“Okay, Madison. Think,” I say to myself. The cleaner outside doesn’t even glance up at this point. He’s probably become accustomed to my lack of sanity. “You need to use this opportunity. How can we make this work for you?”
And even though I know it’s probably a bad idea, even though I know I should be trying to stay away—I begin to formulate a plan.
One that will make this stay very worthwhile indeed.
***
Tate
“We’re going to die. You’re going to die. I’m going to die. My collection of Louboutins are going to—”
“Be burnt to a miserable crisp,” I finish for my “girlfriend”, smiling at her over the top of the script.
Mikaela scowls, fanning her face with her sheaf of paper in an attempt to ward off the stifling heat. “You’re not being very supportive.”
“We’re not going to die. What movie star has gone down in a death-by-lava-style incident?”
She purses her lips, and I can almost see her brain trying to compute an intelligible answer. “Fuck off, Masters,” she eventually settles on, and I laugh, not unkindly.
“Tate, Mikaela, we’re ready for you.” Harry, one of the assistant directors, jogs over. He raises his arm to direct us to our marks, revealing dark purple sweat stains on his lighter indigo polo. Mikaela and I place our paperwork on our seats and step out from the shade of the giant umbrella we’d sheltered under, then take positions opposite each other on the beach. Golden sun beats down over us, and my shirt clings to the side of my body.
“Quiet on set,” someone calls, and a camera assistant runs on set with a clapper to cue the sound.
Julien, the director, gives us the thumbs up. “Action!”
“So you think you’re some big movie star, huh?” Mikaela sasses me.
I smirk. “Sweetheart, I don't think.” I quirk one eyebrow, a skill that I swear added an extra zero to my pay cheque. “I know.”
“Well you might think you’re something special. You might just think you’re the hottest damn thing to ever set foot on this island, but I know better. I want more. You don't impress me, Jack Beemster.”
There’s a fire in her eye when she speaks that’s so reminiscent of the look that flashed across Madison’s face when she called me out on my bullshit the other day, and for a moment I freeze. Words escape me for just one second, then I rush to recover, tumbling them out all at once. “That’s-not-what-I’m-here-for.”
“Cut,” Julien calls, and I slump my shoulders.
“Sorry,” I mutter to Mikaela, but she looks out to the ocean, her eyes unfocused.
“Do you two wanna take this from the top again?” Julien asks.
I nod my agreement, one hand in the air. “Sorry, guys.”
“Action,” Julien calls, and Mikaela runs her line once more.
It’s no use, though. When she speaks, I see Madison’s lips moving with each word and I all but hear her voice in stereo in my mind, speaking in time with Mikaela.
Ever since I left foster care, my brain has been focused on two things—building a career, and supporting Janie.
This is the first time someone else has gotten in my head.
***
Madison
I study my to-do list, printed in my apricot moleskin journal, and smile.
Achieve mental wellness to help with volcano freak-out.
Get scoop on Tate Masters
Back when I worked on Lola, a typical day’s list would consist of at least ten different items—and that was on a good day. Having just two tasks printed in front of me should be easy. In fact, it should be a damn well walk in the park.
I dress in a pair of yoga pants and a tight top—no loose-fitting numbers for me after accidentally flashing my boobs during the downward dog in front of Trevor, the one male teacher at the resort—and I head to the buffet room for breakfast.
I grab my wooden tray and load up a plate with fresh fruit, then pour myself a glass of the strongest looking herbal tea they’ve got, and hope like hell someone’s spiked it. Even so, the wish isn’t as fervent as it once was. The caffeine headache that has throbbed in my brain since I landed on the island seems to have been replaced by a slight throb, most likely caused by sleepless nights. Thank Dior for that.
I sidle into my usual seat, and wait for the regulars to join me. Taking my spoon, I scoop the delicious passionfruit centre out into the bowl of yoghurt, swiping up the few leftover drops with my napkin. One sip of green tea later, and I smile. This is it. This is living.
Maybe I’ve got this whole holistic lifestyle thing down after all.
“Morning, Madison,” Jacqui says, beaming at me.
“Morning.” I smile back, and for the first time in days, I actually feel it. “How did you sleep?”
“Ah-maz-ing,” she enunciates. “I did the candle meditation class before bed. You should try it sometime. It’s the best.”
We lapse into silence, and I think of my article for Live Well. She’s clearly someone getting a lot out of this resort. This seems as good an opportunity as any to gather some information for my piece. “So tell me. What brings you to Deep Springs, Jacqui?”
Jacqui pauses, and a look of gravity flashes over her usually cheerful demeanour. “My boyfriend. Ex, I should say. He dumped me for another chick.”
My jaw drops, looking at this tall, gorgeous woman who appears as if she’s never had a problem in her life. “Really?”
“Really.” One side of her lips raises in a smile. “But hey. Inner peace. It sounds good.”
“What did Madison do?” Kiara interrupts as and sits at the table, her voice heavy and low.
“Nothing,” Jacqui says, but I can already see Kiara adding another five kilometres to our run this afternoon. She’s the type. “She just asked why I’m here.”
“Oh.” Kiara shrugs. “Her dickhead partner dumped her, and she’s here to try and move on. So am I.”
I blink. “You’re also on the run from a man who thinks with his penis?” I ask.
“No.” Kiara shakes her head. “A woman who thinks with her vagina.”
“Every time I think about it I … I just … I’m so sorry …” Jacqui hiccoughs and tears gloss over her eyes.
“Please, don’t cry.” I stand and grab my napkin, handing it to her. She dabs it at her cheek. “I know how hard it is.”
“It is.” Dab, dab. “It’s just—” Jacqui breaks her speech and stares at the napkin, then brings it to her nose. She sucks in a breath, then drops that piece of paper on the floor and screams.
“Help!” she screams. I flick my head to Kiara, but her face is as confused as my own. “I’m allergic to passionfruit, you bitch!”
It’s like I’ve killed Bambi. Or at least, made her go on a destructive rampage.
Jacqui runs to the drink station, takes a jug of water and empties it over her face, as if she’s in a bad porno film. Everyone in the room stops to stare at her, all noise drowned out by the keening wail pitched from her mouth.
“Get a first-aid kit,” Kiara snaps to a lady in the hotel’s uniform, who has frozen over the yoghurt table. She scurries off toward reception.
It’s the movement I need to jerk myself into action. I push to my feet, grab a fresh napkin from the end of the table and race to Jacqui’s side, pressing the material against her cheek. She stiffens and shoots death eyes at me, but presses her cheek into the material anyway. Her scream fades to a whimper as she controls her breathing, and it’s enough for everyone to return to their breakfast.
“I’m so sorry,” I say, studying the distraught girl.
She purses her lips, but the I’m-going-stab-you-in-your-sleep has gone from her eyes. “It’s okay.”
Kiara and Trevor walk over, and the red that had receded from Jacqui’s cheeks deepens again.
“What happened here? Are you okay?” Trevor places a toned arm around Jacqui’s shoulders, and she sniffs. “Let’s get you to the first-aid room and we’ll check to make sure
everything’s all right.”
The two of them walk away, leaving Kiara and me standing there, the centre of the room’s attention. I blink back the tars that threaten me.
Why do things like this always happen to me?
***
The second half of my to-do list is far easier to achieve when Janie asks me over for afternoon drinks. Once again, I sneak off after yoga, although this time I spend a little longer than I should brushing my hair back and applying a coat of black waterproof mascara. Just in case.
I arrive at the pool to find Janie stretched out on a lounger, her rounded belly popping out between the two halves of her apricot bikini. I rest my navy striped bag by the lounger to her side and lie down, kicking the flip-flops from my feet.
“This is the life.” Janie sighs, and raises one hand in the air. From nowhere, a white-shirted cabana boy appears. “Mineral water and a champagne, please.”
I smile, but shake my head. I need all my wits about me if I’m going to try find out more about Tate Masters and his weird relationship. “Oh, I don't need a champ—”
“Two mineral waters then,” Janie interrupts.
“Yes, ma’am.” The boy nods and darts toward the bar at the other end of the infinity edge pool.
“So … are you enjoying yoga?” I ask, wondering how long exactly I should wait before asking her about Tate.
“It’s okay. Although if my idiot brother wasn’t making life so damn stressful, I doubt I’d need it.”
Aha! Mission accomplished. “Oh yeah?” I focus on the tall palm trees swaying in the breeze, and try my best to not let excitement creep into my tone. “What’s he done this time?”
Janie sighs, and I turn my head to face her. “I’m gonna be honest with you, Madison.”
I swallow. Somehow, she’s made me feel about two feet tall. “Go on.”
“I don't love celebrity gossip. I know it might seem surprising, given the industry I’m in, but it’s a fact. Last week, some scumbag followed Tate and I home. He jumped in front of the car, and I swerved and almost hit a tree to avoid killing him. I wish I’d run him over.” Janie balls her hands into fists, and I shrink into myself. Shit. This is not exactly looking good. “Anyway, you’re a journalist. And I know you’re here for some yoga feature, but you used to work at Lola.”
I straighten. How the hell did she—
“Linked In. It really wasn't that hard.” She smiles sweetly, and I manage a giggle. A please-don’t-run-me-over-like-you-want-to-do-to-that-paparazzi-guy giggle. “So I feel like I can make you an offer. For reasons I’m sure you’re aware of, my brother’s reputation is somewhat … tarnished at the moment.”
“Go on …” I motion with my hand for her to continue.
“I had a journalist coming here to cover a feature for me, but it turns out they’ve cancelled flights to the island while the volcano is active.” I shiver, and Janie continues. “I need a story about how Tate and Mikaela are stronger than ever. How their love is what girls everywhere dream of. He’s Prince Charming incarnate, yadda, yadda, yadda.”
I frown. Memories flash in my mind unwillingly. His lips on my neck. His strong body over mine.
I cross my legs together. “Is it?”
Janie cocks her head. “Is what?”
“Is their relationship … good?”
“Does it matter?”
I hold my breath. I can’t let her know I already suspect that something about the Ta-kaela situation is seriously, seriously wrong. “To me it does.”
“Madison, let me give you a little life advice …” Janie gives a light, tinkling laugh. “Never let the truth get in the way of a good story.”
It’s in that moment that I know this woman is a shark. She might appear all nice and sweet-as-pie on the outside, but she’d throw you under a bus if she had to.
I like her.
A lot.
And more than that, this sort of access to Tate Masters could be the very thing that lets me confirm my suspicions about his sham of a relationship. Worst-case scenario, even a story about the two of them being happy and in love might earn me some brownie points with Chloe and Jack, if it doesn't land me my job back.
“Where do I sign?”
Chapter Twenty-One
Tate
There are few things in life more emasculating than being told your sex scene isn’t hot enough.
“Tate, I need more. I need you to want to ravage this woman, tear her to pieces.” Julien thrusts his hips forward as if he’s pumping into her himself. “We all want to feel as if we’re about to bear witness to you having sex on the beach.”
The email I received last night won’t get off my mind. I need to get that cash to Danny. And then I need to make sure there’s nothing else him and his family have on us. I hate that they’re a part of my past.
I shake my head and try to focus on the task at hand. If only there was something that could help me get those pictures from my mind …
“Having trouble getting it up?” Mikaela winks at me from where she reclines on the sand.
Yep. Yep, that’d do it.
“Shut up,” I mutter under my breath, then direct my gaze back to Julien. “From the top again?”
“Yes.” Julien nods.
I drop to my knees and place one arm on either side of my ‘girlfriend’. The crew gets back into place, and the camera assistant runs out with the clapper to cue the audio again. Mikaela bats her eyelashes up at me, and I shoot her a scowl. She knows how much I need this movie. I can’t let her ruin it for me now.
“Action,” Julien calls, and I press my eyes shut to find my focus point. It’s always been the ocean for me—the one unchanging thing in my life. Long, rolling waves that softly swell, then fall. Blue, green, grey, golden—a myriad of colours roll in my mind.
Focus.
I am Jack Beemster. And I love this woman.
My eyes flicker open and I gaze down into Mikaela’s green depths. “You’re mine,” I say, then lower myself toward her lips.
“Cut!”
I jerk up. “What now?”
“I’m still not feeling it. The way you lowered yourself then was too … restrained.” Julien winks this time, and it’s all I can do not to throw a handful of sand in his direction.
“He’s lowering himself on top of her. I don't want it to seem too forceful.” I shrug.
“You two are in love. Gimme some of that Ta-kaela magic you’re famous for.”
I look out to the ocean. God, I need some focus today. “Sorry, Julien.” I turn back to look at him, and—
Shit.
And there she is.
Janie and Madison stand behind and to the right of Julien. Madison clutches a striped bag that’s slung over her shoulder, her dark hair dropping in front of her face. Tanned legs peep out beneath a white dress that’s so tantalisingly short, I can see the bronzed tops of her thighs. Thighs I want wrapped around me. Thighs I want—
“Action!”
Shit.
At some point during my blatant perv fest, we started again. I shift my body so I’m hovered over Mikaela, trying not to think about Madison watching this right now—watching me make make not-hot-enough love to another woman. I press my eyes closed and think of the ocean, the blue-green endless ocean, but each colour somehow ends up being Madison’s eyes, each swell of a wave the curves of her breasts.
My eyes flash open, and when I see Mikaela’s green gaze in front of me, I falter. She’s …
Madison.
Her full lips. Her wanting body.
“You’re mine,” I growl. One hand cups her chin, then my body thrusts down on top of hers. Lips meet in a stormy passion. Bodies collide with need. My hand runs down her side, over the yellow string bikini to her ass that thrusts up to meet my hips in a reckless display of sexual want that I can’t control. Neither of us can control. Madison and I, we just—
“And cut!”
I freeze.
Mikaela blinks and looks up at me, a
new light in her eyes.
“That was …” Julien pauses. I hastily push back to my heels, shifting my body so Madison can’t see how hard I am. “Trés brilliant.” He claps, and several of the crew members join him in the effort.
“That was pretty hot, Masters.” Mikaela smiles. “Wouldn't have anything to do with that brunet—”
“Shut up,” I snap, and turn my gaze back to the ocean, somehow more confused about my life now than I was when this all began.
***
Madison
Watching Tate make out with Mikaela alternately stabs me in the heart and has me wanting him all the more. It’s a hot scene, veritably steamy, and one that I know will make the dollar signs fly up faster than volcano ash at the box office.
“So how much longer till they wrap?” I ask Janie, as if I watch hotter-than-hell guys make out with supermodel chicks all the time.
“This is the last scene,” Janie answers. A few short metres in front of us, Tate pushes to his feet. My eyes zero in on the space between his legs. Is he hard? Was he faking it with her? Surely if they were really in love he should have an erection ten-feet long.
Scrap that. That kiss was damn hot. Whether their relationship was real or not, he should be stiff as a corpse.
“Are you staring at my brother’s cock?”
Oh.
That’s awkward.
“No!” My voice is high-pitched. Too high-pitched. “Of course not. I was just looking at the ocean.” The bit of ocean next to your brother’s cock. Yes, that’s a believable alibi.
“Right.” Janie sounds about as convinced as I am, but she walks forward anyway. “Come on. I’m going to let him know the good news.”
“Of course.” I nod and scramble to follow her long strides.
The camera crew start packing down, cords wound up and tripods folded in. A man who I presume has to be the director—who else could get away with wearing a beret in this insane heat?—makes flamboyant gestures with his hands that send four grown men flapping about like ladies at a sale.
Fame (Not Like The Movies #1) Page 13
