Chapter 1 #2
People admired her for always speaking her mind.
Some might not like what she had to say, but they respected her.
She did not sleep around, which was a shock to most people, considering her looks and the fact that in show business, it was an incestuous lot, not usually discriminating about who they took to their beds.
Eliza was different. She had values and was not easily influenced.
Sally privately thought that was the reason Samuel had fallen in love with her.
One could not help but take to Eliza. You either hated her or loved her, and most people loved her.
She had numerous fans, quite a few stalkers, but nothing to dread or to wonder if one would become crazed enough to try to take her out.
She was dedicated to her career, or had been until recently, and was a loyal and very generous person.
"Oh, I hate that I'm now going to wish you all the best."
With one final squeeze, Eliza let go of the woman's hand and felt tears at the back of her eyes. Sally was a friend, one of the closest she had in the business.
"It's not like you're getting rid of me completely.
" Picking up her leather jacket, Eliza shrugged into it and shook back her wealth of mahogany-brown hair, which shimmered under the harsh overhead light in the small and surprisingly dingy office.
For all her success and money, Sally had never sprung for a bigger place or something plush.
"Why the hell do I want a sprawling office for?" she had scoffed. "I prefer to spend the money on a place to lay my head."
Sally walked her to the door and laid a hand on her arm. "If you change your mind-"
"I won't," Eliza told her swiftly, with firm resolve.
"Honey, you might think this is the best approach to save your marriage-"
"I think it's the best approach to save my sanity. It's not just my marriage. I want children, and I want them before I'm too old to enjoy them or before it's too late." Eliza placed a hand over Sally's. "I want this more than anything in the world, and you know me, Sal. I'm stubborn as hell."
Sally gave a shake of her salt-and-pepper head. "More's the pity," she grunted. Leaning forward, she kissed Eliza's cheek gently. "If you need anything-"
"I know. I'll be seeing you." Before either of them could embarrass themselves by shedding tears, she left. She had one more stop to make.
Dr. Blake Forsythe folded his narrow, long-fingered hands on the glossy desk and stared at the young woman across from him, his lined face intensely sober.
He was a fan of hers and had been watching her detective series along with his wife ever since it started.
He admired her beauty and intelligence and the fact that she was not one to put on airs.
He had been dealing with celebrities for years now, attending to their various problems, and had never quite met one he so admired.
Eliza Bell-Copeland was in a class all her own, and he vowed to do everything he could to see to it that she succeeded in what she planned on doing.
But he was going to be honest with her. There were risks involved, and she was going to need one hundred percent support from her husband. Samuel Copeland had yet to make an appearance, which was concerning.
"I already highlighted the risks," he pointed out gently. He might be more than a little biased where the young lady was concerned, but truth had to be told.
"You did, and I appreciate your transparency."
He nodded, pleased that she wasn't the least bit offended. He could sit all day and listen to her well-modulated voice, a voice that wooed fans old and young alike.
"I've also done my own reading," she continued. "It might not work at first, and the process can be a lengthy one. I know all of it."
"And your husband?"
Even though she tried to keep her expression neutral, he saw the hesitation, which told him a lot.
"You're going to need him, Eliza." From the very first meeting, she had insisted on him calling her by her first name.
"It would be impossible to accomplish without his input.
I'm aware." She hesitated briefly, toying with the straps of her Louis Vuitton bag.
Her face was on billboards all over town as the detective who conquered crime.
But inside his office, Eliza Bell-Copeland was just a patient, a desperate woman looking for a solution to her problems.
"That's why I want to be armed with all the pros and cons. Samuel thinks it's too risky and dangerous. I will be the one taking all the risks, and I want to do it." She lifted her chin with the curiously appealing dent in the middle. "I am going to do it."
His gray eyes regarded her steadily, and somehow he believed her. She had determination stamped all over her remarkably beautiful face.
"The sooner we start the process, the better," he advised.
She nodded before rising gracefully. He rose with her, coming around to take her hand in his.
She had on oversized sunglasses, which she had removed as soon as she stepped into his office.
His clinic was an exclusive one, and his staff discreet.
Before being hired, they were required to sign a non-disclosure agreement, which was absolutely necessary due to the kind of patients he dealt with.
But there was always the risk of a leak or some innovative reporter hanging around outside, waiting eagerly to see which celebrity was dropping by.
"I wish you all the best, and I'm rooting for you."
"Thank you." She smiled at him, and he felt his heart lurch.
He was in love with his wife of forty years, but that still did not stop him from admiring beauty when it was right before him.
He found himself wondering if her husband was really appreciative of the woman he had and what she was prepared to sacrifice to make a family. He doubted it.
And that, to him, was the most unfortunate thing he had ever seen.
He was wealthy in his own right, but the Copelands made his fortune seem like tuppence compared to theirs.
And there was also the immense power and recognition.
He did not envy them the notoriety. These people could not set foot inside a café without being bombarded by fans and the press.
"I will see you shortly, I hope."
"You will," she promised.
He walked her to the door, watched the sway of her hips in the figure-hugging faded denims, and felt his heart fluttering inside his chest. With a sigh, he stepped back inside his office.
"I hope you did not come all the way uptown to my office to complain about my wife.
" Samuel's smile was edgy, his tone impatient.
He was pressed for time and hated wasting any.
Which he considered was exactly what was happening here.
"Mother, I have no control over what Eliza does. We both have very busy schedules-"
"She canceled lunch for the third time in two weeks.
" Marianne Copeland's lips were pursed in disapproval.
"I understand she's busy gadding around on the small screen, but this is very important.
The fall gala is being hosted by the company, and as your wife-" The emphasis on the word was not lost on him.
"She's required to give her input, even a small one.
She's the one who's supposed to be doing all the implementing-"
"You've been hosting the fall gala for more years than I care to count, and Eliza knows that. She does not want to take that away from you."
Smoky gray eyes flashed her ire. "Is that so? Or is it the fact that she's too busy playing an actress to take her position as your wife?"
"Mother-"
"I will have my say, Samuel," she interrupted fiercely. "We warned you, did we not? Your father and I warned you about marrying someone like her. You had so many to choose from, and yet you chose her. Now you're having regrets. She's not even capable of producing an heir-"
"The door was open, and your assistant is not at her desk." Golden-brown eyes took in the scene at a glance.
Samuel rose slowly, feeling pained that she had been subjected to his mother's vitriol. He could see the hurt on her lovely face.
"Mother was just leaving." He gave her a hard glance that brooked no argument. With a muttered apology, Marianne swept past her daughter-in-law.
"You should have called."
"That would have been prudent, right?" She came in and closed the doors behind her, leaning against them. "At least, it was not some starlet sitting on your lap. It was just your mother bad-mouthing me as usual. You would think I would get used to it by now."
"Eliza-"
He was the only one who called her by her given name. Others had shortened it to either "El" or "Liz," the variation she hated the most.
"I'm not in the mood for an argument."
"Neither am I." She hid her pain beneath a neutral expression.
After all, she was an actress and a damn good one.
She would weep and moan later in the privacy of her rooms, but for now, she could not afford to show any sign of weakness.
Her husband had no time or tolerance for the emotion, and he would use it against her.
She strolled in, hips swaying, eyes slightly amused and derisive. "Your parents hate me because I have so much stacked against me." She let her purse slide to the floor as she faced him around his desk. Lifting her hands, she started enumerating them on her fingers. "One, I'm black-"
"Don't-"
"Two, I was a nobody from a group home, and three, I'm an actress. It does not matter that I fought to get where I am now. It matters that I'm not blue blood, that I'm not from a respectable family."
"That never mattered to me one bit." His voice was gruff, and she knew he meant it. He had told her that often enough, and Samuel Copeland might be arrogant and ruthless, but he was always honest.
"No." She shook her head, hair dancing. "I want my husband back."
"I'm here."
"Are you?" She smiled slightly. "Then prove it."