Courting Trouble (Reality Romance Book 5) (16 page)

Chapter Twenty-Six

Her scary nightmare stalker was Bambi.

Elena had remembered the red curls frizzing in every direction and the paint-chipped fingernails, but she had forgotten the big brown doe eyes and the delicate bird-like bone structure. Mary-Kate’s features were a little too sharp to actually be beautiful, the angles turning them from pixie-ish to severe, but her eyes were freaking
enormous
, made even more so by the shadows under them from hours of tears.

She didn’t look like a villain. She looked like a victim. Which must be why all the detectives seemed so uncomfortable with the idea of actually arresting her precious little self—even though she’d confessed to the death threat.

They’d arrived at the precinct and Elena had insisted on speaking to Mary-Kate. She’d expected resistance, and Adam obviously had as well, but Murkowski almost looked relieved. He thought it was a
great idea
for them to talk, and so did Mary-Kate’s lawyer, who kept vehemently protesting how
understandable
everything was.

As the pair of them led Elena to the little office where Mary-Kate was being detained—God forbid her precious self should go in a dirty jail cell—she began to realize Murkowski wanted Elena to let bygones be bygones almost as much as the lawyer did. He felt
bad
for the precious princess. And this from a hardened cop. She’d expected more from him.

“What happens to her when I press charges?” Elena asked, frowning through the frosted glass of the office door at the girl sniffling into a Kleenex.

“She’ll be charged. Most likely released on bail. I expect she’ll plead guilty. First time offender. No record. Good character references. She’ll probably get probation,” Murkowski answered.

“But she’ll lose her job,” the lawyer interjected.

“You can’t know—”

“It’s inevitable,” Murkowski interrupted. “She’s a teacher. That’s why her prints were in the system.”

Ah. That was right. Art teacher. All that paint on her hands.

And a teacher with a stalking record wouldn’t go over well with the parents.

“Just give her a chance to tell you her side of it,” the lawyer urged.

She left a note saying DIE WHORE on my door. There’s only one side to that
, Elena wanted to argue, but she nodded instead and Murkowski opened the door to the office.

Bambi looked up, blinking tearfully. “
Elena
.” She scrambled to her feet and Elena was instantly snared by irritation that there were no cuffs linking her wrists. This girl had completely snowed the cops.

“Mary-Kate, right?” she said dryly. “I think I lent you some tape once. Though if I’d known at the time you were going to use it to tape death threats to my door, I might have reconsidered.”

Mary-Kate sank back into her chair, flushing and tearing and gasping and sniffling all at once in a medley of messy feminine distress. Elena found herself remarkably unmoved by the entire thing, one detached part of her brain analyzing Mary-Kate’s performance and wondering if it was genuine or if MK was just acting. She might be an art teacher, but that didn’t mean she hadn’t come to LA to try to act. Hell, this might be her idea of a fast-pass to celebrity.

Mary-Kate sniffled wetly. “You have to understand.”

No, I don’t
.

“After Aidan walked out on me again I heard him in your apartment, heard the two of you through the wall—”

“No, you didn’t. He was never in my apartment.”

“
I know you slept with him
.”

Elena arched a brow at the intense snarl, keep her expression bland as Bambi’s victim act cracked, her crazy showing through.

Mary-Kate flushed, pulling herself back under control and getting back to her script. “I swear I thought I heard him. But I’d been drinking and I was on these really strong allergy meds. I wasn’t myself.”

“Uh-huh.”

“I knew he wanted you. He’d taunt me with you.
Fuckable Elena, right next door
. It just made me so crazy and I knew if you would just leave, everything would be good between us again. So I wrote a note. It was just a note. And I really am sorry. I never meant to hurt anyone. I would never hurt anyone. That isn’t me.
This isn’t me
.” She dissolved into ugly sobs—either really committing to the role or completely overcome. The detached jury in the back of Elena’s mind was still out.

Elena waited for the volume to die down enough for her question to be heard. “If it’s not you, why did you do it?”

Bambi’s sobs quieted and she looked baffled by the question. “I just explained. It was a mistake. Aidan—”

“Yeah, I get that you were dating an asshole. But what I don’t understand is how that was an excuse for making my life hell? Where’s the fucking sisterhood? Because nothing you’ve said has anything to do with me.”

“But you were the one he wanted.” She waved a hand at Elena, as if that said it all. And maybe it did. “You were like… like candy being waved in front of a dieter.”

“Lovely analogy. But unless I’m also the one tackling the dieter, sitting on his chest and forcing candy down his throat, it
isn’t my fucking fault he cheats
. I am not responsible for your relationship sucking. I don’t even remember what your loser boyfriend looks like.”

“He isn’t a loser—”

“Yes, he is! Any dipshit who tells his girlfriend that he’d rather be fucking the girl next door is a loser. And that isn’t the fault of the girl next door. He isn’t the victim of my hotness. And neither are you.
I’m
the victim here, you spineless psycho. And
you’re
the bad guy. Take some fucking
ownership
.”

Bambi’s jaw dropped with shock and before she could gather a response Elena slammed out of the office, feeling winded—and a little guilty about the spineless psycho crack. She really shouldn’t have resorted to name calling. But it had felt good to yell.

She didn’t delude herself that it would do any good. But maybe community service and a change in career would be a good life lesson for Bambi.

She turned to Murkowski. “Book her, Dan-O.”

“You sure?”

“Absolutely.”

* * * * *

“Do you think I’d drop the charges if I were a nicer person?”

They were in Adam’s Jeep on the PCH, halfway back to his house when Elena asked the question philosophically from the passenger seat, her bare feet propped up on the dash in what had become her standard pose. Her initial take-no-prisoners mode at the precinct had faded into contemplation as they drove.

“You are a nice person.”

“Not really,” she said, though she didn’t seem bothered by it. “If this goes on her record, it pretty much ruins her life.”

“She’s being held accountable for threatening your life.”

“Yeah, I know. I’m still pressing charges. I feel bad for what’s going to happen to her, but not that bad. I just… I don’t know. I wonder if I overreacted because I was pissed that the cops seemed to be on her side.”

He frowned. “What made you think they were on her side?”

She waved a hand. “You know, the whole thing about hearing her out. How she was a sweet girl with a bright future who was led astray and I should forgive her because she cried and insisted she was sorry.” Her brows pulled together. “Maybe that’s my problem. I’ve never been good at feigning contrition. Even when I bitch and whine about the consequences, I own my actions—and people hate that. They would rather I cry and beg forgiveness because if I own my actions then they have to also. Everyone wants a free pass and if you don’t ask for one, they don’t know what to do with you.” She turned to face the passenger window. “But it does suck that Mary-Kate’s wrecked her whole life because she freaked out about some guy. I know what that’s like. I did it with Daniel.”

“You never threatened the other Suitorettes.”

“I never saw them as a threat.”

“You were gracious in defeat.” He hadn’t actually seen the episode, but he’d heard from Max—who claimed he had only watched the show for his sister’s sake—that Elena had wished Daniel the best as she was led to the Rejection-Mobile.

Elena snorted. “I’m never gracious in defeat. I’m just not going to give them the satisfaction of seeing me cry.”

I thought you didn’t cry.
“Did you cry over Daniel?”

“Fuck yes. I believed every word he said. I was
convinced
he was in love with me. Then he yanked that certainty out from under me. That kind of betrayal—I would have cried just from the injustice of it.”

“Did you love him?”

“It didn’t matter. I never even thought about whether I loved him. I—” She broke off, her feet hitting the floor as she leaned forward and frowned at the congestion ahead. The congestion that seemed to be centered around his house. “What the fuck is that?”

But the question was rhetorical.

The paparazzi had found her.

* * * * *

Elena ducked down, shielding her face with both hands, but it wasn’t just her name the photographers were shouting as flashes erupted against the glass, trying to penetrate the slight tint of the windows.

“Pull in,” she instructed when Adam hesitated at the edge of his driveway. “They’ll just chase us if we drive somewhere else and at least this way we can lock them outside the gate. Private property.”

“Right,” he grunted, his face severe.

The shouting only got worse as the gate opened, the more daring throwing themselves in front of the vehicle in an attempt to get the best shot. Adam kept the Jeep moving, slowly but steadily into the driveway—slow enough not to run anyone over, but eventually nudging the bodies out of the way. They fell back, even the most eager able to recognize the clearly posted No Trespassing signs.

Adam hit the button to close the gate behind them. “If someone sues me because they are too stupid to get out of the way of the gate, I will not be held responsible for my actions.”

At the last minute Elena deemed it safe to look, raising her head and checking the rearview where she could clearly see photographers leaping on top of one another like the world’s most feral cheerleading pyramid in an attempt to get the best shot.

“This isn’t just the sex tape.”

There were too many of them. And they were far too rabid. The sex tape was over a week old and busy being slowly buried under a pile of legalese. This was something else.

“Shit,” she whispered, yanking out her phone and Googling her name. The usual hits. She typed in Adam’s.

The rescue video was no longer the hottest link.

“Oh God.”

“What is it?”

Hell hath no fury…
“Cassie.”

Chapter Twenty-Seven

The article was thick with innuendo. What Cassie hadn’t outright implied the tabloid had gleefully speculated. Elena sat on the counter, reading every word, as Adam prowled around the kitchen. It seemed like they always ended up in here. Sad that they now had a routine when it came to dealing with a media crisis.

“I should call Max.”

“Good idea. Private property will keep out the smart ones, but I think we’re going to want some of your security buddies down here. The ambitious stupid ones won’t care about trespassing charges.”

Adam swore and pulled out his phone, every movement tight. Restrained. Pretty controlled for a guy who’d just been implicitly accused of statutory rape. Good in a crisis, her Adam.

Not that he was hers.

Though by now half of America thought he was.

She’d given Cassie too much credit. She’d thought the girl was too smart to run her mouth to the tabloids. She should have remembered that Cassie was a seventeen-year-old in love and seventeen-year-olds in love were notoriously idiotic.

The little brat had called it a love triangle. Claimed Adam was her soul mate. Accused Elena of seducing him away from her. The details were vague, but she’d very explicitly recounted walking in on them having sex—embellishing quite a bit and playing the role of the cheated-on lover to the hilt.

Any sympathy Elena might have felt for her last night turned to smoke. Her empathy was broken this morning. She was too busy being pissed on Adam’s behalf. The little brat could drag her name through the mud all she wanted, but she’d implied—repeatedly—that she’d had a sexual relationship with Adam, never seeming to realize that it might complicate the problem a bit that she was
seventeen
.

A year shy of California’s age of consent.

The fall of a hero—of course the press was rabid. Tie Sandy Newton’s name to it and it became national news.

No surprise they were surrounded.

In the house her mother had given him, no less. The press jackals were eating it up.

Adam ended his call and leaned back against the counter opposite her, gripping it with both hands. “Max is going to make some calls. He might know someone who can help with damage control. He called her the Olivia Pope of Hollywood. Whatever that means.”

“It means she’s a fixer.” And right now they needed one. She grabbed her own phone. “I’ll call Miranda. She’s bound to know someone.”

“Elena.”

She looked up from dialing Miranda, taking in the stark lines of his face.

“I never touched her.”

“I know.”

He nodded, some of the tension leaving his face, and Elena turned back to her phone.

Miranda answered on the second ring, forgoing a standard greeting. “You know that old Chinese curse ‘May you live in interesting times’? Your life is very interesting, Elena.”

“I’ve noticed. I don’t suppose you have any suggestions as to how I can make it less interesting?”

“What’s your PR team saying?”

“I don’t have one anymore, since I fired my agent last week and he took care of all that.”

Miranda cursed. “I was wondering why your team had been so quiet. Okay,” she said, regrouping, “You need Kathleen Tao.”

“Is she an agent?”

“No. She’s sort of a PR consultant slash miracle worker.”

Which meant she probably wouldn’t be willing to take fifteen percent as payment. “Can I afford her? I’m already wondering how I’m going to pay for the lawyers.”

“I thought I told you I was taking care of that. I talked them into taking you on pro-bono. One of the partners is considering a run for political office and needs more cases that make him look sympathetic to women’s issues. But you’re right. Kathleen Tao doesn’t do charity and she doesn’t come cheap. And you don’t have enough influence for her to trade her services for a favor. Though she may have some ideas about how you can come up with the money—exclusive interview rights can be worth a small fortune. Or you could write a tell-all book.” Elena heard the clacking of Miranda’s rapid-fire typing. “I would’ve tried to put you in touch with her last week, but I thought your agent had you covered so I wasn’t thinking beyond the direct threat of the tape’s release to managing the media.” More clacking. “I don’t have her number, but Bennett may know how to reach her. Let me see if I can get you a meeting. Hold tight.”

Elena hung up and met Adam’s eyes.

“What’s the verdict?” he asked.

“We’re supposed to hold tight. Is Max’s fixer Kathleen Tao?”

“He didn’t say.”

“Miranda seemed to think she was the only name on the list. Hopefully she’s as good as they say and she agrees to help us. And then I can sell a kidney to pay for it.”

“I was going to sell the house anyway.” He cringed. “Fuck. How long before the press finds out I was talking to real estate agents and jumps to some conclusion about it?” He laughed without humor. “And to think just last night I was bitching about my house and my job.”

“Max isn’t throwing you to the wolves yet and Sandy gave you this house legally, didn’t she? She can’t just take it back.”

“Max didn’t hesitate to take my side, but he’s selling an image. If people believe I touched Cassie Edwards…”

She suddenly understood how helpless he’d felt for the last week. Wanting so badly to help and knowing it was out of her control. Or maybe…

“What if I issue a statement?” She brightened, warming to the idea. “I can tell them I hired you as a body guard and there’s nothing else between us. If I discredit Cassie about that, they may start to question the rest of what she’s saying.”

“You want to lie to the press. And what happens when someone gets a picture of us together?”

“Well, obviously we’d have to stop this.” She waved a hand between them. Whatever
this
was. “With the whore-on-the-door thing resolved I don’t really have any reason to stay anyway. I’m not in danger anymore.”

Though she’d stopped thinking of his place as a just safe house on day two. She wanted to be here not just because it was safe, but because she wanted to be with him. For the past week she’d been playing house—and falling for him. Which was practically inevitable under the circumstances. It was just like the show. Isolated from reality in a high stress situation with a man you’ve been conditioned to think is perfect. No wonder she thought she was falling in love with him.

But it was time to get back to reality. Best for both of them. “I really don’t have an excuse to be here anymore.”

“So we just stop seeing one another?” Anger thrummed in his voice. “I never pegged you for a quitter. Bailing as soon as things get bad.”

“I’m not. This is a solution. America
hates
me. The longer I stay, the more I’ll drag you down. It will be easier for you without me here.”

“No. It won’t.” He didn’t move toward her, didn’t reach for her, just met her eyes across the expanse of the kitchen. “Stay.”

She ignored the thrill that worked through her at the intensity in that single word. “You could try calling Sandy.”

He flinched. “What if she believes Cassie? She could hate me right now. They could be getting ready to have me arrested.”

“Cassie didn’t actually say you’d slept together. You don’t know what she’s told her mother—”

His phone rang, cutting her off. He checked the caller-ID and swore. “It’s her.”

“Cassie?”

“Sandy.”

He looked at his phone like it might bite him. “Isn’t it better to know what we’re dealing with, one way or the other?”

“You’re not the one who has to talk to her.”

“Would you like me to?”

He shook his head, tapping to accept the call. “Hello?”

* * * * *

Adam felt sick to his stomach as he got off the call with Sandy’s people. She hadn’t called directly. But at least she wasn’t swearing out a warrant for his arrest. Cassie had come clean to her mother, admitting she exaggerated for the press—and then they exaggerated some more for her.

He’d been assured Sandy didn’t blame him. He’d been assured her people were on it. He’d been assured they would make it right.

He still felt sick.

He’d wanted to throw up ever since Elena had told him what the tabloids were saying.

“Well?” Elena asked from her perch on the opposite counter.

“They said to sit tight and wait for them to clean up Cassie’s mess.”

“Do we listen to them?”

He didn’t hesitate. “No. They’re looking out for Sandy and Cassie. I don’t want to be anyone’s third or fourth priority right now.”

Elena nodded as his phone’s text alert went off. He glanced at the screen, frowning at the message.

“Who is it?” Elena asked.

“Candy. She’s offering to hack Cassie Newton’s phone to get me proof that we were never a couple.”

“Aw, that’s sweet.”

“And illegal,” he muttered as his phone rang again, her own buzzing with a text.

This time it was Max.

His boss skipped the preliminaries. “I have someone working the problem. She says not to go anywhere or say anything to anyone. Just hunker down while she defuses the bomb. She’ll be in touch in a couple of hours with an update.”

Elena frowned when Adam related the instructions to her after getting off the phone with Max. “I’m sensing a theme—Miranda just texted me pretty much the same thing. So what now?”

“I guess now we wait.”