So yeah, I worried about money because you never know what can happen.
“What’s troubling you?” Ronan asked.
I hesitated for a moment, but his smile was warm and his green eyes bathed me in adoration. “It’s just another one of my demons. I…I worry about money,” I admitted.
“I see,” he replied quietly.
“I’m sorry.” I dropped my gaze to the floor, knotting my fingers together. “I know your spending habits are none of my business.”
He lifted my chin so that I was looking at him again. “I think it’s very wise for a person to think about the status of their financials. I assume this has something to do with your father’s blunders?”
I nodded, and he led me to the couch.
“I think it’s also very sweet that you felt compelled to worry about my spending. Would it make you feel better to know more about my financial portfolio?”
I laughed because it all sounded so businesslike for two people who were romantically involved to be discussing financial matters although it was a normal thing. It was twisting me up inside that my own hang-ups are the cause of this awkwardness.
“There’s no need to worry, honestly. When I started modeling, my father began teaching me about investing, stocks, and financial planning. I’ve been building my wealth and saving for many years. Does that make you feel more at ease?”
I nodded, because it has put me at ease, but I still felt awkward about what I was about to disclose to him. I suspected he had no idea about the state of my affairs.
“I have money, too. Lots of it, actually.” I pushed to my feet. “I have a sizable trust in addition to earning the obscene salary Charlotte overpays me. Lucan has an account set up for me as well, and each month, he deposits an allowance. I tried to protest, but I’m pretty sure, even though she’d in no way admit it, it was Charlotte’s idea.”
“I think it’s quite nice that your family cares about you enough to make sure you are taken care of and help you with your financial well-being. I am confident Charlotte has thoughtful reasons for her actions.”
All of this reminded me of my encounter with Amelia and how she’d blackmailed me, which I had yet to tell Ronan about. Shit! No time like the present. I hoped he had some whiskey there. We were going to need it.
“Speaking of family and money, I have something I need to share with you.”
He quirked at eyebrow at me. “Should I be sitting for this?”
“No,” I quickly replied.
He shot me a questioning look.
“Well, you can if you like,” I said with a laugh. “Okay, so…A few weeks ago. The night you picked me up from work and we went to The Addison together.” Then I launched into the story.
He reacted the way I’d expected him to, in the most Ronan way. “You should have punched her in the cunt anyway, just for being a cunt.”
I laughed. “The thought crossed my mind. Trust me.”
“Come, my beauty,” he said, motioning towards the stairs. “I want to show you the master suite.” He had a salacious grin on face. “Specifically the bed.”
Pretending to protest, I asked, “Do we have time, Mr. Connolly?” Then I laughed as I fell forward in his arms.
“I always have time when it comes to making love to you.”
It was almost as if we were trying to make the last few hours together in our blissful bubble last before we had to return to the real world. In a few days, I’d be back in my office, while Ronan would be spending hours rehearsing lines and perfecting his American accent on set.
For a moment, my mind hurtled back, remembering a few negative comments about our relationship on Tinsel and Hollywood dot com. How would things outside the penthouse and the privacy of the resort be? Would our relationship survive the return to our normal lives?
Well, his very not-so-normal life and my fairly normal life.
Ronan ordered pizza for a late lunch. We sipped red wine and indulged in too many calories while sitting on the balcony that overlooked the Hollywood skyline.
While wiping the counters in the kitchen down, I took a final sip of my wine. The vibration of my phone on the counter made me jump. It was my mother. For the love of God, she’d seen the photos. Fuck! Dammit! Why hadn’t I called her sooner? I smacked my palm to my forehead.
“Hi, Mom,” I said, answering with enthusiastic sweetness.
“Holliday Olivia Prescott, don’t give me that fake-casual greeting,” she scolded. “I have to hear from a patron at my restaurant that my daughter, my own daughter, is dating one of the hottest actors in Hollywood?”
“Don’t be so dramatic,” I shot back.
“Did you not think it was important to tell your own mother the news of your romantic life? I thought we were close.” Her tone shifted from icy to lukewarm sprinkled with a hint of guilt.
Delusional. My mother was completely delusional. Or possibly drunk.
I sighed. “I’m dating Ronan Connolly, and we’re going to be living together in Manhattan. I will get you my address as soon as I can.”
“What?” With her sharp reply, she sounded shocked. “Living together…and unmarried? Honestly, Holliday.”
“Surely you are not so old-fashioned that you think living together is a sin?” I challenged her.
“Darling, I am only kidding. I’m utterly delighted for you and Ronan. He is quite handsome.” Her voice sang with laughter.
I checked my watch. It was close to three in the afternoon. She might have knocked back a few martinis by now.
“Are you okay?”
“I’m fine, sweetheart. Perry and I are in Palm Springs, entertaining some friends.”
Well, that confirmed my suspicions. She was probably drunk—or close to it. When my mother gave some cheerful greetings to people, I took that as a sign to end the call. We could talk more in depth later.
“Mother.”
Nothing but silence passed for a few moments.
“Mom, I have to go now. Love you, and give my love to Perry.”
“All right, my darling. I hope to talk to you again soon. I love you.”
Smiling, I ended the call and returned to the task of tidying the kitchen. It was nice to hear from my mother. I had a sneaking suspicion that Helen Chambers was sweetly bragging to her friends about her daughter dating a Hollywood actor.
Today had been a flurry of activity with my first real taste of the stalkerazzi at the airport, our heavy discussion about finances, and chatting with my Mom about my new relationship.
Now, we were going to Emma’s house, and I would be meeting her. I was starting to feel somewhat overwhelmed. Knowing a Xanax would help, I reached for my purse but changed my mind. I didn’t want to appear “out of it” or “loopy” as I sometimes did, especially if I had been drinking. When I spun around to drop the paper plates in the trash, Ronan was staring at me with a charming grin.
“What are you smiling about?” I teased.
“Well, while you were having a chat with your mother”—he winked—“I had two calls of my own.”
“Oh, really? Well, tell me more about these two calls,” I replied, holding two fingers up.
He took a step forward, pushing my middle finger down so that only my index finger remained up. “One was my manager, who scored a private jet for us to take from Los Angeles to Manhattan. We will be leaving at ten p.m. tonight.” He kissed my index finger before gently pressing it down. “The second was from Darcy, who spent the last few hours tweeting and uploading our pictures to my Facebook fan page.”
“You have a Facebook fan page?” I laughed.
He rolled his eyes and went on to tell me about how we’re “trending on Twitter,” and no one has made mention of the Grady situation recently. A few other publications wanted to publish the photos as well, but she told them that Tinsel and Hollywood dot com had the exclusive and they would have to wait.
“Looks like Darcy’s public-relations maneuver paid off,” I said.
“S
he told me the response to us dating has been incredibly positive. I guess everyone is very curious about you.”
“Well, that’s all they are getting for now. I might overshadow you as a tabloid star, and I am not ready for that to happen,” I teased.
Holliday
As we entered the gates of Emma’s Brentwood home, I sucked in a deep breath. Her home—correction: mansion, correction: estate—was impressive. It looked like we’d left the United States and magically slipped into the English countryside. In the front, we drove around the biggest water fountain I’d ever seen. The lawn was exceptionally manicured, and the flowers were an endless array of bright colors. Lush ivy vines covered most of the brick and stone façade of the Tudor-style home, and giant trees surrounded the property.
The inside was beautiful but quite opposite of Ronan’s contemporary taste. Emma’s house was classically styled. Wood paneling and dark wood flooring spanned from wall to wall in each room.
Emma had a painting of herself hanging in the foyer near the stairs. Her body was draped across a chaise lounge. Although nearly naked, she was nonetheless beautiful.
“Vanity,” Ronan whispered to me as we waited for Emma to make her grand entrance. “I could arrange someone to capture you in a portrait, my beauty. Would you like that?”
I blushed at the thought of someone painting me while I wore only lingerie. The mere thought of such a sensual image hanging on the wall for anyone to gawk at embarrassed me. On the other hand, it could have been empowering.
“I don’t know…It’s such a—” My thoughts were cut short as I froze at the sight of Emma Bailey-Wilson.
She breezed through the conservatory entrance, greeting Ronan and me with sweet air kisses. She was, without question, beautiful. Her white linen shirt perfectly hugged her slender frame, and she’d paired a lavender tank top underneath it with deep-purple pants that tapered at the ankle. Overall Emma was the epitome of loveliness.
I looked over at Ronan who seemed unshaken by the sight of her, although I swear his lip twitched when she uttered his name.
Emma was welcoming as she ushered us to the formal sitting room. She joked that, if it weren’t so cold out, we could lounge near the pool. Considering that it was sixty-five degrees, I was amused by her humor.
While listening to Emma and Ronan carry on back and forth as if they were two old friends, I began to question what it was about her that irritated him. It was good to see that the unpleasantness from Christmas had dissolved. They talked about everything so naturally, as if they’d slipped into some effortless waltz of conversation. I couldn’t believe it. She was nothing like I’d previously imagined.
Leah and Jade came running into the room, immediately jumping on Ronan. He scooped them up, showering them with kisses and hugs. They wiggled their way out of his grip and bounded towards me.
“Holliday,” Emma interjected. “Why don’t you join me in the kitchen? You can help me make some tea.”
“I think I can manage that,” I said happily, pushing to my feet.
We walked around the corner and down the hallway. Colorful paintings and family photos lined the walls—including candid black-and-white picture of Ronan, Emma, and the girls. The four of them were outside, sitting on a blanket among tall grasses and wildflowers. Ronan held Leah on his lap while Emma cradled Jade, who looked to be only a few months old.
“You have a lovely home,” I said, admiring the tile backsplash and her enormous farmhouse apron sink.
Her kitchen was all white except for the stainless-steel appliances. I was surprised to see such a light room with everything else being utterly dark, but it flowed nicely. My eye was drawn to the wooden island in the middle with gorgeous vintage iron towel racks that hosted white, lemon-yellow and lime-green hand towels with various designs.
“I’m pleased we have a moment alone, Holliday.”
I smiled. “Me too. I’m glad we had the opportunity to meet.” For the most part, my statement was true.
“There’s something about you…I don’t know, Holliday. I can’t seem to put my finger on it.” Her tone was sweet, but her breathy pauses made me a bit wary.
Then I was floored by what came out of her mouth next.
“Maybe you’re simply too…American.” Her eyes narrowed, and her gaze turned cold. “You’ve got this whole good-girl-next-door thing happening. It’s almost as if I have seen you somewhere before.”
The air shifted, a chill crawled up my spine, and her light-blue eyes frosted instantly. Her icy glare washed over me as if she were sizing me up.
Surely she couldn’t know about my past. There was no way.
I pushed that thought out of my mind and shifted my posture, careful not to let her know her questioning tone shook me off my axis. Then I said offered a warm smile and let her continue.
“You’re not glamorous like the other women Ronan desires,” Emma said, cutting slices of lemons.
Her words were meant as in insult, but she’d presented it as an observation with her lighthearted tone.
“Do you honestly think that this thing, this whirlwind romance, will last between you and Ronan? I doubt seriously that it will. Surely people won’t be interested in one of Hollywood’s biggest stars dating you?”
Apparently, she hadn’t seen the photos on Tinsel and Hollywood dot com. I swallowed the lump in my throat, and my jaw tightened. Did she think I would somehow destroy his burgeoning career? The hairs on the back of my neck suddenly stood on end. With my heartbeat racing, I counted to ten in my head. I was not about to have a panic attack in front of Emma Bailey-Wilson.
“Emma, not everyone in Hollywood has a calculated relationship. Some people actually have the real thing.”
“Oh,” she said, pretending to be shocked by my words. “Darling Holliday, that’s adorably charming.”
And there it was. I finally understood why this woman drove Ronan out of his mind with anger. She was a class-A bitch.
My face must have fallen, because a smirk crossed her lips and a lightness like she had bested me returned to her eyes.
Instead of going on the defense, I simply asked, “What do you mean, Emma?” She was trying to piss me off, but if I could keep her talking, I might be able to fluster her, and that would piss her off.
“Well, of course you’re nothing like me. And you’re nothing like that pill-popping, buxom blonde, Heather Young,” she stated curtly.
“You and Heather are complete polar opposites, Emma. Why is it so hard to see that Ronan doesn’t have a particular…type?”
“Ahh, but see, that is where you’re wrong,” she corrected, pouring water into the kettle. “If you fused Heather and me together, you wouldn’t get you.” Her eyes raked over me from head to toe. “You’d get Taryn Dennison or Lana Larsen.”
Confusion washed through me. Taryn was the other half of Tinsel and Hollywood dot com. Did Ronan have a relationship with her? Lana Larson, his co-star in A London Love Story, was younger than I was. I could not imagine that Ronan would have anything in common with a twenty-three year-old. Then again, some people might have said the same thing about Ronan and me at twenty-six.
My thoughts were interrupted by Jade, who bounced around the corner into the kitchen, singing some song with lyrics about being happy and clapping your hands. I scooped her up, hugging her tight.
She whispered, “I’m so happy my daddy likes you.”
Her words melted my heart.
“I like him too,” I whispered.
Giggling and squirming, she wiggled from my grasp and disappeared. Leah was holding Ronan’s hand and smiling as they entered the kitchen. Emma finished making the tea, and we sipped our drinks mostly in silence. The only conversation after that was Leah talking about her day at school and how she wanted to take horseback riding lessons.
Then Dax Martin appeared from out of nowhere, looking freshly showered. His dark-brown hair was slicked back, and his blue eyes dazzled.
“Hello my love,” his voice was
husky and thick. He greeted Emma with a kiss that packed a little too much tongue.
Emma didn’t seem to mind that this burly, six-foot wall of muscle was tongue-fucking her in front of us.
Ronan rolled his eyes in my direction. I coughed in hopes they’d remember we were standing there.
“Oh my, Dax,” she breathed, smoothing her mussed hair and pressing her finger to her lips. “We have company, can’t you see?”
He laughed. “Oh hey, sorry guys. I just hadn’t seen my lady all day. You know how it is, right?” he asked, extending his python-sized, tattoo-covered arm to Ronan.
“Good to see you man,” Ronan said. “I’d like you to meet Holliday Prescott.”
Dax nodded, his brows knitted together. “You look familiar. Are you in the business?”
Emma laughed. “Oh my no, Holliday is not an actress. You are incredibly humorous Dax.”
Straightening my shoulders, I said, “She’s right, I’m not an actress. I work for my sister’s design label.”
“Hmmm,” he replied, grabbing a bottle of water from the refrigerator. “I’m pretty positive I’ve seen you before. Something tells me…”
“I doubt that,” Ronan interjected.
“Unless you’ve been keeping up with the fashion scene,” I added with a laugh.
“Maybe you have a twin.”
Emma placed her hand on his forearm. He shrugged and tossed back the bottle of water.
As my eyelids grew heavy, I yawned. Ronan caught me, smiled and said that we needed to leave for the airport.
Emma leaned into Dax and called for the girls to come say goodnight. We said our goodbyes as the girls told Ronan how much they loved him, and Jade started to cry. I suspected that her emotion was a mixture of not wanting her dad to leave and the fact that she was tired from a long day.
Before I knew it, I was comfortably situated in an oversized, white leather chair on a private jet with a second wind. Our flight attendant—I thought I’d heard her say that her name was Noelle—asked us if we wanted a drink. Ronan told her that he wanted a bottle of whiskey, preferably Redbreast 12-year, and a bucket of ice with plenty of club soda for me among a few other items.
Perfectly Scripted Page 5
