Chapter 2
Sutton Silvers
I’ve been hiding out in Whispers for what feels like a while now.
I arrived in town under the cover of darkness, hiding from the barrage of media that now comes with being one of Hollywood’s most sought-after leading men.
The town’s nice enough, quaint, quiet, but I haven’t seen much of it. Just the view from the roads leading to the diner and the inside of my brother Sawyer’s house, where I’ve been holed up, cycling through old TV shows and pretending I have something resembling a routine.
But I love it.
I’ve already purchased a block of land, and I’m drawing up plans for my own little slice of paradise as a place to come to when I need to get away from LA.
It’s ideal, up the back of Billionaire Boulevard; I have the woods at my door, and I’ve already started hiking around to get the lay of the land.
Hiking has become a new interest of mine, but it’s one I don’t do regularly, afraid of being discovered, even in the forest.
“What are you doing?”
Sawyer walks in, pushing through the afternoon crowd, his usual polished suit on full display.
Now the local lawyer in town, his city suits remain, having him look completely out of place.
Noah’s balanced on his hip like it’s second nature now.
My older brother has changed since meeting his girl Annabelle and her two boys, for the better, and I couldn’t love him any more than I do.
He treats those boys like his own, and I don’t mind having two new nephews around. Keeps my days interesting.
I give Noah a small fist bump before stabbing my fork into my pie. “Getting a late lunch.”
“If you keep coming here, someone’s bound to spot you.”
I hold back my annoyance. It’s not the first time he’s given me this warning. "Rochelle lets me in the back entrance, and this booth is reserved just for me. I’ll get cabin fever staying at your house all day and all night."
At the mention of her name, Rochelle barely looks up, just nods, like we have some secret understanding. It’s a quiet agreement that lets me keep slipping through her doors, unnoticed. It’s nice of her to do when she barely knows me.
My only other outing is Whiteman’s Distillery, drinking and talking with Sawyer, the owners, Connor and Tanner, along with my best friend from LA and new Whispers resident, Hudson.
The meetup is now a highlight of my week.
They’re a group of friends I didn’t know I needed, yet have filled my time with laughs, business conversations, and plenty of outstanding whiskey to keep me company.
Sawyer sighs, shifting Noah higher on his hip as he slides into the seat across from me. "You can’t hide out forever."
"Yes, I can." Noah shuffles on his lap, giving me a grin, one that tells me he’s up to no good as he grabs Sawyer's tie.
“But you need to start thinking about your next steps.”
“That would be a hell of a lot easier if the media would ease off.” I bite out the words.
I love acting and the movie business, but along with that comes a high profile, gossip, and overwhelming media interest. I take most of it as it comes and don’t get too caught up in it.
But after my last movie was a box office hit, both here and overseas, the media scrutiny became intense.
Fans got crazier, my life completely invaded. So I came to hide here with my brother.
“They seem to be getting worse,” Sawyer acknowledges, and he’s right.
I thought slipping out of LA and laying low for a while would help it all die down.
But it seems to have had the opposite effect.
I hear there’s now big money for a shot of me.
Paparazzi are keen to break the story about where Sutton Silvers is hiding, what he’s been doing, and with whom. Thank God for Whispers.
Whiskey flows through here like water. With it, a tight-knit community that doesn’t waver in its support of their own. Led by Tanner and Connor Whiteman, billionaire owners of Whiteman’s Whiskey, this town is currently my safe haven, and I couldn’t have picked a better place.
“Have you talked to Bobby lately?” Sawyer’s distracted as he peels the wrapper off one of Rochelle’s cookies.
I nod. "He’s working on something." I watch Noah closely as he grips Sawyer’s tie, the end of it dangling in his little hand.
Sawyer snorts. "The only thing Bobby ever works on is deals for himself."
"He’s fine." I wave him off.
"I’ve never liked him."
“You’ve made that abundantly clear.” Bobby has been my manager for years, and he and Sawyer clash like true enemies.
But Bobby picked me up the minute I landed in LA, spotting me at a café, seeing something in me that I didn’t yet see in myself.
He sent me to auditions that afternoon, and I wouldn’t be where I am today without him.
Even so, he’s an asshole. With roles now coming to me a little easier, deals are done with Sawyer, my legally astute brother looking over every one of them.
Bobby has no other clients, his roster completely thinned out, and I don’t think he’s a fan of having anyone else involved in my finances or business dealings.
The fame and money have gone to his head. He isn’t the same man he once was.
“It could be time for you to part ways.” We’ve had this discussion a few times over the last year or so.
At first, I dismissed it completely. Primarily because I was on location filming, which meant I had to focus and keep my profile clean for movie promotion.
I didn’t need the media attention it would bring to drop my manager of over ten years.
“The problem is, I need to replace him, and I can’t do that while hiding out.
Besides, I’m not working on anything at the moment.
” Although, Bobby still calls most days.
Sometimes, I answer, but most often not.
He’s been trying to pitch different movies to me, but I’m enjoying the break from the business more than I thought.
The space between me and LA has done me good.
I get to spend time with my brother and his family, being the uncle I never thought I would be.
It’s made me think about my future, how dating models and actresses in LA isn’t really my vibe anymore.
That jumping from movie set to movie set is getting tiring now that I’ve hit the heights of movie fame, and the need to strive has now abated.
It’s made me think about moving in a different direction. Both in my career and in my life.
“Yeah, well, the media still has a new story on you every day.”
My eyes narrow in question at my brother. I haven’t been watching the gossip sites. I didn’t want to bring the mental load to my new surroundings. But by the look of his face, maybe I should be.
“Anything I should be worried about?”
“Apparently, you love the color blue today.” Sawyer rolls his eyes, a bad habit he has.
It’s true; my favorite color is blue, but that’s just one of the things everyone already knows about me. So I let that “news” roll off my shoulders.
As I scoop the last piece of pie into my mouth, Sawyer looks at his cell, not paying much attention.
I keep silent yet grin as Noah dunks the end of Sawyer’s tie into my now-cold black coffee.
I love this new nephew of mine, giving my brother a run for his money, just like I used to when I was younger.
When I give him a wink, Noah giggles, and I watch the dark liquid start to slowly creep up the soft blue fabric of Sawyer’s designer tie. That should ruffle his feathers.
“Shhh.” Noah shushes me a little too loudly and gets Sawyer’s attention.
“Noah, what in the world… I have no idea why you have such a fascination with my ties, but I’ve lost about fifty of them now,” Sawyer mumbles as he grabs a napkin and starts dabbing.
While he’s busy, Noah grabs Sawyer’s cookie and finishes it, his mission now complete.
Smart kid. He strategized, knew what his endgame was, and found a way to get it. Kudos to him.
“He’s got you wrapped around his finger.” A year ago, if anyone had told me that Sawyer would be here in Whispers, with a kid on his lap, not fussing about a ruined designer tie, I would’ve called them insane. Yet here we both are. Sitting at the small-town diner, eating pie and cookies.
Looking around, I spot Nikki, the young waitress I noticed the minute I walked into this diner.
Who I’ve been coming back to see almost daily.
She moves around this place like she’s trying not to be noticed, scurrying from one table to the next, turning them over, serving, cleaning up, and getting everyone what they need.
She must feel my gaze on her, because she lifts her eyes, looking straight at me before she drops her head quickly.
I never seem to be able to get her to meet my eyes for more than a few seconds.
“You’re looking at her again.” Sawyer’s eyes burn into me.
“Was not.” My answer isn’t proving a strong case as I continue to watch her.
It’s hard not to. In jeans that look painted on, her ass perky to perfection.
Her long, almost jet-black hair contrasting with her stunning blue eyes.
But it’s more than her looks. It’s the way she holds herself, the way she smiles at everyone, the way she waits on tenterhooks for her son to walk in the door after school.
“Now’s not the time to be looking at women, Sutton.” God, if only he knew I’ve been looking at her since I arrived.
I pivot the subject. “She’s young to have a kid, don't you think?”
Sawyer’s girl Annabelle is young, had her children in her late teens, early twenties, but that’s still older than what I think Nikki is.
James must be at least ten, and Nikki, I’m guessing, is in her early twenties, at most. It’s obviously possible, but hell, she must’ve had him young.
Fifteen, maybe, and that doesn’t bode well. She would’ve been a child herself.
There's something about her, though. I clocked the East Coast accent almost immediately. Like a posh upper-class tone that makes me wonder where she’s from.
Her nails are neatly painted soft pink. Her silky hair is well maintained.
Her skin is flawless—not a freckle, not a scar, not a blemish to be seen.
She wouldn’t be out of place in Manhattan.
Yet she’s here, serving coffees in small-town Whispers. It has me intrigued.
“Agree. But it isn’t our business.” Sawyer looks at me closely, but I pay him little attention.
I watch her finish her shift, my jaw tight as her son James packs up his books.
He’s here every day too, doing his homework at the end of the counter.
There’s a lot of love between them. Nikki tucks a loose strand of hair behind her ear as she moves them both toward the back exit.
Just before she walks out, her head turns, her eyes meeting mine again, and for an instant, we get locked in a stare, before she slides through the door, and then they’re gone.
"Where do they walk to?" I ask out loud. I never see her drive; they’re always walking everywhere.
Rochelle, wiping down the counter nearby, barely glances up to answer me. "Home."
"How far?"
She swipes at the counter harder than necessary. "A long way."
I frown at that. "Her car broken?"
Rochelle stops wiping, looking at me like I’ve said something ridiculous. "She doesn’t have one."
I swivel in my seat as my jaw nearly drops. "You’re joking."
"Not everyone can afford these things, Sutton. And while I pay my staff fairly, she isn’t a billionaire like you."
Her tone is sharp, but there’s something else beneath it, something pointed.
“That girl has a history, one she hasn’t shared with me. But I can tell she’s got secrets."
I don’t respond, because I already knew that.
Sawyer gives me another look of his that tells me to quit it. “Don’t go looking. Nikki isn’t someone you have fun with and then forget once you’re gone."
With a smirk, I shake my head. “I don’t know what you’re talking about."
He doesn’t believe me, and he shouldn’t. It’s been a long time since I touched a woman, and I sure as hell am noticing Nikki.
"Speaking of new faces, you might want to finish up." Rochelle's voice has me immediately on edge.
I glance up just in time to see a guy scanning the diner, someone unfamiliar, but familiar enough. The kind of guy who doesn’t belong here but is pretending he does.
A journalist.
Fuck.
Pulling my baseball hat down, I quickly slide out of the booth, grateful the group of men at the front are making asses of themselves to take his attention. I toss Sawyer a quick goodbye, Rochelle a small nod, and move toward the back exit.
I step outside just in time to catch sight of Nikki and James walking away, their pace steady, their shoulders drawn inward like they don’t want to be seen. My eyes don’t leave them until they disappear down the street, their figures slipping into the shadows of the back roads.
I’m not the only one hiding out in Whispers, that’s for sure.