A Moment of Truth: A Complete Bonus Set (A Matter of Trust #1-2) (40 page)

“He wouldn’t do that.”

“Oh no? He’s probably halfway across the world, and you don’t know where he is or who he’s with, do you?”

I breathe deeply. She rattles me every time. “If he wanted to do that, I suppose he could, but I trust him.”

“So while you’re home, growing old waiting for him, he announces to the world that he’s single and gallivants around doing God knows what. You realize the people around him will turn a blind eye if he wants them to.”

Every single fear is exposed, raw and throbbing, and she’s cutting them fresh, winding up my mind.

“I just don’t know what’s gotten into you, Claire. Mr. Perfect isn’t perfect. Mark my words. You’re living in some fantasy world.”

“Do you think he’d invite me along with him on his press tour if he wanted to be with other people? Or invite me to London to meet his family?”

“Well, he probably expected you to say no, but the offer makes him look like a great guy, and now all his options are open. And who knows about London, Claire. Are you still planning on going?”

I shouldn’t let her words seep into my mind, but now my mouth is dry, and there’s a pit in my belly. “Yes, Mom, I’m going.”
Am I?
  

“I’ll set your place just in case. Be smart, Claire.”

We hang up, and I lie in bed, totally wound up and unwound at the same time. I breathe deeply. I glance at the clock and only twenty minutes have passed, but it feels like days. I’m ready to call Dan, but am I really going to tell him my mother has me doubting him? That’s shitty. Plus, he’s far away and probably isn’t available.

No, it’s time to hit the gym hard. After heavy weights and a fast run, I arrive home feeling better, more in-control than when I left. Later, I head to the practice room and work on the composition David needs soon. Pressure, pressure, pressure.

***

A week or so later, Dan’s on TV again, but this time it’s with his castmates, including megabitch, Sophie Miller.

I’m sitting with Camille and Bridget. They’re tuned in, but . . . “Maybe I shouldn’t watch this one.”

“Again? Stop it already, would you?” Camille says.

“Sophie is on this one.”

Camille breathes and scoots next to me. “It’s just business.”

“I know, I know.” And I think back to the conversation he and I had just the other day after he appeared on the Ryan Rockford show. He told me how much he loved my text. How it made him laugh. How he misses me. How he’s counting the days until the New York premiere when we’ll see each other again. I’m ashamed to admit I listened for the slightest change in his voice, the slightest clue that something suspicious was up, and I came up with exactly nothing. The guilt took over for a while until I reminded myself that I’m flawed and exactly as Dan described: sensitive. And fearful.
What a recipe for disaster.

On the television, Dan, in his divine beauty and well-tailored suit, sits next to Sophie, Ethan, and Mia on the couch, with Dan closest to the host, Dirk Melody.

“Welcome to all of you!” Dirk says. His blond hair is swept back, and his bright peach suit competes with his gleaming smile for brightness.

All four of the actors smile and wave to the audience. “Thank you,” each mumbles.

“You’re all so young and beautiful, and this movie is just so dark! Tell me, Dan, what drew you to this role?”

Women in the audience dominate the first few seconds with their screaming. “I wanted to stretch myself as an actor, and the material was quite rich and challenging.”

“So it didn’t have anything to do with this fine woman sitting next to you?” Dirk asks, waggling his eyebrows at a smiling Sophie, who pretends to be humble.
Faker.

Sophie grabs Dan’s knee. “I believe he was on the fence until he knew I was on board. Right, Dan?”

Dan smiles, but does nothing to move her talons, I mean, hand from his knee. He says, “Right. You are the only reason I did this.” He grins.

She smiles victoriously and removes her hand.

“Claire, sit down,” Bridget says. “You can’t crawl through the TV to rip her arm off.”

“What? Oh. I didn’t even realize I stood up.” I sit back down.

“There is undeniable chemistry in this film. You two light the screen on fire—am I right, everyone?” Dirk asks the audience. There’s loud clapping and hooting.

“Well, you have to have a bond to do some of the things we did,” Sophie says, smiling like there’s a secret to uncover.

“And what did you do to build that kind of bond?” Dirk asks, itching to dig deeper.

“Dan and I talked a lot, went out, got to know each other well—you know, really got to know each other as people, and Dan’s so easy to work with, you know? So easy on the eyes, easy in every way.” Sophie rubs Dan’s arm and laughs. Dirk laughs, too. So does Dan. “But truthfully, it’s part of being an actor, you know?” she says, as if she’s suddenly some kind of real actor instead of a giant asshole. She flips her hair over a shoulder.
Bitch.

Dirk asks everyone a few polite questions, and then he’s back to grilling Dan and Sophie. Honestly, I know they ask the leads the most, but this situation is personal and it’s pissing me off.

“The film’s promotion ends just before Christmas, right? So what are your holiday plans, Dan?”

For a split second, I hope he pulls a Tom Cruise and jumps on the couch to declare his love for me, but he says, “Heading to London to spend it with my family.”

“And your plans, Sophie? Heading to London with Dan?” Dirk’s salivating.

“No,
I’m
doing that!” I shout at the TV.

Camille and Bridget crack up.

Sophie raises her eyebrows and turns to Dan. “Wouldn’t that be fun? We could really paint the town!” she laughs.

“Well, there
are
rumors of you two dating. We all know how easy the lines blur with actors,” Dirk says in a singsong voice.

“We’re both professionals,” Dan says quickly.

I can feel Bridget and Camille watching me.

“Don’t kiss and tell, right, Mr. Chase? But you’d be quite lucky to have Ms. Miller on your arm.” Dirk winks at Sophie.

“Oh yeah, he’d be lucky, but . . .” Sophie says, pausing to lean in as if telling a secret—on national TV. “I’d be lucky, too.”

“She’s standing again,” Bridget says, looking at me. I’m also breathing hard. I can feel my nostrils flaring.

“He looks uncomfortable, Claire. Look how his hand is balled up on his leg,” Camille says. “And he’s not smiling.”

“Ooh! Is there anything you’d like to confirm, Ms. Miller—perhaps an early Christmas present to all your shippers?”

Sophie laughs and slaps her hand onto Dan’s leg again, and maybe it’s just me hoping, but he pulls his leg away a fraction. “We’re just friends,” Sophie says, smiling slyly.

The show ends, and I haven’t sat down. In fact, I’m pacing. “I need to get over this. And I can’t ask him about it because then . . . you know—”

“What? Just ask him. If it’ll help with your paranoia,” Camille says.

I shake my head. “It’s late. I should just go to bed.” I stomp off to my room and crawl into bed. I’m lying there, itching with frustration and staring at the ceiling when my phone rings. It’s Dan. I momentarily debate answering.

“Hello?”
I sound pissed off. I have to rein it in.

“Hey, Claire, how are you? Did I wake you up?”

Damn his hot British accent.
“No. Just lying here. How are you?”

“I’m fine. Just arrived in Germany.”

“Wait, I just saw you on Dirk Melody’s show.”

“Oh, that was taped last week. How’d I look? Did you pine for me?” he asks, snickering.

Oh, for God’s sake!
I want to scream because his laugh soothes me almost instantly, causing this flip-flopping of emotions inside, which is making me nuts.
Why am I like this? Do I really want to have some kind of heart-to-heart over the phone? Do I want him to know how insecure I can be?
“You looked . . . great.” I exhale deeply
.

“Really? Are you running a fever? What have you done with snarky Claire?”

I force a little laugh and do my best to let go of my worries. “Wait, is this Dan?”

“Ahh! There she is.” He laughs again. “Eight days until I see you at the premiere in New York.”

“Yeah, eight days.” There are so many questions I want to ask, so many things I want to say but I can’t. I shouldn’t. “So, are you enjoying the sights?”
Stupid question.

“Eh, I don’t get to see much when I’m promoting. They’ve got our schedule pretty packed, and I’m exhausted, actually.” He pauses, but I can tell he wants to say more. “And honestly, sightseeing with people you work with is just . . . well, not the same as seeing it with someone you
want
to see them with . . . I don’t want you to feel badly that you didn’t come, because I totally understand, but I really wish you were here. Eight more days is just . . . too fucking long.”

Too fucking long is right!
I sigh
.
“It is. Next time, I’ll come. I’d love to see the sights with you. I’m just not sure you’d have time.”

“There isn’t much free time, but we’d work it out. We always do, right?”

My heart melts. “Yeah, I guess we do.”

“Exactly.”

“Before I forget . . . I got a call earlier from David. He wants me to head out to L.A. tomorrow for a couple of meetings with him and some other musicians, so it might be hard to connect.”

“Will you still be coming with me to the premiere? To London?” He sounds a bit panicked.

“Of course. I’ll only be gone a couple of days.”

“Oh, okay. Well, you’ll stay at my house, right? You know where the spare key is.”

“Yeah, thank you. I’d love to.”
It’ll be weird without you there.
 

“It’s probably a mess; I haven’t been there in a while.”

“I’ll just push the pizza boxes and Chinese containers to the side.”

His laugh is drowned out by the noise in the background. “Sorry to cut this short, but our car’s arrived—hi ho, hi ho, it’s off to work I go.”

I giggle. “Okay. Have fun—well, not too much, Hot Dwarf.”

“Hot Dwarf!” He sniggers. “No worries, Snow White. This is hardly fun. I’ll fill you in when I see you.”

Hmmm, what’s that mean?
“Sounds good. Safe travels today.”

“Thanks. I’ll call you later. Love you, Claire.”

“Love you, too.”

I head out to L.A. in the morning and arrive on the front step of Dan’s house early in the afternoon. Using the hidden key, I unlock the door and step inside to find that it’s not that bad. I mean, clothes are thrown about, and there are some very rancid dishes rotting in the sink, but it’s mostly okay. I’m actually kind of grateful for the mess. It gives me something to do while I’m here, because this solitude only amplifies his absence. As I’m washing dishes, I’m wondering what exactly I’m scrubbing off the plates—tomato sauce? Bacon grease? Leftover takeout?
God, all he does is eat out. Poor guy.
And then it hits me—his Christmas present! I giggle, knowing exactly what I’m going to give him.

My meetings go well, and that night while lying on his sofa, I’m flicking through the channels to see Dan’s on another talk show. I pause a moment and decide that since I’m only a few days from seeing him, I’m not going to watch his TV interviews anymore. It’s just not worth the mental turbulence and the endless paranoia that result in seeing him and Sophie together on TV. Instead, I’m going to focus on his phone calls and texts, because, really, his words are all that matters.

Chapter Fourteen

“Stand up; let me see,” Bridget says.

I stand as instructed, wondering if Cinderella’s Fairy Godmother abracadabra-ed just as amazing of a dress as my Fairy Slutmothers found me: an elegant, yet ever-so-slutty, emerald green column dress with a seriously high slit up the side. The slightly shimmery fabric is cool against my skin, and since it’s strapless, I’ll need a coat or something because winter in New York is damn cold.

“You are stunning,” Camille says, beaming at me. “Bridget, I have to hand it to you, I had my doubts, but this is perfect on her.”

Bridget, standing next to Camille, tips her head side-to-side, inspecting the final look. “I really have a knack for this stuff, don’t I?”

I look in the mirror and gasp. I almost don’t recognize myself with the heavy makeup and my hair swept elegantly and flowing to one side, and the dress that skates down my silhouette hugging me in all the right spots. “Yeah, you do.”

With one final check in the mirror, and wishes for good luck, the Fairy Slutmothers wave me off. Sitting in the car that Dan ordered for me, my stomach flutters. I’m nervous to go to a premiere since, well, I’ve never been to one. I’m nervous to see Dan, too, since I haven’t seen him in weeks, and that always makes me a little crazy. But mostly, I’m excited to see him—to finally lay my eyes on him, lay my hands on him, and bask in his soap and shaving cream scent. Time is stuck in slow motion, traffic is heavy, and the space between us isn’t shrinking quickly enough.

We’d gone back and forth on the details of arriving together or even just seeing the film together, but it simply wasn’t going to work out. He’d be so involved in walking the red carpet with the cast, and Len felt my presence would detract from the movie itself, so we decided I’d meet him at the club for the after party. And, wow, what a club it is.

I enter through the front, after passing through security, and I’m bowled over by the twinkling lights, scores of candles, and huge floral centerpieces on tables loaded with food. Waiters are passing appetizers to the still-small group, and a huge, circular bar dominates the center of the space. It’s dim, but there’s enough light to see other faces, especially those of the string quartet that’s playing on one side of the room. The cast hasn’t arrived yet, but the buzz in the air suggests that they’ll be arriving in mere moments. I’m not sure who anyone is, and admittedly I feel a little out of place, but my heart thumps in anticipation of seeing Mr. Beautiful.

After checking my coat, I get a drink and scan the room, amazed that this is real—it’s beyond lavish and classy, yet just as I’d expect from Hollywood folk. There’s a sudden flurry of excitement near the front door. I turn to look. Businessmen begin arriving in quick succession. They must be the moneymen; the ones who pay for that on-screen magic.

An eternity seems to pass. I’m tempted to check my phone tucked in my purse, but don’t.
He’ll be here
, I remind myself. Someone taps on my shoulder and my heart leaps. I turn. It’s Ian Glammer.
Oh shit.

“Hi, Claire,” he says, scoping me out from head to toe in his ever-creepy way. “I’d buy you a drink, but looks like you already have one.” He clanks his drink with mine. “Waiting for your man, huh?”

“Why are you here? You don’t like him, so why come?” I scan the room, looking for a way to escape, but find none.

He leans in and whispers, “It’s called networking.” He steps closer even though I step back. “Plus, I usually get lucky at these things, or should I say, I have a lot of luck to give. Want some?” His head tips back with laughter.

I turn to go anywhere else, but he grabs my arm.

“Always running away. Interesting. You like the hard-to-get angle, huh? You make Dan chase you around the bedroom—wait. Get it? Dan
Chase
you around the bedroom?” He laughs at his own lame joke.

“Amusing.” I twist out of his grasp.

“I’m not going to hurt you. I’m just making conversation.” He rolls his eyes.

I’ve never been around someone so slimy and just plain creepy. Thankfully, there are flashes of lights and a bustling commotion at the front door. I use the distraction to slip away through the crowd that’s quickly thickening. There are so many people standing between me and the front entrance that I stand on tiptoe to see who’s coming in.

Mia and Ethan—Dan’s co-stars—enter, looking incredible. Obviously, only outrageously beautiful people are allowed in Hollywood. After many more clicks and flashes, in walks Sophie, who is the very definition of drop-dead gorgeous. My head starts to make comparisons, but I stop myself.
Don’t ruin tonight with your insecurities, Claire.

And then . . . the brightest flashes and loudest clicks go off. Anyone looking in that direction is momentarily blinded as Mr. Beautiful glides in smooth, smiling, and heart-stopping. Or maybe that’s just my heart because the air leaves my chest and my knees weaken, but I catch myself before they buckle. I ogle his every move. He’s shaking the hands of various people: women, men, and the suits. He hugs a few, too. Sophie turns back to whisper in his ear, and he laughs.

Bitch.

The four of them separate out to say hello to everyone. There are pats on the back and drinks handed out, but I notice that between the handshakes and congratulations, Dan’s eyes dart about, scanning the room. Maybe it’s presumptuous, but I’m hoping he’s looking for me. I want to throw my arms up and wave him down, shout his name even, but that would be weird, so I just keep my eyes on him, willing him to look my way.

Over here!

This way.

More to the left . . . more . . .

And then—
Yes!

Our eyes lock, and my heart leaps and dances when his smile, already bright and wide, grows brighter and wider still. He cuts through outstretched hands, bypassing them, and makes a beeline for me.
Me!
I’m ready to break into a run to close this distance, but I keep my cool and walk forward, hoping I don’t trip. Finally, I’m face to face with Mr. Beautiful, and without a word, he removes the drink from my hand and gives our glasses to a passing waiter, before wrapping me up in his arms. The soap and shaving cream scent possesses me—
my Dan is here, finally!
I don’t want to let go.

“You are fucking beautiful, my love,” he whispers in my ear.

Surely beams of light are bursting from my every pore. “As are you,” I whisper back.

Placing his hands on my cheeks, he pulls me into a sweet kiss and then leans back to look at me. “God, I’ve missed you. I couldn’t wait to get here. The night was dragging.”

“I know what you mean. I couldn’t wait for you to finally get here, too. I was lonely.”

“Me, too.”

“Liar! You had company,” I tease, nodding my head in the direction of his co-stars.

He raises an eyebrow. “Hardly company. So are you all packed? Leaving on the four a.m. flight, remember?”

“Yeah, I’m packed. Just have to pick up my suitcase from my apartment. So will we sleep at my place before, or just go directly to the airport from here?”

“Sleep? Uh, well, let’s see . . . I haven’t seen you in weeks, you’re oozing sex in that dress, and I pretty much want to spend these next eight hours before our flight fucking you literally into tomorrow.”

“Eight hours? That’s some wishful thinking there, fifteen-minute man.”

He laughs and kisses me again. We haven’t stopped holding onto each other. “Are you nervous about meeting my family?” he says, pulling back.

“I’m okay, actually. I’m looking forward to it.”

“Well, I’m nervous. I’m having regrets.”

My heart sinks, and I step back. “You are? Why?”

He sighs dramatically and grabs my hands. “Because . . . my sisters are . . . well, let’s just say they’re looking forward to showing you my childhood photos. They said they made a fucking album or something, so it’ll probably be quite entertaining for
you
.” He rolls his eyes.

Giggling, I stroke his cheek. “I’m really happy to be spending Christmas with you.”

He smiles at me, and we’re back in our bubble, basking in one another, when Len interrupts us, reminding me that we’re in the middle of a sea of people, all of whom want Dan’s attention, too. Len introduces Dan and me to some people. There’s polite chitchat amongst everyone when Ethan, Dan’s castmate, joins in.

“Hi, Claire. Not sure you remember me. I’m Ethan. Worked with Dan on this one.” He offers his hand and we shake.

“Of course I remember. Congratulations on the movie. I hope promo was smooth.”

“Yeah, it was fine. It’s nice seeing you again. Dan couldn’t wait to meet up with you tonight.” He gives me a quick wink.

I’m shocked. “How do you know that? Dan said something?”

Dan interrupts us. “Claire, Len wants me to say hello to a few people. I’ll be right back.”

I nod. “All right.” I turn back to Ethan as Dan leaves.

Ethan continues. “He couldn’t stop telling me about seeing you tonight . . . like, the entire time we were on promo.” Ethan seems amused.

I’m speechless and smiling, and my cheeks are hot. “Really? I just figured he would be too busy to think about much other than promotion.”

Ethan shakes his head. “Nah. Promo is busy, but it’s oddly lonely. It’s weird. Like all these people are excited to see you and talk to you, but you don’t really know anyone, and a lot of it is fake, you know?”

I nod, letting it sink in.

“Anyway, Dan says you’re a musician. What do you play?”

I’m in the middle of answering when someone taps Ethan on the shoulder, and he politely excuses himself. I resume gawking at Mr. Beautiful, who is across the crowded room at the bar, chatting with suits, but keeping an eye on me, too. He winks, and I realize watching him from a distance, as he schmoozes in a perfectly fitted suit, is my new favorite hobby. I’m happily drinking in his deliciousness when there’s a tap at my shoulder. I turn to see Sophie standing there with a smart-ass smirk on her face.
Ruiner.

“Hi, Claire.”

Be polite. You’re in a room full of people Dan knows. Keep it about business.
“Hi, Sophie. Congratulations on the movie. Things seemed to go well.”

“Oh yeah, it’s getting raves,” she says, tossing her hair over her shoulder and glancing around like the Queen herself. “So did Dan invite you tonight?”

“No, I invited myself.” Her face twitches slightly. “Yes, of course he did.”

She purses her lips. “Are you dating again?”

How doesn’t she know if Ethan knows? Maybe Dan’s kept it from her on purpose?
I don’t want to say anymore than necessary, but it’s time to mark my territory. “Yes, we are.”

“Oh?” She raises an eyebrow. “How long has that been going on?”

“A while. Why does it matter to you?”

She pauses, her mouth curling into an evil grin. “Because he and I had a thing, and I wondered if he’s playing us.”

Playing us?
My heart stops on a dime, and a dread-like plague spreads out from my belly. “You had a . . . thing?” I stammer.

It’s clear by her smug grin that she’s gotten the reaction she was after. She nods and continues. “Which is why I’m wondering if he’s playing us, because obviously he didn’t tell you that we slept together.”

The room shrinks and there is no air left to inhale. “You two slept together? You’re lying.”
Please be lying. Please.

Her wicked smile only grows. “Don’t believe me? Just take a look over at him.” I turn in what feels like slow motion in Dan’s direction. It’s a mere moment until he and I catch eyes. When his face falls and his eyes widen a fraction, I realize that understanding has settled in. He knows. He knows what she told me, because he’s nearly pushing people out of the way to get to me.
No! She’s telling the truth!

Go!
I have to go, but my feet are rooted to the spot until I hear Sophie giggle, and in a singsong voice, she says, “Somebody’s in trouble.”

I begin to plow through the crowd toward the front door and away from Dan.
Go . . . go . . . go!

I hear him calling my name. He’s getting closer, but I keep going. I need fresh air before I collapse to the ground. My arm is grabbed and I’m spun around.

“Where are you going?”

It’s Ian. I yank my arm away, but he’s got me tight.

“Did your perfect boyfriend do something not so perfect? He’s upset the most beautiful woman in the room? Tsk, tsk. I’ll take you away, baby. Follow me.”

He begins pulling me in a different direction, but I rip his fingers off my arms, shove him away, and bolt for the front entrance. Stepping outside, the frigid air smacks me in the face.
Fuck, my coat! I can’t go back.
The crowd on the sidewalk is thick, but I press on through.

“Claire!” I hear behind me.
Where do I go? Curb. Taxi
. I squeeze through and stand on the edge of the curb, waving my arm desperately for a cab.

A flurry of camera clicks sound behind me. I’m afraid to look. I can’t look at him. I wipe my face—my cheeks are entirely wet.
Fuck! I’m crying in public!
People scream Dan’s name.

“Claire! Claire!” I hear again. His voice is urgent, but I cannot possibly speak to him. 

A cab pulls up.
Thank God!
I yank open the door just as my arm is tugged back.

It’s Dan. We’re surrounded by cameras and people tugging at him. “Let go of me!” I twist.

“Claire, please.”

Flash! Flash!

“Did you do it?” I ask, hardly able to see him through the blur of tears and the flashes of light.

With his face contorted with what must be guilt, he hesitates before he says, “Let’s go talk.”

“That’s it?” I yank my arm from his grasp, dive into the cab, and slam the door. “Drive,” I practically yell at the cabbie.

We’re halfway down the street when I gasp, realizing there’s not enough air to fill the space left by my heart, which lies shattered in a million shards on the floor of that club.