Chapter 1
“Harlow! Over here!”
Harlow Wynn turned toward the paparazzi and tilted her head, mustering up her most dazzling, sultry expression. Lights flashed. So many bright lights she was temporarily blinded.
Placing her hand on her hip, she struck what she jokingly referred to as her “Marilyn Monroe pose” while the cameras continued flashing. It was part of the deal, part of the gig. A carefully orchestrated gathering in front of the film studio to build hype for her upcoming film, A City of Glass .
Smile. Pretend you enjoy being hounded by the press, all the while being stalked, gossiped about, lied about…
So many untruths published about her over the years. Harlow had given up trying to set the record straight. It no longer mattered. People, fans, the public would believe what they wanted to believe.
She felt a light tug on her hand and turned to find her husband, Robert, who was also her manager, propelling her in the opposite direction.
Harlow quickly recognized where he was taking her. To the casting director Daniel Orlane, who stood smirking. She’d felt his eyes on her, mentally undressing her, watching her every move, leering at her. Predator and prey.
Less than twenty-four hours ago, she’d inked a deal for a major movie production working alongside some of the hottest stars in Hollywood. As soon as she’d signed her name, Orlane had attacked her, ripped her shirt and left an angry red welt on her upper arm.
Of course, Harlow had heard the rumors before meeting with him. The man was a lecherous, middle-aged powerhouse. You either let Orlane paw at you or risk being ostracized. Harlow had finally hit his radar .
Thank God a building custodian happened to be walking past before things got completely out of control. She’d made a quick escape. Shaken, Harlow returned home. Robert was there, working in their office.
She told him what had happened. Shockingly, her husband brushed it off, even hinting that perhaps Harlow had encouraged Orlane. It was the first time she could ever remember Robert dismissing her concerns.
Harlow abruptly stopped. “I don’t want to talk to him,” she gritted under her breath. “I told you what happened yesterday.”
“You’re acting like a child throwing a tantrum,” Robert hissed back. “This is a major deal. You two need to get along, or at least fake it in public.”
Every fiber in Harlow’s body screamed at her to turn and run. On stilted legs, she let her husband lead her to where Orlane and some of the other Hollywood bigwigs stood waiting .
“Congratulations again.” He grasped Harlow’s hand. It took every ounce of willpower not to jerk it away.
It’s just another act. Remember, it’s all part of the show. Harlow went into what she called “the zone,” a place where others, those who wanted a piece of her, couldn’t reach.
A vision of Wynn Harbor Inn appeared. The summer flowers in full bloom. Vibrant red and yellow tulips. And the lilacs? She could almost smell the fragrant lilacs that bloomed in Michigan in the springtime. The majestic Mackinac Bridge stood off in the distance, what she’d spent her childhood calling her “bridge to home.” Because whenever Harlow saw the bridge, she knew she was almost there. But it was so long ago, before…
“Aren’t you, Harlow?” Robert nudged her.
“I’m. I’m sorry. I missed what you said,” Harlow apologized .
“We were talking about how excited you are to start filming in Vancouver next week.” Robert’s eyes narrowed. He was giving her the look.
“Yes. Vancouver is gorgeous. I can hardly wait.”
“Robert mentioned he’ll be handling business elsewhere,” Orlane said. “We’ll have to arrange some special dinner dates to keep you entertained and out of trouble.”
Harlow could feel bile rise in her throat and her stomach churned. The lecherous creep was already making plans. Plans she wanted no part of. “I’m sure I’ll have plenty to keep me busy.”
The group made small talk, posed for several more photos. Finally, after what seemed like an eternity, Harlow was able to convince Robert it was time to leave.
The couple strolled to his Maserati, parked in the studio’s VIP parking lot. Robert helped his wife into the passenger seat. Storming around the front of the car, he flung the door open and climbed inside, a thunderous expression on his face.
He slammed the door shut. “What kind of stunt was that?” he demanded.
“What are you talking about?”
“You snubbed Daniel Orlane. Thank God I covered for you.”
“Snubbed Orlane?” Harlow’s jaw dropped. “The man tried ripping my shirt off yesterday. He left a welt on my arm and you think I snubbed him?”
“You’re making way too much out of it. I’m sure he was just excited and got a little overzealous. You know how much time and effort I put into negotiating these big contracts. Let’s not forget the clock is ticking.”
Harlow stared out the window, ignoring his jab about the ticking clock, code phrase for the fact she wasn’t getting any younger and reminding her there were thousands of other actresses waiting in the wings to take her place in the blink of an eye .
Robert rambled on about how important the movie deal was, how much money they would make, and how she needed to try harder to get along.
All the while, the only thing Harlow could think of was her husband had sold her out. Granted, she was the one who had clawed her way to the top, who was paid the big bucks. Robert did the wheeling and dealing. Harlow’s role was to fulfill those “wheels and deals.”
Over the past year, she’d noticed a subtle shift in their relationship. Robert leaving town, traveling without her, rarely accompanying her to photo shoots for her modeling gigs and only occasionally showing up on the movie sets.
His excuse was having to care for their properties—the house in Malibu, the condo in Palm Beach, the apartment in New York City. In his defense, Harlow knew Robert’s Type A personality, made him a workaholic, driven and status-conscious, almost to the point of obsession. It was nearly impossible for him to sit still. He was always on the move, always working on expanding their empire.
“You weren’t there,” Harlow said. “The man was attacking me. If not for the janitor showing up, I hate to think about what would have happened.”
Her husband muttered under his breath. Low, but not so low that Harlow couldn’t hear it. “Did you call me a drama queen?”
Robert rolled his eyes and refused to answer. Needless to say, the rest of the ride home was spent in dead silence.
As soon as he pulled into the garage, Harlow hopped out and stormed inside. She dropped her purse on the table by the door and climbed the stairs leading to their perfectly appointed owner’s suite, a lavish custom retreat that took up the top floor of their multi-million dollar Malibu mansion.
Harlow peeled off the bespoke turquoise Dolce & Gabbana lace midi dress. The dress had cost more than she’d made working an entire summer at Mackinac Island’s Grand Hotel. She slipped the Jimmy Choo stilettos off and placed them on the shelf.
Sliding the dress on the hanger, Harlow pulled on a pair of sweatpants, her favorite rock band T-shirt, and smoothed her blond locks into one long ponytail. Squaring her five-foot nine-inch frame, she critically eyed her reflection in the floor-length mirror.
During her teen years, she’d been embarrassed by her height, towering over most of her friends and classmates. All of that changed when a talent scout for a top modeling agency who was visiting the prestigious Grand Hotel had spotted her waiting tables.
It was as if fate had stepped in and turned Harlow Wynn’s idyllic island life upside down. The modeling career segued into acting offers. She was a natural at both. Photogenic. Easy on the camera, an enigmatic young woman who was an equal mix of authentic and enchanting.
Harlow believed it was because of her upbringing. David and Gwendolyn “Ginger” Wynn had raised their only child in a firm, yet fun, environment. It was a wonderful childhood. Even after graduating from high school, when her career took off, Harlow remained close to her parents…until that heart-wrenching night.
Don’t go there. Harlow plucked a pair of socks from the drawer and headed downstairs. It was time to work in the garden, one of her favorite pastimes. Tinkering with her flowers. Bees, butterflies and even hummingbirds favored her petunias, a lush carpet of flowers meandering along the side of the house, in vivid shades of red, pink and purple.
She grabbed her garden boots and trekked through the kitchen. Robert sat at the bar, cell phone in hand. He looked up, watching her as she passed by. “Are you still pouting? ”
Harlow clenched her jaw and bit back a sharp reply. “I’m going to my flower garden.”
He slid a small stack of papers across the counter. “Here’s the purchase agreement for the London apartment. I told the agent we would return the executed copy along with the earnest money deposit over by tomorrow morning.”
She cast the papers a disinterested glance. Harlow didn’t want another property. They could barely handle the three they had and now Robert had decided they needed a fourth, a home base in Europe. One more asset to spend money on. One more expense to keep her on the hamster wheel, forcing her to deal with the Daniel Orlanes of the world.
“I’m having second thoughts.”
Robert made a choking sound. “Second thoughts about what?”
“About buying a property we don’t need. ”
“Are you kidding?” Furious, he let out a string of cuss words. “I’ve been working for months to find us the perfect place, and now you’re not sure?”
“We hardly have enough time to care for the properties we already own, let alone enjoy them,” Harlow argued.
“This is ridiculous.” Robert sprang from his chair and began pacing. Back and forth. Back and forth.
Harlow braced for what was coming next. The guilt trip. Berating her about how selfish she was. Only thinking about what she wanted. Not considering her husband’s needs. He made it sound as if he was almost being forced to stand on a street corner and beg for food.
Which was far from the truth. Robert had the best of everything. Maserati MC20 with all the bells and whistles, to the tune of $300k plus. Rolex watches, as in more than one. Designer clothes. A personal fitness trainer. And the list went on .
Ting. Robert’s cell phone chimed. “I need to take this call.”
He turned his back and tapped the screen. “Hey. Hang on a sec.”
Harlow watched her husband step onto the rear patio and close the slider door behind him. He lowered his head and shoved his hand in his pocket, occasionally glancing in her direction. He consulted his watch and nodded. Moments later, the conversation ended. He returned inside.
“Who was that?”
“Jillian. I need to run by my office and grab some papers.”
“Papers for what?”
“Just papers.”
“Can’t she email them to you?”
“No.” Robert tapped the top of the pile. “Speaking of papers, you need to sign these so I can get a copy over before they sell the prime property to someone else.”
“I’m not signing. I need more time to think about it. If the seller accepts another offer, it wasn’t meant to be.” Harlow returned to the previous topic, the call from Jillian. Robert’s “personal assistant,” a voluptuous brunette who was barely out of high school, often gave Harlow an “off” vibe. “What sort of papers?”
“Good grief. You are one paranoid woman,” Robert sneered. “Jillian has been scouting out potential new projects and has some leads. She’s helping me—unlike someone else I know,” he pointedly added.
“You know how I feel about her.” Harlow rattled off the list of skills his “assistant” should be proficient in, or at least semi capable of, but wasn’t. “She can barely spell. Her notes are hardly legible. Half the time, she screws stuff up and writes down the wrong information.”
“You sound jealous. ”
“Not jealous, but I am wondering what we’re paying for,” Harlow said. “I think you need to find a new assistant.”
Robert crossed his arms, a defiant expression on his face. “Jillian stays.”
Harlow met his gaze with equal resolve. “She’s on her way out.”
“Over my dead body.” Robert sucked in a breath. “Maybe instead of gardening you should pop a Prozac and go take a nap.”
“I don’t need a Prozac. I need a husband who listens and is on my side.”
“Maybe you married the wrong person,” Robert taunted. “Someone willing to cater to your every whim and demand.”
Harlow could feel her blood pressure skyrocket. “Are you saying I’m the one who is selfish and spoiled? Because if you ask me, it’s the other way around. ”
“Look in the mirror, Harlow. You don’t even have a family anymore.”
His jab felt as if someone had punched her in the gut. It was a low blow and a sore subject, one she kept in the far reaches of her mind, except when the smell of lilacs lingered or she visited a port town that reminded her of Mackinac Island.
“That was a low blow.”
Robert grabbed his keys. “I’m heading out. Please try to calm down before I get home.”
“When will that be?”
“I don’t know.” Her husband exited through the kitchen. The garage door slammed.
Harlow trailed after him. She could hear his Maserati’s engine rev up. The sound faded. She peeked out the door. He’d left and left the garage door wide open. At least it was only one. There were multiple garage doors housing a collection of expensive and exotic vehicles .
Harlow absentmindedly wandered into the kitchen. She poured a glass of freshly squeezed orange juice, plopped down on the barstool, and glumly stared at the purchase agreement. The more she thought about it, the more certain she was they didn’t need an apartment in London.
She picked up her phone and dialed her best friend Eryn’s cell phone. It went to voicemail. “Hey, Eryn. It’s Harlow. I-I just wanted to talk. Call me when you can.”
Abandoning her plan to tackle some gardening, Harlow exited the house, grabbing her keys on the hook by the door on her way out. She climbed into her red Ferrari, a car Robert had surprised her with for her birthday. It was an indulgent splurge, but she loved it.
Turning left at the end of their winding driveway, Harlow headed toward the coastline. She could feel her tension ease as she rolled the windows down, letting the fresh ocean air in .
It would be okay. She and Robert had a lot of stress, a lot of pressure. Maybe they needed a vacation. That was it. A couple of weeks on the Amalfi Coast would do the trick. Nothing but solitude and serenity…away from prying eyes…away from Jillian.
Her cell phone rang. Harlow tapped the top and somehow managed to knock it loose from the holder. The phone fell to the floor. Taking her eyes off the road, she leaned down to grab it.
When she looked up again, she realized she’d crossed the double yellow line and was in the other lane. A big box truck was heading right toward her.
Harlow slammed on the brakes and jerked the wheel. As if in slow motion, her Ferrari spun, bounced and flipped. She heard a loud cracking sound right before everything went dark.