Chapter 14
SHAW
Ishook Luke Rosen’s hand. “Good to see you.”
“Thanks for the beer. You change your mind about ditching work and going fishing again, give me a call.”
“Wish I could.”
Luke was taking a vacation, his first since becoming chief of police, and spending two weeks on the river. He’d camp out at night and sleep under the stars. No cell phones. No showers. No schedules.
The trip sounded like bliss, but there was no way I could leave. We were in the thick of shooting and every available second I wanted to spend with Presley.
Maybe I’d come back one day. Luke and I had bonded over police talk and beers at The Betsy, a seedy bar that reminded me of a spot me and some of the SWAT guys in LA used to hang out in. He’d also taken me fishing one afternoon, giving me a taste of something to look forward to.
“Rain check?” I asked.
He nodded. “I’ll hold you to it.”
“If you’re ever in LA, let me know.”
“I’ll do that.” He slid on his sunglasses, then turned for his truck, waving as he rounded the hood. “Take care, Shaw.”
“You too.” I waved back, then walked to the Escalade on the other end of the gravel parking lot.
My phone had five texts when I took it out of my pocket. All were from Shelly. She was in full-fledged triage mode, trying to figure out how to rework the filming schedule to account for our recent delays.
We’d been doing so well, staying on track. Dacia had left long ago, which had been a blessing for the on-set vibe. The cast and crew were getting along. Cameron had been happy. Shelly had been constant smiles.
Then everything had gone to shit this week.
It had started with a cold traveling around the crew. Cameron had caught it first, constantly coughing and sneezing. He’d passed it along to the cameramen next. From there the virus had raged.
People were miserable. Every scene took twice as long to shoot because Cameron was so unhappy. Nothing was good enough. The script morphed to accommodate the changes, and I held my tongue, trying not to make it worse.
These types of things happened on all movies, things evolved as you shot, but this was becoming extreme. I’d rehearse one set of lines in the morning and the afternoon’s delivery would be entirely new.
The only thing I had going for me was that I wasn’t sick, because I was staying the hell away from the infected motel. I ate my meals separately and went home at night. Well, not home. I went to Presley’s house, my destination as I pulled away from The Betsy.
Shelly had finally convinced Cameron that we should delay today’s scenes and let everyone take a day to recuperate. He’d reluctantly agreed.
I’d spent some time today catching up on emails and phone calls. I’d spent half an hour on the phone with my mom, then checked in with each of my sisters. They’d updated me on all aspects of their lives and had made sure to tell me about Dad.
I didn’t talk to Dad. I wasn’t going to talk to Dad.
But my mom and sisters refused to let that rift grow. They fed me information about him, and I was sure they did the same in reverse.
After family calls, I’d talked at length with my agent and manager, reminding them no matter how hard they pushed for this or that audition, once Dark Paradise was over, I was taking a break.
They still pushed.
By early afternoon, I’d been done with the phone and texted Luke to see if he wanted to meet up for a beer.
He’d been off work already, packing for his trip and getting his boat ready, so we’d spent a couple hours bullshitting at The Betsy while I watched the clock, waiting for five to roll around, when Presley would be on her way home.
The past week with her had been one of the best. Time was passing too quickly and there hadn’t been enough hours in the day to spend with her. The ones we did have, we’d made the most of. The second I was in her house and the door was locked, her clothes were off.
We’d spent a week mauling one another. Inhibitions went out the door as we went after one another with abandon, clawing and biting until we were both breathless and passed out in her bed.
Earlier this week, I’d managed to make it in and out of a gas station without being recognized to replenish my stash of condoms. Thank God for baseball hats and sunglasses. I had one in my pocket, waiting for the moment Presley opened the door, took a fistful of my shirt and dragged me inside.
I grinned as I drove across town.
Presley Marks was an explosion.
She’d destroyed the plans I’d had for Montana.
My focus hadn’t been on the movie like it should have been.
Besides one afternoon fishing with Luke, I hadn’t done any exploring of the area.
My attention had been on my petite neighbor, as it would be for the next two and a half weeks, before I was scheduled to leave Clifton Forge.
None of us wanted the movie to run past schedule. That cost money and frustrated crew members who were itching to get home to their families. But if it did, I wasn’t going to be broken up about it. I’d take the extra time with Presley.
Could I delay my commitments for October?
I should have asked Laurelin when we’d spoken earlier.
There were some scenes we had to shoot on location, but after they were done, could I come back to Montana?
I was supposed to attend a children’s charity fundraiser at Halloween and had some press engagements to promote an upcoming movie—one I’d shot eighteen months ago.
If I asked Laurelin, she’d grumble and tell me to get my ass back to California.
My phone rang and I chuckled at the name on the screen. “Speak of the devil. I was just thinking about you.”
“Shit,” she muttered. “You already heard.”
My grin dropped. “Heard what?”
“Oh, uh . . . you haven’t heard. So, there’s a picture floating around.”
“What kind of picture?” My stomach dropped. There were a lot of pictures of me out there. Ones taken by the paparazzi. Ones taken by fans. I did my best to always wear a smile when I was in public because with today’s technology, no place was safe.
“It’s of you and a woman. Shaw, you’re supposed to tell me when you start seeing someone, remember? Do you not recall what happened with Dacia?”
“I’m not seeing anyone,” I lied. There was no way she could know about Presley. “What’s the picture?”
“TMZ just bought it and posted it on their website.”
“Details, Laurelin. What’s the picture?” My mind instantly jumped to the worst. To another Dacia incident. Who was the last woman I’d been with? A travel agent in New York. We’d met at a hotel bar and hooked up that night. But that had been, what, nine months ago?
Not that the tabloids cared about the time stamp.
“It’s nothing bad. It’s you and a woman on a motorcycle, but TMZ is speculating you’re dating someone.”
The air rushed out of my lungs. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Presley was going to lose her shit. “More. What else?”
“I don’t know what else. She has short blond hair. You’re at a stoplight or something. You’re looking back at her and smiling. She’s got her arms wrapped around you.”
“Damn it.” How many stoplights had we hit on the way out of town when I’d taken Presley for a ride? One. Two, maybe? Just my luck a tourist or local with a cell phone had snapped that photo at the right moment.
If the paparazzi started digging into Presley, she’d be a target. That was the last thing she needed just weeks before we were all out of her life. “Bury it, Laurelin. Buy it from them. I don’t care how much it costs, but get it down.”
“I already did, and you got lucky, it was cheap. I told them that she was your assistant on set, and that you were just testing out a motorcycle you were using for a film.”
“Good.” There was enough truth to that statement that if they started asking about the movie, they’d find out we had a whole crew in Montana, if they didn’t know already. “What else?”
“Nothing else. You know how these things go. Some photos go viral. Others die. Don’t be seen with her again and you should be fine.”
Repeats of the same woman were when the paparazzi began to drool.
“Send me the picture,” I ordered.
“It’s in your inbox. Who is she, Shaw?”
“A woman I met here.”
“No shit.” I could practically hear her eyes roll. “Is this something I’m going to need to explain later? Or will I need to get an NDA sent over?”
“No and no.” I sure as hell wasn’t having Presley sign an NDA. My secrets were safe with her and I didn’t need a piece of paper to prove it. Besides, after I left Montana, there’d be nothing to explain.
“Are you sure? Because—”
“I’m sure.”
“Fine,” she muttered. “I’ll let you know if something else comes up.”
“Okay. And, Laurelin? Thanks.”
“Just doing my job,” she said and ended the call.
Fortunately for me, she did it well.
Laurelin had assumed the role of my manager and didn’t stifle her opinions. For the most part, I listened and took her advice. She was peeved with my decision to step away for a while. Laurelin feared I’d lose my position at the top.
But it was time for a damn break, and the top was a lonely place to be.
It was hard to trust that people didn’t befriend you because of your fame. Most had ulterior motives, wanting to use me in hopes of springboarding their own success—which was why being around Presley was so refreshing.
Hell, she didn’t even want to be seen with me.
I pulled into my driveway, Presley’s Jeep already in hers. Opening my email, I took a look at the photo and grumbled. But it wasn’t horrible. We could deal with this.
The zoom was too far and the shot partially out of focus. Presley was in profile, and her face wasn’t the primary target. Mine was.
We’d gotten lucky.
Shit. That picnic table stunt had been a stupid-as-fuck move. If a photo of that had been taken and leaked, Presley would have cut my balls off. I would have handed her the knife for being so careless.