Star (Beautiful Book 5)

by Lilliana Anderson

  “Everything OK?” Mum asks. We’ve hit the long stretch of highway that takes us most of the way home.

  “Yeah. Just catching up on messages.” I flick my finger against the screen and open my missed call list, scrolling through to see who needs a callback, and who can be ignored. One name jumps out.

  “Oh shit,” I exclaim as I see ‘Brad’ in my list of calls.

  “What? Did you forget something?”

  “Well, yeah, but not at the caravan. I was supposed to have dinner with this guy I met last month. I completely forgot and I’ve got all these missed calls from him. I totally stood him up.” And I feel like an absolute bitch for doing it. We’ve only gone out a couple of times, once for drinks and once for brunch because it’s been difficult syncing our schedules up. He’s head chef at this fancy restaurant in Circular Quay, so this dinner was planned almost two weeks ago because he had to rearrange his shifts specifically for it. I’m the worst.

  “You should call him,” Mum says. “Tell him what happened. He’s probably seen the news, so you need to let him know what’s really going on.”

  “Yeah, you’re right. I’ll call him as soon as I’m home.”

  “Don’t want to call a boy around your mum, huh?”

  “It’s not like that.”

  “I thought you were twenty-six now, not sixteen.”

  “Oh lord. Fine,” I say, laughing at her as I tap his name to initiate the call. As it rings in my ear, I glance at my mother who is grinning to herself, looking very pleased. “Oh, you’re loving this, aren’t you?”

  “Sweetheart, your life over the past week has been the most excitement I’ve had in ten years.”

  I’m laughing at her when the call connects and Brad’s smooth voice fills my ear. “Sandra?” There’s an element of surprise in his voice. “I’m surprised to hear from you.”

  “I need to tell you how sorry I am about the other night.”

  “Two days later?”

  I wince. “I know. I’m awful. There’s just been some stuff going on in my life, and—”

  “I saw the news reports,” he interrupts. “Jonathan Masters, huh?”

  My cheeks burn and I place my hand over my eyes. “It’s not true. We’re not dating.”

  “It isn’t my business even if you were. We haven’t made anything exclusive.”

  “That’s very understanding of you,” I reply quickly, feeling an ache in my chest at his careful tone. “But still, I don’t want you thinking I’m a flake. I know how difficult it was for you to get a night off work, and I feel like the biggest donkey’s butt for getting so caught up in my own mess that I missed it. Do you think I can make it up to you? We can make it a breakfast date if that’s easier for you.” Brad and I met in the elevator at work. He stepped on and said hello to me, but I was in a weird mood that day and pretended I was a ghost, acting shocked that he could see me. He laughed and gave my hair a tug which was kinda hot. After that initial click between our senses of humour, I’ve been hoping we’d click in other ways too.

  “You’re not a donkey’s butt,” he says with a soft laugh, and I’m relieved to hear the smile enter his voice. “But yeah, I wouldn’t mind rescheduling while I’m still in town.”

  “You’re leaving again?” Part of the reason we haven’t seen each other much is that he spent a week and a half in Japan learning culinary skills at the hands of some master.

  “I am. We’re developing the summer menu, so I’m back and forth at the moment. I’ll be in Vienna for a week and on the way back I have a few days in Darwin to meet with an amazing chef who’s using traditional foods in his cuisine. I’m really looking forward to it.”

  “My mouth is watering just thinking about all the food you’re going to try.”

  He chuckles. “Perks of the trade; I fly out Tuesday afternoon, so if you’re free Monday night, I can take you out then.”

  “Monday night sounds perfect.”

  “Try not to get caught up in any celebrity scandals between now and then.”

  “Oh god, if I do, I need someone to shoot me. This has been a nightmare, but I’ll tell you all about it Monday.”

  “I look forward to it.” We say a quick goodbye then I hang up, letting out a happy sigh because I really enjoy my interactions with Brad. I’m not sure we have that spark I’m looking for—he doesn’t give me an ache in the gut when I think about him—but I’ve barely had time to let anything develop, so I’m still hopeful.

  “Well?” Mum prompts when I don’t share any details. “That sounds like it went well.”

  “It did.”

  “Are you going to tell me about him?”

  I smile and shake my head. “No.”

  “You are the worst fun,” she complains, causing me to laugh.

  “I thought I was the most fun?”

  “Well, now I’ve changed my mind.”

  “I’ll tell you what, if this date goes well, I promise to fill you in on everything. I just don’t know him that well yet, and I know how you get visions of grandchildren dancing in your head whenever you find out I’m dating.”

  “Fine. But at least tell me what he looks like.”

  “OK, that I can do. He’s tall and well built with dark hair and one of those chins that has a slight dimple in it. Blue eyes, nice complexion. Decent sense of humour. Smart.” I shrug, not knowing him well enough to tell her much more.

  “Sounds like Superman. And how did you meet him?”

  “In a lift. He pulled my hair, we had a drink and got along, so we set up dinner.”

  “Pulled your hair? Well, that’s a little bit hot, isn’t it?” She fans her face with her hand, making me laugh.

  “It was cheeky, actually. I like his personality so far. So we’ll see what comes of it.”

  “Well, I’ll be sitting by the phone on Tuesday morning waiting for your call. I can’t wait to find out if he pulls your hair in other ways too.”

  “Mum!”

  She cackles as she glances my way. “What? I’m pushing fifty. I’m not dead. I like talking about sex.”

  “Yeah, but with your daughter?”

  “There comes a time when mothers and daughters become friends. And after this week together, I think we’ve made it to friends, don’t you?”

  “Definitely. But I still need you to be my mum sometimes. Especially when I need a hug.”

  “I’ll always be your mum when you need a hug, sweetheart. That part will never change.”

  When we finally get home, Mum and I detour past my house without stopping to make sure there aren’t any camera crews lying in wait. Since it all looks pretty normal, we head inside.

  “Oh look,” Mum says when she spots a large floral arrangement sitting in the centre of a brand new dining setting. “They must be from that Marcus fellow since he came in here and lost his shit.” I chuckle at her comment while she plucks the attached card. “Hmm, not Marcus.” She frowns, handing me the card.

  “I doubt Marcus Bailey is the flowers giving type,” I say as I read over the handwritten note.

  It wasn’t an act. J x

  A low simmer develops deep in my belly as I run my thumb over the blue ink.

  “I might not be the sharpest tool in the shed,” Mum says. “But I’m pretty sure that ‘j’ stands for Jonathan. I thought nothing was going on between you.”

  Tucking the card in my back pocket, I shake my head. “There’s definitely nothing. He still thinks he owes me for getting Marcus to quit strangling him.”

  “And what kind of act is he referring to?”

  My cheeks heat as I touch the leaves in the native arrangement. “I don’t know,” I mutter.

  “Did something happen between you two?”

  I place my hands on the glazed clay vase and twist the flowers like I’m trying to centre it better. “We were drinking. It doesn’t count.” My words are little more than a mumble, and I’m not even sure she hears me until I lift my eyes and meet hers.

  “You slept wi
th a movie star,” she states, hands on her hips.

  “Mum,” I whisper, feeling awful because I’ve already judged myself enough over it. “We were drunk and I barely even remember it. It was the stress of the situation. It—”

  “You don’t need to explain yourself, sweetheart. I’m not judging you for having sex with Jonathan Masters. Hell, I’d have sex with Jonathan Masters if I had a chance, give me one woman on this planet who wouldn’t.”

  “Then what’s with the hands on the hips action?”

  “I don’t know. I guess I’m just disappointed that you didn’t tell me sooner. I thought we really connected this week. It’s silly.”

  I turn and wrap my arms around her neck, hugging her tight. “Oh Mum, of course we did. Don’t think like that.” Releasing her, I hold her at arm’s length and let out a sigh. “I’m honestly trying to pretend like it didn’t happen. I feel really foolish over it. He’s got a terrible reputation, and I never wanted to… Ugh. I just feel weak for being incapable of resisting the guy.”

  She looks at me for a moment before a grin takes over her entire face. “Jonathan Masters sent you flowers.”

  “That’s kind of surreal, isn’t it?” I laugh.

  “After he had sex with you.”

  “Oh, my god. Don’t make this into one of your fairytales.”

  “But I have to. This could be like one of his movies. You know the one where he’s a prince, and that reporter pretends to be the nanny?”

  “Except I’m not the nanny, and he’s no prince. He’s a man who collects women and cheats on them. Mum, I helped him cheat on his fiancée.”

  “I don’t believe they’re really together,” she says with a wave of her hand. “They’re only ever seen together on the red carpet. Never in the wild.” Guess that part of his story isn’t so secret.

  “Mum, please.” I pick up the vase and walk it towards the front door. “I really can’t think about him as anything more than a bar of chocolate. It looks really good, and tastes great, but if I have too much, I’m gonna regret it when my arse gets huge.”

  “All you’re doing with that analogy is making me want chocolate,” she says as I open the door with a laugh then walk straight to my outside bin. The moment I drop the flowers inside, I freeze, frowning because I think I just heard a fucking shutter go off.

  Turning around, I come face to face with some dude in a brown leather jacket and a grey hoodie that’s pulled over his head while he takes my picture. “Isn’t there something more interesting you could be taking pictures of?” I ask.

  “Not really,” he states, taking another shot of me looking annoyed. “Were those flowers from Jonathan Masters or Marcus Bailey?” Excellent.

  “They’re from your mother. An apology for raising a cretin like you.”

  “Aw, don’t be like that. I’m just makin’ a living here.”

  “Do it somewhere else,” I say as I head back inside to where my mother is waiting.

  “Back to my place then?” she asks.

  I nod. “I think that’s an excellent idea.” I might even put this place up for sale.

  Twelve

  Jonathan

  “And your name’s headlining again.” Jayden drops the weekend paper in the centre of the table at my parents’ place. We’re having our weekly family meal. Even when I’m overseas filming, I make time for these, attending via FaceTime no matter what time of the day it is. Family is everything to me.

  “Oh god. What did you do this time?” Mum asks, picking up the folded paper.

  “That’s not a headline,” I say, leaning into her so I can see the article that claims I’m in ‘hot water with my mistress’. It’s accompanied with an image of Sandra throwing out the flowers I bought her. Nice.

  “What do you call this?” Mum points at the bold text above the image.

  “I call that a mention in the entertainment section. Hardly front page.”

  “Who is this girl to you, Jon?” Mum asks as she places the paper back on the table. “The media is terribly preoccupied with her.”

  “I’m still working that out myself,” I say with a shrug. I’m oddly hung up on her.

  “She’s a reporter.” Cooper leans in, resting a hand on Mum’s shoulder. “We met her that night Leisel turned up. She got in Jon-o’s face defending her. She had no idea who Leisel was.”

  “She can’t be very good at her job then,” Mum says.

  “Why would Sandra think she was friends with Leisel Marx? She’s dyed her hair, changed her name and eaten a meal. Even if Sandra thought she looked familiar, it’d make no sense to jump to the conclusion her new friend was a rock star in hiding. Give the girl a break.”

  Mum and Dad exchange glances while my brothers snicker. “Oh, it’s Sandra, darling,” Mum directs to Dad. “Did you hear that?”

  “Sure did. Jumped right to her defence like a knight in shining armour.”

  “I’m no knight,” I say with a laugh and a shake of my head. “Sandra is just…”

  “Different?” Four voices say at once, all bursting out with laughter a beat later.

  “He’s turned into one of his romantic heroes,” Jayden cackles, holding his stomach as he practically cries from his enjoyment.

  “Next he’ll say, ‘I don’t know what it is about her, I just can’t get her off my mind,’” Cooper adds, holding a hand on his chest while he recites the line dramatically. I fume quietly. I love my family, and I love that they treat me no differently despite my success, but when I’m dead set serious about liking a girl, I don’t feel like being teased. They’re making me feel foolish. And maybe I am. My track record isn’t really the best with women. But maybe that’s because I haven’t met the right one. I’d never say this out loud for fear of further mocking, but there is something about Sandra, and I can’t get her off my mind.

  “Leisel took off. So they think he dumped his fiancée for Leisel, then dumped Leisel for this bird,” Jayden explains, filling Mum in on the recent gossip about me. She tries not to pay attention to it, but sometimes the media is so loud she can’t ignore it.

  “Leisel,” Mum scoffs. “You two were far too young to get engaged, and I don’t agree with what you did, but that girl has caused a hell of a lot of trouble for this family. And don’t get me started on that Marnie. Why do you keep proposing to women?”

  “Marnie was business, Mum. It’s why you never met her.”

  “Telling everybody who’ll listen my son is a sex addict.” She shakes her head and folds her arms.

  “The only thing Jon-o’s addicted to is blondes,” Jayden says with a laugh. “You shoulda called him Ken.”

  Cooper joins in with the laughter. “You’re right. They’re all human Barbie dolls.”

  “Can’t blame a man for having a preference,” Dad adds with a chuckle while he aims a wink at me.

  “I don’t know why they need to focus on who you sleep with instead of your acting. This celebrity fascination is insane. You’re just people. Why can’t they let you be a person?”

  “It’s part of the deal, Mum. I ignore it. You should too.”

  “Normally I do. But did you know reporters were harassing Jayden at the beach last Tuesday? Poor kid is trying to surf, and he’s being harassed for looking just like you.”

  I grin at my twenty-two-year-old brother who’s a dead ringer for me and knows it. I swear half the sexual escapades reported are his. People mix us up all the time, and he loves to take advantage. “What’d you say to them?” I ask, noticing the amused gleam in his eyes.

  “Nothin’. Just pulled my wetsuit low and showed them my arse.”

  Mum titches as she turns the paper over to continue reading then gasps.

  “Great. Now everyone thinks they saw my arse in the paper today,” I say, rolling my eyes at the pixilated image of Jayden’s behind. My brothers think it’s hilarious and even my dad is laughing. I don’t even bother asking the papers to print retractions anymore because the internet doesn’t care. As far as the
y’re concerned, that’s my arse now.

  Excusing myself from the table, I go outside and throw the ball for my family’s cocker spaniel, Roxie. She’s a sweet dog coming on eleven years old. I pull my phone out while she’s running after her prize.

  Me: you threw out my flowers? I’m wounded.

  Sandra: they were dead

  Me: considering I bought them myself, I have it on good authority they were fine.

  Sandra: maybe I’m allergic

  Sandra: or maybe I just didn’t want them

  Me: what woman doesn’t want flowers?

  Sandra: the kind who also doesn’t want to be your ‘other’ woman. Fake fiancée or not

  Me: You haven’t heard the news?

  Sandra: what news?

  Me: There is no fiancée anymore. There’s also no ‘other’ woman

  I don’t know that the hell I’m doing here, but just typing that out makes me feel nervous. It’s like I’m scared she doesn’t like me back or something, which is crazy because I know she does. She’s just afraid of the attention and the consequences. Which is a huge part of why I like her. Most girls want to be seen with me.

  Sandra: I’m glad you ended it.

  Me: can I see you?

  Sandra: I don’t want my picture taken.

  Me: then we meet somewhere private

  Sandra: that’s not a good idea

  Me: give me one good reason

  Sandra: why give one when I have at least ten?

  I shake my head after reading the last text message. She’s making this difficult. That’s OK, since my career is in tatters right now, I’ve got nothing but time. With a little patience, I can work around every one of those ten reasons. To what end, I have no fucking clue. But it’ll be a hell of a lot of fun trying.

  Thirteen

  Sandra

  “You look stunning.” Brad smiles and holds his hand out to me as I exit the lift wearing the simple black skirt and pale blue silk blouse I wore to work this morning, knowing I had a dinner date.

  Returning to work after the Lisa/Leisel fiasco was something I was dreading, but having this date to look forward to really took the edge off a harrowing day of meetings and questions. Oddly, my editor was more than happy to run with Jonathan’s idea—not that I said it was his idea because that would have created a whole other set of questions—of explaining that Voyeur respects the privacy of its employees and chose not to out Lisa to the public. He wanted the article in his Inbox before I left work today. I barely made it down here in time.