‘But he owns two or three newspapers, doesn’t he? Not to mention magazines and that TV news channel?’
‘He does.’
‘Then I don’t get it. All it would take is a bit of namedropping and you could land yourself a job on the magazine of your choice. But instead you’ve slogged your way up with an internship after working for a newspaper from the back of beyond.’
‘It’s how I wanted it. I’ve never wanted to be indebted to him for anything. Twenty-five years and not a card. Not a phone call. The only part he’s ever played in my life was on his way out of it. He had my mother sign a contract—gave her a lump sum in return for relinquishing all parental responsibility.’
‘He paid her off?’ He sounded appalled.
‘Exactly. And that’s why I was trying to make a quick exit this morning. Because when you get down to basics he saw me and my mother as a hitch in his life. So he fixed the problem and then disappeared.’ She paused. ‘Like you did with Viveca Holt.’
‘You’re comparing me to your father?’
She could hear the edge in his voice, grabbed his hand, held it.
‘Not now. But I was this morning.’
He’d pulled away from her, a frown touching his brows. She spoke quickly, needing to make him understand.
‘Think about how it looked to me. You had an affair with Viveca, it began to cause you problems in the media, so you got your PR people onto it and got the hell out of the country. And then we spent the night together, you’re plastered across the press for belting Richard Moran in the chops—a situation caused by me—and suddenly your PR people are on the case and you’re jetting off to LA. What was I supposed to think? I wanted to jump before I was pushed. I don’t want to make the same mistakes my mother did.’
He took her face softly in his hands, looked steadily into her eyes. The woody scent of the fire mingled with the fresh citrus of his aftershave.
‘This is not a mistake. I am not getting on a plane to fly out of your life. Don’t judge me by the way your father behaved.’
‘I couldn’t help it. After twenty-five years it gets to be a bit of a mind-set.’
‘Give me time and I’ll change that.’
He pulled her against him in the firelight, held her, kissed her so deeply it made her lightheaded, and then he was easing her onto his lap, his hands sliding deliciously beneath her clothes, and she let hot desire for him crush away doubt.
Afterwards she lay in his arms, watched the fire flicker. He grabbed the patchwork throw from the armchair and tugged it around them.
‘You really think this can work?’
She wondered where they could go from here. Would he suggest that she move her work ambitions across the pond? Or even drop them altogether? Take on a new job as Alex Hammond’s Other Half? With his views on putting each other first, surely that was how he would see things progressing. Susan had supposedly left him because he wasn’t in the same room as her often enough, so chances were he’d view working on different continents as a bit of a hitch.
She looked up at him to gauge his response and he kissed her forehead gently.
‘Yes, I really think this can work.’
‘With you on the other side of the Atlantic?’
She waited.
‘You could come with me, you know,’ he said.
There it was.
She wriggled away enough to raise herself on an elbow. The glow from the fire lit the strong contours of his face. His green eyes held her gaze and her heart turned over softly. There was a part of her that wanted to leap in immediately, agree to anything he asked just to keep him. But the self-sufficient part of her, honed over twenty-five years, easily held its own.
‘I can’t do that,’ she said, and waited for it all to begin unravelling.
‘I didn’t think so,’ he said, ‘which is why I’ll be relying on air travel.’
‘Air travel?’ Her heart did a happy little skip.
‘When you get this new job—’
‘If,’ she interrupted.
‘OK, if you get this new job, you’re going to be even more career-obsessed than you are now, right?’
‘Obsessed is going a bit far,’ she said, and then saw his raised eyebrows. She sighed. ‘Maybe you have a point.’
‘And I’m not going to lie to you, my work schedule can be fierce. I’ve built it up to be exactly that. It’s been everything for me these last few years. I can’t downsize my hours overnight.’
‘I wouldn’t expect you to.’
‘But I could start to rebuild things from now—work my schedule so it fits with yours. We both work hard when we’re apart, and we make the most of every moment we’re together. Starting now.’
He slid his hands beneath the throw and turned with her so she was on her back, the softness of the velvet sofa against her naked skin as he loomed above her. He leaned down to kiss the line of her collarbone, sending sparks fizzing right down to her toes, and then moved back up to look into her eyes, his forehead pressed lightly against hers, his warm breath on her mouth.
‘I’m serious about this,’ he said. ‘I’m serious about you. And even though I’m as scared of letting people close as you are, a few thousand miles aren’t about to stop me.’
Perfect man, perfect Christmas. And now New Year, new job.
She straightened her new short jacket. Now she had a proper regular income and an image to keep up. She had money for clothes. Not the designer level stuff she’d bought to play Genevieve, but a wardrobe that was a cut above her old jeans-and-T-shirt uniform. Marlon’s makeover had been all about playing a part for her article, but somewhere along the way she’d begun to like feeling a bit more polished.
Plus she wanted to look her best for Alex. He’d managed two visits since Christmas—one a four-day break and the other a forty-eight-hour turnaround spent almost entirely in bed that made her toes curl and her stomach melt whenever she thought about it. He called every day, and used Skype whenever he could, but she was still competing for his attention with film stars and models, and a new suit seemed essential under the circumstances.
She stacked her papers together and put them away in her briefcase, shook her editor’s hand. The delicious feeling of having made it hadn’t gone away yet. Four weeks in and she was still in pinch-yourself mode.
She’d done it. Actually done it. Sold her article to Gossip! magazine and been offered a permanent role in the Features Department. She was on her way. She’d just finished a meeting at which she’d pitched new article ideas and the reception had been great.
Her editor accompanied her down the hallway, a sheaf of papers in one arm.
‘Really pleased to have you on board,’ she said. ‘Always on the lookout for a fresh approach.’
‘I’m just so happy to have the opportunity.’
‘No need to thank me.’ She shifted the papers to the other arm. ‘You came highly recommended, after all.’
Jen frowned. What the hell did that mean?
‘Recommended? By who?’
No one at the Littleford Gazette had an ounce of clout in this universe. Maybe if she’d gone for a job with Pig-Farming Monthly …
‘Our Entertainment Editor.’ She smiled at Jen. ‘Apparently Alex Hammond mentioned you to her a few weeks ago. The film producer. I had no idea you knew him. He gave her an exclusive interview on account of the fact you now work here. Fantastic scoop for her. She was delighted. That’s exactly the kind of networking we should be doing.’
They’d reached Reception, the lifts. The editor gave Jen a parting smile and she returned it automatically, oblivious to her surroundings, her mind working overtime.
Disbelief came first.
He wouldn’t have done that. He knew how she felt about that article, how hard she’d worked, how she’d spent everything on it—not just in money terms. He wouldn’t have undermined all that by pulling strings and namedropping.
Would he?
She didn’t notice the other p
eople in the lift as she descended to the ground floor. Didn’t register anyone she passed.
It was in his nature to manipulate situations to get the outcome he wanted. She knew that much. Life had moulded him that way. He had all his staff sign confidentiality agreements. When they’d first met he’d tried to buy her off to get her out of his apartment. He paid a PR company to manipulate his image in the press. And he’d slept with Viveca Holt who, not so coincidentally, had then managed to get the showbiz break of her life. The list was endless. He wasn’t above throwing money or influence at any situation to get the desired result. Why would this be any different?
Maybe he was too used to it after Susan’s betrayal to act in any other way. Why leave anything to chance when you could manipulate the outcome?
Her mobile phone rang. She checked the screen. As if he had some sixth sense, it was Alex. She pressed ‘call reject.’
Rule #9: If it doesn’t work out, don’t be downhearted. Have a Plan B. Go it alone and get rich and successful yourself.
Six missed calls and now she knew why. She’d forgotten the date.
She watched the annual award nominations as they were read out on the news channel. It was a good year for British film.
The Audacity of Death had eight nominations. One of them was Best Actress for Viveca Holt.
Hot anger boiled through her.
His success. His glory. No one else’s. He could bask in his achievements, knowing his full worth, knowing they were down to him. His management, his drive.
He’d stolen that feeling from her. What meaning did her job have now?
The phone rang again and she answered it on autopilot, still looking at the TV screen.
‘Hey,’ he said.
His voice. The voice she loved. She lay awake at night waiting to hear it, just so she could go to sleep with it resonating in her mind.
‘Hi.’
‘Have you seen the news?’ he asked.
‘Eight nominations. Congratulations.’
He hadn’t managed to screw things up, after all. Whatever publicity his exploits before Christmas had generated, it hadn’t done the movie any harm.
‘Will you come to the ceremony with me?’ he asked.
Before she’d gone to work this morning that question would have filled her with excitement and delight. Not just at the prospect of attending what had to be one of the most glitzy evenings on any social calendar anywhere but because he wanted to share that event, that huge achievement, with her. It would have given her that happy little tummy-flip you got when the fabulous new boyfriend with whom you were totally smitten suggested you booked a holiday for later in the year. That insecurity-crushing fact you could repeat in your head at confidence crisis moments: He intends to still be with me for the awards ceremony. He’s serious about me. She would have been able to say that to herself in those moments when she missed him.
Instead she felt numb, as if all her senses had been wrapped in cotton wool.
‘I can’t, I’m afraid. I’ll be working.’
There was a long pause. He was probably wondering if he’d heard correctly.
‘This is a bad line. What did you say?’
‘I said I’ll be too busy,’ she repeated. Speaking to him seemed to have opened the door on her pent-up anger. Just ajar at the moment, but it wouldn’t take much for it to swing wide and bury her. ‘Work’s really taken off, and you know how I’ve given everything to get where I am. In fact, I’m not sure a relationship is the right thing for me just at the moment.’
‘Jen, what the hell is this about?’ His voice was strong in her ear, confusion and anger tingeing the edges.
Good. Let him be confused and angry. Just like her.
Her heart felt as if it was disintegrating. He wanted a woman he could control. He’d made her think he wanted to get close, maybe he’d even believed that himself, but in reality he’d been busy cobbling safety nets, making sure their life would be perfect, heading off anything that might cause a problem or challenge their happiness.
She didn’t want that. She wanted to stand and fall on her own merits. To share her successes with him and lean on him through her failures. Would life with him just be one long cushioned ride? She wanted to feel life, the ups as well as the downs, taking whatever it threw at her head on. And she couldn’t do that with him.
‘You pulled strings at Gossip! magazine to swing me that job,’ she said.
His silence on the end of the phone told her all she needed to know.
‘Jen, listen to me,’ he said at last. She could hear the urgency in his voice. ‘It wasn’t like that. You’re reading too much into it.’
‘You’re saying you didn’t promise an exclusive interview to Gossip! while I was staying with you at the apartment? While I was busting a gut, busting everything I had, to nail that job on my own merit?’
A long pause. She waited.
‘I did promise them an interview, yes,’ he said quietly. ‘But it was not some calculated move to get them to accept your article. I know how much that job means to you, I know how hard you worked. Do you really think I would openly do something to jeopardise that?’
‘I don’t think you can help yourself,’ she said. ‘You have all this money, all this power, and you look at life and think about how you want this or that situation to turn out. And then you sort it. You went to Gossip! bandying my name about and offering an exclusive, and you expect me to believe you didn’t ask for anything in return? You said it yourself at that Christmas ball—in this world it’s all about knowing the right people, about greasing palms. Well, I can’t live like that. I can’t be with you like that. Catching me when I fall is one thing, but you’d have me living in a damn great safety harness.’
‘You’re not listening to me.’
‘I don’t need to listen to any more of this. What could you possibly say that can undo this? It’s over, Alex.’
She hung up before she could break down. Waited for the phone to ring, for him to text, steeling herself to ignore him, not expecting for a moment that he would let things lie. Not Alex, who was used to getting his own way in everything.
The phone stayed silent.
Grief began to seep in alongside her anger. He was going to accept what she’d told him this time, without trying to manipulate what he wanted from the situation.
Maybe he was finally getting to understand her, after all. Now that it was too late.
CHAPTER TWELVE
SIXTEEN-HOUR days had kept Alex sane when his marriage had ended, and throwing himself into work now had its advantages. Funding was secured on three new films, and publicity for The Audacity of Death was frenzied. He tried to convince himself that his relationship with Jen had been a stupid mistake. A reminder that life for him worked best when he lived it alone. He turned back to the solace of work, the one focus that had always driven him, always given him a purpose, even in the face of Susan’s betrayal.
And now it wasn’t enough.
Somehow he’d managed to fall for her in a way he’d never fallen for anyone. Even Susan felt like a distant wisp of a memory now. The way she’d fleeced him had tortured him for the last five years and yet now it failed to raise so much as a stab of resentment. Work had slipped from being inspiring and satisfying to being nothing more than a way of occupying his mind, of shutting out the constant ache for her. What had she done to him? He could barely feel anything any more.
Dozens of times he went for the phone. He needed to hear her voice, to try and convince her how sorry he was. But he couldn’t call her because she had been right.
He’d agreed to the interview with Gossip! while he’d waited for her during her makeover at Marlon’s salon, thinking it might raise her profile a little at the magazine, smooth the way a bit for her. He hadn’t done anything to actively pull strings. But there was no point denying he’d probably had some influence. Mentioning that Jen was connected to him was never going to do her any harm, was it? Just as it hadn’t done Viv
eca any harm at the casting for The Audacity of Death. But while Viveca had been more than happy to take any opportunity that came her way, for Jen opportunity had to be made by her, not dropped in her lap.
He knew that now because he knew her better. They’d talked about her father, her past. He understood her single-minded ambition, her need to prove herself. But that had been later, when they were together. And by then the damage was done.
And now, more than a month on, work and the bachelor lifestyle were still not enough to block out the ache for her. He wasn’t sure they ever would be again.
‘Settling in OK?’
Jen turned from the counter. The coffee house was just around the corner from Gossip! HQ and she was addicted. No more Littleford Tea Rooms for her.
Angela West. Entertainment Editor. Whippet-thin. Super-intimidating designer suit. Jen had learned more about designer clobber in a couple of weeks living with Alex than she had in a lifetime in Littleford.
Oh, but it hurt to think about Alex. There was a raw ache deep inside her at the thought of never seeing him again, never being held by him again. In any other break-up situation throwing herself into work might have helped take her mind off it, but every move she made in the office was a bitter reminder of his betrayal. The constant wondering about whether she deserved this job at all crushed any joy she had in her work.
He’d not only broken her heart, he’d taken away the one thing that might have helped her get over it.
‘Great, thanks,’ she said. She took her full-fat latte and sprinkled it liberally with chocolate shavings. Added a white chocolate muffin to her tray. At least now she didn’t have to worry about her weight or her skin breaking out, since she intended never to get naked with another man. Ever.
‘And how’s the fabulous Alex Hammond?’ Angela asked, peering through the display cabinet glass, probably in search of something with zero calories. A plain rice cake, perhaps.
Jen felt as if she had been doused with cold water. Of course. Entertainment Editor. The penny dropped. The string Alex had pulled had apparently been attached to her.
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