Ignacio (Family Ties #5)

Chapter 1

Chapter One

I gnacio rolled over, squinting against the sun’s glare coming in through the bedroom window. He’d thrown one of his famous parties last night and then fell into bed after everyone had left.

What time is it? he wondered.

He scraped his phone off the table beside him and saw it was almost noon. Wonderful. Half the day was already gone.

Groaning, he rolled his naked body from under the tangled sheets, frowning when a white lace bra fell to the hardwood floor from beneath the folds. Who did that belong to? His foggy brain couldn’t remember sleeping with anyone the night before, but whoever she was, she was long gone because he was alone.

Ignacio tugged on a pair of red boxer briefs he picked up from the floor and staggered toward the open door. Quietly yawning, he shoved his fingers through his long, rumpled hair and pushed it back from his face.

Pausing in the doorway, he surveyed the disarray of his living room. With the blinds open, the oversized windows displayed blue skies and the Los Angeles skyline, a sharp contrast to the carnage from the night before.

He wrinkled his nose against the scent of stale alcohol and leftover food. An empty bottle of rum lay on its side, the contents spilled onto the white rug beneath the table it rested on. Plates and bowls with half-eaten snacks were scattered around the room, and broken glass was strewn across the wooden floor where a goblet of white wine had fallen off the nearby bookcase.

Empty beer bottles caught the sunlight and glinted at him from various surfaces. Several articles of clothing had been left behind too, including a jacket he didn’t recognize—definitely not his—and a pink and gold stiletto abandoned in the corner. Did the owner leave with only one shoe?

Shaking his head, Ignacio muttered a Spanish curse. The place was such a mess, there was no way he was going to clean it all by himself. He’d have his assistant call a service.

He righted an overturned chair, vaguely remembering one of his actor friends, Vincent, had tossed it aside in a moment of drunken exuberance. He shook his head, laughing softly. Typical Vincent.

A faint buzzing caught his attention as a phone vibrated somewhere in the room. Following the sound, he found the device tucked between the sofa cushions.

“That’s mine.”

Ignacio straightened with a start at the sound of the voice. What the…?

A woman walked in from the direction of his bathroom. Her blonde hair, parted in the middle, was slicked back into a ponytail. Cosmetically enhanced lips smiled at him as she extended a hand. Ignacio placed the phone on her open palm.

“I had a great time last night,” she said, tucking the phone into the small purse on her wrist. “Call me if you want to get together again.” She kissed his cheek and then strutted toward the door.

Ignacio stared after her. Did the bra belong to her?

“I need coffee,” he muttered, ambling toward the kitchen and rubbing his hands down his face to wake up.

A few years ago, he had purchased a commercial-grade espresso machine and placed one in each of his homes, considering the equipment one of the best investments he had ever made. After he ground the beans, he made himself an espresso, letting out a satisfied moan as the warm liquid flowed down his throat.

He opened the cabinet and took down his pack of cigarettes, paused, and then grimaced before placing them back on the shelf. He was trying to quit—again.

“Mind over matter,” he muttered to himself. If he was smart, he would remove them from his home completely, but he hadn’t quite gotten there yet.

Ringing came from the bedroom, where he had left his phone. He hurried back there and answered when he saw his manager’s name on the screen—Yvonne Williams.

“Good morning, Yvonne.”

“Hello, Ignacio. How are you this morning?”

“Do you really want to know?” he asked, padding into the kitchen to grab his coffee.

“I wouldn’t have asked if I didn’t.”

Yvonne acted more like a mother than the typical cutthroat manager. Probably because they had been working together since he was a teenager and she hadn’t started out in the industry. For years, she had worked as a camp counselor, and perhaps for that reason was very protective of her young clients. She had treated Ignacio like one of her kids, filling him up with slices of the delicious sweet potato pies she brought into the office to share with the staff.

Back then, he had been trying to get his big break in Hollywood while trying to avoid special treatment as Benicio Santana’s son, the legendary actor-director-producer from Mexico whose success in English-speaking films had been almost as celebrated as his career in Latin America.

“I feel as if a truck ran over me, backed up, and then ran over me again.” Ignacio opened the sliding glass door and stepped onto the balcony.

Yvonne laughed. “Sounds like you had one of your famous parties again.”

“I did,” he admitted.

“You don’t sound like you enjoyed yourself.”

His reply was a noncommittal grunt. If he were being honest, the parties no longer brought him as much joy as they used to. He loved dancing and spending time with friends, but trashing his home in the name of a good time didn’t seem like the best idea.

“I think I’ll have to move these parties to another location in the future. Rent a club or something.” Sitting in one of his chairs, he lifted his feet onto the metal railing and crossed them at the ankles. “What’s up?”

“I have somewhat good news about your indie film.”

His heart jumped. “Go ahead,” he said, sipping his coffee.

His last foray into filmmaking hadn’t gone very well. The film flopped, and he wasn’t the only person who had lost money. His father had invested in the project along with a few other people. With a failure under his belt, he’d had a hard time convincing anyone that his latest project was worth the risk. He didn’t want to ask his father again, and though he could probably convince his siblings to loan him the money, he wanted to finance the project himself, the way any indie filmmaker would, by finding his own backers.

“I assume you’ve only just gotten up for the day?” Yvonne asked.

“Yes.”

“So you haven’t seen the news, but you will eventually. There’s a ton of publicity surrounding your meeting with Delta yesterday.”

At the mention of his ex’s name, the hairs rose on his skin, and his body stiffened. Earlier in the evening, before throwing the party, he had attended an event where Delta had also been present.

“I didn’t have a meeting with her,” he said coolly.

“Well, whatever you want to call it: a run-in, a get-together?—”

“We happened to be in the same place at the same time. That’s it.”

“Honey, listen to me. It doesn’t matter. A picture of the two of you together has gone viral and broken the internet, as the young people say. It’s a PR boon—for both you and Delta.”

“What are you talking about?”

“The world is excited by the idea of the two of you reconciling,” Yvonne explained, as if the answer was obvious.

“ Reconciling? ” Ignacio dropped his feet to the concrete slab beneath him. Yvonne was going too far. “We exchanged a sentence and then went on our way. We haven’t been a couple since I was twenty-one years old, when we were practically kids.”

Their breakup was as fresh as if it had happened the day before. He would never admit it, but the pain of Delta’s rejection had lingered for years.

“Ignacio,” Yvonne said, using her motherly voice, which she always pulled out whenever she wanted to convince him to go along with one of her ideas. “This is the opportunity you’ve been waiting for. Maybe not exactly how you wanted it, but it’s free publicity, honey, and almost every article or post I’ve seen mentions your movie. Folks are excited by the thought of two young lovers reuniting after all these years. It’s the kind of thing movies are made of. A real-life love story.”

“We’re not back together, Yvonne,” Ignacio said evenly. She must be hard of hearing.

“I know that. You know that. But the rest of the world doesn’t.”

“What are you saying?”

A brief pause. “Delta’s people reached out to me.”

“You mean her father,” Ignacio said, the left side of his lip curling up in displeasure.

“Yes, Delta’s father and her publicist. The publicity has been great for her too. Her music has seen a huge spike on the streaming platforms. They want to take full advantage of this opportunity.”

Delta’s parents had controlled her career since she blew judges away on a televised talent competition when she was ten years old, belting out the lyrics to “At Last” in a remarkably soulful voice for her age. Her father, especially, who was her manager, must be salivating at the thought of her songs climbing back up the charts.

“What are you not telling me, Yvonne?”

“Keep an open mind,” she said carefully.

“About what?” he asked through gritted teeth.

“Delta and her father are still in L.A. and want to meet with you—about pretending you’re back together to capitalize on the media frenzy. It was Eddie’s idea, and I think it’s brilliant.”

To resist the urge to hurl his cup off the balcony, Ignacio carefully placed it on the table. “No.”

“Ignacio, listen to me. This opportunity?—”

“I will find backers for the movie without stooping to lying to the public.”

“Or you could take a few publicity shots now and then with your ex.”

“She’s an ex for a reason.”

Yvonne’s voice softened. “Honey, I know she broke your heart, but that was ages ago. Don’t cut off your nose to spite your face.”

Ignacio stiffened. “She didn’t break my heart,” he all but snarled. Then he briefly closed his eyes.

He couldn’t do it. He couldn’t pretend for the cameras and handle the scrutiny that would inevitably come when the world thought they were back together. He could only imagine the barrage of questions about how and why they decided to give “love” another chance.

“Fine, she didn’t break your heart, but you broke up, and I understand pretending to be in a relationship might not be an attractive option for you, but I don’t think you should discount the idea.”

Slumping in the chair, Ignacio used the tips of his fingers to rub his temple where a headache had blossomed in the past few minutes. “I need time to think.”

“How much time?”

“I don’t know!” Ignacio exclaimed in exasperation. “I’ll text you my answer once I’ve had time to figure out what the hell I want to do.”

“All right, all right, don’t shoot the messenger. I’ll hold off Eddie and Delta. Will twenty-four hours be enough time?”

“Yes, that’s fine,” Ignacio grumbled, though twenty-four years would be preferable.

“I’ll give you a call tomorrow.”

After the call ended, he sat on the balcony, staring out at the city. Already, his chest felt as if it was caving in. Yesterday, when he had seen Delta, he’d been unprepared and almost suffocated at the sight of her. How the hell was he supposed to manage being in a fake relationship with his ex in front of the world? Paparazzi everywhere. A frenzy of flashing cameras. Their faces splashed across Page Six and every grocery store gossip rag. The prying eyes of TMZ and Entertainment Tonight following their every move.

He thought about the script and proposal in the fireproof box under his bed. He’d sent out multiple copies to potential backers, all without a single bite.

Now, opportunity stared him in the face. All he had to do was… pretend. Pretend that he adored her. Pretend that Delta James, his first and only love, hadn’t eviscerated him eleven years ago.

Could this be the only chance he had of getting his film made?

No, there would be another opportunity—one that didn’t include becoming entangled with Delta. He’d find a way.

He sent Yvonne the following message: Not interested.

Her response came almost immediately.

Delta and her father really want this. They’re on their way to you.

Ignacio stared at the text in disbelief.

They had some nerve. Well, they were wasting their time, and he couldn’t wait to tell them so.