by Lucy Score
“If you have any questions that need answered, you know I’m just a phone call away. I’m happy to talk to the studios for you—perhaps get some preliminary numbers?”
“Thank you, Phil. I’ll let you know.”
Appeased that she was actually still planning to work for a living, Phil led the conversation down the path of industry gossip. Who had just been let go from what project, what the critics were whispering about so and so’s new movie. Waverly listened with half an ear and wondered how much time she’d bought herself.
Finally, Phil had had his fill of both sushi and quality time and called it a night.
Xavier had the valet bring his SUV around while she watched the crowd outside from the host stand. Night had fallen, and thanks to a fresh-out-of-rehab soap star’s arrival twenty minutes earlier, the crowd of photographers and fans had grown.
“Ready to go?” Xavier asked, studying her face.
Waverly pasted on a smile and dragged her sunglasses out of her bag. “Sure. Let’s go.”
As soon as she stepped outside the crowd pressed in. People were shouting her name, and the flashes were blindingly bright. She tried to concentrate on Xavier’s hand on her back, but someone grabbed her arm hard and she stumbled. The noise turned to a dull throb in her head, and she felt the panic closing in.
Then Xavier was shoving her under his arm, holding her tight against him while blazing a path to the SUV with his free hand. Restaurant security took up her other side and held the crowd at bay.
She caught the gleam of teeth, the flash of a camera, her name on strangers’ lips in a tornado of stimulus. Xavier yanked open the SUV door and all but deposited her on the seat.
“Angel.”
She looked up at him, his face inches from hers. He was calm, completely calm. There was no danger, and it made her relax instantly.
“You gotta let go, Waverly,” he said softly.
Glancing down, she saw that she had a death grip on his jacket.
“Sorry.” The word came out a hoarse whisper. She forced her fingers to unwind themselves, and then he was shutting the door, separating her from the chaos outside. In the seconds it took him to walk around to the driver’s side, she tried to get her breathing under control. She didn’t need Xavier to know how freaked she’d been.
Still, she felt steadier when he slid into the driver’s seat and eased away from the curb. She even managed a wave through the glass as they pulled away.
“You okay?” he asked, his tone mild.
“Yeah. I just ate too much. I feel like I’m going to burst.”
“You were lying your ass off to Phil in there, and now you’re lying to me,” Xavier said, accelerating smoothly down La Cienega. There was no recrimination in his tone. He was simply stating facts.
Waverly watched as the designer furniture store her mother had used to redecorate the pool house slid past her window. She was tired. Bone tired. The constant battle of what she wanted versus what others wanted for her was an ebb and flow of disappointment and hope. Every time she lied about what she wanted, another spark of hope died. She worried that by denying it, she was slowly killing her dreams.
“What makes you say that?” she sighed, feigning disinterest.
“You hold your breath right before you tell a lie and when you’re really trying to sell it you get this smile that never makes it to your eyes. Plus, you blink twice as often as you usually do.”
Crap. He was even more observant than she’d given him credit for. He was entirely too tuned in to her, and that was dangerous.
“You’ve got walls,” he continued conversationally. “I get that. How could you not given your situation? But we’re on the same team here, and I need to know you.”
She felt a surge of anger and welcomed it over the exhaustion. “Technically, X, you’re on my parents’ team. They hired you. They sign your paycheck. That has nothing to do with me.”
“I’m protecting you,” he pointed out. “And in order to do that to the best of my abilities, I need to know you.”
“Why?” She held back the tears that suddenly clogged her throat. “What does it matter?”
Xavier slowed the SUV and pulled over under a streetlight. He put the vehicle in park and shifted in his seat to face her. “I’m not the bad guy here, Waverly.”
Her name on his lips gave her a little, unwelcome thrill. How could she have a crush on a man she didn’t like? She needed therapy… or a vacation.
She leaned in across the console. “I don’t trust you, X, any more than I trust Phil, my mother’s parakeet.”
He moved in until he was barely inches from her face and took off her sunglasses, tossing them on the console. “You will. If you tell me why you were scared leaving the restaurant, I can make it better for you. We can avoid situations that—”
Her laugh was short, sharp. “X, there is no ‘avoiding situations.’ I am required to make appearances and behave in certain ways. It’s like the saying ‘with great power comes great responsibility.’ Except in my case there’s very little power. There’s only responsibility. I owe people things. I owe my parents for providing this life for me. I owe my fans for supporting me movie after movie. I owe my staff a living because they have given their time and loyalty to help me build this world. And that means that I go places I don’t want to go, sometimes talk to people I don’t want to talk to, and occasionally make movies I don’t want to make.”
“Penance.”
“Maintenance,” she corrected him.
“You trust Mari and Louie. You trust Kate. You’re going to have to trust me.” His mouth was so close now, and Waverly couldn’t stop staring at his firm lips. Her world had narrowed to just his face. There was a line of stubble on his jaw and it made him look even more irresistible.
“That’s different. They’re family.”
“You don’t trust your parents.”
“Biology doesn’t buy loyalty these days.” She said it before she thought better then sighed. She’d said too much. Given him too much of a window into her. It was safer to keep Xavier at a distance.
He took her chin in his hand, held it steady so she had to look him in the eye. “Whether or not you trust me, I’ll still be here.”
Others had promised the same. Empty promises and Waverly didn’t put stock in those words anymore. She could count on herself, and that’s what she did. It was the price to pay for admission into this world, and she was willing to pay it.
“I’m not taking applications for a BFF. You work for my parents, and I tolerate you. That’s the extent of our relationship.”
He held her chin for a second longer, stared deep into her. Those amber eyes were searching for something, and she worried that he could see down into her very soul. Whatever it was he was looking for, she made sure he didn’t find it in her gaze. She kept her eyes cool, and when he released her, she pulled back quickly. “Take me home, X.”
“You got it, boss.” He was amused, she thought, as if he was dealing with a kid’s temper tantrum. But he hadn’t seen anything yet. She’d shake him loose and wouldn’t even miss that face, those strong shoulders, that broad chest…
They drove home in silence. And Waverly was grateful for the break. She felt oddly guilty about brushing him off and didn’t know why. He wanted “in.” And there was no way in hell she was letting that happen. He would just run right back to her parents with his report.
Neighborhood security had swept out any lingering photographers, she noted when they pulled through the tall, ornate gates at the foot of the driveway.
The Tahoe’s headlights illuminated the cobblestone drive as they came up the hill to the house. The beams caught Sylvia in an ivory nightgown standing in the middle of the driveway, broken glass at her bare feet.
“Shit,” Waverly said, under her breath, yanking her seatbelt off.
Xavier put the Tahoe in park and made a move to get out.
She grabbed his
arm, her fingers digging in with urgency. “Please don’t,” Waverly said.
“I can help.”
“I know, X. I know you can. But if she wakes up and remembers this tomorrow, she’ll be humiliated.” Please don’t do this to us, she begged with her eyes.
Xavier studied her face and then looked through the glass at Sylvia.
“Go check her first. Make sure she’s not hurt. If she’s okay, I’ll go.”
Waverly exhaled her relief. “Thank you. Really.”
She leaned over the console reaching into the backseat to grab her bags.
“Leave them. I’ll take them to the pool house,” he told her.
“You don’t have to do that. I can take care of—”
“Angel, I’ve got them. Go help your mother.”
Still, she paused. “Listen, please don’t—”
“I won’t say anything to anyone,” Xavier promised, shaking his head. She believed him.
Surprising them both, Waverly brought her hand to his chest. She leaned in and brushed her lips against his cheek long enough to take a fortifying breath, drawing in his scent, his warmth, his strength. And then she was sliding out the door.
“Hi, Mama,” Waverly said softly, picking her way around the glass to get to Sylvia.
“I can’t find your father,” Sylvia said dreamily, swaying in the moonlight in her own cloud of vodka.
Waverly tucked an arm around her mother’s waist and guided her away from the shards of glass. Sylvia felt so fragile and thin. It was such a shock to her that Waverly wondered when she had last hugged her mother.
“Dad’s not here, remember? He left today to shoot in Vancouver for a few weeks. He’ll be home for a few days on Wednesday.”
Sylvia stumbled and recovered, clinging to Waverly’s free arm. “He is? I must have forgotten.” She frowned, limping her way toward the house.
Waverly glanced over her shoulder at Xavier in the Tahoe. She nodded to him to let him know everything was fine.
Everything was far from fine, but it was normal.
It took her an hour to get her mother settled. She brought her some warm broth and water, trying to flush out some of the alcohol from her system. While her mother sipped, she tidied up the bedroom. Sylvia’s suite was nothing shy of spectacular with its Austrian crystal chandelier hanging from the vaulted ceiling over the bed. As in her sitting room, everything here was shades of white from the tufted ottoman to the wingback chairs flanking the white marble fireplace that, to Waverly’s knowledge, had never been used.
The rug that covered an acre of floor was thick and plush. The bathroom was fit for a goddess and trimmed in rose quartz and stocked with luxurious towels and the best beauty secrets money could buy. And the dressing room, well it was larger than the attached sitting room. Once Sylvia’s pride and joy, Mari now ruthlessly managed the room and its contents. Waverly ducked her head into the dressing room and did a fast check for liquor bottles. She found one in the accessory island in the center of the room and another tucked into the calfskin boot on display.
She carted them out and emptied them in the bathroom sink. It did no good. She wasn’t even sure why she bothered other than the fact that it would force Sylvia to order more, temporarily inconveniencing her problem.
When Sylvia finished her broth, Waverly curled up on the bed with her and turned on Relentless Love, the movie that Sylvia met Robert while filming. As precarious and damaged as her parents’ relationship was, Sylvia always took comfort from the movie.
“Oh, how young I was,” Sylvia sighed, her eyelids heavy under the weight of exhaustion and make-up. “And just look how handsome your father was,” she sighed, pointing to the screen.
Waverly, aware of her role, hugged a silk pillow to her chest as she leaned against her mother’s satin-wrapped headboard. “Very handsome,” she agreed.
“Darling,” her mother slurred, “we only have a small window to solidify your career. To really make your mark. This business isn’t kind to women who venture beyond forty.” Her mother had drummed it into her skull since she was five.
It’s all downhill after forty. Personally, Waverly was looking forward to a little downhill.
It was true—parts for her mother were fewer and farther between, but Waverly was aware of the role that alcohol played in that.
She distracted her mother, filling her in on her schedule for the week, noting the pleasure it gave Sylvia. “Oh! I’m so glad you’re presenting at Indulgence’s Style Awards,” Sylvia sat a little higher against her pillows. “Isn’t it exciting? Standing up there in front of all those people who wish they were you?”
“Sure, Mom.” It was, sort of. But to Waverly, it didn’t feel like a rush. It felt like a responsibility.
“You’ve got such a good following right now, and we need to make it stronger,” her mother yawned. “We need to give them more. You need to pick your next movie. Maybe start seeing someone? Is there anyone you’re interested in?”
Career and love advice from Sylvia Sinner. Because to her mother, who she dated, who she married, was just as much a part of her career as the roles she chose. Sylvia had been setting up Waverly with eligible and appropriate bachelors since she was fourteen. Every once in a while, Waverly had pulled off the impossible and quietly enjoyed a relationship that had nothing to do with her mother, sometimes an actor and sometimes a regular, normal guy. None of them stuck. There was the actor with the charming, crooked grin who used her connections to a producer to score a part. Then there was the musician who’d neglected to call for the duration of his world tour and then penned a song about her body as an apology that went unaccepted.
A relationship, fake or an actual attempt, was not something she was willing to throw into the mix right now. She needed to be unencumbered and ready to move.
“There’s no one who makes me look at them like that,” she said, gesturing at the screen where Sylvia was giving Robert one hell of a come hither look. And ignoring the vision of Xavier that immediately popped into her head.
“Don’t put it off, Waverly,” her mother said, her eyes closing.
“Don’t put what off, Mom?”
“Life. Look at everything we have, everything your father and I built. We’re counting on you to carry this on. Don’t make all of this be for nothing. You have real earning potential, more than I did at your age. Don’t waste that.” The words slurred and slowed before fading away.
Waverly listened to her mother’s steady breathing for a few moments and, satisfied that Sylvia was asleep, turned off the movie and gathered the dishes. She carried the bowl and mug to the kitchen, washed them in the sink, and armed the alarm before tip-toeing out the front door.
She had a broom and a dustpan in the pool house. She would clean up the glass in the drive before calling it a night, she decided, her shoulders slumped. One more task and then she could rest.
But the glass was gone. Not a sliver of it twinkled under the floodlights. Xavier the fixer, she shook her head. She was too tired to think about her warring feelings there. She let herself into the pool house, automatically arming the alarm, before venturing into her kitchen. Her purse and gym bag rested on the counter next to a plate with half of a peanut butter and jelly sandwich. A note was scrawled on the napkin.
Snack then sleep. See you in the morning, Angel.
X.
He could have just gone home, yet he’d stayed to make sure she got her mother safely inside and then cleaned up the mess. He’d delivered her bags and made her a snack. All after keeping her safe and calm in the midst of a trigger.
Hell, he was getting harder and harder to hate.
CHAPTER SIX
She was going to kick Xavier’s ass.
“You’re not wearing that,” he announced again, his tone suggesting there was no room for argument.
But Waverly was in the mood for a fight. She whirled around in the mirror set up in her bedroom, her hands on her hips,
to glare at him. “Exactly what is your problem with this dress?” she demanded.
It was Thursday in the week from absolute hell. She’d booked every spare minute in an effort to shake him loose, but he was only digging in harder. Through two red carpets, four lunches, five sessions at the gym, three cocktail parties, nine interviews, and even a damn baby shower for an actress she’d worked with once when they were tweens, he stuck.
The man was stubborn enough to make it look easy. She’d missed meals dashing from one event to the next, missed sleep, dragging her ass in the door at three in the morning from a cocktail party that turned late night pool party. The circles under her eyes were going to add an extra twenty minutes to her make-up for the event this afternoon. Yet Xavier showed no signs of cracking.
She hated him a little for it. Sure, he’d had the good manners not to mention the scene with her mother. But he’d spent every moment of the ensuing week annoying her with his mere presence. He’d gotten more vocal, too. He’d insisted on sitting in with her meeting with Kate and Mari again and dropped the bomb that Les Ganim had indeed left his job in El Plano and hadn’t been seen in ten days.
Then he complained every time she left the house. She wasn’t about to lock herself in a prison just because Wedding Dress Guy may or may not have come to L.A. She’d dealt with things like this her entire life. It was par for the course in her opinion and a legitimate threat in his. Just like everything else, they’d butted heads over. And then there was the picture that surfaced on the gossip sites after dinner at Nobu. She was tucked under Xavier’s arm, her fingers clinging to him as he guided her into the SUV. The headlines had been about her escaping a raucous crowd, but what she saw when she looked at the pictures was a raw and intimate portrait of need.
Waverly whirled back to the mirror, turning this way and that admiring the way the elegant, sheer fabric clung to her like a spider web.
“I don’t see what you could possibly have against this dress.”
She skimmed her hands over the gauzy layers. Backless and cut impossibly low in the front, it wasn’t a dress she’d normally have chosen. She’d have to tape herself in just to make sure she could avoid the weekly nip slip countdown. No, she wouldn’t have agreed to wear it, but Xavier’s dissent pushed her over the edge. She was prepared to prance out in public dressed like a girl with daddy issues.
