I Loved You First

by Suzanne Enoch

  Nobody at the firm had believed his story, though they gave him points for the creativity of his excuse at being late coming back from lunch. That night he’d pulled one of her DVDs out of his TV cabinet. As he watched her trying to avoid running out of air while staying ahead of alien-infested Chris Evans in The Fourth Day, he wondered if he hadn’t imagined the whole thing, after all.

  But then the next day she’d called him. Two months later, he’d popped the question, and she’d said yes. Four weeks after that, she’d broken it off—because he’d been too “in tune” with her or some other such crap. A month after that, she’d offered him the job, and because he was an idiot, and because she’d seemed so very alone for someone so popular, he’d quit his job at the firm and gone to work for her.

  And now she was on her fifth date with Rod the Bod Bannon, and he was sitting on his couch eating takeout and watching a game show. Yeah, whoever thought Hollywood was glamorous saw the tuxedos and gowns on Oscar night and didn’t consider the other three hundred sixty-four days in the year.

  “You’re an idiot, Brian Cafferty,” he muttered around his burger.

  A game show and a half later, TMZ came on, and he shifted to change the channel. Now that he knew a fair share of celebrities, the news rags didn’t seem so much like a peek behind the scenes as they did vultures waiting to find the damaged and then feed off them.

  “—Breaking news tonight. We have some pics just coming in of the superhero costume Eleanor Ross will be wearing in her first superhero flick. I haven’t seen them yet, but apparently, they’re really something. The—”

  “Shit. Shit, shit, shit.” Brian grabbed for his cell phone just as it started ringing to the tune of Raindrops Keep Falling on My Head. El’s ringtone. “El, what the hell happ—”

  “I’m at Almuerzo,” Eleanor’s voice came, hushed and tight. “He left me here. I’m in the kitchen. Brian, press is everywhere, and I don’t know what happened. The—”

  “Sit tight,” he cut in. “I’ll text you when I get there.”

  2

  He was already halfway out the door as he hung up. Almuerzo was on Sunset, a swanky Mexican food place with a Michelin-star chef and a reputation for being a celebrity hangout. Not somewhere she would have chosen to eat, much less to be stranded. Wherever the hell Rod Bannon was, he needed a swift kick in his grade-A ass.

  His phone rang again as he backed out of his garage. Paramount Studios this time. Fuck. If they were calling him, they were also calling Eleanor. By the time he got to Almuerzo, she would know why the press was there. For the moment, he ignored the call. Before he and her agent, John Radley, started a war with the studio, he wanted to know the whole story. John would need to know it too.

  Thankfully the nine-to-five work traffic had mostly cleared out, but Sunset Boulevard teemed with cars and pedestrians twenty-four hours a day. Rod had left her there. Every molecule he possessed knew this had something to do with the costume photos getting out to TMZ, but for now that was only a suspicion. First things first. One of the most famous faces in the world had been dumped into the middle of tourist central.

  Flooring it between lights like a maniac, he managed to get to Almuerzo in fifteen minutes. As he pulled within a block of the restaurant, he started counting. TV vans from three networks were already there, and the damned street was practically closed down with onlookers and jackasses with expensive-looking cameras. Parking, a joke under the most ideal of circumstances, was now impossible.

  Swearing again, he swung up the closest side street then pulled halfway onto the sidewalk and stopped in front of a dress boutique. He yanked open the shop’s door, flinching at the volume of the Taylor Swift music reverberating through the small, cluttered space. “You have a back door?” he asked the stick-thin girl behind the counter.

  “Not for customers,” she retorted. “And get your Jeep off the damned sidewalk before I call—”

  He pulled a hundred-dollar bill from his pocket and plunked it down in front of her. “I’m performing a rescue. Nothing illegal. I need your back door propped open for a couple of minutes. When I get back, I’ll give you another four of those.” He gestured at the bill.

  “Damn,” she breathed and scooped up the money to tuck it into a bra strap.

  “Cameras in here?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Turn them off.”

  “Not until I get another one of these.” She patted her chest.

  Brian handed one over. “Off. Now. They don’t go on again until I say so.”

  “Okay. Jeez, dude. Chill out.”

  “I am chill. Go prop open the door. Just enough for me to be able to get it open.”

  Turning around, he left the boutique and trotted back up the side street and onto Sunset. Then he took a deep breath, squared his shoulders, and charged.

  “Hey, you’re with Eleanor Ross, aren’t you?” came at him from several directions at once, but he ignored it and the jostling and the flashing phones and cameras. His phone began vibrating again, and this time it didn’t stop.

  Brian pushed to the front door and then inside, only to be met by a hostess shaking hard enough that she was either about to have a heart attack or an orgasm. “Excuse me, sir,” she said, wrinkling her cheeks rather than bothering with an actual smile, “we are presently not seating any guests for the dinn—”

  “I’m Cafferty,” he interrupted in a low voice. “The person in your kitchen called me to come get her. I work for her.” At the same time, he lifted his phone and texted “I’m here” to her number.

  “Can you prove that?”

  He shifted from one foot to the other, reminding himself to be grateful that they were keeping people out, even if that included him. “Send someone to ask her. Cafferty.”

  One of the waiters nodded and vanished. Just beyond the foyer, the low volume of the voices and clink of utensils on china made it clear that something unusual was up. Half the diners were probably thankful somebody else’s scandal was taking up air-time, and the other half were probably jealous of El getting headlines.

  The waiter returned. “She says he’s okay,” he informed the hostess.

  “Maybe he is,” the hostess responded, still keeping her voice low, “but what are we supposed to do about that?” She gestured past his shoulder. “Some of my guests are very private. They can’t leave with this going on.”

  “I’m taking Ms. Ross out the back door,” he said, already moving past her. “Give it ten minutes or so, and then tell the mob she’s gone, if they haven’t figured it out by then.”

  “You think they don’t know we have a back door?”

  “Unless you also have a helicopter pad, I’m doing the best I can,” he retorted.

  She lifted her chin. “What about the bill? They had lobster tacos. And a bottle of chardonnay. Expensive chardonnay.”

  So Rod had stiffed El on the bill too? Whatever the dickweed was up to, he and Eleanor needed to have a strategy meeting about standards. He pulled out his company credit card. “Put it on here, with a good tip.”

  Without waiting for her to complain about something else, he moved past her into the dining room. Tuxedos were out except for major award ceremonies, but this was a well-dressed crowd. And he was wearing a BB-8 Star Wars T-shirt and jeans. Ah, well. If they didn’t already know something was up, they were probably zombies.

  He locked eyes with Julia Prentiss, the current scream queen, and she gave him the up-and-down assessment, bit her lip, and returned to her conversation. Yeah, she was pretty and all, but he’d listened to her try to have a conversation, and he wasn’t impressed.

  The kitchen consisted of a lot of people in white chef’s jackets standing around. With no new customers coming in, Almuerzo was swiftly grinding to a halt. That wouldn’t earn El any sympathy, but they still parted reluctantly to allow him into the back corner where she sat on a stool and sipped at a glass of water.

  “Hey,” he said, squatting in front of her.

  Hazel
eyes met his, and a tear rolled down one cheek. “He took my phone,” she whispered. “I showed him the costume pics, and I think he sent himself the photos. Why would he do that, Brian?”

  “Because he’s a prick who hasn’t had a hit in three movies,” he returned. Straightening, he held out one hand. “Let’s get out of here.”

  “I can’t. You saw what it looks like out there.”

  “I’ve got it covered.” He reached out and took her hand, felt her shaking as she set aside her glass and stood. Damn Rod Bannon. Whatever the jackass thought he was getting out of this, it couldn’t possibly be worth it.

  Keeping her close beside him, he pushed open the back door. Phones and cameras began flashing, and he put an arm around her shoulder, trying to protect her from the crowd and the noise. The boutique’s back door was cracked open an inch or so, and he yanked it wide to half shove El inside before he shut and locked it behind them.

  The girl behind the counter gaped like a dying fish as he ushered Eleanor past her into the front of the tiny shop. “Three hundred, right?” he said, pulling more bills from his pocket and setting them in front of her.

  “Um, yeah. You’re—”

  “Thanks,” he cut her off. “You can turn the cameras back on as soon as we leave.”

  “O…Okay. I loved you in Obsidian Nights,” she called after them.

  “Thank you,” Eleanor managed, sending her a quick smile as they ran for the door.

  The paparazzi would be charging out of the alley and around to the front of the shop, so he practically flung her into the passenger side of the Jeep before he continued around to hop behind the wheel. “Stay low,” he said, turning the key and jamming it into drive.

  For three blocks she sat doubled over beside him, her pretty honey-colored hair curtaining her face. “I am so stupid,” her muffled voice came.

  “You trusted him to be human,” Brian countered. “Which in your line of work is an iffy proposition. But it’s admirable that you do still trust people.”

  “Not anymore.” Straightening, she took a breath. “I don’t want to go home. The wolves will be waiting. Paramount’s entire team of lawyers is probably on my driveway too.”

  “They’ve been calling. I haven’t been answering.”

  “I turned off my phone after I called you. How did everybody find out so fast, though?”

  “He sent the photos to TMZ, is my guess,” Brian answered. “They started the episode with breaking news.”

  What he didn’t say was that for TMZ to go live on the West Coast, they had to have known ahead of time that something big was coming. Rod hadn’t just given them the photos. He’d told them he would be getting them. What Brian couldn’t figure out was what was in it for Bannon. Why ruining Eleanor Ross equaled a payoff for Rod the Bod. Because Rod didn’t do anything that didn’t serve himself.

  “I’m going to lose the part,” she said into the silence, sitting up again. “They’ll either replace me or shut down the movie altogether.”

  “Maybe. We need to make some phone calls, but not while we’re fleeing the horde.” Checking his mirrors, he shifted right and then turned them up the ramp onto the northbound 110 freeway.

  “Where are we going? The border and Mexico are south.”

  He snorted. “It’s not fleeing-to-Mexico bad yet.”

  “Says you.”

  “Yes, I do say. You don’t want to go home. I know a place we can hole up and regroup.”

  Eleanor closed her eyes for a moment. Regroup. This wasn’t a football game they were losing. A pep talk wouldn’t put those photos back into her phone. And all those people suddenly surrounding her, yammering and pointing and camera lights flashing—the only thing she could think of was to call Cafferty and run.

  “You rescued me again,” she said aloud.

  “It’s my job, this time.”

  Whether he meant that to hurt or not, it did. The implication that he’d shown up because she paid him to do so… After she’d pretty much told him to stay in his lane and leave her to choose her own friends and romantic partners, she probably deserved it, but his timing sucked. “Sorry.”

  She heard his intake of breath. “No, I’m sorry. You’ve got enough on your shoulders right now. I’m not going to dump on you.”

  Yes, everything sucked right now and would only get worse, but in the grand scheme of things she supposed she was a great deal more fortunate than most people. “You might as well. There’ll be a line later.”

  “But there isn’t one now. Keep your phone off, unroll the window, and breathe. We’ve got two or so hours before we stop.”

  Wherever they were headed, it was out of Hollywood, and for the moment that was enough. God, she’d picked the wrong career. Standing in front of a couple of bored guys with cameras and lights was one thing. That was her pretending to be someone else, and she enjoyed that. She was good at it. The other part, the publicity tours and interviews and all the people picking at her like crows on a corncob, that part sucked. Literally. Just like a vampire.

  Cafferty fiddled with the radio then shut it off again. He was probably worried that she would be featured on the next news break. “Did he say anything?”

  “Who? Rod?”

  “Yeah. Before he took off on you. Did he say anything?”

  “No. He handed me back my phone, chatted for a minute or two about being up for the next James Bond villain, which I didn’t believe, then said, ‘I have to go, babe,’ and walked away. At first I thought he meant he had to go to the restroom, but then he didn’t come back. And then my phone started ringing, and the shit hit the fan.” She pounded her fist against the armrest. “Who does that? I mean, I…I liked him.”

  She knew exactly why Cafferty didn’t answer that; she surrounded herself with professional liars. She was a professional liar. Evidently that didn’t mean her bullshit detector worked better than anyone else’s. But did that mean that Rod had only been looking for a way to use her all along? Or to sabotage her career? She’d slept with the guy, for God’s sake. He was exciting, bold, and everything she thought a shy, introverted woman like herself should be allying with.

  Rod was the opposite of Brian Cafferty, in fact, who at the moment seemed content to let her stew in her own thoughts without a word of encouragement that her career wasn’t circling the drain even as they drove away from Hollywood. Cafferty, who’d asked her to marry him, then had stuck around to work for her even after she’d changed her mind about him.

  “Why do you work for me?” she asked abruptly, the second she spoke wishing she’d kept her mouth shut.

  “Nope. I’m not having that conversation right now. The only mistake you made tonight was trusting somebody you thought was trustworthy. No wallowing in self-pity. Not in my car. I don’t have waterproof cushions.”

  “Oh, ha ha. Fine. I’ll be wallowing silently while you drive us God knows where.”

  “I’m following orders. If you want to go home after all, just say the word.”

  She thought about it. Her stuff was there. Her toothbrush, her overnight bag, her pajamas. And her house phone, laptop, the TV—three of them, actually—her doorbell, and all the other ways people would know to get to her. “Keep driving.”

  “I thought so.”

  Of course he knew she wouldn’t change her mind. Brian Cafferty knew everything about her, made every effort to keep her safe and cocooned and protected and unchallenged. As her handler, that was a good thing. As a lover, as a husband, it would stifle her. She knew it.

  Eleanor shook herself. She was only hurt and scared right now. That was why the H-word had suddenly shown up in her brain again, when it hadn’t for four years. Oh, she needed to get ahead of all this, or at least get back on the game board. “We need to call John.”

  “I texted him on my way to Almuerzo, to let him know this wasn’t your doing and that you’d be in touch as soon as you could.”

  Yep, as an employee, that anticipating-her-needs-and-requests thing was pretty
much priceless. “Thanks again, then, even though I’m not sure at least part of it wasn’t my doing. Or my fault, anyway.”

  “Well, I think you need to get over that before we jump into the fight.”

  He was right about that. If she claimed anything other than complete innocence, her next acting job would be a shoe commercial—if she was lucky. And dammit, she had trusted Rod. She would still be trusting him, if he hadn’t turned tail and run just in time for the news to break. Her first impression on meeting him, that he wasn’t the sharpest knife in the block, made her scowl now. His lack of keen insight had been part of his appeal; her work was challenging enough. She didn’t need to be challenged in a relationship. But if she’d settled, what did that really say about her? Firstly, he’d outsmarted her, and secondly, why had she told herself that a long-term relationship with someone whose intellect she didn’t respect was okay?

  Oh, shut up, El. Brian was right about one thing. She needed to focus, decide on her plan of attack. No fumbling when she got on the phone with Paramount or the two executive producers. Bernie Machinak and Fiona Valenti had been big admirers of hers, but that was before she’d leaked—allowed Rod Bannon to leak—the biggest secret of the movie. Merchandisers wouldn’t like that, and merchandise was where a superhero movie made its money.

  She sank down in her seat and turned to face the side window. Light and dark streaked by, broken by the side panels of trucks and the longer-lasting light of neighborhoods and storefronts. Those dropped away as they left the freeway for a succession of side roads, and then the street-lights drifted farther apart until they stopped too. “Where are you taking me, the Grand Canyon?”