Chapter Twenty-Seven
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
ANGEL
“We’re done,” Rosten says, throwing his script at the director. “I suggest our two stars spend the next two days running lines, because if you two come on set with whatever the hell that was, I’ll replace you both.”
I don’t dare say a word. Glancing up, I catch Noah’s strained eye across the table. Shaking his head, he clenches his fist around his script and scowls. People file out of the conference room one by one until the only ones left are Rosten, Noah, and me. With an exhausted sigh, Noah heads toward the door only to find Rosten blocking his path.
“Braddock, I need a word with you.”
I gather my belongings, catching a glimpse of them out of the corner of my eye as they stand in the doorway, Rosten speaking in a hushed voice as Noah stares blankly at him. Eventually, Noah just blinks, the corners of his mouth turning down as he walks away.
No conversation, no words. Just flat resignation.
I stall, waiting for Rosten to leave, but of course he doesn’t. He’s waiting for me, so, tucking my script, water bottle, and phone in my bag, I sling it over my shoulder and make my way toward the door.
As expected, he steps in front of me. “I expect more from you, Alexandra. You’re a Romanov. Act like it.”
I’m a Smith, you jackass.
“Yes, sir,” I say, biting my tongue.
“Now, as you know, talent only takes a movie so far. Publicity is fifty percent of the game.”
“Okay?” I drag out the word, still unsure what he’s getting at.
“As of tonight, you and Noah are an off-screen couple.”
I’m sure he didn’t just say what I think he said. Because that would be peddling the exact kind of shit Reggie did back in Chula Vista. “Excuse me?”
He steps forward, his eyes blazing. “Don’t pull that innocent crap with me. You know how this industry works. These books already have a rabid fanbase. The public will lose their minds when it’s leaked that the on-screen chemistry turned into an off-screen affair.” He says it as if it’s a business transaction. Another dotted line to sign and soul to sell.
“But, we’re not… I mean, I don’t—”
“Not important,” he snaps. “Sex sells, and perception is everything. Fuck him, or don’t fuck him. I don’t care. Just make sure the world thinks you are.” With a slam of the rolled-up script against his palm, he turns to start down the hall.
“Wait!” I have to run to catch up with him, and the minute I grab his arm, he stops, his gaze locking onto my hand. “I’m sort of seeing someone.”
He cocks an eyebrow. “Dominic McCallum?” I don’t answer, and he lets out a clipped laugh. “I suppose I should thank the asshole for bringing you back to Silverline, but that’s where my gratitude ends. I’m sure you’re aware of his unsuccessful attempt at ruining my reputation.” He pauses, waiting for a confirmation.
“Yes, I’m aware.”
“Not only am I president of this studio, but I’m responsible for its brand. As the face of Silverline, you are part of that brand. Therefore, what you do and who you do reflects on me. Do we understand each other?”
What I understand is that once I signed that contract, I signed away my life.
“Yeah,” I mumble.
A second later, my shoulders slam against the wall, and Rosten’s bitter, coffee-stained breath fans over my cheek. “Yes, what ?”
The determined look in his eyes now gleams with something far darker. “Yes, sir.”
His hold loosens, and he steps back, straightening his suit jacket. “You have a reservation tonight at Amalia under the name Ross Gregory.”
“Who?”
“Do you think I put my real name under reservations, Alexandra?” There’s sharp irritation in his voice. “I like to enjoy a meal, not sit through endless pitches by mediocre screenwriters.”
As he walks away, I’m hit with a thick wall of resignation. None of this is what I want, but it’s what I have to do. Especially now. Rosten has already proven he’s untouchable. Even a public scandal couldn’t shake his foundation.
But me?
Cracks run so deep in mine it’ll only take one rumble for it all to come crashing down. Refusing Rosten risks losing a somewhat tepid alliance with him. It risks him going after Dominic and ruining what little he has left. And it risks me losing everything I’ve ever wanted .
Digging my phone out of my bag, I open my messenger and reread Dominic’s text from this morning.
Don’t like the way we left things on Tuesday. Dinner? I’ll pick you up at eight.
Sighing, I briefly close my eyes before glancing back down and doing what has to be done as static fills my head.
I can’t do dinner tonight. Or any night. I have a date.
The moment Noah and I step out of the limo, paparazzi attack like a swarm of killer bees. There’s no doubt in my mind someone at Silverline tipped them off, making sure they were lying in wait to immortalize the hot, new couple’s first outing.
And no one knows about the movie yet.
The whole thing turns my stomach.
Noah plays his role with startling authenticity, and if I were any other female on the face of the Earth, I’d swoon. The man is classically gorgeous with a sculpted jawline, thick dirty blond hair, and a smile able to disintegrate panties.
And here I am, the lucky girl on his arm, pining away for another man.
“Ross Gregory,” he says, nodding at the ma?tre d.
“Rosten’s going to be mad we didn’t talk to the press,” I whisper as we’re ushered to a private table near the back. At least he picked an upscale restaurant where, other than the occasional whisper, the clientele is unimpressed by our presence .
“Fuck Rosten,” Noah growls, pulling out my chair before taking his own seat.
Amalia is swanky. Dark and mysterious with crystal as far as the eye can see. Access is by reservation only, and if you’re not an A-lister, good luck. You’re more likely to acquire a day trip to the moon.
Everything is beautiful, from the ambiance to the view.
And I’m miserable.
Noah orders, waiting until the waiter disappears before letting out a soft chuckle. “What’s his name?”
“I’m sorry?”
“The guy who’s got you so twisted up.”
I blush and stare into my wine glass. “That obvious, huh?”
Grinning, he tips his wine glass toward me. “Doll, if you pined over him any harder, his name would be etched across your forehead.”
So much for being subtle. Groaning, I slump forward. “I’m sorry. I’m being a horrible date. Can we start over? I promise—”
His wine glass clinks onto the table. “Can we be completely honest with each other?” Noah’s voice takes on a serious note, and I immediately sit up. He’s no longer smiling. “I promise, you can trust me.”
“Sure.”
“You’re a really nice person, but I don’t think either of us are here because we want to be. Rosten yanked our strings, and we danced like marionettes.” He punctuates the image by moving his arms up and down like they’re bound by wire. “Am I right?”
I nod, letting out a sigh of relief.
“We both have someone else on our minds, so how about we call this what it is—two friends sharing a meal on a jackass’s dime. ”
God, I could kiss him right now. “I’m good with that.”
With the tension gone, he lifts his wine glass again, his eyes crinkling as he takes a sip. “So, are you going to tell me his name?”
“Dominic.”
“Lucky guy.”
“What about you?” I ask, raising my own glass to my lips. “What’s her name?”
“Brent.”
Chardonnay shoots out of my mouth like a fortified geyser. Noah calmly dabs his suit with his linen napkin as if he didn’t just drop a nuclear bomb on me. “You’re gay ?” I whisper, mouthing the word.
“ Yes ,” he mouths back. “There’s a secret club of us. I’d show you the handshake, but I’d have to kill you.”
Okay, I deserved that.
“But you’re Noah Braddock.”
“And?”
“America’s Heartthrob. Every woman’s fantasy. The oceans would rise with the salt of their tears if they knew.”
He rolls his eyes. “That’s a little dramatic. Do you write greeting cards?”
“I’m serious!” I hiss, smacking him with my napkin.
He laughs, dodging my second swat. “I am, too. And what you just said? That’s exactly why I keep it quiet.” His smile fades. “You think I’d get a quarter of the roles I do if they knew I wasn’t straight? I’d be saddled with the gay best friend gig for the rest of my life. Just because I’m gay doesn’t mean I don’t have range.”
And just because I’m not Alexandra Romanov doesn’t mean I don’t have talent. We all have crosses to bear. Noah Braddock is more than a pretty face, and I’m an asshole.
“You’re right.” I cover his hand with mine. “I’m sorry. You shouldn’t have to hide who you are. I can’t imagine how difficult it must be for you and Brent.”
He watches me silently for a moment. “Somehow I think you do.”
More than you know.
Smiling, I raise my glass. “To hiding.”
Meeting my glass, he clinks them together. “Touché.” For a brief moment everything is calm. But then it all goes to hell. “Shit,” Noah says, glancing over my shoulder.
“What?”
His eyes narrow. “Don’t look now, but I think a photog snuck in.”
Of course, I look, and when I do my heart somersaults in my chest then free falls straight out my vagina. “Oh my God.”
Dominic.
How the hell did he find me? Not only that, how the hell did he get in here?
I shove my chair away from the table, knocking over crystal and rattling silverware. “I have to go to the bathroom.”
I don’t wait for a response before tearing across the restaurant in a blind panic. I realize on my second wrong turn I have no idea where I’m going. By the time I stop, it’s only because I come to a dead end in a hallway that leads to nowhere.
“Great. Now what?” Trapped in a corner isn’t ideal, especially when distant footsteps start getting closer.
And closer.
Frantic, I start turning door knobs to what I assume are supply closets, praying one of them works. “Come on!”
Finally, one turns, and just as I get it open, I’m pushed inside and shoved against the wall. Even in the dark, I don’t have to ask who it is .
“What are you doing here, Dominic?”
His strong hand slides up my neck, pausing as his thumb strokes under my chin and along my jaw. “I came to offer my congratulations to the happy couple.” His words become clipped as his grip tightens. “After all, you’re the talk of the town.”
I can’t breathe with him this close. “You don’t understand.”
“You’re damn right I don’t,” he growls, backing us both against the wall. “Eight hours, rook. What happened in eight hours to change things? I know I walked out on you the other night, but I have my reasons, all of which I planned to tell you before you decided to hop on pretty boy’s dick.”
A surge of anger rushes through me, and I struggle against him, but it’s useless. His hold is too strong. “I haven’t hopped on his dick, thank you .”
“Good.” His voice is low and rough, like the rumble of a summer storm. “Because the thought of it makes me crazy. It makes me want to go out there and break every bone in that fucker’s face.”
“Dominic…”
“You’re mine, Angel,” he heaves, grinding his hips against mine. “Angel Smith. Not Alexandra Romanov. My Angel. Every damn inch of you.”
It’s wrong. So, so wrong, but I can’t help it. I want him, and he knows it. Before I can stop myself, I wrap my arms around him, and he claims my mouth in a violent, hungry kiss. Dominic’s possession has always been rough, but there’s something in his touch tonight that’s different. Frantic. Almost as if there’s a ticking clock for both of us.
Bright light spills into the closet as the door cracks open. “Alexandra? Is everything okay in here?”
Noah. Shit!
I try to pull away, but Dominic tightens his hold, only breaking the kiss long enough to turn his head. “Walk away, Braddock.”
The door opens wider, and Noah’s blond head pops into view. “Alexandra?”
“Hey,” Dominic growls. “ I’m talking to you. Don’t look at her.”
Noah grins. “You must be Dominic.”
Finally, blood rushes back up to my brain, and I regain common sense enough to bend down and slip under Dominic’s arm. Before he can argue, I spread my arms between them like an alpha male crossing guard. “Enough!” Turning toward Noah, I add, “Thank you, but I’m fine. Yes, this is Dominic, he’s, well, he’s…”
“Your Brent,” he says with a smile.
“Who the hell is Brent?” Dominic roars, barreling into my palm. “Rook, so help me God…”
Noah just grins again. “Listen, I know a back way out of here. Why don’t you two enjoy dinner on Silverline’s tab, and I’ll catch a cab.”
My jaw drops. “Are you sure? People will see us.”
“I think we’ve done enough dancing, Pinocchio.” He gives me a pointed wink. “Time to cut the strings.” Slipping through the crack in the door, he disappears back down the hallway.
Dominic crowds in from behind. “What the hell was that?”
I can’t help but smile. “That was the first drop of many salty tears.”