,” she told Jenny, then flicked her eyes to meet his in the mirror. “I’m going to.”
Of course, he had the nerve to grin.
*
Rick watched Taylor as she taped her segment, utterly impressed with her professionalism. He could see why she was popular with the public. She had a presence and a sincerity and he could tell that the people she worked with thought so too.
Her colleagues clearly respected and admired her. She followed the script, she didn’t act the diva and she was gracious with everyone. He hadn’t watched her show before—he didn’t have time for television—but he made a note to record it when he returned to LA. Watching her was easy and he figured he was probably going to need an occasional Taylor fix after spending all this time with her.
The director called it a day and Taylor thanked everyone as she moved off set and headed in his direction in a sexy pinstriped suit, smiling at him. Her open collar sat wide on the lapels and her loose hair swung enticingly. She looked good and he had a sudden, crazy urge to get Forrester Creations to design a collection of suits just for her.
A Mind Matters collection.
“What did you think?” she asked as she drew level with him.
“You were fantastic. You are a star.” She laughed but he also noticed her doubt. “I told you not to sell yourself short.”
“Flattery will get you nowhere,” she warned but she was actually smiling fully, all the way to her eyes, the first time he’d seen it since she’d had the beejeebus scared out of her last night, and relief flooded him. He didn’t think she’d be kept down very long but it was good to see the old Taylor.
“You want to look at some of the playbacks?” she asked and Rick nodded, knowing he’d go anywhere and look at whatever she wanted to keep her smiling and happy like this.
They went over to the equipment, where the director and producer were discussing different shots, and were soon involved in a technical conversation about the merits of different camera angles and what would look best in the final cut.
“Dr. Hayes? This arrived for you while you were taping.”
Rick looked up as a young woman wearing a headset handed Taylor an envelope. Taylor took it absently and they both returned their attention to something Rosco was saying. Rick was so absorbed by the conversation he didn’t notice Taylor opening the envelope but her gut-wrenching gasp quickly silenced all of them.
“Taylor, honey?” Rosco said, reaching for her arm. “What’s wrong?”
She looked at him and her fingers were trembling. “It’s him,” she whispered, her eyes huge in her suddenly pale face.
“Him who?” Rosco frowned.
Rick grabbed the paper from her hands and quickly read the contents.
I know where you work.
I know where you live.
I’ve been watching you.
“What in the hell is going on here?” Rosco demanded as he glared at an ashen-faced Taylor. She looked like she was about to collapse.
“Can we get her a chair and maybe a glass of water?” Rick asked, his face grim as he slid his hand under her elbow for extra support.
A chair was produced from nowhere by the woman who had delivered the letter. Rick helped Taylor sit down as a glass of water was thrust into her still trembling hands. He waited until she’d taken a swallow before showing the producer the letter and filling him in on what happened the previous night. Rosco was furious by the end of it. He squatted down in front of her.
“Taylor, babe,” he said, grabbing her hand. “Why didn’t you tell me this straight away?”
“I didn’t want to panic anyone. The police didn’t think it was a stalker.”
“We take this stuff seriously, very seriously, sweetheart. You don’t need to take this on all by yourself, okay?”
Taylor nodded but Rick wasn’t sure how much she was comprehending.
“Right,” Rosco said, pushing to his feet and ripping his headset from around his neck. “Leave this with me. You two,” he pointed to Rick and Taylor, “stay here. She doesn’t leave until she has a security detail. I’ll call the cops then organize it.”
Chapter Seven
Three hours later, Taylor and Rick finally left the studio in the back of a black SUV with completely tinted windows. It reminded her of being in a limo, except the driver was ex-SAS and, thanks to the network, he and his company would be keeping Taylor protected until her stalker was arrested.
Taylor watched the street
s of New York flash by, secure in the knowledge that she could see out and no one could see in, but somehow bereft at the loss of her freedom. How was it possible to feel safe yet trapped all at the same time?
“You okay?” Rick asked.
The same question he’d asked her about a hundred times already as he’d sat resolutely by her side through all that had transpired since she’d opened that damn note. Interviews with the police—again—interviews with the network and their lawyers, and then more interviews with the security firm.
Her head was spinning. She felt alternately faint and nauseous. She was decidedly not okay.
“Sure,” she murmured.
Rick smiled. “You are a really bad liar.”
Taylor shrugged. “It is what it is, I guess.”
They completed the rest of the journey in tense silence and were bundled out at the end, flanked all the way into the building by the driver and three other guys on the team. They weren’t all going to be with her on a daily basis—she would be assigned one bodyguard at a time in rotating shifts—but the team wanted to check out the apartment and the surroundings so they could protect her as best they could.
Taylor was impressed with their thoroughness but by the time three out of the four of them left, her head was thumping and all she wanted to do was take some painkillers and go lie in a dark room.
She shut the door on Mack, the guard on shift. He was apparently going to stand outside her door until 10 pm.
“Well,” Rick said as she entered the room. “They’re quite impressive. So is Rosco, for that matter.”
Taylor gave a half-smile. “Yes. My head is spinning,” she said, rubbing her temples.
“Headache?”
Taylor nodded, trying to ignore the concern in Rick’s voice, because she felt ridiculously close to tears and she refused to be any more weak than she had already been over the last twenty-four hours.
“Where’s your Tylenol?”
She waved him aside. “I’ll get it,” she snapped. She may not be able to stop a crazy guy from stalking her and she may not be able to properly protect herself in this huge concrete jungle, but she could damn well get her own headache pills.
She stalked into her room and headed for her ensuite, going straight to the medicine cabinet and plucking two pills from a bottle. She threw them back and chased them with half a glass of water, eyeing her reflection as she set the glass down on the vanity.
She looked pale and tired. Poor Jenny had really earned her money today. She felt about a hundred years old and as she stared at herself, she wondered if she’d ever even reach old age with a guy out there, a complete stranger, wanting her dead.
She slid her hand up to her throat. Would he go for her there? Slash that knife he’d been wielding last night across the vulnerable line of her jugular? Or would he choose a different method next time? She looked at her slim hand against her neck. Maybe he’d choose to strangle her? Or maybe he’d just bring his gun? To be sure of the kill.
“Taylor?”
Rick’s voice, the concern palpable several rooms away, floated in to her. He was worried about her.
Well … so was she.
“I’m fine,” she called before briskly splashing her face with water and drying it off. A quick pinch to each cheek put some color there and she turned away from the mirror and braced herself for the conversation to come.
“There you are,” Rick said as she entered the living room again. “You were gone a while. I was getting worried about you.”
“I’m fine,” she said automatically.
“Taylor,” Rick said, his hands on his hips, his don’t-bullshit-me expression firmly in place. “You’re not fine and you don’t have to pretend you are around me.”
She nodded. “I know.” And she did know. It was just that if she started to talk about how terrified she was, she’d fall completely apart.
“Talk to me,” he said, striding across the living room.
Taylor held up her hand. If he touched her, if he pulled her into his arms, she’d be a goner. “Not now, okay?” she pleaded, softening her rejection of whatever he’d been about to offer.
He stopped mid-stride and put his hands back on his hips. Hands she’d been pretty sure had been about to land on her.
“I hate seeing you like this,” he said.
A lump rose in her chest and grew bigger, threatening her ability to breathe. “Well, you don’t have to any more, do you? There’s no need for you to stay, not with the Hulk guarding my door.”
He smiled at her and she smiled back. Her description was apt considering Mack was built like a certain truck bearing the same name.
“But what about my vacation?” His voice was light and she guessed keeping it casual must have cost him a lot, because his concern for her blazed from his eyes.
“Venice,” she said, still smiling, her face aching with the strain of it. “Now there’s a good spot for a vacation.”
Rick’s smile faded and she let hers go too. “I’m not leaving, Taylor, just because Rosco hired a bunch of superheroes to protect you. I get that they could out-ninja me any time of the day but they’re out there.” He pointed to the door. “You need someone in here. You need more than physical protection. You need emotional support. From someone who knows you. Who’s on your side.”
Taylor knew he was right; it was the kind of advice she would give a client. But with their complicated past, she didn’t want to rely on Rick for that kind of support.
“No, Rick. Really. Just go. I’ll be fine.”
He crossed his arms over his chest. Taylor was fast becoming reacquainted with his stubborn stance.
She noted absently that he’d removed the bandage from his arm, leaving only the Bandaid.
“I’m not going and leaving you without some emotional support during all this. If you really want me to leave then I will, but not without some other support in place. How about I call Steffy?”
Taylor’s heart leaped in her chest. “No!” Steffy had too much to worry about without adding this. It wasn’t her job as a mother to burden her daughter with her problems—it worked the other way round.
“Well, who else then?” he demanded. “Who else can I call who’s free to be here with you until the police catch this guy?”
Taylor knew there was nobody. Back in LA, there were people she could call on, but she couldn’t expect anyone to fly across this vast country to support her for who knew how long. And here in New York, she hadn’t really cultivated close relationships. She had acquaintances and work colleagues, but that wasn’t the type of person Rick was talking about—he was talking about a friend, and Taylor realized there was no one in her life who fit that description any more. She’d been so focussed on the book and her TV career that she’d shut herself off from getting too close to anyone else.
“There’s no one,” she admitted.
He dropped his hands to his hips. “You’re wrong. There’s me.”
Taylor shook her head sadly. “You’re not free though, are you, Rick? You have work to get back to. Eric will—”
“Eric,” he interrupted, “will understand.”
Taylor was fast becoming exasperated by his stubbornness. “You know I could just call Mack and have you tossed out, right?”
He threw his head back and laughed, rich and full, and Taylor shivered as it enveloped her in a cloud of testosterone. She put a hand on her hip, annoyed at her body’s reaction to him. Seriously. Someone out there wanted her dead—shouldn’t her body be on alert instead of melting into a puddle?
“You don’t think Mack could take you?”
“Oh, for absolute sure he could take me. He better be able to, anyway. That’s what the network is paying his company an obscene amount of money for.”
“Well then?”
“I don’t think you’re going to ask Mack to throw me out. I don’t think you want me to go. It’s okay to want me to stay, Taylor. To want someone to lean on. I know moving to New York was y
our way of asserting your independence, but there are times when even the strongest of us need a little support. And, I’m not kidding, I really could use the break.”
Taylor sighed. He was right. She didn’t want him to go. She needed someone she could look to at any moment of the day and feel instantly assured. And the universe had delivered Rick.
“Fine,” she conceded with ill grace. “But only if you agree to those rules we discussed earlier.”
Rick grinned and held up his hand like he was swearing the Oath of Allegiance. “I, Rick Forrester, being of sound mind and body, do solemnly agree to the rules of conduct as laid out by Dr. Taylor Hayes in this very apartment this morning.”
Taylor rolled her eyes. “I don’t think that was entirely necessary.”
He dropped his hand. “No. But it was fun. This is going to be fun.”
“I don’t call being forced into virtual hiding fun, do you?”
“No. But we could make the most of our time together. We could download all the movies and television we’ve missed. I don’t know about you, but I’m always behind. I could make popcorn. We could send Mack for takeout. It’ll be like an extended sleepover.”
“You want to ask a guy who could probably kill you ten different ways with just his little finger to get takeout for us?”
Rick rubbed his chin and the scratchy noise went straight to her nipples. “Good point. We’ll get it delivered.”
“I can’t.” Taylor couldn’t believe Rick was treating this like it was summer camp. “I have a book to write. Besides, I can’t imagine us painting each other’s nails and having pillow fights, can you?”
“Nails no, but I could definitely get behind a pillow fight.” He grinned.
Taylor shook her head. “You are incorrigible.”
“Come on,” he teased. “You know you want to.”
There was no way Taylor was going to admit how very much she did want to sit on the couch, eat popcorn and watch movies with Rick. But that would put him way too close for comfort.
