A Taste of Pink (Shades Book 4)

by Stephanie Hoffman McManus

  “I’ll see you back in L.A.” She leaned up and kissed Hunter’s cheek, then turned to me. “You ready?”

  I hesitated. What had I just seen?

  Drugs.

  It had to be something else. Mila was just in my head, but nothing I’d seen in all the time I knew Riley suggested she messed around with drugs. It had to be something else.

  “Yeah, let’s go.” I was more than ready. To get out of this party and this city. Five a.m. couldn’t come soon enough.

  For Riley though, I think it came a little too soon. She rolled out of bed like an angry bear and stomped around the suite, gathering her things up and throwing them haphazardly into her suitcase. I stayed out of her way and didn’t say a word to her until the front desk called to say our car had arrived.

  “Time to go,” I told her and then grabbed the handle on her giant suitcase and scooped up my duffel.

  It was still dark outside when we reached the lobby and I was looking forward to catching a few more hours of sleep on the flight.

  “Miss James!” The woman at the front desk called Riley over.

  “You had a flower delivery yesterday.” She shoved a giant vase of pink roses toward Riley. It brought a tiny smile to her grumpy face.

  “They’re beautiful, but I can’t exactly take them on the plane with me. Why don’t you keep them.”

  “Thank you. That’s very kind of you. Do you at least want the card?” She plucked it from the flowers and held it out to Riley.

  “Thank you.” She took the card and tucked it inside her purse. “They’re probably from Jayne or Luis.”

  I didn’t see the card again until Riley threw it in my lap right after take-off. “Read it,” she said hoarsely.

  I plucked the card up and scanned the messy scrawl.

  Riley, these roses aren’t as pretty as you,

  But I hope you like them.

  I’ll be seeing you soon, love.

  “Shit,” I cursed under my breath. Warren.

  “Do you think he’s still in New York? Or do you think he’s gone back to L.A.?”

  “I don’t know. I’ll check with the flower shop when we land, but I doubt they’ll be able to tell us anything.”

  She slumped into the seat beside me. “I don’t know how much more I can take.”

  “He’s going to get caught Riley, and he won’t get released this time.” Not when there was footage of him slipping into the hotel suite and running back out with a gun. He’d managed to make it out of the hotel, but the video evidence of the gun damned him.

  She slumped over, cradling her head in her hands. “I don’t understand why he’s doing this.” She tilted her head to peer at me. “Is it my fault?”

  “Why would you even ask that?”

  “Because, maybe I led him on? Maybe I was flirting and didn’t realize it.”

  I sat forward in my seat and tipped my head slightly to level my gaze with hers. “Did you ask him to do any of this?”

  “No.”

  “Then this isn’t your fault. His fixation on you isn’t your fault.”

  She sat up and tucked one leg under her bottom, turning her body toward mine. “Still, I just feel like I should have sensed something, you know? Something that told me to stay away from him, but he seemed so normal, like any other part of the crew. It gets boring on set, as you well know, and I like to get to know the crew. People are interesting. Warren was interesting. I was nice to him, asked him questions about his job building movie sets. He was harmless, and then when he found out we grew up in towns not very far from each other, he started getting weird. Our high schools play each other in football, and he became obsessed over the possibility that we could have met. Then he started leaving the flowers and candy and presents in my trailer and watching me all the time. I tried to confront him nicely and let him down easy, but he didn’t take it well. He kept talking about fate and exploded on set and that’s when they fired him. After that, well, you know about the rest.”

  “It’s not your fault. You couldn’t have known. After digging into the guy’s background, it’s clear he has some serious issues.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I mean the kid was born to druggie parents who overdosed when he was three. He was taken in by his elderly paternal grandparents. His grandfather died when he was sixteen and the grandmother had to go to a nursing home. Warren was shipped off to California to live with an uncle. The uncle worked in construction and Warren dropped out of school to go to work for him, but his uncle’s business went belly up a few years later and the guy killed himself. Warren was nineteen then and after that he bounced around employers for a few years until landing with the company he was working for when you met him.”

  “I never knew any of that,” Riley commented. “Luis had him investigated, but he never told me anything. So, his grandma is the only family he has left?”

  I shook my head. “She died last year.”

  “I almost feel bad for him.”

  “It’s okay to feel bad for the guy. He got dealt a shit hand, but it doesn’t make what he’s doing now okay. You’re not responsible for trying to fix him or save him.”

  “I know I’m not responsible for him, but if I can get him some real help, I will.”

  “Riley, promise me that if you see him again, you won’t let your guard down because you feel sorry for him. He’s still dangerous, and you promise me you’ll do whatever you can to get away from him.”

  “I promise. And I’m sorry about last night. I was out of hand. I shouldn’t have pushed you.” She looked so defeated and I didn’t know if it had more to do with Warren or our kiss.

  “It wasn’t just you, Riley. I wanted to kiss you. It just can’t happen again. You understand that, right?”

  She tore her eyes away from mine. “Yeah, I get it.”

  Ten

  Riley

  N.Y. to L.A.

  L.A. to London.

  London to Paris.

  Paris to Madrid.

  Madrid to Berlin.

  Berlin to Tokyo.

  Tokyo to Sydney.

  Sydney finally back to L.A.

  You learn a lot about a person when you spend two weeks living out of hotels and on airplanes, running on little sleep and too much caffeine.

  For instance, things I’d learned about James Raynes while traveling:

  He loves western movies. Like LOVES them. That’s all he would watch on the long international flights. And not new westerns. The old ones like my dad watched.

  HE SNORES!!!!! Like a grizzly bear. I found that out on the flight to London. So did the entire rest of the plane!!!! Until you roll him over, then it stops I discovered. It got to be like clockwork on all of our long flights. He would start in in his little bunk and I’d have to jump out of mine and roll him onto his side. It would stop, and a couple hours later, when he’d rolled onto his back again, it would start again. The only positive thing I could say about his snoring was that at least it was nice to finally find a flaw other than his overall surliness.

  Speaking of flaws, he’s allergic to chocolate . . . CHOCOLATE!! He’s allergic to it! As in he can’t eat it. EVER! I can’t imagine a worse allergy. I ate so much chocolate in Europe, it wasn’t even funny.

  He speaks German and Spanish fluently and knows a little bit of French and Japanese! I could say konnichiwa and that’s about it.

  He does not do selfies. AT ALL. Like do not ever ask him to pose in a selfie with you. Not even if it’s with the Eiffel Tower in the background.

  Also, he called his mom and sister almost every day on the phone. That one was sort of sweet and adorable.

  Less adorable was his dedication to the NFL. Do you know what it’s like to be woken up in your hotel at three a.m. because the Seattle Seahawks are losing, and a grown man is yelling at the screen as if the players and coaches can hear him all the way from Germany? I think he cried a little bit when they didn’t make the Super Bowl, but the Patriots did. He really neede
d to meet my dad. They were practically the same person

  Ewwwww. Noooooo.

  Strike that thought from the record.

  And, equally annoying were his neat freak tendencies. We were living in hotels and the man still folded his clothes and tucked them all neatly in the drawers. Whereas, in my room, if it didn’t have to be hung, it was probably strewn somewhere about the room or spilling out of the suitcase. Or possibly tossed over the couch, or maybe a chair, or the kitchen counter . . . it was one shoe, one Jimmy Choo on the counter for crying out loud and you’d have thought from his reaction that I’d relieved myself on the counter. Okay, and maybe there were a few Snickers wrappers left on surfaces, but I’m not a total slob like he’d have you believe.

  He was also a big baby when it came to trying new food. And. So. Damn. Stubborn.

  I’m sure he had his own mental list of neat things he learned about me. I shuddered to think about what he could tell the tabloids. Not that I thought he ever would.

  For the public eye we were one thing, and then in private . . . I didn’t even know anymore. He kissed me, and I questioned everything. It wasn’t like he kissed me in New York. No one had ever kissed me the way he had in New York. But every time he kissed me, part of the act or not, it stole my breath away and left me dizzy.

  And there were looks and casual touches. They could have meant everything, or they might have meant nothing. We’d settled into this place where when we weren’t arguing or trying to knock each other out while sparring—well mostly me trying to knock him out, he could totally take my head off if he wanted to—things were comfortable, mostly. Like letting it all hang out level of comfortable. Bed head, bad breath, SNORING, embarrassing quirks, all of it.

  He ate ice cream and watched chick flicks with me on my period and didn’t even make fun of me for crying during P.S. I Love You.

  And I finally saw him drunk! It was the best thing ever. James was the funniest drunk. Add that to the list. After weeks of trying, I finally coerced him into playing a drinking game with me in our little beach hut cottage on our last night in Sydney, and we ended up going for a late-night dip in the ocean. His idea! Which is why we both had swimsuits on. My idea would have had us naked in the ocean.

  That much hadn’t changed. I still wanted him like I wanted to eat unlimited carbs and not gain a pound. Maybe more than I wanted unlimited carbs. Maybe more than I wanted anything . . . which led to several of our arguments and fights because I was me and instead of handling my confused feelings like a mature adult, I antagonized and picked fights like a kindergartener. Fighting was the only part of our relationship that still made sense to me.

  Another week of sharing hotels and stuck on long flights together and one of us might not have made it back to California. Probably me, because he would have tossed my ass out over the ocean. As it was, when we returned home, we both retreated to opposite ends of the house in need of space from each other.

  The one major upside to being out of the country and all over the world? There was no time to think about Warren. I almost forgot about him. Almost.

  Now that I was back home, it was only a matter of time until he popped up. When would it be? At tonight’s event?

  I didn’t even want to go, but it was a premiere party for Scott Lengel’s latest movie. One of those lone soldier survivor of a military unit, left behind in enemy territory, has to fight his way out, against all odds films. The only reason for my attendance was that right before leaving for Europe, I’d bumped into him at the SAG awards, and managed to slip in to conversation how interested I was in the Nancy Wake project. He’d said, and I quote, “We’ll talk.”

  And that was it. We’ll talk. But when? Hence my dressing to the nines, forcing James to wear something other than combat boots, and going out after only one day of rest following our world travels.

  That part was mother effing mine!

  “Our first mission, should you choose to accept it,” I told James and Jayne as our car rolled to a stop, “is to find Scott on the red carpet before he heads inside. It’s a small window of opportunity, but if he makes it inside, it may be impossible to get a moment of his time.”

  “Got it. Locate the target and take him out.” James grinned and winked.

  “Calm down 007,” I laughed. “We’re here to convince the guy to put me in his movie, not kill him, but after the party, if you want to play secret agent, I’ll be happy to play your Bond girl.”

  His grin widened, “You’re mixing up your movies, but if you must know, Honey Ryder in Dr. No. was by far the best Bond girl.”

  I smacked his chest. “She’s like eighty now.”

  “No way, Honey Ryder is ageless.”

  Jayne and I shared a look, both of us rolling our eyes.

  The door was pulled open and James stepped out first.

  “Go make ‘em jealous,” Jayne whispered as James reached his hand back inside for mine.

  “Always do.” I slid smoothly out onto my studded Valentino’s and hooked my arm through James’, molding myself to his side. Jayne would follow behind and catch up with us after we made it past the cameras. “Come on lover. Don’t forget to smile pretty for the cameras.”

  I didn’t have to look at him to know he was scowling. He was always scowling when he knew there was a camera pointed in his direction, something that aggravated Angela to no end. It didn’t bother me in the least that every time he ended up on a magazine cover or some online celebrity gossip blog, he was all broody. I thought he looked very James Dean. Always the rebel. And the few times someone managed to catch a candid of him smiling or laughing—usually at something stupid I’d just said or done—Lord have mercy on women everywhere. The dimples just made you want to take a bite out of his cheek or stick your tongue in the little divots!

  No? Just me?

  I doubted it, because my fans were eating him up like he was chocolate cake. They loved the “Hollywood Princess” falls for “Homegrown American Hero” tale the tabloids were spinning.

  They loved him. They loved “us.”

  There was this one picture someone had snapped of the two of us caught in the London rain; he was trying to hold his jacket over my head, grinning at me like a fool while I held my hands out to the sky and tried to catch raindrops on my tongue. That picture was trending for days. We were dubbed, “relationship goals.” Nobody except Jayne knew that I’d asked her to get me a print copy and had it tucked in the top drawer of my dresser at home. Yes, that’s the drawer where all my unmentionables are kept, but wouldn’t it be weirder to stick a picture in the second or third drawer down? Like who hides a picture with their yoga pants? The top drawer just made more sense.

  “Stepdad alert,” James bent and whispered in my ear.

  “Where?” I said, darting my gaze around. How did I not know Luis was going to be here tonight? I would’ve thought he’d have mentioned it.

  “Your eight o’clock,” he murmured back.

  I spun to my right.

  “That’s not your eight o’clock.”

  I turned the other way and saw Luis schmoozing with some other big wigs in the business.

  “Well, let’s hope Scott isn’t over there.” I pulled James in the opposite direction.

  “What’s this dude look like?”

  I stopped and turned on him throwing up my hands. “How did you plan to help me find him if you don’t know what he looks like? And he’s not just some dude. He’s a brilliant writer, producer, and director!”

  “Noted, now what does he look like?”

  “A silver fox.”

  His face scrunched up. “A what?”

  “An attractive older man with greying hair.”

  “Seriously?”

  “Yes, seriously. Look for a hot older man.” I started scanning the surrounding area for him.

  “How am I supposed to know if a man is hot or not?”

  “Please,” I scoffed. “You know.”

  “He knows what?” Jayne appeared.
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  “Apparently I know how to identify a silver fox.”

  “Oh, haven’t found Scott yet?”

  “There!” I shouted a little too excited, drawing stares from nearby attendees. Dropping my voice, I said, “He’s right over there, with his wife. They’re talking to Camille Rogan and Ryan O’Shaughnessy.” Last name sound familiar? Yup, Ryan is Douchebag Derrick’s slightly less douchey little brother. I say slightly less douchey because he was still a total prick, but at least he didn’t cheat on his fiancé. That I knew of. Camille was one of Hollywood’s brightest rising stars, but Ryan was the star of tonight’s show.

  “Go get him girl.” Jayne gave me a teasing smack on the ass.

  “Shit, I’m nervous now. What if he thinks I’m too young, or just not a good fit for the part?” I looked to Jayne for reassurance, but that’s not where it came from. James was the one who spoke up. “Riley, you are a force to be reckoned with when you want something. I have no doubt you’ll win him over.”

  I beamed up at him. “You really think so?”

  “Yes. Now go, we’re right behind you, but you got this.”

  I did got this. I was Riley fucking James, and Scott Lengel wouldn’t know what hit him. I was going to charm the pants right off him. Not literally of course. James’ pants were the only ones I actually wanted to charm off.

  I saw my opening and went for it when Ryan and Camille wandered off, which was a relief since I didn’t want to have to awkwardly play nice with Derrick’s brother.

  “Riley!” Well, Scott looked excited to see me, that was a good sign, right? “I’m so glad you made it out tonight.”

  I went in for the whole half embrace, kiss on the cheek thing, only it turned out Scott was a real hugger. He didn’t do the half ass thing. He gave you a good squeeze, which was okay by me, since I was a hugger too. And then I repeated it with his sweet wife Caroline.

  “I’m glad I could come. Just made it back from Sydney yesterday morning.”

  “Ah, how’s the press tour going?”