Angel
Igrab Dominic’s arm as he rounds the car. “You can’t be serious.”
Oh, but he is. Evidenced by the dark eyebrow he cocks as his gaze drops to where my nails dig into his wrist. “I’m sorry, were you unclear about the job description? This is what your life is going to be from now on. I suggest you get used to it.”
“But I’m not prepared.”
“Even better,” he says, his eyes shifting over my shoulder.
“What do you mean, even better?” Twisting around, I stare at the chaotic mob rushing across his lawn. As they draw closer, time rewinds, and memories I’ve fought so hard to lock away resurface, clawing at my chest and hissing in my ear.
“Jade, what do you have to say about the allegations?”
“Jade, did you really trade sex for stardom?”
“Jade, what do you have to say to Paulo Bellini’s victims?”
“I can’t do this,” I whisper.
“Angel—”
Resentment slices through me like a hot blade. “Don’t ‘Angel’ me! You sat behind your computer screen while they tore my life apart.” I pause, swallowing the bile rising in my throat. “You don’t know what I went through.”
I expect him to deflect with one of his sarcastic comebacks, but instead, he stands quietly, his jaw locked, and his eyes shadowed in thought. “You’re right. I don’t. But they’re not in control this time; you are.”
“It doesn’t feel that way.”
“Look at them.” He tips his chin toward the lawn. I want to defy him, but something holds me back, and I comply, turning toward the herd as he adds, “They’re not strong; they’re starving.”
“For what?”
“Information, rook. Their Romanov addiction has been unfed for fifteen years. All I’ve done is throw a scrap of bread into a hungry crowd. What they sink their teeth into next is up to you.”
“How is it up to me?”
“You claim to be a good actress, so prove it.” A deadly challenge flickers in those glacial blue eyes. “You blame me for what could have been. Well, this is your stage, and those are your fans. Take everything you learned in the last twenty-four hours and create Alexandra Romanov.”
A second chance. It’s all I’ve wanted and feared tied together and laid at my feet. Losing everything once was hard enough, but I got through it. I salvaged the pieces Hollywood left behind and went on with my life. Because I didn’t fail me. Fate failed me. Luck failed me.
Dominic McCallum and his unholy crusade failed me.
But along with a second chance at success comes a second chance at failure. And this time, fate came for me. Luck sought me out. And Dominic McCallum opened the door. If I blow it this time, I have no one to blame.
“But I don’t know her personality,” I push back.
Dominic meets my excuses head on. “It’s whatever you want it to be. You’re writing your own lines in this movie, rook.”
So, despite the fear still swirling in my chest, I step forward. Because despite what Dominic says, deep down, a part of me knows this is all temporary. All fame is fleeting, and my star will burn out. However, I’ve wasted a lifetime wishing to be someone else. Now I can be.
I don’t look at Dominic again, but I know he’s behind me as the band of paparazzi close in. I feel his hand brace against my lower back. Steadying me. Reassuring me.
“Remember,” he whispers in my ear. “Less is more.”
“You’re writing your own lines in this movie.”
As microphones shove in my face and cameras flash, I lift my chin. “May we help you?”
The faces dotting the front line blank, momentarily stunned by my calm question.
However, a buzz quickly hums through the crowd as one particularly pushy man in a dirty T-shirt and a baseball cap steps forward, shoving his microphone past me and straight into Dominic’s face. “Dominic McCallum, I presume?”
Dominic shrugs. “You presume a lot.”
Paparazzi are a unique breed. During my brief fifteen minutes of fame, I learned they are journalistic vampires hovering in the shadows just waiting to sink their fangs into whomever they can bleed dry for a buck. Unfortunately, silence only feeds their blood lust.
Which is obvious when the baseball hat guy rolls his eyes and tosses out a succession of rapid-fire questions. “What’s with the news blast? Did you really find Alexandra Romanov or is this just some publicity stunt? Is this her? Why come forward now?”
I stiffen, familiar anxiety seeping through the cracks in my facade. Dominic, on the other hand, remains unbothered. “Why don’t you ask her yourself?”
Dozens of paparazzi fall silent as Dominic settles that lethal gaze on me.
An irrational part of me wants to dive back inside the car, lock the doors, and bury my head in my hands until they all go away.
But that’s ridiculous. This is what I agreed to, and fear or no fear, there’s no turning back now.
Remember, less is more.
I clear my throat and force a timid smile. “As I’m sure you all can imagine, the last twenty-four hours have been very confusing and overwhelming. While I appreciate your interest, please understand I can’t give you any information until we’ve met with the estate.”
“The Romanov estate, you mean,” the baseball hat guy says, inching closer. “So, you are claiming to be Alexandra Romanov, the missing heiress, correct?”
My smile wavers. “Again, I can’t comment at this time. Thank you.”
Determined to have the last word, the baseball hat guy mutters something I barely hear and reaches for my arm, only to be met with a hard shove to his chest. Dominic glares at him as he steers me through a second wave of questions and flashes on our way up the cement walkway.
“How did you just happen to find her, McCallum?” Hat guy sneers as he scans my ripped shorts and worn camouflage shirt. “Because she doesn’t look like an heiress. She looks like a—”
“A what?” I snap, twisting around just as Dominic’s fingers dig into my ribcage. “Say it. I fucking dare you.”
He doesn’t answer. And why should he? I broke character. He hit a nerve, and I went off script. Instead of dangling a carrot and pulling it back, I dumped an entire vegetable garden in their laps.
There’s a low curse behind me as Dominic shoves a key in the door. “That’s enough for tonight,” he growls.
That should’ve been it, and in a normal world, it would’ve been. But this is Hollywood. Nothing here is normal, and the only way to win a war of words is to have the last one.
“Can you tell us where she’s been for fifteen years?”
Dominic stills, his jaw clenched. Seconds pass like minutes, until slowly, he glances over his shoulder. “Isn’t it obvious? Somewhere safe.” Without another word, he pushes me inside and slams the door.
Dominic’s phone rang minutes after we walked inside. While I didn’t expect him to put it on speaker mode, the few mumbled words he flung before disappearing down the hallway and slamming the door left me a little speechless.
Maybe he’s mad about the location of his home being discovered by the paparazzi. Maybe he’s pissed at the way I handled them. Or, maybe, he’s regretting this whole thing as much as I am. Whatever the reason, I’m not offended by the lack of hospitality.
I’m too busy spinning in my own wheelhouse of emotions to care.
“Isn’t it obvious? Somewhere safe.”
There’s a lingering echo entwined around those words. It’s as if they exist on two sides of an opaque door. If I squint hard enough, I can see shapes and movement on the opposite side. I can hear murmurs and voices. But I can’t distinguish anything. It’s too cloudy and muddled.
Except for those words.
I know they’re there. Only the more I listen to them repeat inside my head, the less it’s Dominic who’s saying them. The voice on the other side of the door is familiar yet foreign. Comforting yet frightening.
And just like before, there’s a scratching at the back of my mind.
As always, the minute I reach for it, it stops.
Frustrated, I open my eyes, blinking as I take in the overwhelming brightness of the living room.
I stare at the white painted walls, the starkness of the white leather couch I’m sitting on, and the unstained white carpet my feet rest on.
But white can be deceiving, and light can tell lies.
A truth I’m learning every time I close my eyes.
“Screw this.” I climb to my feet, intent on ending this silent standoff. I get that Dominic is pissed, but tough shit. He’s not the one about to have his entire life upended and then dissected under a microscope.
Fisting my hands, I stomp down the hallway, flipping on lights and making as much noise as possible. I didn’t ask to be here. I sure as hell didn’t ask to nosedive into notoriety. I deserve answers, and I’m damn well going to get them.
“Dominic!” I yell, banging on the door. “Open up. I want to talk to you.” Silence. I pound again. “I’m not fucking around. Open the damn door, or I’m coming in.” Silence.
My hand hesitates on the doorknob. Yeah, I threw out the threat, but, unfortunately, I didn’t think much beyond it. It’s forward to just barge into a man’s room. Especially one who made it pretty clear he’d rather stare at four walls than my face.
One who had no issue breaking into my apartment.
The memory drives whatever hesitation I have into the ground, and I shove the door wide open to find his room empty.
Where the hell could he have gone? It’s not like he lives in a sprawling estate. In fact, the small two-bedroom ranch is surprisingly tiny, considering the net worth of his gossip-infused empire. Dirty laundry is a lucrative business.
I wander back through the house and catch the flicker of an orange glow through a glass door near the kitchen. With a few paparazzi still lingering around, I should be more hesitant, but I’m drawn to it, and before I can stop myself, I step outside.
Dominic sits in a lawn chair, his head tipped back and his eyes closed. One hand cradles a half-empty liquor bottle while the other pulls the lit cigarette from his lips. “What took you so long?”
“How did you get out here?”
Lifting his hand back to his mouth, he takes a long drag off the end of his cigarette. “Through a door.”
“I know that, jackass. I meant without me seeing you.”