Hooked (4 page)

I let myself wallow for a few more minutes before I force myself up off the couch and go try to find something to do. I wander into the kitchen and refill LeeLee’s bowl, and then lean against the counter, wondering when Brandon will be back.

At the sound of her food dish, she comes running into the room and skids into the back of my legs when she comes to a stop. I topple forward and grab the edge of the counter to keep from falling to the floor. I can’t help but laugh when I look down at her guilty-looking face.

A few minutes later, I hear the click as the door between the garage and the house is opened and closed. Brandon rounds the corner, enters the kitchen, and sets his keys down on the kitchen island, even though there is a peg near the garage specifically there for keys.

“Hey, beautiful girl, how’s it going?” he asks as he crosses the room and pulls me into his arms.

I hesitate to answer, as I debate whether or not to mention the story on TV or my unease after the conversation with Ashley.

“Cherry? Are you okay?” He pulls back just enough so he can look at my face.

I nod, but don’t say anything, afraid that if I do, all my anxiety and fears will come out in a tangled mess. I also know I can’t fake my way through it and pretend everything is fine, because Brandon will see right through my act.

He cups my face in his hands and his eyes grow wide with concern. “What is it? What’s wrong?”

“It’s nothing,” I say breaking our eye contact, dropping my eyes to his chest.

“It’s obviously something. Is this about the pictures?”

“Ashley called. She said they are all over the internet, and there was a thing on TV too,” I answer, meeting his eyes again. “I know it shouldn’t be a big deal. I don’t know why it’s bothering me so much. It’s not like it’s unexpected. I guess I just didn’t think it would all be so…public…so quickly.

“Ashley made it sound as if I should be happy about all the attention. Maybe she’s right. Most girls would probably love it, all the fancy dresses, posh dinners, having their picture taken for everyone to see that they’re dating a movie star. Maybe that would be better for you—someone who can deal with all of this. It just makes me feel like I’m being hunted or something.” 

Well, there it is—the tangled mess.

“Baby,” he says, his voice low. “Please believe me when I say that there is no way I would rather be with anyone else. Ever. The fact that you’re different, and not all about the flashy stuff and attention is just one of the many things I love about you.”

He pauses to consider my face, as if trying to decide whether or not I believe him or if I need more convincing before continuing. “I’m sorry about last night. Had I known it was going to be like that, I would have picked another restaurant or we could’ve stayed in.”

“But that’s the thing. We can’t stay in forever! At some point we have to leave this house and go out into the chaos, and I’m not sure I can deal with that. I’m struggling to find my place here, and I need to be able to go out and have a life, not feel terrified of people hiding in bushes with cameras.”

He sighs. “I know. I understand, trust me. I felt the same way when I first started getting exposure. I lived in this city for a year before things blew up, and I started getting all this attention. It’s a hard pill to swallow. For me it was different though, because it meant my dreams were coming true, and it’s kind of a rite of passage into the future I wanted for myself.” He pauses. “For you, it’s different. You didn’t ask for any of this; it’s being forced on you…because of me.”

We are quiet for a moment. I can feel the tension and wish there was something I could say to make him feel better, but I can’t think of anything, because he’s right. It is his fault that I’m in this position.

There is not a doubt in my mind that I want to spend the rest of my life with Brandon, but if that comes with all these other complications and baggage, I’m not sure I’ll be able to make that compromise.

***

The next few days are better. Brandon’s promotional obligations end, which allows us to actually spend time together and come to an agreement: we will take things slow in regards to going public with our relationship.

The story doesn’t die down as much as we had anticipated. A variety of different media outlets come out of the woodwork to try and get the scoop on me and on my relationship with Brandon. Brandon’s agent keeps calling with offers for us to do a joint appearance on multiple entertainment shows, and several magazines are offering us the cover to tell our story.

Brandon is able to hold them at bay, and I’ve overheard a few of his more heated conversations with his agent, during which he tries to get the point across that we are not willing to exploit ourselves in exchange for more publicity.

Despite all of the hoopla, we actually spend more time out in public. I’m still not used to the exposure, but I don’t freeze up the way I did that night outside the restaurant. It seems like there are more photographers at each turn. In some ways, keeping our relationship such a secret is triggering more attention and pressure.

Today is relatively normal. We went grocery shopping for a few odds and ends, and then went to get lunch at a cute, outdoor café before heading home again. Sitting on the patio, I feel a little more relaxed, because there is a fence and landscaping to keep prying eyes away.

Brandon and I are sitting on the same side of the table, and I’ve leaned up against his shoulder as he picks at the leftovers on my plate. It all feels refreshingly normal, and for the first time since getting to California, I am starting to let my guard down a little. Maybe we can make this all work out after all.

“Do you want to go to the beach tonight?” he asks, wrapping his free arm around my waist.

“Really?” I ask, my eyes lighting up. “That would be amazing!”

He smiles. “Yeah, one of my buddies, Denny, has a pretty sweet beach house, and he’s having a dinner thing tonight. He invited me, well us, to stop by.”

The name doesn’t register as someone he has talked about before. Back home I knew all of Brandon’s friends, but I haven’t met anyone since being in LA.

I start picturing some fancy dinner party on the beach and wish Ashley was here to help me decide on my outfit for the night. I try to push missing Ashley out of my head and offer Brandon a smile. “It sounds fun.”

***

A few hours later we are back at the house, and I find myself in the walk-in closet, trying to decide what to wear. On the way home I asked Brandon what the dress code would be for the night, but he was less than helpful, telling me to wear whatever I want.

I flip through a few outfits and finally grab a long pink sundress and gold, strappy sandals. After getting dressed and fixing my makeup and hair, I go back into the bedroom, expecting to see Brandon waiting for me, but he’s not there. I grab my gold clutch bag and a black shrug, in case I get cold later tonight, and head down the hall.

The door is open to Brandon’s office. I hear his voice as I get closer and realize he must be on the phone. I stand in the doorway and watch him for a moment. He has his back turned and is staring out the window. He must be making some sort of business call because he looks a little tense and his voice seems unsettled. He’s talking numbers and contracts and I don’t really understand whatever is going on. He keeps his business and finances pretty separated from his day-to-day life, so I haven’t been exposed to a lot of it at this point.

He spins around, making some gesture with his hands. He looks surprised to see me. He presses the phone into his chest. “I’ll be right down,” he says.

I get the feeling that he doesn’t want me standing in the doorway while he finishes his call. It seems odd, but I nod and give him a small smile before turning and going downstairs.

Ten minutes pass, and he still hasn’t come downstairs. I start to get more worried with each passing moment. Questions flood my mind about why he didn’t want me listening in on the call.

My thoughts—or paranoia, depending on how you look at it—are interrupted when he finally comes downstairs.

“Sorry about that,” he says as he pulls his jacket from the closet and slips it on.

“Was it something about the movie?” I ask, fishing for information.

“No, it was just another deal I’m working on. Don’t worry about it. Everything is fine,” he says, giving me a smile. “You look great, by the way.”

“Not too dressy?” I ask. Brandon is dressed casually but always manages to look incredibly put together.

“Nope, just right,” he answers. He leans in for a kiss, and as his lips meet mine I decide to drop the questions about the phone call for now but make a mental note to bring it up again after the party.

***

We arrive at the party and the hosts, Brandon’s friend Denny and his wife Maggie, greet us at the door. They are probably in their late thirties, and are very cute together as they usher us through the main living space and out to the back deck.

Outside, we are introduced to another couple, Jim and Brit, and two other guys, Reed and Justin, who seem to be flying solo.

“How do you all know each other?” I ask after Brandon introduces me, seemingly familiar with everyone gathered around the outdoor kitchen space.

“Well, Brandon and I worked together on his last film,” Jim offers.

“Are you an actor?” I ask.

“No, actually I’m a lighting specialist,” he says. “Brit here is trying to get in the game though,” he adds, nudging the gorgeous brunette at his side.

“I’ve done a couple of commercials,” she says with a shrug.

“Not everyone goes off like a bomb like our pal Brandon,” Jim teases.

Brandon laughs the attention off, and there doesn’t seem to be any animosity between the men. But I catch Brit give a slight eye roll.

“Justin and Reed also work in the business. Justin is a stunt coordinator and Reed is a writer. And then, Denney, he handles all my financial stuff. Once I started pulling in more than just a commercial here and there, he hunted me down and taught me how to manage my money. He works with all the big players in town. His motto is turning a million into a billion.” Brandon explains.

“And you, my friend, are one of my top success stories,” Denney adds. The two of them laugh together like it was some kind of inside joke.

I have to admit, wrapping my brain around Brandon’s wealth has been difficult. I don’t know exactly how much he has, but I know it’s probably close to a billion between his assets and investments. He has multiple properties in the LA area, a condo in New York, and investments with some of the hottest restaurants in town.

The majority of his money isn’t even from acting, it’s from endorsement deals he is offered because of his star power. He has commercials and print ads for shampoo, razors, a couple different clothing lines, and my personal favorite, an underwear campaign.

The conversation shifts to sports, and soon Maggie pulls me aside and asks if I want to join her and Brit inside for a cocktail. I nod and let her lead me away, giving Brandon one last look before going inside. He winks at me before diving back into his conversation.

Maggie, Brit, and I go into the living room. There is a fire going and the flicker of the flames bounces off the glass and granite surround, making the room feel warm and relaxing.

“Thank you,” I say as I settle into the loveseat and take the drink that Maggie presses into my hand.

She smiles and gives me a slight nod. “So you and Brandon certainly make a cute couple,” she says as she takes a seat opposite me.

I feel myself blush slightly. “Thanks.”

“How long have you been together? If you don’t mind me asking.”

Before I can answer, Brit pipes up from her place by the fireplace, “You’re his ex-fiancée, right? Did he really dump you at the altar?”

I hear myself gasp and my hands fly to cover my mouth.

“What?” Maggie says, whipping around to face Brit.

“How do you know that?” I ask.

Brit shrugs. “I saw it online today,” she answers calmly.

The once cozy-feeling room now seems to be closing in on me. I consciously remind myself to breathe as I struggle to keep my face neutral, in spite of the panic suddenly welling up inside me.

“Here,” Brit says, before casually passing me her phone. “So, is it true?”

I ignore her pestering and quickly start to read the article posted underneath a picture of us leaving the restaurant the other night. I hold my breath as I continue to read all about the pathetic life I was supposedly leading up until a couple of months ago when Brandon showed up again.

Funny, I don’t remember chasing Brandon all over LA, showing up at his hotels unannounced, or making attempts to crash the set of his movies.

Sprinkled throughout the article are pictures—the majority of which are highly unflattering—which are credited to an “unnamed source” that is close to my family.

I reread that sentence over and over again, my mind reeling with the possibility that someone I know, a friend or acquaintance, or even worse, a family member, could have betrayed my trust and sold my most intimate secrets to the press. I can’t help but flash through faces as I try to digest the information. Could it have been James? I know he’s upset with me, but I can’t imagine him stooping this low. What about Valerie? Again, not my biggest fan right now, but she would never break my trust like this. Would she? Maybe an old classmate recognized me from the pictures that were splashed all over the place the past week.