Confess To Be Mine

by Suzie Nelson

  “It’s just a few journalists,” she said. “I made sure only to let in the nice ones.”

  Sasha smiled. “That’s an oxymoron, Tansy. There are no nice journalists.”

  Tansy rolled her eyes. “It’s a good thing you went into acting, Sasha, because you’re such a bloody drama queen.”

  Sasha chuckled. It was a good thing she was a lesbian, he thought, glancing at his assistant. Otherwise, he’d just have slept with her and never gotten to know her. And he really did like her. It would have been a waste.

  “We’ve got the interview room all set up next door,” she said. “It’s not filmed, just written. So you pick one or two or, who knows, maybe even three journalists, and we’ll all troop over to the interview room where everything will be done in private,” Tansy reminded him before she opened the door to the conference room and sent him in to face the teeming horde.

  The conference room was packed to the gills and as soon as they saw the door open, the journalists started jostling each other, shouting for Sasha’s attention. This was, for most of them, a career-defining moment – or at least they hoped it would be.

  Sasha looked across the roiling mass of people and forced his face to remain neutral. Then, out of all the dark suits, a bright pop of color towards the front caught his eye. He brought his gaze back to the front of the room and couldn’t help a quiet gasp of surprise. There, front and center, was the woman from the restaurant, her yellow dress and red shoes impossible to miss against the gray, black and white of her colleagues’ clothes. Unlike everyone else, she wasn’t pushing or shouting. She was just standing there, holding her notepad and waiting for him to notice her. Their eyes met and she gave him a knowing half smile. He chuckled to himself. Well played, he thought.

  “You,” he said, even though she couldn’t hear him over the din, and crooked a finger at her. With a grin, she slipped under the cordon and followed him out of the room.

  She was even more beautiful than he remembered her being. Too bad she had to be a journalist.

  Chapter 5

  As planned, Odette, Claire, and Angie met in Portland for their weekend getaway. Claire and Odette left work a day early and the three girls spent all Friday lounging around in Portland’s swankiest spa, getting back massages, facials, and, finally, mani-pedis.

  “I mean, really, you’ve got to look and feel your best for the big day,” said Claire as she watched her manicurist paint her nails a deep blue.

  “It’s not my wedding, Claire,” Angie replied, laughing.

  “Exactly. This is much more important!” Odette nodded, agreeing with Claire.

  Angie giggled, trying not to laugh too hard and screw up her nail polish. God, she’d missed having all three of them together.

  After their spa day, feeling sparkly and pampered and totally relaxed, they got dressed up and went out for dinner and drinks, strutting through the restaurant as if they owned in. Angie felt as if anything were possible at that moment. She felt beautiful and powerful and exhilarated as if she were poised on the edge of a canyon but knew she wouldn’t fall. She felt as if she had learned to fly.

  “So what are you going to ask him?” Claire asked out of the blue as they were finishing up their dinner with a luscious citrusy crème brulée.

  “Sasha?” Angie replied. Savoring a bite of the creamy dessert, she shrugged. “It depends on whether or not I’m stuck just talking about the movie. I’m hoping I’ll be able to convince him to give me a longer interview. I don’t know that just a few questions about the film will be enough to get me back into everyone’s good books. And,” she said, sighing, her mood deflating a little, “that’s if he chooses to talk to me at all.”

  Odette clicked her tongue, “Don’t say that, Angie. You have to think positive. We didn’t get you this far just for you to start getting all down in the dumps. You’re going to wear that yellow dress and knock him dead.”

  Angie smiled, “You’re right. I shouldn’t worry. This is meant to be,” she grinned at Odette.

  “And, even if it isn’t,” said Claire, “at least we’re going to have a fantastic weekend.”

  The other two women laughed and they all clinked their glasses together. “To us,” said Odette and Angie and Claire echoed her.

  Despite her brave words, Angie couldn’t sleep and was up before the sun, preparing her notes and brushing her hair to an impossible shine. Around seven, Claire appeared from her bedroom in their shared suite, yawning and puffy eyed. “Girl, you’re gonna blind him with your hair if you keep brushing it like that,” she said. “How long have you been up?”

  “Like two hours maybe?” Angie replied sheepishly.

  Claire shook her head. “Just let me get my clothes on and we’re going down for breakfast. And don’t give me any of that ‘too nervous for food’ shit. You need a good meal in you before you go off to work.”

  But Angie really was too nervous to eat and just sipped a coffee, pecking at some fruit as Claire dug into the breakfast buffet. Just as Claire had sat down with a second course, Odette joined them, eyeing Claire’s plate. “You still eat carbs?” she asked, sighing.

  “Honey, I eat anything,” Claire replied, drizzling maple syrup over her whipped-cream topped French toast. “You girls might have got the legs, but I got the skinny genes.”

  With a sigh, Odette went to get herself some coffee.

  After what seemed like an eternity, they’d finished breakfast and Claire and Odette were putting the finishing touches on Angie’s outfit.

  “You look beautiful, as always,” said Claire, smoothing down Angie’s hair. “You’ve got this, honey.”

  Angie smiled at her and her friends’ reflections in the full-length mirror. After her anxiety-fueled night and butterflies this morning, she suddenly felt perfectly calm. It was as if, on some deeper level, she’d decided to put herself in the hands of destiny and, as soon as she’d realized that there was nothing she could do but try her best, all her worries had melted away.

  “Here we go,” she said, taking a deep breath.

  The conference room at the Kimpton Monaco, one of Portland’s most luxurious hotels, was stilling filling up when Claire and Odette dropped Angie off. They went off to grab a coffee at the hotel’s upscale restaurant and she slipped to the front of the room, right by the velvet cordon. She wasn’t going to risk getting shunted to the back by her overeager colleagues.

  By the time Sasha was due to arrive, however, the place was packed. People were shouting at friends and elbowing each other for a better position. But Angie held onto the cordon and kept her place, lightly treading on the toes of anyone who tried to push her away. Her red leather heels might be killing her after all this standing around, but at least they were making themselves useful.

  Angie rolled her shoulders, keeping hold of her notepad in one hand, while the other held the cordon. She could feel sweat snaking down her spine. The room was sweltering with all these jostling, shouting people crammed into it. She took a deep breath and looked up at the ceiling, trying to think of something cold.

  And then, suddenly, there he was. He was as beautiful as he had been that night in the restaurant. His slightly feral good looks were only emphasized by the well-cut clothes he was wearing. Angie had only ever seen him in a few movies and she’d always thought he was sexy, but she had to admit that, in the flesh, he really was overpowering. She felt something twinge deep inside of her and told herself to get a grip. It didn’t matter how wet he made her, she was here on business and business only.

  Sasha looked around the room, his dark eyes scanning above her head. But Angie kept her eyes locked on him. She was not about to get distracted, not now. Then, suddenly, his eyes met hers and his look of shock made her smile. He remembered her. He smiled back and crooked his finger at her.

  “You,” she saw him say, although she couldn’t hear him over the shouting.

  Before he had a chance to change his mind, she slipped under the c
ordon and trotted to his side, following him out of the crowded conference room and into the quiet hallway. There they were met with the same dour bodyguard Sasha had had with him in the restaurant and an elegant redhead holding a clipboard.

  “Just one, Sasha?” the redhead asked, looking unimpressed.

  “Yep,” he said. “But what a dress, don’t you agree?”

  The woman, whom Angie could only assume was the assistant who had helped get her in, gave Angie a once over and smiled. “It’s a great dress,” she agreed. “I’m Tansy,” she said, shaking Angie’s hand. “The interview will be conducted just here, in this room,” she explained, leading them a few steps down the hall to an empty lounge. “You’ll have no more than an hour, I’m afraid. If you need anything, Bruce will be right outside.”

  “Thank you,” said Angie, and she meant it.

  The redhead smiled and closed the door behind them.

  Angie took a deep breath and sat down on the sofa across from Sasha, switching on her voice recorder and placing it on the table between them. “Well, here we are,” she said.

  Sasha smiled. “You wore that dress on purpose,” he said.

  Angie nodded. “Can you blame me?”

  “I didn’t realize that you were a journalist,” he replied, ignoring her question.

  “Do you still like the dress?” Angie asked, joking.

  Sasha chuckled. “Yes, though I’m not so sure about what’s inside it anymore.”

  “Ouch,” said Angie. “Though, if the rumors are true, you’ve never been very interested in women’s inner selves.”

  “Ouch,” Sasha echoed. “Do you think the rumors are true?”

  “The jury’s still out on that one,” Angie replied. “Why do you hate journalists so much, Mr. Pollock?”

  He ignored her question again, shifting his long legs. “I know you from somewhere,” he said, frowning.

  “Yes,” Angie replied, “the restaurant from the other night.”

  Sasha clicked his tongue at her in a way that reminded her strongly of Odette, “No, somewhere else.”

  He frowned a moment longer and then snapped his fingers. “You’re the one that broke down crying in an interview a few years ago. You are, aren’t you? What happened?”

  Angie sighed. She’d hoped that he wouldn’t have seen that. “Why don’t you answer one of my questions and I’ll answer one of yours.”

  Sasha gave her a smug grin, “Seems fair. All right, I hate journalists because they twist your words. You say one thing and they make it seem like you said another. Also, they’re usually pretty boring. Your turn.”

  “Not one to mince your words, are you?” Angie replied. She took a deep breath. “I cried in that interview because I’d been having a really shitty six months that culminated in my mother dying. She was my best friend and I had just buried her the day before.” She’d never admitted that out loud to anyone before. Her friends had all known why so they hadn’t asked. And no one else had bothered to find out. She stared at Sasha, daring him to make fun of her.

  But he didn’t. “I’m sorry,” he said instead, and he looked as though he meant it. “What did she die of?”

  “She…cancer,” Angie replied. “Lung cancer. Her dad was a smoker, my dad was a smoker. She never smoked a goddamn day in her life, but there you go.” She pressed her lips together, willing herself not to cry. “Look, Mr. Pollock, I’ll be honest with you. I lost my job after that and now no one will touch me. I’m running out of money and running out of options. I came here today because I thought that, maybe, if I could get a real interview with you – not just a few questions about the upcoming film, but about you as a person - then I could get my old job back. I know you hate journalists, but I love my job and I’m good at it. I don’t want to give up and be someone’s secretary. No offense to yours, who seems great.”

  “She is great, thank you,” he said. He leaned back in his chair, crossing his fingers and looking at her intently. The scrutiny made Angie want to squirm, but she didn’t. She just looked back at him. “A real interview, huh?” he said at last.

  Angie nodded.

  “How about this, uh – what is your name, actually? I got distracted by your dress.”

  Angie smiled. “I bet you say that to all the girls,” she quipped. To her surprise, he laughed. “My name is Angie. Angie Wilde.”

  Sasha nodded. “Okay, Angie Wilde, how’s this: you want the inside scoop on Sasha Pollock? The real guy? Well, why don’t you come live with me for a while? I’m heading to my ranch in Arizona after this and it would be nice to have some company. Come live with me for a few weeks and I’ll answer a question for every question you answer. A question for a question. Do we have a deal?”

  Angie couldn’t believe what she was hearing. Live with him for a few weeks? His ranch? Then she paused. “I want to make one thing very clear, Mr. Pollock. I want my job back, but I’m not going to sleep with you to get it. You may be beautiful, but I don’t do that kind of thing. So if that’s what you’re after then I’ll go now and we can both stop wasting our time.”

  Sasha shook his head. “That’s not what I’m after,” he told her, his voice low and earnest. Then he paused and, with a twinkle in his dark eyes, said: “But I’m flattered that you think I’m beautiful.”

  Angie blushed. “A question for a question?” she repeated, trying to change the subject.

  He nodded.

  “We have ourselves a deal,” she said, reaching across the table. They shook hands and his fingers were strong and warm around hers.

  “I’m glad to hear it,” he said, the mischievous twinkle still in his eye.

  Angie wondered what on earth she’d gotten herself into.

  “I’ll have my assistant organize travel plans with you,” said Sasha. “But, roughly, we’re filming here until next weekend. After that I’m heading to Arizona for a week and then we’re back to L.A. for some auditions, I think. Tansy will fill you in on the details. I’ll expect you here at the hotel on Monday morning at 6 a.m. to come with us to the shoot.”

  “You want me to come to the shoot?” Angie squeaked.

  Sasha raised his eyebrows. “You wanted a real interview, didn’t you?”

  “Yes,” said Angie quickly. “Six a.m. I’ll be there.”

  “Good,” said Sasha. “I’ll have my question ready for you.”

  Angie chuckled, “Ditto.”

  “Well, Ms. Wilde, it’s been a pleasure, surprisingly,” said Sasha as he stood up.

  “Ditto again,” said Angie, turning off her recorder and putting it away in her purse. “I thought you’d be way more of a stuck up dick, to be honest.”

  Sasha laughed, “You’re very blunt for a journalist.”

  Angie shrugged. “At least you’ll always know I’m being honest,” she said.

  “True,” he replied. “It’s a refreshing change.” He opened the door for her and smiled, his eyes lingering on her face.

  Angie nodded. “You better not leave me at the altar, so to speak. If you do, I’ll publish your little rant about journalists.”

  “I won’t leave you hanging,” Sasha promised. “You have my word.”

  Angie nodded as Tansy came up to them. “Done already?” she asked, raising an eyebrow.

  “Not at all,” said Sasha. “Tansy, Ms. Wilde will be joining us for the next few weeks. Please make all the necessary arrangements with her. I’m going upstairs to work on my lines.” He looked back at Angie one last time and smiled, “I’ll see you Monday, Wilde.”

  Angie nodded. Tansy’s other eyebrow rose to meet its neighbor. “Well, that’s a first,” she said.

  Angie nodded again. “Thank you so much for getting me in there to see him. I’m Odette’s friend. You are a total lifesaver,” she gushed, smiling at the beautiful redhead. “Can I buy you a drink? Odette and another friend are waiting in the restaurant.”

  Tansy nodded. “That would be great. Then we can go ov
er the details. He seriously wants you with him for the next few weeks?” she gave Angie a once over. “Don’t take this the wrong way, but you’re not really his type. He’s usually more of a blondes kind of guy.”

  “Oh no,” Angie shook her head. “It’s not…I’ve already told him I’m not sleeping with him. I dunno…maybe he’s bored or something and wanted someone to argue with.”