Harlequin Superromance March 2014 - Bundle 2 of 2: The Secrets of Her PastA Real Live HeroIn Her Corner

by EMILIE ROSE

  “Why? We’re not close.”

  “That’s exactly why I should be the one. Everyone who is close to you has probably already given you loads of good advice that you’ve promptly ignored. Maybe hearing it from someone you’re not close to might make a difference.”

  “That’s some curious logic,” she grumbled. “But let’s just say for the sake of argument you have a mild point.... What’s in it for you? What do you care about my personal life?”

  “Everyone deserves to be happy,” he said. “Even you.”

  “Thanks,” she said drily, finishing off her drink and signaling for another. She might need to be drunk to listen to Trevor play armchair shrink, but what the hell, maybe it’d make the time go by faster. “So what’s this advice you’re offering?”

  “You say I’m not your type,” he said, pointing out the obvious. “And you know what, I’m glad.”

  “And why is that?”

  “Because the guy who is your type, you left behind without blinking an eye. Lady, that’s harsh. Even by L.A. standards.”

  “I didn’t just leave him behind. It’s complicated.”

  “Not really.”

  “Yes, it is.” She glared.

  “Only as complicated as you make it. Look, if you spent half the time looking for a solution that you do making excuses, I’ll bet you’d have something figured out by now.”

  “Okay, genius, you seem like you’ve got it all figured out—what’s the solution?”

  “Depends...you want to stay in California or Alaska? You have to choose.”

  “Duh. That’s been the problem all along,” she said, annoyed that Trevor had sucked her into a dead-end conversation. “While I appreciate—sort of—your attempt at helping me with my personal life—”

  “Did you know that Alaska has the largest commercial halibut fishing outfits?” he interrupted.

  “Of course I know that,” she snapped. “My father and brother are longline fishermen. Your point?”

  “So if you know that, then you also know that longline fishing is very controversial for snagging unintended fish and fowl.”

  “Yeah,” she agreed slowly, wondering where he was going with this information.

  “Seems like a good hook for a series...kind of like The Deadliest Catch, but with halibut instead of crab. If I were you, I’d be using the momentum of your pilot success to springboard to a new project—one that doesn’t put you at odds with the main star. Doesn’t take a rocket scientist to see that your guy isn’t one for the limelight.”

  “No, he hates it,” she said, staring at Trevor with newfound appreciation. “So you’re saying, pitch the new series while I might still have a chance to open some doors?”

  “That’s what I’d do, but hey, I’m just a camera guy.”

  She immediately thought of her brother—handsome, sweet, yet hardworking—and the camera would love him. Except for one thing... She frowned. “It’s a good idea but it hinges on one thing—the network has to love Trace’s pilot for me to get the green light for the new project.”

  “Not necessarily,” Trevor added with a crafty smile. “You really need to get more cutthroat if you’re going to make it. You and I both know that Trace’s pilot, no matter how good, is a dead-end street because he’s not interested in doing a full series. However, the network doesn’t know that. And, even better...neither does the competition. You polish that pilot until it shines and then when you gain momentum, you pitch that new idea to a competitor and see what happens.”

  “I’d lose my job,” she said, her stomach trembling at the idea.

  “Who cares if you’re moving on to bigger and better things? Besides, in case you haven’t noticed, Hannah’s out to get you canned. Unlike you, she’s been actively campaigning to put you out on your ass.”

  “Yeah, I noticed,” she said. “It’s a huge risk, though.”

  “Life’s all about taking risks, baby. If you’re not willing to take big risks, you don’t deserve the big reward. There’s no room for a Pollyanna in our line of work. Either go after what you want or step aside so you’re not in the way of those who will.”

  She nodded, knowing Trevor was right. She’d long ago figured out that sooner or later Hannah was going to get her fired for something. And she wasn’t likely to gain much respect from the network at this point, no matter how well the pilot did. The incentive to stay with her current employer was pretty weak. She could lose her condo if this all went sideways, a voice reminded her. Screw the condo. Why did she care about a building? A building wouldn’t love her back. And she certainly didn’t suffer any illusions that Los Angeles was the place of stardust and magic that she’d believed when she’d first moved there. What was she holding on to? Fear—that’s what she was holding on to, and she was ready to let it go. She regarded Trevor with a growing spark of excitement. “You wouldn’t have suggested it if you hadn’t already known who would be open to it. Tell me who’s in the market.”

  “On one condition,” Trevor said.

  “Which is?”

  “You take me with you.”

  Delainey did a double take. “What?”

  “I’m not getting anywhere where I’m at. Besides, Alaska could grow on me.”

  “You said Alaska is boring,” she reminded him.

  “I just said that to get your goat. Alaska is cool. Besides, with me there, it would cease to be boring,” he said with a grin.

  She laughed ruefully, not quite sure if she was making a devil’s bargain. “Okay, deal. Give me the skinny on who’s buying what.”

  For the next hour Trevor shared everything he’d gleaned from his contacts out there in the field, and by the time they landed at LAX, Delainey was anxious to put their plan into action.

  For the first time in a long time, Delainey couldn’t wait to get to work.

  * * *

  TRACE CLIMBED THE short steps to where his mother was staying and knocked. Florence, a short, stout woman with a frizz of gray hair, opened the door, and a tremulous smile followed when she recognized him. “Oh, Trace, it’s you,” she breathed with relief. “Come in, come in. Your mother is in the den.” She gestured for him to lean down, and she whispered in his ear, “She’s been crying off and on all night. Go easy on her, dear. She’s taking things pretty hard.”

  Trace nodded and followed Florence into the den. Jennelle sat in a chair with a box of tissue, her eyes swollen and her nose red. When she saw Trace, her expression became pinched and she looked away. “Come to oust me from my friend’s house, too?” she asked.

  “Florence, would you mind giving my mother and I a moment to talk?” he asked, and Florence bobbed a short nod before disappearing.

  Trace took a seat opposite his mother and wondered where to begin. He decided to start with the facts. “I thought you’d want to know that dad opted to stay in jail until his court date,” he said.

  “What are you talking about? Why would he do such a thing?” she asked, wiping her nose with a glare. “That’s nonsense. Your father would never choose to stay behind bars.”

  “Well, he did. Rhett Fowler went to bail him out and he refused. That’s straight from Rhett’s mouth.”

  She stared, her mouth trembling. “He wants to stay in jail?”

  “I don’t think it’s that he wants to stay in jail, per se, but I think he knows it’s the best place for him right now.” He gentled his voice. “He’s admitting that he has a problem, and he’s using this time to sort things out. The way I see it, this is a good thing.”

  Her stare withered. “You would.”

  “Okay, come on, now. Don’t you think you’re being a little childish here?” he asked gently. “You need to admit that Dad has a problem. The fact that he can admit it and you can’t says you have a bigger problem than he does.”

&nbs
p; “Of course, blame me some more. That seems to be the thing to do these days.”

  “Mom, I’m not blaming you. I’m being honest. It’s high time we all start being honest with each other.”

  “I’ve never lied to any of my children, or my husband for that matter.”

  “Tell me about the room.”

  She balked, as if chagrined that he’d brought it up. If he’d caught her with her pants around her ankles, she’d likely look no less mortified. “What are you talking about?”

  “Miranda said there’s something about Simone’s old room. You won’t let anyone go near it. Why?”

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  “Mom.”

  “What?”

  “Tell me about the room.”

  “That’s none of your business.”

  He sighed. “Mom, you realize we’re going to see what’s in that room when the cleaners come.”

  “What cleaners?” she asked, startled. Her voice rose a level. “What are you talking about?”

  “Mom, let’s not play games. What are you afraid of? That I’ll judge you? I promise I won’t.”

  “There’s nothing to tell.”

  He sighed. Whatever she was hiding in that room would become evident soon enough, but it killed him to see her act like this. She was so far from the woman he remembered from his childhood. And he had to take responsibility for his part in the change. “Mom, I know I haven’t been there for you, but I promise that’s going to change. I think we’ve all been pushing our heads into the snow, afraid to acknowledge what’s happening right in front of our faces, which is that Simone’s death took a lot more from this family than just her presence in our lives.”

  “I don’t want to talk about Simone, and I won’t have you blaming your dead sister for the problems in this family,” Jennelle said. “If that’s all you have to say, you can take yourself off and go.”

  “Mom,” he said, frustrated. “Will you stop and listen for a minute?”

  “I’m done listening. You didn’t try to talk to me before you ousted me from my home. Why should I listen to a word you and your sister have to say? Don’t you understand how betrayed I feel?”

  “I can only imagine and I know you’re mad, but think of this as a temporary thing. We don’t want you out of your home permanently, but if we don’t work together, that’s exactly what’s going to happen—and it won’t be by our hand. Your house has been condemned.” At the word condemned, Jennelle winced and looked away, but Trace couldn’t mince words if he was going to get his point across. “We have a certain amount of time to get it cleaned up and approved by Social Services. Do you want to go home?” he asked.

  “That’s a silly question, not even worth answering,” she said sullenly, crossing her arms tightly. “What are you saying?”

  “I’m saying, if you want to go home, you’re going to have to work with us to make it happen. And that means no more of this attitude.”

  “Fine. I’ll start cleaning it myself.”

  “No. That’s not happening,” he said. “You had your chance. It’s gotten beyond what you can handle. I’ve hired a professional cleaning and organizing crew to come out and help.”

  “Strangers going through my things?” She looked appalled. “I don’t think so.”

  “Then say goodbye to your house,” he said, shaking his head. “You can’t have it your way. It’s going to be this way or no way.” She clenched her fists and looked ready to scream, but she held it in. He hated being so firm with her, but he knew there was no backing down. He pressed a bit harder, knowing he was likely going to be the bad guy, but it was time he shouldered the responsibility instead of letting Miranda take the load. “I also want you to see a professional who specializes in hoarding.”

  “I’m not a hoarder,” she spat, her eyes watering. “Was this Miranda’s doing?”

  “No. It’s not Miranda’s fault, and you need to stop blaming her,” he answered sharply, protective of his sister. “You’re unwell, Mom, and I’m going to see that you get the help that you need.”

  “What does your father say about all this?” she asked, the bitterness in her voice killing him. “Does he agree to this ambush, too?”

  “I haven’t talked to Dad about it yet. My concern is with you. I have talked to Wade, though. He’s coming out to help.”

  Her lips trembled and she stared at Trace. “Wade is coming?” she asked, her voice barely a whisper. “He’s coming home?”

  “Yes,” he lied. He hadn’t actually convinced Wade to come home yet, but if he had to fly to California and drag him back to Alaska by his ears, he’d do it. Wade was as guilty as anyone in leaving to escape the pain of Simone’s loss. It was time for Wade to man up and be the oldest brother. “In the meantime, we need to get you ready for the cleanup.”

  She seemed lost for a moment, and Trace realized it’d been a long time since their mother had had all her children home. The impact of that realization made him feel like a wretch. He’d always blamed his job for his frequent disappearances, but that wasn’t entirely truthful. He’d eagerly accepted every job that took him far away because being home had been too filled with memories, both good and bad. And they weren’t all of Simone. Truth was, he’d been stuck in the past for a variety of reasons.

  But not any longer.

  “Whether you like it or not, we’re all going to be here for you, Mom,” he said in earnest. “And I know you don’t believe it right now, but we love you and we care about your welfare. I hope someday you’ll come to realize this and forgive us for the hard line we’re taking now.”

  She didn’t answer but the wounded look spoke volumes. Lord, grant him patience. If Miranda were to be believed, his mother could hold a grudge like no one’s business.

  Well, he was about to put that belief to the test.

  He just wished Delainey were here to brave the battle lines with him, because this war was going to be hell.

  Just the thought of Delainey brought a sharp pain that was difficult to hide. A part of him wished he could follow her, no matter where she went, just to be with her. But he knew that wasn’t possible. He loved her desperately, but he knew himself well enough to know that following her to Los Angeles would’ve ended badly for them both.

  And so, he pushed that pain of loss deeper inside him so he could function with everyday life as well as focus on the situation with his parents.

  But it wasn’t easy.

  And it hurt like hell no matter how deep he buried it.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR

  DELAINEY HAD JUST finished packing her office when Hannah walked in, her pinched expression as sour as if she’d just been informed her skinny mocha latte had been made with whole milk rather than skim. “Aren’t you clever,” she said, not waiting for an invitation. “Can’t say I’m surprised. I tried to warn Mr. Pilcher that you were a Judas, but he thought better of you. Can’t say why. All you ever did was bring this network down, and frankly I’m glad you’re leaving.”

  “Don’t hold back, Hannah,” Delainey said, chuckling. Oddly, it was refreshing to hear Hannah openly insulting her rather than hiding her jabs behind the thin veneer of concern or support. “There’s no need to hold back now.”

  “Oh, I’ve waited a long time to get this off my chest, and I can’t wait to tell you exactly what I think of you.” But instead of launching into a tirade, Hannah swallowed whatever she’d been planning to say and said, “Karma will be your reward for screwing over the very network that gave you a chance in the first place.”

  “Not that I have anything to worry about in the karma department, but if I did, and karma were an actual thing in the cosmos, my guess is that everyone in the film and television industry would have cause to worry...especially you.”

  “Oh, is t
hat so? And what puts you above the rest?”

  “Because even though I tried really hard to fit in with the sharks, I never truly did because I never wanted to lie, cheat or steal my way to the top. Now, I don’t have to. The Discovery Channel is very happy to add my new show to their lineup, and I am more than happy to go.” Delainey paused before adding, “By the way, sorry to hear about that impending lawsuit against Hubba Hubba. Who knew filming drunken college coeds during spring break could end so badly? I hope that poor kid recovers from his fall. Good thing you caught it all on camera. I’ll bet that will help in court.”

  Hannah’s perfect lips compressed to a tight, angry line, and Delainey wanted to laugh and point out that when she did that, all the wrinkles and fine creases she’d been trying to squelch through chemistry returned with a vengeance. But for reasons unknown, Delainey didn’t. Maybe she didn’t see the point in trading barbs with someone who was plainly unhappy and likely to become even more so as life wore on.

  In the past two months since returning from Alaska, she’d had a series of epiphanies that had left her giddy with the newfound knowledge and understanding of not only herself, but her driving ambition. After she’d put together a rough cut of Trace’s pilot, the head of the network, Frank Pilcher, had nearly wet himself with glee because he knew it was going to be a hit. But when she’d tried to explain to him that Trace wasn’t interested in pursuing a whole season, Pilcher’s glee had turned to anger pretty quickly.

  “You’ll secure this man or else it’s your job,” the mean old man had threatened as he jabbed a finger at her. “Do whatever you did to get him to agree to the pilot. That seemed to work well enough. I don’t need to know details. I just want results.”

  And it was then that Delainey realized this would be her future—constantly sacrificing her morals and ethics to cater to someone else’s vision. Her next decision had been laughably easy.

  “Trace Sinclair has too much integrity to have anything to do with you or this network,” she said, shocking Pilcher into speechlessness. “He did the pilot because I strong-armed him into doing it. I manipulated him into doing something he hated because I thought I needed this for my career. But I was wrong. And you were wrong. The only one who was right was Trace.”