by Rowe, Julie
Alex frowned at her. “Are you okay?”
A snicker. “No, I’m not okay. I’m stressed out, freaked out, and sick of people taking pictures of me while I’m falling apart. It’s either laugh or cry.”
He waved a hand in a grand magnanimous sweep. “Laugh away then.”
She giggled some more. “Okay.” And didn’t stop until Alex pulled into a parking spot at the police station.
“Don’t forget,” he said before they got out. “Let me do the talking.”
“Why?”
“Because I don’t think anyone who doesn’t know you will give you the benefit of the doubt.” He opened his car door and got out.
“What do you mean, the benefit of the doubt?” she asked, following him.
He lowered his voice. “People have drawn their own conclusions about the photos that have been publicized with you in them or of your patients. Most of those conclusions are negative.”
They were? A knot formed in the pit of her stomach. “I had no idea. I thought it was the paparazzi that was doing the concluding.”
“This is Hollywood, and perception is everything.”
That was a ridiculous statement. “But everyone’s perception is different.”
Alex snorted. “That’s a rational statement. It doesn’t apply.”
“Excuse me? It doesn’t apply? What kind of thing is that for you to say?” She’d been sure he was more perceptive than that. “You’re a lawyer.”
He stopped outside the main entrance to the station and pulled her to one side, leaning close to speak in her ear. “Indeed. A lawyer who tells the truth in a city founded on the ideal of perfection, of people who look as wonderful on the outside as they do on the inside, when no such thing exists.”
The glance he gave her was so filled with disgust and derision, she wondered how he could ever find the ability to smile. “I should know. I’m the grandson of a genuine movie star. Only I’m not perfect. I’ve always been one to tell the truth rather than go to all the trouble of making something up.” He laughed. “But the truth is seldom what people want to hear.”
“Don’t do that.” Anger, rich and hot, turned her voice into a growl.
“Don’t do what? Tell you the truth? As you said, I’m a lawyer. It’s in my job description.”
“There’s nothing wrong with you or your desire to be truthful.”
“I’d rather you didn’t lie to me.”
He wasn’t listening, damn him. Well, she was going to keep saying it until he heard her. “I like you and your honesty. It’s interesting and refreshing. It suits your personality. But what’s more important is how you feel about it. Do you like being honest? Do you like you?”
“We’re getting off topic. We’re talking about the public’sperception of you. Ninety-nine percent of the people who’ve seen any of the pictures of you have already made up their mind about who you are and what you’re like.”
He wasn’t letting go of this and now wasn’t the time or place to take a stand. “That is a demoralizing thought.”
“It’s the truth.”
She wanted to tell him she hated the truth, but she was afraid he’d take it personally. She blew out a deep breath. “What if the police ask me a direct question?”
“Don’t answer it unless I tell you it’s okay to answer it.”
They entered the building and approached the reception desk. A uniformed police officer waved them forward. “How can I help you?”
“Detective Sparking, please. Tell him Alexander Hardy is here to see him.”
“One moment.” The officer punched in a number on his phone and spoke softly. “He’s in his office. Do you need directions?”
“No, I know the way. Thank you.” Alex gestured at Calla to follow and moved through the building like he was there every other day.
The office he eventually went into wasn’t large. It had enough room for a desk, a filing cabinet, and two chairs in front. Whether for colleagues or criminals, she wasn’t sure. There was a family picture perched on the top of the filing cabinet, but no other photos or artwork anywhere.
“Sparky, thanks for seeing us,” Alex said to the detective behind the desk. The two men shook hands, then Alex stepped to one side and said, “Dr. Calla Roberts, this is Detective Sparking, a long-time friend.”
She stepped forward to shake his hand.
The detective was of medium height, medium build, and with a face that could only be called average. There was not one thing about him physically that stood out. Not his hair, his clothes, or even his watch.
“I have an irritating problem by the name of Jeff MacKay,” Calla said.
Sparky looked like he’d eaten something distasteful. “You want a restraining order against one of the most visible men in the world?”
She glanced at Alex, who nodded. “He’s made threats. You should have seen him react when I refused to do what he wanted. So ugly.” She shuddered. The man underneath the pretty face was a cold, merciless creature. “If Alex hadn’t been there, I truly believe he would have hurt me.”
Sparky wrote in a notebook for a minute, then closed it and gave her his full attention. “If you do this, it will be a public document. The press watch for stuff like that. They’re going to know thirty minutes after the order is issued.”
“Is that a problem?”
“The term media frenzy might apply,” Alex drawled.
“What else can I do?” Calla asked. “He’s threatening me, you, and God knows what he’s said to Alicia and her son.”
“We should find out,” Alex said. “Take her statement. If he’s done the same thing to her as he’s trying to do to you, she may want to obtain a restraining order against him as well.”
“The press will go crazy,” Sparky said.
Alex nodded. “But it will keep MacKay from bugging her.”
“Maybe,” Sparky said, leaning back in his chair and staring at Alex. “Stars don’t always do what you expect.”
A few minutes later, they finished the paperwork and left the police station.
Once in the car, Alex said, “I didn’t want to mention this in front of Sparky, but if we’re going to have a battle between stars, I have one that will win hands down.”
“Who are you talking about? What do you mean?” Calla asked. It was a ridiculous waste of time when the last thing she wanted was more conflict.
“I mean, no one can rip someone a new one and still come off like a good guy like my grandmother.”
“She’s not involved in this.” She stopped and stared at Alex. “Unless you involved her.”
“I didn’t do anything. She’s been following the story in the papers.”
“The story in the papers is fiction.”
“She’s well aware of that,” Alex said with a chuckle. “She’d like to rewrite the story to suit herself.”
“What does that mean?”
“I don’t think you want to know.”
Calla smacked Alex’s shoulder. “Yes, I do.”
“My grandmother is a romantic and she doesn’t like Jeff MacKay. I think it would drive him crazy if we made our relationship public at an event, no, make that a party.”
“That’s taking things a bit far, don’t you think?” Calla asked. And yet, part of her whispered that things hadn’t gone nearly far enough.
“Think about how frustrated it would make MacKay,” Alex said with the glee of a man who needed to get out more often. “He’ll be claiming one thing and you’ll be showing something very different.”
Calla glanced at him. “Are you for real?”
Alex gave her a sharp, decisive nod. “Yes.”
She was going deeper and deeper into a fabricated relationship with a man who never lied.
A man she liked far too much.
A man whose kiss was something she feared she was already addicted to.
A man she wanted for real. A man she shouldn’t want.
Her life was too complicated, and that was
before taking her debt problems into account. Her brother would always have to be her first concern, her number one priority, putting any other man in her life in a dissatisfying second place. Then there was the scar tissue left behind when her fiancé cheated on her, left her, and cleaned out their joint bank account. His betrayal had almost broken her.
Another would finish her.
Chapter Eleven
Alex wanted to rub his hands together like a B-movie evil genius. The plan was perfect. Instead of reacting to MacKay’s choreographed actions, statements, and appearances, they would pre-empt him with their own.
The sexiest man of the year had forgotten something. Public opinion is a fleeting thing, subject to change from one moment to the next.
“I have a plan,” he said.
“Of course you do.”
He glanced at her. She was leaning back with her arms crossed over her chest. “Are you okay?”
“I’m feeling somewhat jaded at the moment. It’ll pass. I hope. What’s your plan?”
“One of my partners is going to take over your legal needs, now that we’re in a publicly known relationship. Speaking of which, I’d like you to stay at my place for a few days.”
She didn’t answer right away, just sat and brooded for a minute or two. “A few days?”
She looked so uncomfortable he had to stifle a growl of frustration. “Your enthusiasm is overwhelming.” He’d thought she at least liked him. Trusted him.
“I’m sorry if I don’t look excited. It’s just…I feel like I’m under attack, but I’ve done nothing to deserve this. Nothing.”
“You’re right, you’ve done nothing wrong. All I can say is…” He shrugged. “Shit happens.”
She glanced at him and sighed. “Shit’s been happening to me for days.” She closed her eyes and let her head fall back against the seat. “And it’s not even my shit.”
“Hmm,” Alex said glancing at her. “I think you’re tired.”
“I’m tired all right. Tired of lies, bad behavior, and men who think they can do whatever they want regardless of other people’s feelings.”
“Sounds like you need about two years’ sleep.”
She wiped her face with the sleeve of her shirt. Tears? “God, that sounds so good right now.”
Catherine had cried to manipulate him.
Calla tried to hide it from him.
He reached over and took her hand for a moment. “Remember, you’re not alone. I’m with you all the way, and I think a nice steak dinner and a glass of wine will help, too.”
“That sounds fabulous. But, I need some clothes. Could we stop somewhere, a department store, so I can buy a few things?”
“Wouldn’t you rather make a quick stop at your house?” Alex suggested.
She groaned. “I have no wish to be bombarded by reporters again.”
“I want pictures of the two of us together all over the internet tonight and in the papers tomorrow,” Alex explained. “So that when the fact you’ve obtained a restraining order against MacKay comes out, he looks like the asshole he is.”
Calla frowned. “So my entire life is now ammunition in your one-upmanship game with Jeff MacKay?”
“The press is going to be there anyway, so why not use them to our advantage?”
“Do you hear yourself?” she demanded. “When is it too much? Where’s the line between public and private or is there a line between them at all?”
“The line sometimes changes, depending on the situation.”
“No.” She pointed her finger at him. “You’re drawing the line. You have from the beginning.”
“Again, what’s the problem with that? Someone has to be in control.” If he wasn’t, someone else would be. Unacceptable.
“You think you’re in control of this mess? Really?” She shook her head.
“I’ve lived in the public on and off my whole life. I know what I’m doing.”
“You’re delusional, that’s what you are.”
“Trust me.”
“I thought I already was.” She leaned her head back and closed her eyes. “Obviously you’ve made up your mind. Let me know when we get to my place.”
The dark circles under Calla’s eyes and the wrinkles creasing the area between her brows told him she was more worried than she wanted him to think.
That concerned him.
What concerned him more was his deep satisfaction at having her light feminine scent in his nose as she dozed only a couple of feet away.
Deep, deep satisfaction. Not something he should be feeling for a client with a trunk full of problems, a lot of them money related, and a movie star who’d turned into a stalker.
Not for a woman who had no problem lying for him to his family. So, why did he want to take her away from all the craziness and make out for a couple of…days?
Minutes later, he pulled into her driveway and put a hand on her shoulder. “We’re here.”
She blinked at him, and he closed the few inches between them for a kiss.
Until a camera flash jerked them apart. A damn photographer was right outside the car window taking pictures.
The pleasured expression on her face soured. “Thanks.”
“I didn’t plan that.”
“No? I thought you were in control of the situation.”
“What, like mind control? I wish,” he said with no little amount of frustration. “I’m not that far along in my evil plan to take over the world.”
Instead of getting angrier at him, like he expected, she blinked and laughed. “Sometimes you can be such a jerk. Then you go and make me laugh. How am I supposed to stay mad at you when you do that?”
“I’m definitely on the ‘don’t stay mad’ side of things.”
“Dork,” she said as she got out of the car.
They went inside the house and she went straight to her room. He followed at a more sedate pace and found her filling a suitcase with clothing: scrubs, socks, underwear, and a couple sets of casual clothing, jeans, and T-shirts.
Alex leaned against the door jam of her bedroom and put his hands in his pockets “Bring a suit or something businesslike in case we do another press conference.”
“Okay.” She pulled a suit out of her closet, still encased in plastic from the dry cleaners, and threw a pair of pumps into the front pocket of the suitcase. Next came some toiletries and a small cosmetic bag. “Okay, this should do for a few days.”
Alex smiled at her and led the way to the door. He went out first and locked it behind her. She’d taken two steps toward his car when the flashes caught their attention. More flashes followed.
“The press,” she said in a soft voice.
“Yep,” Alex said, taking her bag and stowing it in the trunk. “They’re more dependable than the mail carrier.”
She sighed. “Okay, you’re right. You’re the boss. What should we do?”
“Nothing. We want them to report that you’re with me, not MacKay.”
“Of course.”
“No worries, mate,” Alex said in a fair imitation of an Australian accent as he opened her door for her.
She got in and obviously expected him to close the door, but he didn’t. He leaned down and planted a kiss on her.
God, he could nibble and suck on her lush lips all day, and now that she wasn’t angry with him… But this was no time to indulge in that sort of pleasure. This kiss was partially for show.
She froze in astonishment. So he pulled away, closed the door, and went around and got into the driver’s side. “Sorry to surprise you there. I wanted those photographers to have a clear view of our relationship.” He backed them out of her driveway and drove down the street.
“I think your plan worked.”
Alex grinned. “Just imagine MacKay’s face when he sees those pictures and the report of your restraining order in the papers tomorrow.”
That got her to smile. “You are a dangerous man, Mr. Hardy.”
“I’m a lawyer in the most
legally treacherous state in the union, Dr. Roberts. Dangerous is part of my job description.”
“The District of Columbia isn’t more treacherous?”
Alex snorted. “A close second.”
Tilting her head to one side, she asked, “Practicing law isn’t simply a job for you, is it? It’s your passion.”
“I guess you could say that. I never wanted to be anything else.”
“Never?” Her voice rose in pitch. “Not an astronaut or policeman or doctor?”
“Nope, only a lawyer. When I was a kid, I would play courtroom with my cousins. They liked it because they could pretend to be the victim or the bad guy or the judge. Me, I was always the defense lawyer.” He winked at her. “And I always won.”
She patted his hand. “I think that’s very sweet.”
He laughed and tangled his fingers with hers. When she didn’t pull away, he had to fight to keep from looking as happy as he felt. This was not a woman who trusted easily. A state of mind he’d been accused of as well. “What about you, did you always want to be a doctor?”
“Yes. But I wanted to be a family doctor for the longest time.”
“Did you change your mind in college?” “No, I decided on plastic and reconstructive surgery when I was sixteen.” She paused for a moment and the easy smile on her face melted away. “The house across the street burned down. Electrical fire. One of the neighbors suffered third-degree burns to his hands getting his kids out of the house. Burned skin heals slowly. It also twists and tightens as it heals, leaving scars that can sometimes restrict movement.”
She tugged her hand away and rubbed both of hers together, as if she could feel the burns on her own hands. “Over the course of several months he received numerous skin grafts that slowly transformed his hands, giving him greater range of motion and fewer scars. He once told me that he didn’t feel normal until he could walk down the street without anyone staring at his hands.” She considered hers, then dropped them in her lap.
That experience had shaped her, probably more than she realized.
Her championing her patients made much more sense now.
“That’s when I knew what I wanted to do with my life. Give people back some semblance of normalcy. Help them reconstruct more than their bodies—their lives, too.”
