A Moment of Truth: A Complete Bonus Set (A Matter of Trust #1-2) (47 page)

Chapter Twenty

Dear Lord, something died in my mouth last night because this taste is vile.

I sit up and rub my eyes, but quickly lie back down when my stomach starts rolling. Seems Chinese and wine really aren’t the fabulous pair I imagined them to be last night.

I need water.
I roll to my side and wait.
Okay, I feel all right.
I sit up slowly this time and wait.
Damn, it’s bright in here.
I’m still okay, so I inch myself to standing. I Frankenstein walk to the kitchen since walking normally isn’t possible right now; parts of me hurt for some reason.

I grab a glass of water, sip slowly, and survey the damage in the living room. The open cartons of Chinese are still sitting on the coffee table. The stink is terrible, and yet I wish it had been put in the fridge because I could really use some leftovers; I’m starving!

Pancakes.

I clean up the Chinese, holding my breath the whole time, and toss it all quickly into the trash. I throw the pancake ingredients in a bowl, and I’m in the middle of making them when the undead, a.k.a. Bridget rises and shuffles her way toward me.

“You literally look like a zombie.”

She examines me head to toe. “Brains . . .” she moans.

I giggle.

“Isn’t your head killing you?” she asks, rubbing her temples.

“Shockingly, no. But I was ridiculously thirsty.”

“Ooh. Pancakes. Good. Where’d you go last night? You never came out of your room.”

“Dan called.” I swoon for a moment, and Bridget rolls her eyes. “He’s coming to New York next weekend. I think that’s what he said. He’s got a work event, and I’m going to try to go, too!”

“But you two aren’t supposed to be in contact.”

“Yeah, well, staring across the room can be hot, right? It’s better than nothing.”

“True. So, that’s it? You were in there a while.”

I stop and think. “God, I know we had some kind of deep conversation, but it’s all fuzzy and vague. Maybe I’ll remember it later.”

***

Over the next week, I call David and secure three tickets to the after-party of some movie, and for the first time in what seems like ages, I’m able to write music.
Thank God!
I punch out two songs—one for The Ledge and the other for potential movie score use. I’m feeling great!

A serious case of the jitters hits me, as I get ready for the party. Although, I won’t be able to talk with Dan, I’ll see him—right there—so close! I’m desperate for more than a look, but I’m hard up and I’ll take what I can get.

I’ve got on a simple black dress. It’s a slightly less-slutty version of the one I wore on one of our first dates. That one had no back, and this one dips low in the front. Bridget gives me these stick-on chicken-cutlet looking things that hold my boobs in place since there’s no way to wear a bra.

The three of us walk into the party, which is already underway.

“Let’s go get a drink,” Camille says.

I’m whipping my head left, right, up, down, under, over, looking around for Dan. Nothing yet.

“You’re making me dizzy doing that,” Bridget says, smiling.

Camille orders drinks, and when they arrive Bridget shoves one into my nervous hands. I sip it and silently pray he’s still coming. He wouldn’t have been able to tell me otherwise. This black hole of no communication is soul sucking, and makes me wonder how the world ever revolved without cell phones.

The three of us hardly speak, mostly because we’re people-watching, and I’m on pins and needles, waiting for a glimpse of Mr. Beautiful.

Eventually, Camille elbows me and nods to the right. There. Maybe fifty feet away is my boyfriend! He’s in a charcoal gray suit, a crisp white button-down shirt that’s unbuttoned a bit, and shiny black shoes. His hair is longer than when I last saw him, and it’s brushed back. I sigh. “He’s beautiful.”

“Yes, he is,” Camille says, patting my back.

“It’s like I need to pinch myself—is he real?”

Bridget pinches my ass.

“Ow!” I jump back.

“He’s real!” She cackles.

When Dan and I catch each other’s eyes, it’s as if the world has just screeched to a halt and somehow we’re alone in this vast room filled with people. We exchange smiles, and as if in a dream, I begin floating toward him.

That’s when Camille rudely interrupts me by pulling my arm back. “You can’t go over to him, remember?”

I slump with the weight of reality. “Oh, yeah. Right.” I shrug my shoulders at him and he nods. By his waning smile, he seems to feel the same. There’s a sudden and deep longing that nearly knocks me over. It’s more intense than ever. My heart punches at my ribs as if it’s trying to knock a hole straight through me and make its own way over to him since my feet won’t take it.

Dan mouths something to me. “He’s saying something, but I can’t tell what.” I squint at him and shake my head.

“I think he’s saying, ‘My shoes hurt.’ I think that’s it,” Bridget says.

Camille laughs and smacks Bridget’s arm. “There’s no way he’s mouthing something about his shoes hurting. I think he’s saying, ‘I miss you.’”

“I think so, too. Or hope so anyway.” I mouth back, “
I miss you, too
.”

He smiles and glances down as a blush sweeps across his cheeks. Looking back up at me, he mouths and makes some hand gestures to help. “You . . . look . . . beautiful.” And he gives me a thumbs-up. I’m beaming.

“
You’re so handsome
,” I mouth in return. He’s about to say something else when a man comes up next to him, leans in, and nods in my direction. He’s obviously saying something about me because Dan’s eyes widen, and he shakes his head at me in warning.

I mouth, “
Rodney
?”

He nods with wide eyes.

I turn away and slink behind Camille. “Shit. It’s Rodney—the guy who follows him. Hide me.”

Bridget and Camille step in front of me, creating my very own wall. “Should we leave?” Bridget asks.

“No, not yet,” I say. “Let’s just move a little this way.” As a group we shuffle over a bit.

“No, this isn’t conspicuous at all,” Camille says.

“Oh hush. I think we should be fine over here,” I say.

“We only moved like five feet,” Bridget says.

“True, but if we move any farther, I won’t be able to see Dan. I can peek over your shoulders at him now.” Rodney has stepped away from Dan, who’s talking to someone else, but glancing my way every few seconds. I sigh—this is much harder than I thought it’d be.

“Claire, I hate to tell you this, but I have to use the restroom,” Camille says.

“I’ll stay here,” says Bridget as Camille heads off.

“There are a lot of famous people here,” Bridget says, looking around. I nod, sip, and look around, too. She’s right, I guess. I hadn’t noticed anyone but Dan.

“Looking for me?” someone says from behind me. I gasp and jump back as I spin around.
Ian.
Disgusted, I turn my back on him.

He shifts in front of me. “Hi, Claire. So really, you must be looking for me, because I know you’re not looking for your ex. He’s with that new girl over there—the one with the long dark hair—tight red dress—see her?” He’s pointing, and I’m just noticing Dan’s “date” hovering near him.
What I wouldn’t give to be her right now.

“Come to think of it, she kind of looks like you. I guess you’re hard to replace. But honestly, she can’t compete. So, how are you handling the breakup, by the way? Need any comfort? I’m really good with comforting women; it’s a specialty of mine. Red dress girl recently broke up with her longtime boyfriend, too, and I was there, listening to her, letting her cry on my shoulder, showing her what it’s like to be with a real man.”

Eww.

My eyes haven’t left Dan, and he’s just noticed Ian standing next to me, because his eyes widen in anger and his jaw clenches. He’s shaking his head. I need to get Ian away from me.

“Do you
really
think you’ll get anywhere with me? Just go away.”

Ian steps closer to me and whispers, “I wonder if you’re still in love with him. Are you? Is this thing here just a game?” He points between Dan and I. “Hmmm. I wonder . . .” He strokes his chin with an evil grin on his stupid face.

“Go away, Ian. Just go the fuck away,” I say, turning my back on him once more. I glance in Dan’s direction. He’s redder now, his fists are tight, and I sense that something really bad is about to happen. I shake my head at Dan, trying to signal I’ve got this under control.

Ian wrenches my arm back, causing me to spin around and lose my balance. He catches me in his arms and kisses me hard, trying to slip his tongue in my mouth. Wiggling around as much as I can, I try to push him off me, but he’s got me locked tight; I really can’t move. Bridget pulls at Ian’s arm, but he hip checks her away. In what feels like slow motion, Dan yanks Ian off me, cocks his arm back, and lands his clenched fist in Ian’s face. Ian falls to the floor and skids a few feet before he stops, holding his cheek. His nose is bleeding, too, but he’s got this wicked grin on his face.

Dan quickly helps Bridget to her feet then is at my side, asking if I’m okay. Suddenly, Rodney appears with a few other beefy men who seem to be security. A crowd is forming around us.

“He assaulted me!” Ian shouts as he stands, pointing at Dan with the hand that’s not stopping the flow of blood from dripping down his face. “Arrest him!”

“Fuck off! You accosted her!” Dan’s got his arm around me, holding me to his side, but there’s too much commotion to enjoy it.

The security guys grab Dan’s arms. “Wait! No!” I reach out for Dan. “You can’t take him. He was defending me!”

They stop, looking back and forth from Ian to me.

“She kissed me! She wouldn’t let me go!” Ian says. “You’re lucky I don’t press charges against you, too, you crazed fan!” Ian is lead off by a few security guys to a closed door on the right of the room.

“You fucking liar!” I shout. Bridget’s face is white, but she’s by my side as is Camille who’s just come back from the bathroom, and they’re pulling me back.

Unable to do anything, the three of us stand there while a different security team hauls Dan away from me to some back room to the left.

Fuck!

Chapter Twenty-One

It’s been days, and my anger hasn’t subsided. Not even remotely. Ian planned this. I’m sure of it. I haven’t heard from Dan, either, but I have heard from all the entertainment news shows, the Internet, and, of course, my mother.

“What is happening now, Claire? Dan accosted another man and now has charges pending against him? I cannot tell you how happy I am that you’re no longer with him. Thank God you dodged that bullet. Now you can focus on finding a
good
man, someone who’s worthy of you.” Which sounds exactly like something Ian would say. God, it makes me ragey. But rather than try to explain the confusion and complication that is my love life, I stay silent and let her rant. It’s just easier that way.

Finally, with that off her chest, she fills me in on the minute details of my father’s surprise party. “He has no idea, and so far everyone’s coming, and I rented the tent to be attached to the back of the house, and your brothers are taking him out for the day. Oh, it’s going to be wonderful.”

The phone call ends, and I’m as agitated as I was before, maybe even more so. I begin cleaning things and muttering to myself. Camille catches me in the bathroom on all fours, scrubbing the floor.

“You know, if you want to go to the ball, you’re going to need to finish that by eight, Cinderella.”

I glance up at her, and she’s smiling. But I’m not. I continue scrubbing. “I just can’t shake the anger, Camille. Everyone has the situation wrong. Ian’s pressing charges, which by all news accounts will seriously fuck up Dan’s career . . . I should have hit Ian myself. Kneed him or something. Not to mention that I’m so fucking depressed I can’t see or even talk to Dan. To top it off, he’s going here and there with these young, pretty actresses, and I’m here, scrubbing floors, waiting for time to pass. Hopefully our relationship can just pick up where it left off, but who the fuck knows? Maybe he blames me for everything. Maybe he’s good with being away from me now.”
Scrub. Scrub. Scrub.

She bends down and touches my hand. “There’s nothing you can do. You didn’t do anything wrong; I’m sure he doesn’t blame you.”

From the living room, I hear the door buzz and the sound of feet as Bridget answers it.

“Seriously, it’ll be okay—one way or another, it will. And
you’ll
be okay,” Camille says.

Bridget joins us in the bathroom. “Is this the new meeting spot? Kinda cramped, no?” She looks from what is certainly my crabby expression to Camille’s normal face. “Anyway, this is for you.” She hands me an express-delivery envelope. I tear it open and read aloud:

Go out to dinner with me and I won’t press charges.

Call this number to respond. 212-555-8899.

“Who’s that from?” asks Bridget.

“Ian, I’m sure. He didn’t sign his name, so he could probably feign innocence if I showed this to anyone of consequence.”

“Wow. I didn’t think he could get any lower,” Camille says.

A ray of hope suddenly streams through the storm clouds in my head. I stand, hopeful, renewed. “Wait . . . if I go out to dinner with Ian, Dan won’t have charges pressed against him. I can help him.”

“You can’t do that. You aren’t doing that,” Camille says.

“Why not?”

“Because Ian’s a slimeball. God only knows what he wants.”

“I’ll keep it public. Meet him there, eat, leave on my own. Oh! You guys can come with me, too—sit at a nearby table or something.” Once again, they look at me like I’m insane. “I’m not crazy.”

“Nope, not at all. Just certifiable. Dan will hit the roof, Claire,” Camille says.

“But I’m doing it
for
him—to help him, not to hurt him. He’ll understand that.”

The next morning I call the number, which turns out to be Ian’s agent, and accept the invitation. I make sure to mention that I want the deal in writing, because I’m thinking ahead for once!

Afterward, I head to the practice room and begin work on another song, this time for Cora Karr, the newest sixteen-year-old music sensation. I’m making solid progress when my phone rings. I answer absently. “Hello?”

“Don’t even think of going out with him.”

“Dan?”

“Yes. That motherfucking douchebag sent me a message that since you’ve agreed to dinner with him, he’ll drop the charges. You are not—NOT—to go anywhere with him.”

“Are you at the library again?”

“Yes, and you’d better be listening to me, Claire. Don’t even think of it.”

“I get why you’re upset, but there’s no way I’m going to let him press charges against you. It could ruin your career. It’s not worth it.”

“Wrong. My career will be fine. People come back from all sorts of things.”

“There’s no reason to ‘come back’ from anything. Did you get in trouble with Sushman for it?”

He sighs. “This entire situation is . . . beyond fucked up. Sushman loved that I punched another guy—said it was perfectly in character—but was upset because it was over you, and now there’s speculation that we might be together. He interrogated me to see if it was a coincidence or not.
Jesus.
Who the fuck cares at this point? What’s going to happen if we—ugh. I’m losing my mind, Claire. I’m not myself. I’m frustrated and tense and . . . there are no more dinners in the freezer, so I don’t even have that. You looked beautiful that night, by the way. Beautiful. I miss you so fucking much.”

My heart aches. “I miss you, too—so much. I wish I could hug you right now.” Tears well in my eyes. He sounds so sad and it’s killing me. “I know you don’t want me to go out with Ian, but it’s only dinner. What’s Len think?”

“Who cares what Len thinks?” he snaps.

“Len doesn’t think it’s such a bad idea, huh?”

He growls. “He doesn’t think it’s a bad thing, but . . . it’s Ian. He’s—”

“Creepy. I know, but I’ll be fine, and we’ll be in public. Plus, Camille and Bridget will be there, hidden of course, so I’ll be okay. I promise. Let’s talk about other things, like how much sex we’re going to have once this is finally over.” I’m desperate to lighten the mood, because I can hardly stand all the tension.

He laughs half-heartedly. “Sex? What’s that?”

“Oh, it’s a fabulous fifteen minute adventure—or so I’ve heard.”

“Is this weekend your dad’s party?”

“Yes, and if anyone is going to miss anything, it’s me who’ll miss you at my dad’s party on Saturday. You’ve been the best distraction at family gatherings. At least Camille and Bridget are coming, so that’ll be nice. I think my dad will be surprised.”

“Surprises are always nice.”

“Yeah, they are. I always like your surprises.”

“Surprising you is one of my favorite things.
Shit.
Rodney’s getting out of the car. I’ll try to call in a few days, but listen to what I said, Claire.”

“Okay.”