Secrets of the Rich & Famous

by Charlotte Phillips - Secrets of the Rich

  He ushered her behind a screen.

  Alex flipped idly through his e-mails and ordered another coffee from the starstruck junior. Jen had been gone a good couple of hours now. Enough time for him to finish making notes on a new and exciting script idea which made him itch more than ever to get back to work. Jen was fast becoming the only thing taking his mind off it, and he wondered if there were any other ways he could help her—other contacts he could enlist to help her succeed with her project. Living with her was anything but dull. He never knew what she might throw at him next. He realised with a flash of uneasiness that he was beginning to get off on that unpredictability.

  He glanced through an e-mail from his PR company which recommended that he attend a charity ball this week, despite the fact he thought it would be media suicide. The charity funded grants for underprivileged youngsters wanting to build a career in film and Alex was a patron. Surely with the words ‘casting couch’ hanging over his head it wouldn’t take much for a savvy journalist to come up with some sordid story about his association with them.

  The PR company didn’t see it that way. Reverse psychology, apparently. To be seen at the ball would show he had nothing to hide, that the stories about him and Viveca were groundless tabloid pap when they actually weren’t.

  It struck him with sudden amusement that his desire to party seemed to be disappearing. Since his life after Susan had been rebuilt as one long social event that was pretty damn unheard of for him. After failing so miserably at family life he’d gone for the opposite end of the spectrum, enjoying his situation to the full with no responsibilities to hold him back.

  Worryingly, staying in was beginning to be more attractive than going out.

  Once you realised his bonkers exterior was actually total perfectionism, Marlon turned out to be hilarious. And he was clearly harbouring a huge crush on Alex. He was devoted to him.

  ‘He’s never done this before.’

  Standing in the middle of the circle of mirrors in flesh-coloured underwear, Jen was being treated to a view of her bony straight-up-and-down body that she could most definitely have done without.

  ‘Done what?’ she asked.

  Marlon glanced up from the rail of clothes. She could see her own purchases in there among other stuff. He must have unpacked them while her hair was being fixed.

  ‘Brought in a waif and stray.’ He handed her the catsuit she’d bought with nightclubbing in mind. ‘Put this on.’

  She began to step into it, hackles rising.

  ‘In fact, he’s never brought in anyone on a one-to-one basis like this. We go to him, usually. Film sets. Awards ceremonies. He doesn’t come to us.’

  ‘I am not a waif or a stray,’ she said, trying to look dignified with one leg in and one leg out of the catsuit. ‘We have a working arrangement.’

  He raised sceptical eyebrows at her over the rim of his statement glasses.

  ‘He’s helping me with an article,’ she said. ‘I’m a writer.’ Oh, it filled her with joy to be able to say that to someone. ‘He’s using his contacts, one professional to another.’

  ‘Sweetie, this is the first time he’s ever had me style someone who isn’t on his payroll. So you tell me what that means. And you’re staying with him?’ His voice rose with a hint of awe. ‘People would kill! You’ve got closer than the rest of the population in the last five years. Not for the want of trying.’

  He winked at her and she shook her head at him.

  ‘You don’t understand. We’re not together at all.’

  ‘Not yet, maybe.’

  She didn’t tell him she had Alex over a barrel with the threat of a front page tell-all. It was just so delicious to be thought alluring enough for it even to be plausible that Alex might be interested in someone like her. She opened her mouth to remind Marlon that Alex had seen her at her worst with her neon hair, but he cut her off with his own horrified squawk.

  ‘Oh, my life! What blind, tasteless person chose that?’

  Her intended pirouette in front of the scary mirrors in the brightly printed catsuit turned at the last moment into a damp squib of a wiggle. It was a designer label, wasn’t it? Hadn’t it cost practically a week’s wages?

  ‘It cost me two hundred pounds,’ she said pointedly. ‘Second-hand.’

  ‘Sweetie, you were screwed,’ he said to her reflection. ‘Lesson one: bling does not equal class, girlfriend. Just because you spent a fortune on it, does not mean it will look good.’

  He spent the next twenty minutes ordering her in and out of clothes, mixing and matching, adding accessories.

  ‘I can’t believe I’m the first person he’s introduced to you who isn’t working for him,’ she said, dragging the subject back to Alex the first chance she got. ‘I mean, come on.’ She gave him a wink. ‘I’ve seen the papers. He’s always dating.’

  ‘Exactly,’ Marlon mumbled, then removed the pin he was holding in his mouth to speak clearly. ‘He dates. That’s the important word. It never lasts. He’s never really interested and it’s usually a mutual benefit.’

  ‘How do you mean?’

  ‘Those women he sees—all the same type, usually up and coming. Maybe with a movie in the pipeline or a DVD release to publicise. Nothing like being seen on Alex’s arm to get a bit of exposure, and he gets a no-strings date out of it. Genius.’

  ‘So it’s more of a publicity stunt than anything?’

  Her heart felt suddenly floaty. Maybe his playboy image was just that—hype, the papers twisting things. Perhaps there could be more to his helping her out than the damn agreement between them. He didn’t have to do any of this, after all. She would have been happy with a few nuggets of advice from him. Her stomach felt suddenly melty at the thought of his interest in her being more than just … well, a contractual requirement.

  ‘Well, of course he beds them,’ Marlon said with brutal matter-of-factness, making her floaty heart plummet as if he’d stuck it with a pin. ‘I mean Viveca Holt. Exquisite. Of course he beds them—who wouldn’t?’

  ‘Of course!’ she said, with a chummy laugh that wasn’t quite convincing enough to hide the fact he’d stamped on her feelings. Stupid feelings that she shouldn’t be having.

  ‘That’s all it is, though, darling,’ he comforted her. ‘Don’t you fret. He hasn’t shown any real interest in anyone since the nightmare with his ex-wife.’

  ‘I am not fretting!’ she snapped.

  Marlon made a cynical face. Whatever you say, it said.

  ‘Did you know Susan?’ she asked.

  He pressed his lips together in a hard line.

  ‘The wife?’ He pulled a face. ‘I knew them both. I worked on his first film. I wasn’t long qualified myself, then. She was very normal. Not famous. Miss Ordinary. They were at college together.’

  So Susan was like her, then. Nothing like the film star conquests Alex was linked to now.

  ‘He’s always been very close to his family. Probably thought he had it all. Happy families, career booming. No wonder it hit him so hard when it all went pearshaped.’

  He flicked through the rack of clothes and produced a silk shift dress, cornflower-blue.

  ‘You need to cinch in that waist to give you an illusion of curves while making the most of those legs,’ he said.

  ‘Did it come as a surprise to you when they broke up? she asked, hungry for more information.

  ‘I think it came as a surprise to everyone—including Alex. Imagine that. You build yourself up from nothing, just get to the point where you don’t have to worry about money, and then your wife calls the whole thing off and takes half of everything. Can’t have been easy.’ He fiddled with the waistline of the dress, not looking at her. ‘And of course he didn’t have a pre-nup. He wasn’t anyone at all when they married, so she really did take him to the cleaners.’

  She let Marlon finish the outfit. So the press stories were true. Susan had really hit him where it hurt—in the wallet. No wonder Alex wasn’t keen on promoting any o
f his conquests from overnight guest to a more permanent position.

  Had he thought he could trust Susan because she knew the real Alex? The one before he became a celebrity goldmine? She could see now why he surrounded himself with superficial relationships.

  She was too preoccupied to be shy about Marlon’s no-feelings-spared advice. By the time he’d put together outfits for casual wear, dinner, cocktails and lunches, she was desensitised to standing in her underwear and wasn’t even cringing any more.

  ‘I’ll just get changed back and then I’ll be on my way,’ she said, when he announced that he’d finished.

  ‘You will not!’

  He grabbed her saggy-kneed old jeans out of her hand, balled them up and threw them in the nearest bin.

  ‘There’s no going back now,’ he said. ‘Wear the clothes. Think class, not chav. Get yourself in character and stay there.’

  He took her proudly by the arm.

  ‘Now, let’s show Alex what he’s missing.’

  Alex glanced up as the door opened, heaving a sigh of relief. He hadn’t banked on it taking this long. Clearly whatever horrific process Marlon had had to put Jen through to restore normality was more complicated he’d expected.

  It was a moment before he saw her because she was shuffling nervously about behind Marlon.

  ‘Well, what do you think?’ Marlon beamed smugly, stepping aside. ‘Isn’t she just stunning?’ He waited, clearly ready to bask in anticipated praise.

  It took a moment for Alex to reply because his tongue had momentarily stuck to the roof of his mouth. When he’d driven her here this morning, half-eaten toast in her hand, his own borrowed baseball hat jammed over her eyes, she’d been girl-next-door Jen, still hanging her head over the monstrous hair mistake, and in spite of himself he’d been beginning to like having around far too much. Somewhere in the last few hours, under Marlon’s supervision, the double cream skin had become lightly sun-kissed and the ghastly orange hair had morphed into soft golden tresses.

  ‘Wow,’ he said eventually, because he’d only just regained control of the hinge of his jaw. A one-syllable word was about the limit of his capability right now. The golden tan made her blue eyes stand out more than ever, and the blonde highlights and freckled nose with her skinny figure made her look like an off-duty model just back from a shoot in the Bahamas.

  He suddenly wondered at what point he had thought it would be a good idea to let Marlon loose on Jen. After all, she was never going to look less attractive, was she? Focusing on getting her out of her latest scrape with the horror hair and, he had to admit, enjoying the madness of it all along the way, it hadn’t occurred to him that he might be making the situation a whole lot worse. If he was getting off on just being around her when her hair looked like a fright wig, it stood to reason that a makeover was only going to make things a shedload more complicated. He could kick himself.

  A blush rose in her cheeks, making her look prettier than ever, and she ran a hand self-consciously through her hair.

  ‘Does it look OK?’ she asked him. ‘Come on—give me your opinion.’

  There was an awkward smile on her face that told him she wasn’t completely comfortable with this. His heart gave a soft flip. The dark slim jeans made her legs look longer than ever. The shirt looked classy and expensive. She bore little resemblance to the shorts-clad indignant young woman with the bed-hair he’d found in his apartment a few nights ago. His stomach knotted with tension.

  OK didn’t even start to cover it. The collar of his shirt felt strangely tight, and it suddenly seemed degrees hotter in there. The freezing air outside was suddenly attractive. He’d been cooped up way too long.

  ‘Terrific,’ he blurted out. ‘Excellent job, Marlon, as ever. We must get together soon and catch up.’ He stacked his papers on top of his laptop and got to his feet. ‘I need to get back and make some calls.’

  What he really needed was to get out of this situation right now. He ignored her puzzled expression and made for the front door of the studio, bandying about promises to meet Marlon for lunch soon. Unfortunately not looking at her didn’t go any way at all to numbing his sharp awareness of her as she followed him out, her high heels sounding every step she took on the tiled floor.

  CHAPTER SIX

  IT WAS fantastic to wake up and look in the mirror and actually quite like what she saw for a change. Makeovers were seriously underrated, Jen decided. A few blonde highlights and make-up tips and she felt as if she could conquer the world single-handedly.

  As long as the world didn’t include Alex.

  She squashed the churning disappointment she still felt at his lack of enthusiasm yesterday. He’d made barely any comment about her transformation and had disappeared to his study the moment they’d got back from Marlon’s studio. She was furious with herself for minding so much. What was she expecting? That Alex Hammond, who had the pick of the world’s most beautiful women, would swoon at the sight of her in a pair of designer jeans?

  Yesterday had been a turning point. She’d been building their friendship up in her mind when to him it was clearly no more than a distraction from his own problem situation. He’d been sticking to his side of the gag order, nothing more, and she had been a fool to read anything else into it. Well, she was truly back on task now. Being here was all about work, nothing more. She intended to live the rich life properly, really get into character, do her article justice and make the sale.

  Wearing the new jeans and a casual fitted shirt, she made her way to the kitchen for toast.

  He was there, looking at his laptop screen with a face like thunder. He glanced up as she breezed into the room and went to the fridge. She removed a pint of milk and went to switch the kettle on.

  ‘Morning,’ she said, without looking round. Flatmates, that was all they were. ‘Coffee?’

  Alex realised he was staring at her with his mouth open and snapped his gaze away.

  ‘Please,’ he said automatically, not caring one way or the other about coffee. Watching the lithe way she moved around the kitchen was making him wonder what it might feel like to have those long, long legs wrapped around him.

  For the hundredth time since yesterday he wondered just who would end up getting the benefit of her transformation. Who would she be targeting on her next madcap trip out? The thought caused a burning sensation deep in his chest. She might look like a super-confident socialite, but underneath all that gloss she was a kid with big aspirations. He felt an irrational angry aversion to this whole project that was so damned important to her.

  ‘Can’t you just write your article based on research?’ he said suddenly. ‘You know—do a few interviews, surf the net a bit?’

  She turned from the coffee to stare at him, a bemused expression on her face.

  ‘Well, I could, if I wanted to be like every other writer out there,’ she said. She ran a hand distractedly through the perfectly undone hair. ‘The whole point is that I live the experiment. Doesn’t matter whether or not the plan works. It’s the process that provides the background for the article. It’s meant to be light-hearted, remember?’

  ‘You mean it doesn’t make any difference whether or not you actually manage to score a date with a guy?’

  ‘Not to my article, no. I could write about where I went wrong and why it didn’t work. But it would be great if it did work, because it would give me more material to play with. Why are you suddenly so interested?’

  That was a good question. Why the hell was the idea of her throwing herself at some rich Lothario bothering him so hideously? Staring at these four walls was obviously making him lose the plot. He needed to get outside, get some perspective.

  He didn’t answer. Instead he looked back down at his laptop and forced himself actually to digest the e-mail from his PR manager, which he’d read now three times without actually taking in.

  ‘… stay home as much as possible. Do not allow yourself to be photographed, except at events expressly cleared by us first. Any
outings that may bring you into contact with members of the press should be approved by a member of the team …’

  He stared at the words, anger finally tipping over the edge. Enough was enough. Right now he didn’t care how many people had a stake in this film’s success. He just wanted to live his own life again.

  He logged out and shut the laptop, glancing up at Jen as she handed him a mug of coffee.

  ‘What are you doing today?’ he asked on impulse.

  She took a sip of her drink, shrugged.

  ‘Getting out and about,’ she said. ‘Testing out my new look.’

  With a supreme effort he managed to stop himself looking down at her legs again.

  ‘I’m going stir crazy here,’ he said. ‘Want some company?’

  She stared at him, mouth open in surprise.

  ‘Aren’t you meant to be under house arrest?’

  He stood up.

  ‘A couple of hours won’t hurt. I need to get out of here.’

  ‘What if you get recognised?’

  He crossed the kitchen and put the coffee down on the counter next to her. She was looking up at him dubiously, as if they were at school and he’d suggested they play some prank on a teacher. There was something irresistibly unspoiled about her. Before he could stop himself he’d slipped an arm around her shoulders and given her a squeeze.

  ‘Don’t worry,’ he said. ‘I’ve got a few places up my sleeve. And, anyway, what are they going to do? Give me detention?’

  ‘Kensington Gardens?’ she said.

  He’d brought her to the smaller entrance to the gardens on the Bayswater Road—a low-key gate in black wrought-iron that was less attractive to tourists. So he wasn’t completely throwing caution to the wind, then, no matter how stir-crazy he claimed to be feeling. She’d returned his baseball cap and he was wearing it himself today. With that partially obscuring his face, and a jacket with turned-up collar, he didn’t seem to be drawing any second glances from passers-by.

  He glanced sideways at her.

  ‘You sound surprised.’

  ‘That’s because I am. You don’t strike me as the kind of person who likes the great outdoors.’