Perfectly Scripted (13 page)

We arrived at the Fairmount Plaza Hotel shortly after five thirty. Dozens of cameras and reporters were all along the red carpet.

“Let’s skip it,” I offered.

“Good idea. I hope you’ll think about joining me on the red carpet for my movie premiere here. I want you by my side.”

“That sounds like a fine plan. I would love to be there for your big night.”

My legs wobbled a bit as I stepped out of the limo. Ronan caught me by the arm, and luckily, no paparazzi were around the side entrance to witness my near wipeout.

“I blame you for my weakened knees. I’m surprised I can even put one foot in front of the other tonight,” I teased. “I’m pretty sore.
Well fucked
, but sore.”

“Unless it’s possible for you to stop looking incredibly gorgeous all the time, then you can count on me never missing an opportunity to bury my cock deep inside you. Keeping you well fucked is a top priority for me.”

“Really? You have a list of priorities where I am concerned?”

“Of course,” he said smoothly, offering me his arm for the short walk to the door. Then He lowered his mouth to my ear. “The list of filthy things I want to do to you might be longer.”

“How filthy?”

“Downright dirty,” he replied, brushing a hand on my lower back. “Wet…naked…twenty-four-seven.”

“You’re wicked.”

“And you love it,” he grinned.

“I love you.”

I lifted my hand to his mouth, and he gently kissed the back. “I’m afraid, if I kissed you right now, I wouldn’t be able to stop.” His fingers skated across the bodice of my gown. “This dress entices wildly inappropriate thoughts.”

Since I’d only remembered about tonight’s event yesterday, that had given me limited time to shop. Before getting out of bed, Ronan had suggested I call Kerry, his girl at Saks, and have her pull some dresses for me. I’d told him that he needed to start referring to her as his personal shopper, reminding him that I was his girl, not Kerry. That remark had earned me a slap on the ass followed by shower sex.

Not only was my strapless, burgundy Gucci gown beautiful, with its dazzling beadwork and short train, it was brilliantly accessorized with eye-catching Bvlgari diamonds. And having Ronan as arm candy, looking dashing in a classic black Dior suit, was an added bonus.

“Keep it in your pants, Connolly,” I smirked. “Messed-up hair, smeared makeup, disheveled clothing, and flushed skin. We don’t need that kind of attention.”

“I love it when you boss me around,” he growled in my ear.

Upon entering the cocktail reception area, we were greeted a microphone in Ronan’s face before a reporter bombarded him with questions. Security promptly told the reporter and cameraman that there would be no interviews inside the event and instructed them to return to the media room.

“Do we need to worry about that footage being aired somewhere?” I asked.

“No. I know a few people who work at that network. I will have Donna take care of it.”

Stepping into the hallway, Ronan pulled his phone out of his jacket pocket and then leaned against the wall. He was so sexy when he went into business mode.

Turning around, I scanned the room, taking in multiple famous faces. Our table was near the stage. I didn’t see Perry or my mother anywhere.

However, I did see Heather Young looking effortless and elegant in a silky black gown with a slightly plunging neckline. Her instantly recognizable glossy blonde hair was side-swept in cascading waves that fell below her shoulder, and that red pout was the perfect mix of dramatic and flirty. Even Lauren Bacall would have been fucking impressed.

When Ronan returned, he set his hand on the small of my back and led me across the room to our table. I felt as if we had stepped into some magical winter wonderland. The round tables were beautifully decorated. Frosted pinecones surrounded vases with silver Manzanita branches in the center. The entire ballroom was covered with an abundance of white, baby-blue, and lavender flowers. Even the chandeliers looked as if they had been covered in ice, which gave the place a soft, romantic chill of a winter sunset.

My gaze followed the tall man with salt-and-pepper hair, wearing a classic black tuxedo and white bowtie, weaving through the crowd. His powerful stride was hard to miss. Offering warm smiles and accepting the handshakes of Hollywood’s most powerful players, my stepfather, Perry, owned the room. At his side was his queen, my mother, looking regal in an off-white single-shoulder, floor-sweeping gown. Faux fur wrap and an encrusted metallic clutch in hand, she was the epitome of Hollywood royalty.

“Here we go,” I murmured to Ronan.

“Just breathe. I’m right here with you,” he whispered.

“Holliday, so glad you could make it.” My stepfather kissed my cheek. “You look beautiful, sweetheart.”

“Thank you, Dad.”

“Holliday, stand up straight,” my mother whispered in my ear upon giving me a hug.

I took a deep breath and pushed my shoulders back. “Mom, Dad, this is—”

Perry outstretched his hand to Ronan. “A man who needs no introduction. Ronan Connolly. It’s very nice to meet you.”

Ronan shook my stepfather’s hand, “Wonderful to meet you, Mr. Chambers.”

Looking at my mother, he said, “Mrs. Chambers, lovely to finally put a face to a name.”

Blushing like a schoolgirl, my mother exchanged pleasantries with Ronan. Then the four of us spent several minutes engaging in small talk about the decorations and the foundation’s charitable accomplishments. I looked at my phone for the time, wondering where in the world Charlotte and Lucan were.

“Ronan, I quite enjoyed your wonderful work on
These Streets of Dublin.
Absolutely wonderful. I hope we can entice you to come and work on an Avalon production one day.”

Chuckling, he replied, “Well, sir, if the right script, director, and opportunity come along, I’d be more than happy to.”

“Join me for a drink at the bar, and please, call me Perry.”

Nodding, Ronan accepted my stepfather’s invitation. After kissing me on the cheek, he asked, “How about a drink?”

“Yes. Champagne, please.”

Then Ronan and Perry crossed in front of the stage before I turned towards my mother.

Stepping forward, she offered a beaming smile. “You’re quite taken with him, as I can see he is with you.”

The heat stretched across my cheeks as I smiled, “Mom, I can’t believe how happy I am. It’s insane how much my life has changed in such a short time.”

“Love is a wonderful feeling, and it looks very good on you, darling.”

“I never told you it was love.”

“You didn’t have to. It’s written all over your face,” she replied, cupping my chin in her well-manicured hand.

She stepped away to call Charlotte, leaving me alone with my thoughts. I studied Ronan as he talked to Perry and a few other industry suits near the bar. He stood tall, smiling with genuine confidence. Women passed by, craning their necks in uncomfortable ways to get a long look at him. But he ignored them, and his gaze met mine. The intensity in his heated stare spoke volumes.

No matter how many women crossed his path, he only saw me.

Holliday

After dinner, I excused myself to the ladies’ room. Charlotte joined me. Lucan and she had been late because their nanny had had a family emergency and needed to leave town, which had left them scrambling to get a babysitter at the last minute.

We sat beside each other at the vanity table to touch up our makeup. Something was off with Charlotte. Maybe she was upset about being late. She loathed being late. And with Fashion Week quickly approaching, I wondered if she was consumed with stress about work.

“This night cannot end soon enough,” I mumbled under my breath, glancing at Charlotte in the mirror.

She nodded in agreement. Now, I knew something was definitely bothering her. She loved a good party, gala, or fundraiser. Charlotte didn’t seem tired or sick. And my sister always had something to say. But tonight, she’d barely spoken, engaging only in light small talk.

“You seem awfully quiet. Is everything okay?”

She looked around the bathroom before giving me “the eye.” I understood her silent communication, replying with a nod.

“I saw something in the paper today. On
Page Six
, to be exact,” she whispered.

My heart dropped. Something horrible must have been printed about her, Lucan, or maybe Ronan. I needed to remember to update my Google alerts.

I waited for the last woman to leave the bathroom before inquiring. “Do I even want to know?”

“Don’t freak out.”

“When someone says that, you must know they most certainly
will
freak out,” I bit out in a hushed voice as tension rose in my shoulders. My mind spun in a thousand directions as I thought about what bombshell she was going to drop on me.

“Okay, take a deep breath,” she said softly. “There was an article that said Derek Saunders was spotted looking at both commercial and residential space here in Manhattan.”

“Oh my God,” I breathed, horrified at the thought of Derek potentially living there. “Were there pictures to prove this claim?”

“Yes, there was a picture of him with two men in dark suits outside the Warwick Hotel and Residences on 53
^rd
.”

As I pushed away from the vanity, two women entered the powder room. Charlotte started to speak again, but I shook my head, giving her the eye. She connected with my silence the moment she heard one of the women laughing.

“Let’s go back to the table.”

“I’ll be there in a few. I need a moment to think.”

Giving my arm a tight squeeze, she flashed me an easy smile. Slowly turning towards the long mirror, I smoothed my palms across the bodice of my gown. I started at my reflection for a few moments, wondering if Derek would be able to recognize me on a crowded Manhattan street.

Maybe I shouldn’t have cared so much. I did have a bodyguard now, thanks to Ronan. What was the worst Derek could do?

Fuck it.
I’d made a promise to take back my life. Fine, let him see me. He couldn’t do anything to me. Ronan would protect me.

Rounding the corner from the bathroom, I placed my lip gloss back in my clutch. Then I stopped for a moment to study one of the paintings that captured my attention in the hallway. The message etched on the plaque made me smile.

“
Silent Strings” – A gift from Margaret “Maggie” Mills

The painting was of a woman sitting behind a cello in a gorgeous, blue, ruffled ball gown. Holding the bow, her arms were draped over the top of her instrument, and her forehead was resting on the peg box. Brown curls cascaded around her shoulders, covering her face. I wondered if she had just finished playing a classic piece and was hiding her face because she was crying from the effect the music had on her. Perhaps she was crying over the disappointment of her performance.

I knew very little about anything that involved a paintbrush. What I did know was that Maggie was a major Contributor to the Arts, and she loved to draw in her spare time. As did I. Well, I liked to sketch and take photos. However I was far less talented than Maggie and even less than Charlotte, who sketched nearly every single one of her stylish designs.

“What do you think she’s thinking?” someone said in a gravelly deep voice.

Shifting my gaze to the side, I saw Grady James standing in a deep-charcoal-colored three-piece suit.
Of course it’s him.

“Grady,” I huffed. “Why am I
not
surprised to see you?”

“Well, hello to you too, Holliday.” He inched closer to where I was standing.

“That’s far enough,” I replied, taking a step back.

He frowned, and the confusion on his face was laughable to me. His jaw and his lip seemed to have healed nicely, not a traceable scar or flaw on his picture-perfect face.

“Holliday, come on. Don’t be like that.”

“I shouldn’t even be seen with you,” I snapped. “Lately, it seems that, every time I
am
around you, chaos swirls around me.”