FIFTEEN
ON ARRIVING, she and Roman didn’t wait for service, no doubt inflating the ego of her date. It sure didn’t need any help in the size department, but the moment they were seen, he was gestured over and greeted like an old friend.
Every corner of the restaurant was dressed like it belonged on a movie screen. The lighting, the ambience, the quiet music that bracketed the susurration of conversation. Each nuance was carefully orchestrated. How many deals were being struck in those walls? How many stars being made over caviar? How many careers ended before dessert?
The pleasant smiles and affable manners of those filling its seats told a different story. The restaurant with its elegant tableware and nouveau vintage décor wouldn’t be a suitable location for an executive to challenge or end someone’s dream of superstardom. Talk about awkward, and, of course, the “money” didn’t have time to waste on has-beens.
They quickly zigzagged around tables, beheld by diners, to one elevated in the back corner. Had to be the best in the house. With a window and advantageous view over the rest of the room enjoying their meals, the position screamed power and status.
“Roman!” Ricardo Whey declared and stood up. How did she know it was him? Just a guess. The woman at his side rose too, smiling and accepting Roman’s cheek kisses as Ricardo’s attention landed on her. “And you’re the secret.”
Whatever that meant, but she was kind enough to accept his polite hello kiss.
Roman helped her into her seat. “The secret?” she asked.
“Yes.” Ricardo gestured at his companion. “This is Raquel. She’s been with me for years.” As a wife? Girlfriend? Assistant? Assistant with benefits? What was allowed these days? “Knows all the ins and outs. You can’t beat the stability of a good woman. They know how to keep us in check.”
“Sure do. Bambi wasn’t a secret,” Roman said, all easy happiness. Where did that come from? He must’ve had a personality transplant since leaving the car. “Bambi is not used to the spotlight.”
“She should be.” Wearing a broad smile, Ricardo checked out her chest and expression. Hadn’t he just done that when they met? “She could be a superstar. I could make her a superstar.”
“No, thank you.” She paired the quick refusal with a self-deprecating laugh. Agreeing to being Roman’s fake fiancée unfortunately also meant not trashing the man’s career. It helped that trashing Roman’s meant trashing Struan’s. She wouldn’t do that for anything; aversion fueled restraint. “I’m happy where I am at Brooker.”
“Ah,” Ricardo said. A server hurried over to fill her and Roman’s glasses from the bottle already at the table. Another brought a replacement. “That answers my next question.”
“Which was?”
“How we met?” Roman’s hand slid over hers to twine their fingers together. Quelling the instinct to pull away, she fought to dampen the cringe in her cheeks, concealing it as happiness. “You know what I’m like when I see what I want.”
Roman raised their hands a few inches, rather than kiss or continue any fondness, he went for the wine instead. Good choice. A reprieve, though it may be temporary. The wine saved her skin from his lips, but may not save her from his attitude later. What did alcohol do to him? Couldn’t be anything good.
“I heard Sway was in town,” Ricardo said with a hint of seriousness in the set of his brow. “Are you on speaking terms?”
“Sway and I are fantastic,” Roman answered. It was funny to see him say the woman’s name without a weight of hatred-tinged passion propelling the word from his lips. “She’s happy for me. I’m happy for her.”
“Yes, her engagement. To Deacon… something. He plays in your brother’s band.”
“Yes.”
Roman’s slight head nod was curbed by another drink of wine. Excellent plan. She lifted her own and tried to be subtle about gulping rather than sipping. Her other hand was anchored on the table by his heavy affection. Immobile under his, neither of them quite knew how to show warmth without some point of connection.
This couldn’t be easy on him either. Clearly, he was used to being in control, demanding what he wanted and receiving satisfaction.
With her. It wasn’t like that.
He didn’t want to be with her any more than she wanted to be with him.
While pitying his profile, Raquel spoke for the first time. “I heard that’s over already. Her and Deacon. Is that true?”
“She struggled,” Roman said. “Without me, without us. As I would have done if I hadn’t found my true purpose.”
A squeeze of her hand preceded his head turning her way in her peripheral vision. Shit, he meant her. She concentrated on smiling at the other couple.
“She’s turning down roles,” Whey said. “Far as I hear she has nothing lined up. And I hear everything.”
“If she thought she was getting married—”
“When the right thing comes along…” Whey cut Raquel off, “Sway’ll make her choice.”
Roman beamed. “Like Undercover Ops .”
“Yes, something to give her an aim. A home, a place to rediscover her love of the art.”
“Are you an actor, Mr. Whey?” she asked. “I know that’s not your stock and trade now, but did you ever feel the call of the stage or screen?”
“Not officially,” he said on a warm laugh. “Though some may argue what I do every day is pantomime.”
The table’s laugh felt genuine, perhaps the first she’d heard since meeting Roman Lowe.
“It’s a difficult town to adjust to. I’m never sure what is real and what’s pretend.”
Whey leaned a little over the table. “None of us are,” he murmured, still smiling. “That’s the secret natives hide. Want to get along in this town? Follow the money. If the dollars are moving from their account to yours, you’re doing the right thing.”
That’s what it was. Amassing money. Acting, directing, producing, distributing, every single avenue of entertainment media was measured by how many zeros were added to the check at the end of the day. Whether that money was coming from big studios or little kids’ allowances blown on lunchboxes and action figures, it was all about the money.
“It’s instinct. Those who cut their teeth in LA around stars and moguls and world-renowned names, we take it for granted. You understand how it works, what’s important, who to ingratiate yourself with, and who to ignore. It’s a gut feeling. You get a sense of who’ll make it and who will fail.”
“It can’t be taught,” Raquel said, gazing lovingly at the man who didn’t look her way.
“What you’ve got to know in this town, sweetheart, is you’re only as good as your next deal. Success can slip like sand from the fingers with one bad choice.”
Like Roman, oops, maybe not a nice thought. Anywhere else she would have said it aloud, but not there.
“No more of them.” Roman projected his voice as he puffed out his chest. Yes, he was Mr. Big Shot, in his own illusions anyway. “No more bad choices.”
What was it he wanted?
Addicts wanted their next fix.
The way he guzzled the wine suggested, perhaps, a dependence. It couldn’t be nerves, could it? Roman Lowe nervous? Nope, funny, not the man she knew. He’d claimed alcohol wasn’t his drug of choice, that he didn’t have a problem with it. Except, for a time, he’d wanted the high more than his career. He’d almost lost it in lieu of chasing the dragon. Did that drive ever truly go away?
Where did Sway fit into it?
They’d never met, but already she was fascinated. Did the woman crave attention? Play to it? Perhaps take advantage of it? Or was she like almost every other person in Roman’s life, eager to be free of the exhaustion he bred?
“The past is the past,” Ricardo said. “Yeah, you’ve made shitty choices, but the public still want you.”
“They want him to succeed,” she said, though it was more of a question than a statement.
As the girlfriend, fiancée, she should want her partner to succeed. Though, in truth, she didn’t get it. Why were audiences still interested in a man uninterested in their adoration? A man who prioritized his addiction over their fidelity?
“You’ve got it or you don’t,” Roman said, reaching for the wine to top off his own glass, ignoring everybody else’s.
“That’s what they say, but a star can be made, if it serves a purpose.”
“Why go to the trouble?” Roman sat tall. “Everyone is hungry.”
“There’s always someone waiting to take the place of anyone who falls from grace,” Ricardo said. Was there a thread of warning in that tone? Undercover Ops was a big deal. “I’m taking a chance on you.”
“It’s not a chance, it’s a guarantee. The role was written for me. You won’t regret this. It’s fate, and this is only the beginning. Pilot’s going great, soon we’ll be out there on location. I’ll dive deep into the soul of this guy. I see it all. I see the future. Movies, books, online opportunities. This is going to be big! Its own action franchise!”
Nowhere else but in his own head so far.
“We’re here tonight so I can look you in the eye. Your mama meant something to me, and Magnus owes me big for this. He tells me you’re clean. Are you clean?”
“Yes.”
Could be Roman was just a good actor, but she believed that too. Though his inability to attend the event where she met Struan suggested maybe he wasn’t all that free and clear of his issues. She and Struan needed to talk.
Had Roman been drunk that night? Was there more to this man than she knew? She’d asked Struan if she could trust him, if he would tell her the truth. She’d stand by Roman if it meant saving everyone’s jobs, Struan’s job, but she didn’t want her name next to an asshole’s, not for anything.
“I believe in taking a man at his word. The way my dad did deals, and his dad before him. Industry standard doesn’t matter. A man has integrity or he doesn’t. I’m here tonight, looking you in the eye. Roman. Tell me you’re not going to fuck this up.”
“I’m not going to fuck this up.”
Adamant though he was, she suppressed a snort. Without Magnus and Struan, and God knew who else, this guy wouldn’t be able to tie his shoes in the morning.
“What’s your priority? Is it this contract or will you fold if it gets tough?”
“It’s this. Undercover Ops is my priority.”
“No more fucking off to tropical islands with dozens of babes?”
“That was a means to an end.”
“Yeah, and one you fucked up. You said that online contest bullshit would win us fans. Instead, it brought scandal, all the wrong type of scandal.”
“Worked for Lomond.”
Ricardo growled and snatched up his glass. “Don’t say that man’s name to me.”
Touchy. What scandal had the island brought? Was it the same island Mieux and Struan spoke about? What went down with that? And Lomond? Another question mark. Who was he?
Again, she needed answers. And Struan was the only one she’d trust to give them.