Publicity Stunt (Hollywood Knights Book Two)

by Cassie Reed

  “Do I need to do anything, or. . .?” he heard her say.

  “Just hold on to me.”

  He felt her place her hands on either side of his waist, tentatively at first, and tighter after he started the engine, the bike rumbling noisily underneath them. Angling the bike out of the turnout where they were parked, Trayce’s tires hit asphalt and he punched the gas, accelerating down the road. He felt Olivia’s arms wrap themselves more solidly around his waist and her thighs tighten around his hips. It felt good to ride with her.

  He leaned into the curves and loops of the road they were on, simultaneously wanting to thrill her without making her feel unsafe. The first time on a bike could be scary for anyone, but that wasn’t his intention. He just wanted her to feel the same sense of freedom he felt when he rode. Out on the open road, they could forget all their troubles, but thoughts still swirled uneasily in his head.

  She had been open with him that night in ways he hadn’t expected. He gritted his teeth, bothered at the thought of her suffering at the hands of a cold-hearted mother. Her desperation to stay on top made sense now. She had nothing to go back to, and no one to rely on but herself.

  Maybe he could change that, he thought as he gazed down the road. With time he could show her she could rely on him, and trust him, because he suddenly wanted nothing more than to protect her. She wouldn’t have to fight her battles alone when he was at her side. He would be, what. . . a friend? A partner? A lover?

  What was he thinking, he cursed himself. At the beginning of the day, he had been avoiding her phone calls. Now he wanted to be with her, really be with her? He was nuts, high on adrenaline and the company of a pretty woman. He was sure his head would return to normal as soon as they went their separate ways again.

  They wound up at the bottom of the hill they had ridden down. As they sat idling at the intersection, another car pulled up beside them, its top down and two women in the front seat. “Hey!” one of them called after a moment. “Aren’t you the guy from the video?”

  Yikes, Trayce thought, eyeing the red light above his head and urging it to change. Behind him, he felt Olivia turn her head the opposite way, doing the best she could to turn invisible. If he ignored them, maybe they would just—

  “It is you!” the woman shouted again. “You’re the train hero!”

  “Woo, train hero!” the woman beside her yelled, waving excitedly. “We love you!”

  “You’re so hot!” the other exclaimed, just as the light mercifully turned green. Trayce sped away, but he could still hear their ecstatic hollers and whistles behind him. Leaving them in the dust, he found a spot to turn around, and began the journey back up the hill to where he and Olivia had met earlier that evening. Once they were there, he parked the bike, steadying it so that she could get off first. Killing the engine, he watched as she removed the helmet from her head.

  Her face was an interesting mix of exhilaration, shock, and fear. She looked at him, widening her eyes as she did. “Do you think they knew it was me?”

  Trayce gave a shrug. He was hoping her first reaction to her first motorcycle ride ever wouldn’t be about whether or not she had been spotted, but he couldn’t say he blamed her. That was just the reality in which she was used to operating. “Would it be so bad if they did?” he tested her.

  “And I was just randomly hanging out with my rescuer from the other day?” she asked skeptically.

  He raised an eyebrow. “Well, you kind of are.”

  She was quiet for a beat, considering his point. “Hey, I’m just trying to protect you from the Hollywood rumor mill I know you so badly don’t want to be a part of.”

  “You probably don’t need to worry about protecting me,” he told her. “I’m a big boy. I can handle it.” He paused. “Unless. . .”

  She looked at him. “What?”

  “Nothing,” he said. “It’s nothing.”

  “Tell me,” she demanded. He should have known it would drive her crazy.

  “Unless,” he continued. “It’s that you’re worried about being seen with me.”

  Her eyebrows arched in confusion even as the curve of her mouth lifted the other way. “What do you mean?”

  “Face it, Olivia. I’m not exactly the kind of guy someone like you would want to be seen with on the red carpet.”

  “Someone like me?” she repeated.

  He sighed. “See? I told you I didn’t want to say anything.”

  Silence filled the space between them, neither of them daring to look at one another. Finally, she turned toward her car, opening the driver’s side door and bending over to retrieve something. When she returned, it was with a crisp white envelope in hand. She gave it to him. “There’s the rest of the money I owe you,” she murmured, sliding her hands into the back pockets of her jeans when the exchange was over. “Tonight was. . .fun. Thanks for the ride.”

  “Yeah.” He palmed the envelope awkwardly. Normally he would have slid it into the pocket of his jacket, but she was still wearing it.

  “Oh,” she said, appearing to read his face. She slid the jacket down her arms and handed it to him. “Here you go.”

  “Thanks.”

  She nodded. “Well, goodnight, Trayce.”

  “Drive safe, Olivia,” he told her, watching as she turned and got into her car. She didn’t hesitate to start it up, the engine purring to life before her tires began to crunch back over the dirt. With a single wave, she was gone.

  He started his motorcycle again, his hands clutching the handlebars pensively. What had he just done? Why had he said all that? It was like he had been trying to purposely sabotage them and any chance they had to. . .

  What?

  Be together?

  Really, Trayce? Maybe you’ve taken one too many hits to the head over the years.

  He pulled his jacket on and found it was still warm from her body. As he turned the bike around, ready to head back out onto the open road, he couldn’t help but lower his head, his nose skimming near the collar.

  It smelled like her, too.

  He could only hope the faster he rode, the less he would be reminded of her by the time he got home.

  13

  Olivia stared straight ahead at her laptop, both seeing and not seeing it at the same time. Sat at the small bamboo table and chair she kept on her patio, she was supposed to be halfway through the promised script from Meredith that Celeste had forwarded her that morning. Instead, she felt like she had barely retained a word. Focusing her eyes on the screen, she compelled herself to read, and actually comprehend what she was reading, but her attention waned again, her gaze floating until it gradually landed near the pool.

  Right where Trayce had stood the first day she had met him.

  If she stared hard enough, maybe he would slowly begin to materialize, atom for atom.

  Sighing, she slumped in her chair and ran an exasperated hand through her hair.

  She hadn’t been able to stop thinking about him in days. She may have driven away that last night they had met up, right after she had paid him and so unceremoniously excused herself, but it was as though a piece of him had stayed with her. And now it was refusing to leave her alone.

  Words had been said, that was why. He had opened up to her, telling her about what had happened to his brother, and she had found herself returning the favor. It had been years since she had spoken about her troubled relationship with her mother, but it had just come tumbling out of her. He had that effect on her. She had trusted him with her life, and now, with her long buried secrets.

  She had felt vulnerable, and connected in a way she hadn’t felt with anyone in a long while. And then. . .what had happened? She didn’t want to think about it. Instead her mind drifted to the motorcycle, the bike with its primal rumbling underneath her, the ride giving her an excuse to wrap her arms around his waist, hard muscles so easy to feel under a thin T-shirt. As they sped off into the night, her body in tune with his as the bike cornered smooth and fast along the turns of t
he road, she couldn’t remember the last time she had felt that good.

  And then?

  Toilet flush sound.

  Her insecurities had gotten the better of her.

  If only she could have gone back in time. Even if she was worried about being recognized, she wouldn’t have said anything. She would have thanked him for the incredible evening, an evening when she finally felt like herself again and not some pent-up has-been desperate for her next break. But it was too late now, and time was trudging on whether she liked it or not.

  She would just focus on the positives, she told herself. Like the script from Meredith. Already, she could see herself playing the title role of Marcy, a discontented pastor’s wife who finds herself while building houses on an island in Fiji.

  Her phone chimed from the surface of the table, alerting her to an incoming call. Expectantly, her hand lunged for the device, an apology to Trayce forming on her tongue. Staring down at the screen, it was a number she didn’t recognize, let alone his. Of course, she thought as she lifted the phone to her ear. Why would he call her now?

  “Hello?”

  “Olivia,” a vaguely familiar voice said on the other end. “How are you?”

  “I’m sorry?” Olivia said, frowning as she leaned into the phone. “Who is this?”

  “Monica Hargrove,” the woman said. “You know, from TMI?”

  Olivia nearly retched in her mouth. It had seemed like ages since she had spoken to the ruthless editor of one of Hollywood’s most salacious gossip rags. They had been the first to release the recording of her arrest, and ran relentless, unforgiving stories about it for weeks. “Monica, of course,” Olivia said sweetly despite the growing revulsion she was feeling. “To what do I owe the pleasure?” A pit grew in her stomach. If it was TMI, it was hardly ever good.

  “I just got sent a very interesting photograph,” Monica continued. “But perhaps you know about it already.”

  “Maybe,” Olivia said coolly. “Why don’t you send it to me and I’ll let you know?”

  Monica laughed. “You know I can’t do that. But I can tell you the subject of the photo.”

  “Let me guess, you think it’s me.”

  “Interesting language,” Monica noted. “If I didn’t know better, I’d say you

  were hiding something. So tell me, was that you on the back of Trayce Bradford’s motorcycle?”

  Olivia was quiet, rendered temporarily speechless even though she had anticipated the question. “Monica,” she uttered finally. “You know that’s ridiculous.”

  “Of course,” the editor replied. “Then you shouldn’t mind if I run the story later today. You know, one of my reporters did some digging. Did you know Trayce is a stuntman?”

  Olivia grimaced. Stupid, nosey, thorough TMI. “That explains the quick reflexes,” she responded, her voice light despite the grimace on her face. “You know, Monica, we are in Hollywood. I wouldn’t be surprised if half the people there worked in the business in some capacity.”

  “That’s true,” Monica said. “I just found it to be a mildly interesting point. And if it turns out you two have been seeing each other now, or were even seeing each other before—"

  “We’re not, and haven’t,” Olivia blurted out. “In fact I’m seeing someone else.”

  “Oh? And who would that be?”

  “None of your business,” Olivia declared simply. What was another lie on top of an already brimming lie-salad?

  “Well, does your new beau know you took a ride with Trayce Bradford?” Monica shot back.

  “It wasn’t me.”

  “Then you won’t mind if I run with the story,” the editor said. “I’ll label it as purely speculative, of course, since you deny everything. Though I could try and squash it. . .for a fee.”

  Olivia rolled her eyes. “That’s extortion.”

  “That’s just Hollywood politics, dear,” Monica said. “I could give you twenty-four hours if you need to acquire some funds. I know work has been slow for you lately.”

  Olivia was silent, a slew of curse words and insults brewing on her tongue.

  “Well, I just wanted to touch base,” Monica continued. “If I don’t hear from you by tomorrow, I’ll assume you’re okay with me running the story.”

  “I have to go, Monica.”

  “Okay, ta-ta.”

  “Ta-ta,” she answered automatically, cringing as she ended the call and slid the phone into her pocket. Tugging on the sides of her hair, she let out a groan. Now what?

  Springing to her feet, she stormed through the open sliding glass door and upstairs to her bedroom. Subconsciously, she found herself standing in her closet, staring at two walls and twelve cubbies of high-end couture. Bare feet padding slowly over the soft carpeting, her hand traced up to the sequined black and white Chanel gown she had worn to her first Golden Globes. Surely someone had to be interested in it. It was Chanel, for goodness’ sake. How much would Monica want in order to squash the story? She had more than one dress, Olivia thought, her eyes darting back and forth. She fingered the phone in her pocket. Maybe she would call Jamie, see if she knew anyone who would be interested in buying. The publicist did always have her ear to the ground—

  Her phone chimed again, startling her in the enclosed space. Pulling it from her pocket, she let out a breath of relief upon seeing Mia’s contact photo. “Hey, Mia,” she said, trying not to sound nearly as stressed as she actually was.

  “I have great neeeews,” Mia said, her sing-song tone highlighting the excitement in her voice.

  “I could use some of that these days,” Olivia noted.

  “What are you doing on the twenty-fifth of this month?”

  “Mmm, let me check my calendar,” Olivia murmured jokingly. “Oh, wouldn’t you know? Looks like I’m free. Why?”

  “Be my plus one to the Film Critics’ Awards! We can have a girl’s night,” Mia announced. “Unless you don’t have anything to wear. . .?”

  “Funny, I was just looking at my dresses.”

  “Good,” Mia replied. “Because I sort of wanted to know if I could borrow one.”

  Olivia gave a laugh before noting her friend’s silence. “Oh, you’re serious?”

  “That’s not why I’m inviting you, by the way,” Mia said. “But I do need your help. I really don’t want to wear another TJ Maxx dress.”

  “Say no more,” Olivia told her, surveying the possibilities in her closet with interest. “We’ll make sure you hit the red carpet looking absolutely fabulous.”

  “Thaaank yooou,” Mia said, sounding genuinely grateful. “It’s just, I really think this could be my year, you know?”

  “Of course.”

  “Did I tell you my agent forwarded me a script from Meredith Mitchum?”

  “Hmm,” Olivia murmured, not quite registering her words until the last second. “Wait, what was that?”

  “I know, right?” Mia continued. “Of all people!”

  Olivia laughed nervously. “What’s the working title?”

  “Blossoms of the Pacific,” Mia said. “I think they might be planning to shoot it on-location, in get this, Fiji!”

  “Oh, no,” Olivia uttered.

  “Oh, no?” Mia repeated. “What do you mean ‘oh, no’?”

  “I just mean, wow,” Olivia stammered. “I wouldn’t see you for so long.”

  “I know, but you would see me again for award season,” Mia declared. “Maybe I can win a statue of my own this time. Wouldn’t that be wild?”

  “So wild,” Olivia agreed, hiding the dismay in her voice. Was she really going to have to go against her friend for the role? A role she desperately needed? She shook her head. Could things get any worse?

  “So is it a date for the twenty-fifth?” Mia asked.

  “It’s a date,” Olivia said. “But make sure you get over here before then so we can find you the perfect dress. We’ll have a pre-girl’s night girl’s night.”

  “Woo! I’ll bring rosé.”

 
; “And I’ll curate the perfect playlist,” Olivia said. “We’ll give you the full runway treatment.”

  “I’m so excited!” Mia exclaimed. “I’ll text you soon. Bye!”

  “Bye,” Olivia said, ending the call. She sighed. “Great,” she murmured to herself. “Just great.”

  14

  Trayce rapped his knuckles against Layton’s closed bedroom door, three times in quick succession. “You decent in there?” he called.

  “Decent enough,” came Layton’s reply.

  Trayce let himself in, surprised to find his brother leaning casually against his dresser drawers. He hadn’t seen him stand upright since before the accident. Upon closer inspection, a thin layer of sweat was beginning to cross his brow, a sure sign of the exertion Layton was putting forth just to have some semblance of normalcy.

  “Impressive,” Trayce noted. “But if you keep that up you’re gonna sweat straight through your suit jacket.” He nodded at Layton’s nearby wheelchair. “Sit.”

  With a grimace, Layton lowered himself into the chair. “Sit is right,” he muttered. “Maybe I should just sit this one out entirely.”

  Trayce frowned. “What are you talking about?” he asked. “You know FAME only holds one open forum for its members a quarter. We can’t afford to miss this and not have our concerns heard. And people have gotta see you for it to feel real. I can’t fight this battle alone.”

  “It’s just embarrassing, is all,” Layton said. “I hate this thing.”

  “Yeah well, you’re gonna be up and out of it in no time,” Trayce told him, trying to put forth a brave face. Inside, it killed him to see his once able and active brother reduced to a wheelchair, but he had to remind himself they were lucky it wasn’t forever. “Now that you’re feeling better, I think it’s finally time you signed up for that physical therapy the doctors were talking about.”