Bad Reputations: A steamy, celebrity romance (The Breaking Through Series Book 1)

by Barbara Deleo

  She reached down into her bag and switched off her phone to stop it from buzzing constantly. Her pulse slowed. “And the woman can’t just get into her car and remove herself from the problem on her own no matter which situation she’s in, right? She’ll always need a man.”

  He turned the wheel, and they swung around a corner. “Hell, no. I wouldn’t pay to see a movie like that. No fun at all.” He grinned, all mischief and suggestion. “Unless there was a sex tape in it.”

  She dropped her head and the same hot horror from five minutes ago came surging back, but this time it didn’t hurt quite so bad. Blake’s smile was still warming her.

  He took a quick look in the rearview mirror and, seemingly satisfied, finally turned toward her. “So, is there a sex tape?”

  “A tape? No, of course there isn’t! He was an employee. I would never, ever have let myself get into a compromising position with him. It’s possible he taped a conversation and edited it to suggest something else. . . But nothing physical happened between Trent and me. Ever.”

  She chewed the inside of her lip, the old swirl of panic taking hold again. “Knowing what he’s capable of, he could’ve engineered the whole thing to look like something else, though. There’s all that deep fake stuff where they manipulate videos of people to make it look as though they’re saying outrageous things. Do you think that’s what he’s done?”

  Blake blew air through his teeth. The strong, confident profile she’d spent the last three days trying to forget about was even more mesmerizing without a counter top between them. Rugged jaw, a smile that split his face, and white teeth that dazzled—it was screamingly obvious why he’d been an international model. Those sorts of looks were one in a million. She’d never met a man—anyone—as naturally stunning, and she couldn’t stop looking at him. “I have a god daughter who was harassed by a boy in high school and while my first instinct was to take him out, the best way I could help her was by giving her tools to help herself. I can offer you the same. They didn’t play any of the tape on ‘The Williams Show,’ did they?”

  “I didn’t give them a chance. As soon as he started to ask me about it I panicked and ran.” Without thinking, she clutched his arm. “Oh, God, you don’t think they’d have played it after I left? When I settled with Trent it was under the strict condition neither of us would speak about what had happened or the agreement we came to, so why is this coming up now?”

  He glanced down to where her fingers lay on his forearm and smiled. She drew back with a start, the memory of his warm, hard body imprinted on her fingertips.

  “It’s not Bray talking about it, that’s why.” He looked out the windshield again. “He’s leaked this so it can be kept in the public eye longer. Destroy your reputation even further. He sure as hell has a vendetta against you.”

  “That’s because he didn’t get the position he was after in my company.” She blew out a long breath, strangely calmed by Blake’s soothing voice and his commanding presence beside her. “I’m guessing it’s not a coincidence that you were leaning against my car. That you knew I was at the taping. And, by the way, where are we going?”

  “I found out from a contact that you were doing the Larry Williams show and guessed the result. Larry’s ratings haven’t been that great lately, and he’s in for the shock factor. If you’d asked me. . .” He paused for effect. “Which you didn’t because you don’t have an image consultant anymore, I’d have told you to stay well clear of him. And I’m taking you home. Right now you need to feel safe.”

  Tears threatened again at his caring tone, but she placed her palms together and squeezed them between her knees, trying to keep it together. She was so out of her depth it felt like she was drowning, watching everything she’d worked so hard and long for disappear into the mist. “You think I’m naïve, don’t you?”

  They stopped at a traffic light and he lifted his glasses onto his head, turning his full attention to her. “Naive? No. You’re a chef and a businesswoman who doesn’t have the required skill set to combat the likes of Larry Williams or Trent Bray. It’s nothing to be ashamed of, but there’s plenty you can do about it.”

  The soft, enquiring look in his eyes sent heat rushing to her cheeks. It had been such a long time since anyone had said something so caring to her, and even though he was only doing it to get her to re-sign with him, it sent a warm clutch to her chest. “You really think so?”

  He moved with the traffic, and she was relieved to not be under his bone-melting stare any longer. “Look, Kirin, I wouldn’t know a squash from a sweet potato and couldn’t care if I ever did. Food holds no interest for me whatsoever. But if my life and my reputation depended on me knowing that stuff I’d hire someone who could take care of it for me while I focused on what I do best.”

  “You’re kidding.”

  “Hell, no. I’d hire a chef or―”

  “No, I mean, you’re kidding about having no interest in food.”

  He shrugged powerful shoulders beneath the white shirt. “Never understood the whole hype. I mean, it’s science. Eat enough to give you energy but not so much to make you fat. Not too much of any one thing so you’re getting the right nutrients. I don’t buy all this fiddling around and agonizing over whether something’s got Omega 3 or which herb to put on groundhog. Just don’t see the point.”

  She let out an unexpected laugh, and her whole body hummed with the relief. “Can’t say I’ve ever had to think about which herb goes with groundhog.”

  He moved onto the freeway, and the car leapt to life. “My point is, you’re in a whole pile of trouble and with the threat of this tape it’s only going to get worse. Let me look after your image for the next two weeks and if by that time I haven’t turned everything completely on its head, not only will D and D pay back every cent of the contract fee, we’ll triple it.”

  The possibility of having someone—especially someone as take charge and sure of himself as Blake Matthews—sharing some of this burden caused her to sigh softly as every part of her relaxed. “To be honest, I don’t have any energy left. I should be in TV studios talking about my new ice cream brand, not dealing with this. I thought that in settling out of court as we did, it’d be the last I heard of the complete lie that I sexually harassed Trent.”

  “Then someone gave you terrible advice. Sex sells, and when there’s a hint of sexual misconduct from someone as well-known as you, it’s like a license to print money for TV shows and magazines for years after the event, and don’t get me started on how long it will be in the cloud.” He shot her an ironic smile. “Interest in your sex life will follow you around like toilet tissue stuck to your shoe for a long time yet, Kirin. And don’t get me wrong, attention is exactly what your business is going to need in the coming months. The good kind, not the destructive kind.”

  Her sex life? God, if he only knew how long it had been.

  Blake held a hand out, palm up, as if he spoke the obvious truth. “The fact you settled with Trent gave people the feeling that because there was smoke there must be fire. That you were hiding a secret, sexy side. Trying to deny that by reinforcing, or even playing up, your current conservative image would not only take too long, it’s not what your public wants. If we play to their image of you as a confident, take charge thirty-something business woman, they’ll feel you’re finally being honest.” He drummed his fingers on the steering wheel. “We could even find the sex tape and expose it.”

  She nearly shot out of her seat as she swung her body toward him. “What!? You’ve got to be kidding! That’s the last thing we’ll do. Absolutely, unequivocally, no way are we looking for that tape, let alone exposing it! And I’ve told you there can’t be a tape. I will not play Trent’s game anymore.”

  For a beat, then two, he was silent. “Excellent. Just the sort of passion we need from you. So, you’ve decided to let me turn your public image around?”

  She sighed and focused on the windshield as she shook her head. “I really don’t see how you can
fix my image after this news. And I don’t see how playing into the public’s impression of me as a secret sex fiend would do anything but harm my reputation more.”

  “That’s because you’re a chef and I’m an image expert.”

  She twisted toward him. “I don’t want this dragging on, Blake.” Her voice quavered. “I can’t face this day after day with things popping up out of the woodwork.” Her throat closed as she fought a new well of tears.

  “Give me two weeks.”

  She swung her gaze back to his face and blinked the dampness away. “You think you can make a difference in two weeks?”

  “What would you most like to happen? If you could turn anything around, what would you do?”

  She didn’t need to think. “I’d like to stop getting abusive phone calls, DMs, texts and emails for starters.”

  “And?”

  She breathed slowly, the prospect that he could make all this go away, almost too good to believe. “I’d like to put my side of the story properly to someone who cares about the truth, someone who the public respects and who’ll tell the real story of what happened to my marriage, to me…”

  “More.”

  Although it sounded impossible, it felt good to say all this out loud, and her heart beat stronger. “I want to cater a major function in town and have everyone rave about my food again. I want to have my publisher return my calls, my debts to stop mounting. I want to give back to all those people who’ve believed me but who’ve suffered through this complete nightmare too.”

  “That’s quite a list for a superhero in two weeks, let alone a PR guru. I’d need my outside undies on for that.”

  The corner of her mouth tugged in a wobbly grin. “You think it’s asking too much?”

  “Not at all. But if we’re to pull it off, you’ll have to give me your full cooperation, and by that I mean no arguing with me about clothing choices, appearances, tweaks I might make to your presentation in all areas of your life. I’ll own your image for two weeks and you’ll put your trust in the understanding that you’re the expert on eggplants and I’m the expert on image.”

  Kirin leaned back against the seat again, as a strange mix of relief and trepidation cycled through her. Could he really do that for her? “And what if we’ve achieved none of those things at the end of two weeks?”

  Blake turned to her, his perfect lips quirking in a half-smile. “With me in your corner? Not a chance of that happening.”

  3

  Seconds after Blake had pressed the old-fashioned bell the next afternoon, the door to a modest house in Santa Monica swung open and Kirin Hart smiled at him.

  Today her blond hair was pulled tightly away from her face and lay as a braid over one shoulder. A soft, white blouse hid the curves he knew lay beneath, and a navy blue, knee-length skirt made her appear more like a middle school teacher receiving a parent for an interview, than the captivating woman he’d met across a kitchen counter days earlier.

  The low-key outfit didn’t mesh with the spark in her eyes, or the way she’d held herself when they’d first met. This was a woman of intriguing contradictions, and he couldn’t wait to get to know her better.

  “I was expecting you at five.” Kirin stood aside to let him in. “Not half past. I can only give you an hour now.”

  He grinned and moved through the doorway into a light and airy hall. He was a little late, and it was clear she was going to make him work hard for what he needed—and he’d enjoy every minute of it.

  An enormous palm-like tree sat in a bright pink pot, and along the wall a wooden table held vases and photo frames. He bent down to look more closely at the snaps, but she stood in front of him and held out an arm. “We can talk in the kitchen.” He nodded. He loved the way she played the ice-queen businesswoman, but he’d seen tantalizing glimpses of a softer, more exciting Kirin and he couldn’t wait to see that again.

  “This will take more than an hour.” He followed her down the hallway to a closed door at the end. “You’d better cancel your plans. And order us takeout.”

  “I’m sure an hour will be long enough,” she said sweetly. “And I don’t do takeout unless I’ve been run off my feet at work and that hasn’t happened in a while.” She opened the door and his ears were assaulted by a bark that was deep, loud, and ominous. It came from a dog that gave a new meaning to ugly.

  “That’s Dudley,” Kirin said with a warm smile. “He doesn’t like men much. Just don’t make any sudden moves.”

  Incredibly, the mutt looked like a cross between a basset hound and a poodle, with his belly, ears, and even its jowls almost touching the floor. Its droopy eyes made it look as though it’d been playing poker all night long and wasn’t amused at being interrupted.

  “That’s enough, Dudley,” Kirin said in a sweet voice and the old dog stopped barking and looked as if it might cry.

  She moved behind the kitchen counter and turned to him. “Iced tea?”

  He put his laptop on the raised counter, one eye on Dudley to make sure he was obeying Kirin. “No thanks. Hate the stuff. I had a grandmother from England who made pots and pots of hot tea all day, every day. Makes me gag just smelling it. I’ll have a burger and fries when you order.”

  “I could squeeze you some juice.” She pointed to a fruit bowl. “Or get you something stronger? I’m sure this won’t run into dinner time.”

  He’d had a hell of a day setting things in motion for this project. “Sure, something stronger would be good.”

  She reached up on tiptoe to open a cupboard. “You’d be a liquor drinker.” His eyes were drawn to her shapely calves as she stretched up. “Whiskey or vodka. It’s all I have, I’m afraid.” She suddenly twisted around and, caught off guard, he quickly swung his eyes back to her face.

  “What makes you think I’m a liquor drinker?” He focused on pulling up a stool. “I don’t have a rum nose, do I?”

  She looked him in the eye and grinned. “What you said yesterday about food and how you didn’t understand the hype behind it. If you feel that way about food I can’t imagine you’ll have a big appreciation for wine.” She shrugged a shoulder. “And you mentioned something about not eating too much, so I guessed you weren’t a beer drinker. Liquor is uncomplicated.”

  Watching her full lips move as she talked, a strange sense of déjà vu overtook him—Kirin calling the shots from the protection of a counter-top, just as she’d done on the first day. His mission today would be to break down a few of the physical barriers she had up. It screamed control, and she needed to pass some of that to him if they were going to get anywhere.

  “You sure do pay attention. Whiskey, thanks.”

  She swiveled back to him, bottle in hand, and there was a softness in her eyes. “I like to think I’m a good listener.”

  She put the bottle on the counter and opened the refrigerator door. While she had her back to him, he quickly scanned the room. There was a low chest of drawers with more photos, and an enormous, shiny plant in a corner.

  A sofa with some crazy-colored cushions looked out on the sunny backyard, and the framed sketch of a nude woman hung on a wall. Everything in his research had led him to expect someone far more conservative in the ways she’d express herself. He’d imagined beige drapes and plastic covering her couches. And if she were to have a dog, which he hadn’t factored at all, he’d have picked it to be pedigree Labrador or a corgi, not the random-looking mutt slumped on his cushion in the corner. Interesting. “You live alone?” he asked as she turned around with a pitcher in her hand.

  She opened a cupboard and took down two glasses. “My brother, Flynn, moved in for a few weeks after Joe died to help me cope with all the extra media interest, but apart from that I’ve been here alone for the last few years.” She put the glasses on the counter and poured whiskey into one, ice tea into the other. “Dudley’s the only company I need at home these days. I moved my mom from Iowa last year into an apartment a few blocks away. She likes to sit in my backyard and paint so I
see her a lot.” Reaching for a fluorescent lemon, she said, “I’m guessing you’ll have your whiskey neat?”

  Goddamn, this insight thing of hers was starting to spook him. He nodded. “You mean you’ve always lived here?” He took in the hand-knotted rug and what looked like a crazy collection of salt and pepper shakers on a shelf. “I’d have thought that with all the success you’d had, you’d have chosen somewhere with more. . . celebrity.”

  She sliced into the lemon skin. “Joe wanted to move to Brentwood or the Hollywood Hills when we started making a lot of money. But this was the first place we bought when the business had begun to take off and I always felt safe here. I’d put in a great veggie garden and didn’t want to leave it.”

  She reached across the counter and handed him the glass. As he took the drink, his hand brushed her little finger, and she pulled back. Soft pink tinged her cheek as she turned away. The chink in her previously solid armor was surprising.

  “Let’s take a look at my strategy plan,” he said as he took the tumbler to the dining table. He hadn’t looked forward to working with a client this much in. . . ever.

  She hesitated a moment, then came around the counter and put a plate of pastry-looking things on the table. “They’re pesto twists. Try one.”

  “No thanks, not hungry yet.” He flipped his laptop open.

  “I’m not hungry either.” She picked up a pastry twist. “But these are so good.” Eyes still on his face, she put it to her lips, and he quickly focused back on the table.

  “So, the questionnaire I sent over this morning.” He stared hard at the screen and imagined her lips wrapping around the stick and his throat dried. “We’ll go through your answers and from that I’ll detail our plan of attack.”

  He looked up to see her licking a pastry flake from her lip. And it was the sexiest thing he’d ever seen.

  “I don’t have the questionnaire.”