Hollywood Scandal (16 page)

She opened the door and discovered Jeff MacKay standing on the other side.

“Hello, Calla,” he said. “Trouble?”

“Nope. You?”

He laughed, but it was too high of a pitch to be genuine. “Oh yes, you and your boyfriend to be exact.”

She crossed her arms and narrowed her eyes. “You started it.”

He leaned closer. “Is that an invitation to finish it?”

“It’s a suggestion to get out of the way.”

“Why would I want to do that?”

“So you can use the bathroom?” She leaned to the right, then went left and managed to duck around him to freedom.

“I will finish it, you know.”

“Ha.” She spun around. “What I know is that Alex is worth ten of you.”

“And we’re back to your boyfriend again. Really, what do you see in him?”

“Intelligence, humor, compassion,
honesty,
and he’s one hell of a kisser. You couldn’t hope to measure up to him.”

MacKay gave her a slow sneer that chilled her to the bone. “I hear he has one hell of a good florist, too.”

She blinked. “What?”

“You have a secret admirer. Someone is sending you the flowers and poetry, and he’s none other than your honest lawyer.”

How could Jeff know about that? “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“A lie, Dr. Roberts? I have it on very good authority.” MacKay stood with his hands in his pockets, like he knew every secret there ever was.

For a moment all she could hear was a buzzing in her ears. “No.”

He couldn’t be. She’d talked to him about the anonymous man sending her flowers, but Alex hadn’t said a word. Just let her natter on about it. She’d even sent a thank you note to Dr. Lazarus, who probably thought she was crazy.

Embarrassment heated her skin until she feared she’d catch the mansion on fire.

No,
no
. It wasn’t true. It couldn’t be true.

“I thought about claiming to be the one sending you flowers,” Jeff said with so much sarcasm it made him ugly. ”But decided that wasn’t fair to you. I figured one man lying to you was more than enough.”

“I don’t believe you,” she said, finally finding her voice.

“I can understand that.” He nodded his head in a sympathetic way. “So why don’t we ask him? Get this cleared up right now.”

“Ask him?” Her voice disappeared into a black hole that threatened to suck her in, body and soul.

“Hey, Alex,” Jeff said, looking past her.

Calla turned and there he was, looking every inch the gentleman. “Is it true?”

“It?” he asked, frowning.

“
Are
you the one sending me the flowers? The notes?”

He reared back, guilt stretching his mouth downward. “I—” he began. He stopped and started again. “Yes.”

Jeff MacKay was telling her the truth?

She
loved
the flowers and poetry. Gone on and on about them and he just let her blather on without saying a word. Thanked another man for them and he just stood there and said nothing. “You let me believe it was someone else, that it was Dr. Lazarus. You lied to me,” she said very softly.
She trusted him, the first man since her disastrous first fiancé betrayed her.

“Yes.” He glanced at MacKay, then met her gaze and maintained it. “I’m sorry, it wasn’t deliberate. I thought I was sparing your feelings, but the situation kept getting more complicated.”

“Why didn’t you tell me before I embarrassed myself by sending a thank you to
another
man?”

“I didn’t know you were
actually
going to thank him. I thought you’d put it aside for now, and when you told me you had thanked him, I decided to wait until this crap with pretty boy over here was over. That way you could yell at me and throw things at me without the whole world trying to take pictures of it.”

“You, you didn’t…” she sputtered. “Oh yeah, it’s so much better that
he
told me,” she said, pointing at MacKay.

“Hey,” MacKay protested. “I thought you would want to know the truth.”

She rounded on him. “Shut up. This is
all
your fault.”

“My fault?”

“Yes, yours.” Her voice rose and for once she didn’t care. “You screwed up, but instead of apologizing and fixing it, you tried to shift the blame to someone else.
Anyone
else.”

She turned back to Alex. “
Him
I expected lies from.
Him
I expected puppy-dog eyes and crocodile tears.
You
I expected the truth from, but did I get it? No.”

“I didn’t lie on purpose,” he interrupted. “Not the first time. I forgot to sign the card, and when I saw how much you liked them I couldn’t ruin the moment for you.”

“Ruin the moment?” Her chest was so tight she could barely breathe. “All I ever wanted was the truth. Just one man to tell me the truth, even when it wasn’t pretty or convenient. That’s what you claimed to do. With everyone. Except
me
.”

He leaned toward her and lowered his voice. “You’re not like everyone else.”

She raised hers. “No, I’m obviously more gullible than most.”

“That’s not what I meant.”

She crossed her arms over her chest. “Explain it to me.”

“You want the truth. Everyone else prefers lies.”

“Is this some kind of reverse psychology thing?”

“No.” The word burst out of him. “The truth is how I keep everyone else from getting too close.”

Realization smacked her like a two-by-four hitting the back of her head. “Lies are how you keep me from getting too close?”

He paled and opened his mouth, but she’d heard more than enough.

“I guess the joke’s on me, because it didn’t work. I’d already fallen in love with you.” Alex stared at her with his mouth hanging open.

So did the people at the entrance to the dining room. That’s when she realized the only sound she could hear was her own labored breathing.

Holy crap, she’d just told him she loved him in front of thirty people, including her own brother.

No one said anything for a few seconds.

Finally, she drew herself up and said to Alex, “Lawyer, boyfriend, or whatever, you’re fired from it all.” She lifted her chin and walked around him.

Chapter Seventeen

Slamming the door on her way out was supposed to make her feel better.

If anything, standing outside the door, facing the darkening yard with its perfectly groomed grass and flowers, made her feel more alone. A sob escaped her tight throat.

Wonderful. Now she was going to cry. Outside. Where any moron with a camera and a zoom lens could take her picture.

With her luck it would be an ugly cry.

Someone cleared their throat behind her. Delicately.

Alex’s grandmother stood behind her and to the left, nowhere near the front door, signaling with her hand for her to follow. “This way if you want a clean getaway.”

“Huh?”

The older woman gave her an understanding smile. “Come on.”

Calla followed her, not sure where she was going, but hoping Alex wasn’t going to pop out in front of her next.

Maddy opened a narrow side door that led down several steps and into an underground garage. There were four cars sitting in the tomblike room. None of them looked like they’d been driven in a while.

Maddy pulled a set of keys off a key rack next to the door and handed them to Calla. “Here, take the Bentley.”

Calla stared at the keys on her palm, then squinted at the other woman. “That sounds like a line from one of your movies.”

“Art imitates life.” Maddy grinned. “By now Alex is tearing apart the front yard, looking for you. Do you want to be found or not?”

“Not. If he finds me right now, I might do something stupid, like punch him. Then kiss him.”

Maddy laughed. “I’m almost tempted to let you find him just to see it.”

“You want me to punch him?”

“I think he’s earned it. Don’t you?”

“I suppose.”

Maddy shook her head, still chuckling.

“You’re a pair of stubborn fools. Now take the car and go.”

“I can’t. My brother…” She wanted to run, she did, but she couldn’t abandon Richard, not here.

“I’ll take care of Richard.” Maddy waved her hands at Calla. “Don’t worry. You go on.”

Calla stared at the car. “I’ve got a problem. I don’t know where to go. The paparazzi are everywhere.”

“Home?”

Calla snorted. “I don’t know where that is anymore.”

“Yes, you do.” Maddy’s eyes sparkled with mischief. “It’s the only place that makes sense, so it’ll be the last place the press and Alex will look.”

“That’s not very logical, and Alex is usually the most rational person in the room.”

“Not where you’re concerned he isn’t.”

Calla winced.

“And don’t you dare feel bad about that,” Maddy said, shaking her finger in Calla’s face.

“Yes, ma’am.” Calla got into the car and started the engine. Maddy went to the sidewall and pushed a button. A door opened up, revealing a narrow alleyway that led around the house and back to the front drive.

The Bentley purred its way out onto the street, camera flashes sliding off the tinted windows like water over a duck.

“I could get used to this,” she muttered as she pointed the car in the direction of the only place that fit her definition of home.

Minutes later, she parked in the driveway and unlocked the front door. She dropped her shoes and purse on the way to the kitchen. The fridge had yogurt and berries. Excellent.

She grabbed the remote, propped her feet up on the coffee table, and turned on the television. Any other time this would be a fabulous dinner party.

All she wanted to do was cry.

…

“Dude,” Richard said as everyone’s attention was on the door Calla had just slammed shut behind her. “You’re so screwed.”

Alex stared at the closed door, and for the first time in his life, didn’t know what to do or say.

An apology was certainly called for, but he didn’t know where to start.

The truth was necessary, but he wasn’t quite sure when it ended and where the lies began.

By the time he thought of the first word to say, she was gone.

“Dude,” Jeff MacKay said with a chuckle, coming to stand next to him. “You
are
so screwed.”

Alex didn’t bother looking at him. “Can’t you think up your own lines?”

“But that one was perfect, lover boy.”

“It’s old, moron.”

MacKay took a half step closer and said softly, “Lawsuit.”

“For what? Pointing out the obvious?”

“I’ll think of something.”

Alex didn’t look at the other man; instead he glanced at Richard while responding to MacKay. Richard was the only one who might be able to tell him how to apologize to his sister. “The only thing you should be worried about thinking of is how you’re going to get out of this house without my grandmother screaming at you for ruining her dinner party.”

“That old bat—”

Alex cut MacKay off. “That old bat has a lot more friends than you do.”

“Everyone here heard the truth,” MacKay said. “But it didn’t come from you.”

“Love makes a man do crazy things,” Grandma Maddy said, coming through what Alex knew was the door to her garage.

“She’s gone,” he said, making it a statement rather than a question.

His grandmother answered anyway. “Yes. Gone home.”

MacKay strolled toward the front door. “I think I’ll offer her my shoulder to cry on.”

“The second you step out that door, the restraining order is back in effect,” Alex said.

“You really are a party pooper.” MacKay grinned. “Too bad you’re not her lawyer or anything else anymore.”

“Leave her alone,” Alex growled. “Haven’t you done enough damage, MacKay?”

“I haven’t done anything.”

“You’ve threatened and stalked her, and you’ve brought bogus charges against her. It doesn’t take a lawyer to figure out she’s not going to forgive and forget.”

“I plan on starting with an apology.”

Alex snorted. “Do you even know what an apology is?

“I’ll improvise. I hear she likes flowers and poetry.”

Disgust soured his stomach. “You’re a bottom-feeder, MacKay.”

“Not according to my millions of fans,” MacKay said as he strolled out the door.

Alex pulled out his cell phone and hit the speed dial for Calla’s phone number. It went straight to voicemail. He texted her a quick warning, then put his phone away.

He’d finally, finally found a woman he could trust, and what did he do? The one thing guaranteed to drive her away.

“She’ll be fine,” his grandmother said, coming over to link her arm with his. The rest of the guests had made their way back into the dining room, except for Calla’s brother.

“Don’t worry about the moron,” Richard said. “He hasn’t got a chance with my sister.”

“I’m more worried about him bothering her.”

His grandmother laughed. “First he has to find her.”

“Didn’t you say she went home?”

“Yes, but where that is depends on your definition of the word.” She led him to his chair at the table. “So, what are you going to do next?”

He gazed into the faces of the people at the table. “Apologize to Calla and attempt some damage control with the press, because I’m sure MacKay talked to them on his way out.”

“It’s already all over the internet,” Calla’s brother said. “They’re saying your nose got longer.”

“Great, now I’m going to have to put up with Pinocchio jokes.”

“You’re going to have to go further than a simple apology,” his grandmother said. “You need to tell her how you really feel. No excuses. No holding back.”

“In public,” Calla’s brother added.

Alex took a seat. “Any other advice?”

Several people started talking at once.

…

Calla worked to ease out the cork from the bottle of wine she’d chosen. It came out with a pop and she poured some into her glass. Wine was the only thing keeping the reality television show she was watching from being torture. As it was, she’d be lucky to get away with only washing her eyes out with bleach.

So far, there had been two arguments, one of which ended up involving large quantities of paint that did not end up on the wall, and one couple who was more interested in having sex than construction.

Bad sex.

She heard the front door open and close at the same time as she swallowed a mouthful of wine. She was going to need it, though the look of shock on his face was certainly satisfying.

Alex walked slowly into the room and stared at her like he’d never seen a woman before. “This is not where I expected to find you.”

“You’re right, I don’t normally watch reality TV, but this,” she waved a hand at the screen, leaned toward him, and whispered with no sincerity at all, “this is my new guilty pleasure.”

He glanced at the TV. “A pleasure?”

“Yeah, I know, boring old missionary sex.”

He watched the couple for a moment. “She’s faking it.”

“Yep.” She sipped her wine and shook her head. “Badly.”

He tilted his head to one side. “Why aren’t you angry with me?”

She tossed her answer at him haphazardly. “Oh, I am.”

“Forgive me, but you’re sitting on my couch, drinking wine while watching TV. I don’t see the anger.”

She turned her head and regarded him with one eyebrow arched. “I’m very angry. You lied to me and destroyed me.”

“I’m sor—”

“Ah,” she interrupted, flinging out one hand, palm facing him. “You can’t apologize yet.”

“Why not?”

“I have designated the rest of tonight as a stress-free zone. No serious talks, discussions, or confessions.”

“Why?”

“I don’t want to think about
why
you’re apologizing.”

“So, you want to wait until tomorrow?” he asked, his voice rising.

“Correct. So.” She looked him up and down, inspecting him for signs of wear and tear. “What took you so long? I thought you’d be home sooner.”

“Oh, my grandmother and everyone at the party insisted on giving me oodles of advice.”

“Advice on what?”

“How to apologize the right way.”

“Really? What did they say?” She put up a hand. “Just the advice, not the reasons for the advice.”

“Most of it conflicted with each other.”

“One person said to get down on your knees, while the other said that would only make you appear weak and submissive?”

“Pretty much.”

She giggled into her wine.

“What do you want from me, Calla?” He sounded defeated. His shoulders hunched over as he stared at the floor.

She almost felt sorry for him. Almost.

“All I’ve ever wanted was the truth.” She watched the couple on the screen for a moment. “I never realized how difficult that could be.”

“Neither did I.”

Oh no, he did not get to join her pity party. “Excuse me?” she asked. “You’ve been telling the truth for years without too much problem. Then I show up and it suddenly becomes difficult? That makes no sense.”

“It became difficult the second you became important to me.”

“Important?” She put her wine glass down and got to her feet. “Important!” She poked his chest with one index finger. “If I was important it should have been easier, not more difficult.”

He grabbed her hand and held it. “How easy is it for you to have a conversation with your brother about the accident that killed your parents and broke his neck?”

She reared back and tried to pull away. His hold was unyielding.
Bringing up her sins was playing dirty
. “Let go of me.”

He ignored her and asked again, “How easy?”

Persistent ass
. She tried to jerk her hand out of his grip, but was, again, unsuccessful. “I’ve never had that conversation. It’s too…painful.”

“So, you plan on running away from the subject for the rest of your life? How does that work? When did that become an option?”

She tugged again, and this time he let her go. She staggered back and fell onto the sofa. “You can’t imagine the nightmares I have about the accident.” She laughed, but it held no happiness or humor. “Full of screams and blood. Sometimes I even have nightmares while I’m awake. Did you know that?” She shook her head.

“Of course you don’t. I’ve never told anyone.” She sighed and relaxed on the sofa, letting her head fall back and her eyes close. “The wake-mares are the worst because there’s no escape. But lies…” She opened her eyes and found he’d moved closer, stood over her, a frown making his face look so severe, so hard.

“Lies are even worse than the memories.” She let her eyes close again. “Because they’re not real and never have been.” Darkness threatened to pull her under, but she managed to ask the one question she needed the answer to the most, “Are you
real
, Alex?”

As sleep claimed her, she heard him say softly, “I was a ghost until I met you.”

…

Alex scooped Calla up, walked to his bedroom, and deposited her on the bed with care. He didn’t want to wake her.

A soft snore told him perhaps that wasn’t a worry tonight.

He undressed her as far as her underwear, set her clothes on the chair, then allowed himself the rare opportunity to look at her. Soft skin, long eyelashes, and lips he wanted to nibble and suck on.

Calla Roberts was a stubborn, smart, strong woman. And, damn her, she was perfect for him, even while drunk and giving him shit. She asked tough questions and gave even more difficult answers. She made him think. Made him care.

Made him want the fantasy the two of them had created. A wedding and a life together. Unfortunately, all of it had been destroyed because he withheld the truth from her.

How ironic that he, the only honest lawyer in LA, was about to be taken down by a little white lie.

He left the room and crawled into the bed in his spare room.

He still had some explaining to do and a lot of apologizing to attempt. He wasn’t sure if she’d accept any of it in the morning.

What if she didn’t?

What if she
never
forgave him?