The Ex Factor (6 page)

‘You are kidding me!’

He shrugs, as though having the details of your tonsillitis or ingrown toenail sold to the highest bidder is an everyday thing. But now I see that it
is
an everyday thing, at least for someone like Mitchell. All of a sudden, the silent presence of Mack the Bodyguard makes a lot more sense.

‘Why do you want to go to the beach, then, knowing those guys were on your trail? Isn’t it a bit public? We could have had dinner at my house.’

‘Because fuck them, that’s why,’ he says, and I instinctively recoil at the malice in his voice. ‘If people think they’re somehow better off because they saw a picture of me on a beach, that’s their damage. I’m not going to change the way I live my life just because my job makes me interesting to some people. Why should I?’

I understand what he’s saying, really I do. And I can’t imagine having to put up with that degree of daily intrusion. I don’t even like it when Frankie wants to know what my weekend plans are.

But at the same time, I also think Mitchell’s attitude is kind of selfish.

‘Well, maybe because it’s not just
your
life,’ I say.

‘What do you mean?’

‘
You
don’t care if you’re photographed at the beach, because you’re used to it after so many years in the spotlight. But the person you’re at the beach with might not be so relaxed about it. That’s the reality of your life, but for mere mortals the possibility of being seen in swimwear by thousands – maybe millions – of strangers is kind of overwhelming.’

I keep my gaze trained on the cracks in the footpath. It feels as if, in the thirty-six hours I’ve known Mitchell Pyke, I’ve done nothing but tell him off. I’m sure his patience is going to wear thin any moment now.

Right on cue, Mitchell stops in his tracks. Behind us, Mack stops, too. ‘You must think,’ Mitchell says, ‘that I am a grade-A asshole.’

Not quite the response I was expecting.

Mitchell grasps my hand between both of his and presses them to his shirtfront. Knowing my hand is just a whisker from that broad, powerful chest has a dizzying effect.

‘First I kick your dog, then I turn up unannounced on your doorstep, and now I’ve thrown you to the paps like a piece of meat to a pack of wolves.’

I wrinkle my nose at his gruesome analogy.

‘Kitty, I’m truly sorry. I swear I’m not the thoughtless prick you must think I am.’ He doesn’t let go of my hand as his green eyes search mine. I think this is what Frankie would call ‘Having a Moment’. The intensity of Mitchell’s gaze is unsettling.

‘I don’t think you’re a . . . I don’t think that.’

‘You’re sure?’

‘I’m sure. I’m not in the habit of going out with grade-A assholes. Even famous ones.’

This makes him smile. But only for a second. The second after that, he’s leaning in close and brushing his lips softly against mine. Maybe it’s all the practice he’s had with his gorgeous co-stars over the years, but damn, this guy can kiss.

But just as I start to melt into his embrace, Mitchell pulls away.

‘There I go again,’ he says huskily. ‘Thinking I can call the shots. I should have asked before I did that.’

‘No, you shouldn’t have.’ I close my eyes and tilt my chin up to kiss him again.

Then, suddenly remembering I’m kissing a famous person in broad daylight and in the middle of the street, I stop and glance around us. From his sentry post a few metres away, Mack is watching the lorikeets fluttering in a jacaranda tree. He must have been taking acting tips from Mitchell, because it’s the perfect portrayal of studied nonchalance.

Beyond Mack – but still close enough to raise my hackles – the red Hyundai has crept nearer. The driver’s face is obscured by his camera, but in the still of the early evening I can hear the shutter clicking away as aggressively as if it were gunfire.

On the corner, the pretend pizza guy has abandoned the pretence of tinkering with his moped and is now pointing his camera directly at us, blatantly capturing our entire interlude for posterity. When he sees me looking in his direction, he lowers it and gives me a little wave. Cheeky bugger.

‘Just out of curiosity, if a picture of you leaving a restaurant can earn a waiter a hundred bucks, what’s a shot of you kissing some obscure woman likely to go for?’

‘You’re not obscure, Kitty,’ Mitchell says, planting a quick peck. ‘You’re worth a million bucks. Now, how about that swim?’

He keeps hold of my hand as we stroll on. But even after I feel the ocean spray against my skin and the warm sand between my toes, I’m still wondering. Was Mitchell serious? Is a picture of me and him worth a million dollars?

Why do I feel like I have a bounty on my head?

Being wrenched from sleep by the sound of my sister screaming is becoming tedious, to put it mildly. But at least when her ear-splitting shrieks pierce the morning quietude this time, I can tell right away she’s excited as opposed to terrified.

I roll over and pull Dolly’s paw across my ear, but it’s no use. Frankie’s squeals are approaching crescendo as she ricochets down the hall toward my bedroom. In the next second, my door bangs open and she launches herself onto the bed.

‘Kathryn Hayden, you saucy minx!’ She swats me over the head with what feels like a newspaper.

With a sulky
whuff
, Dolly gives up her position on my bed and curls up on the floor, firing an irate look at Frankie. I force my eyes open and look at my bedside clock.

‘Frankie, it’s five-thirty in the morning. Whatever this is, can’t it wait?’

My sister’s response is to peel back my doona and fling it on the floor, where it covers the somehow still-snoozing Reggie, Carl and Bananarama. Not one of them moves.

‘No! It most certainly can
not
wait.’

The instant the pre-dawn chill caresses my skin, I’m wide awake. I admit defeat and haul myself into a sitting position. ‘What are you even doing up at this hour?’

‘Oh, I . . . had some things to do. But that’s not important.’ She spreads the newspaper across my lap. ‘Explain yourself, madam!’

Groggily, I peer down at the front page of the
Daily Telegraph
.
Mitchell Pyke in seaside tryst
, screams the headline, which seems a bit much, even for a rag like the
Tele
. The headline is accompanied by a grainy picture of me and Mitchell holding hands as we sit side by side on the sand in the fading twilight. The caption reads:

There’s even an email address for readers to dob me in to the paper. I wonder how long it will be before I’m outed.

‘Hmph, I’d have thought the photo would be better quality, considering how close they were,’ I say. ‘And we were hardly frolicking. Who frolicks in this day and age?’

I wouldn’t consider myself a redhead either; my locks are more a coppery auburn. Although I must admit the term ‘lady love’ gives me an unexpected thrill.

‘Wait, you
knew
about this?’ Frankie trills.

‘These photographers aren’t exactly discreet.’

‘There’s more pics inside,’ she says, flipping the pages until she finds a two-page spread that virtually charts Mitchell’s and my entire evening in real time. Our walk to the beach has been documented, along with our quick dip (I’m pleased to see I look pretty good in my borrowed cossie) and our relaxed dinner at a beachfront steakhouse.

But the biggest picture – it fills almost a whole page – is of course the one in which Mitchell and I are locking lips. He has one arm cinched around my waist while the other hand caresses my cheek. Funny, I was so consumed by the electric sensation of his soft lips touching mine that I barely noticed the way he held me. It’s surreal to see it there in front of me, as if I’m looking at someone else. Not many people get to see what their first kiss with a new guy looks like from an outsider’s perspective.

‘Ohmigod,’ Frankie breathes. ‘Kitty, this was taken on our street! You only managed to get a few metres down the road before you had your tongue down his throat?’ If I’m not mistaken, there’s definite pride in her voice.

‘If you want to get technical about it, he actually had
his
tongue down
my
throat.’

Frankie shakes her head and looks at me admiringly. ‘Well, well. My sister and the movie star. I didn’t think you had it in you.’

I flash what I hope is an enigmatic smile.

‘So did you?’ Frankie asks.

‘Did I what?’

‘Have it in you?’

‘Frankie!’

‘Oh, don’t play coy with me, Kitty! After all the hand-holding and the romantic beach walk and the public displays of affection. You slept with him, didn’t you?’

‘No, I didn’t.’ I can tell by the look on her face she thinks that’s about as believable as a genuine Philippe Starck Ghost chair popping up on eBay. ‘Honestly, Frank. I’d tell you if I had. Actually, I probably wouldn’t have to bother – you’d be able to read about it right here.’

I’m telling her the truth. There was definitely no hanky-panky last night. After we swam, we grabbed a quick beer at the local pub and then I took Mitchell to my favourite local restaurant, where I insisted (despite Mitchell’s protests) that Mack join us to eat. The man had been good enough to carry a pair of shoes for Mitchell all the way from the car; I wasn’t about to let him starve. But his presence at the table did preclude much deep and meaningful conversation. When we weren’t being interrupted by a steady stream of Mitchell’s fans – all female, I noted with a weirdly peevish feeling – we mostly talked about his crazy life in Hollywood and his work on
Solitaire
(he thinks Alphonse du Renne is psychotic, too), as well as my job. It was fun, but hardly deeply romantic.

It wasn’t until he walked me home – and Mack retreated to the four-wheel drive – that I was able to ask Mitchell the question that had been burning in my mind all night.

‘So,’ I began as we stood on my verandah, Mitchell’s arms looped loosely around my waist. Night had set by now and the paparazzi were long gone; no doubt they’d had to race back to their mothers’ spare bedrooms to send their shots to the papers before deadline.

‘So,’ he said softly.

‘Do you mind if I ask you a . . . a personal question?’

‘Sure,’ he said, but I felt him tense slightly.

I took a deep breath. I knew I had no business asking what I was about to ask. But I also knew I had to ask it anyway, or go crazy wondering.

‘What happened between you and Vida Torres?’

No sooner had the words left my lips than I regretted them. My question hung in the air between us like a noxious gas. Mitchell took a step away from me.

‘I’m sorry. Forget it. It’s none of my business.’ Who did I think I was, getting so nosy so quickly? Previous relationships – and definitely the Big Heartbreaks – are something you cover when you’re serious about someone, not after one date with a guy (and his bodyguard) who’ll be on the other side of the planet in a month’s time.

‘No, it’s fine,’ Mitchell replied tersely. ‘I’d rather you hear it from me than believe the bullshit they spin in those supermarket rags.’

He sat down at the edge of the verandah and patted the whitewashed timber next to him. I sat, too.

‘To tell you the truth, I don’t really know what happened,’ he said wearily. ‘I thought Vida and I were really solid. We met in Brazil, on a photo shoot for some fashion magazine. She was huge in Latin America but didn’t have much of a profile in the States at that stage.’

I bet dating a megastar helped in that regard
, I’d thought wryly, but held my tongue.

‘I thought she was amazing. Beautiful, of course. So beautiful. But also smart and funny and really kind. She wasn’t interested in fame for the sake of it, you know? She wanted a profile, but she wanted to use it to help people.’

Uh-huh. Sure she did.

‘We were together for, what, five years? And I thought things were great. We’d talked about marriage, but Vida always said she didn’t need a piece of paper to know how we felt about each other, so I never proposed.’

He fell silent then, but I knew what he was thinking. He was wondering whether his failure to pop the question was the reason Vida left.

‘And Ellis?’ I prompted gently.

‘Ellis was my best friend from middle school. We lived a block away from each other growing up in Indiana. We were drama geeks. We could never get the girls! Did you know his real name is Ray Longbottom?’

I stifled a giggle, which made Mitchell smile.

‘So we moved to LA together after high school and lived in this terrible studio apartment in Long Beach and ate baked beans every night. Then Ellis started to get little jobs and pretty quickly they turned into big jobs. They say it doesn’t happen overnight, but it really felt like it did for him. One day he was bartending on Sunset and the next he was opening Memorial Day Weekend blockbusters.’

I got a little lost in the Tinseltown jargon, but I took Mitchell’s words to mean Ellis got famous really quickly, while he got left behind.

‘You’re probably thinking I was jealous of Ellis, right?’ he asked, reading my thoughts. ‘The weird thing is, I truly never was. Honestly. He was my bro. My best friend, you know? I thought it was awesome how well he was doing. Anyway, before too long, I started booking bigger and bigger gigs myself.’

‘Were Vida and Ellis always close?’

Mitchell shrugged. ‘You know, not really. I think he thought she was stuck-up. She didn’t speak great English to start with, so she could come off a little chilly. And Vida thought Ellis was just a big meathead movie star. “Muscles instead of brains” was what she used to say.’

He sighed. ‘And then one day she told me she was in love with him. Just like that. We’d actually just been on vacation in the Caribbean, all of us – me and Vida and Ellis and whatever starlet he was screwing. I thought we were celebrating wrapping the movie Ellis and I had just made together. Turns out he and Vida were celebrating something else. She packed her bags and left a week after we got back to LA.’

It sounded so brutal, even for a place with the bed-hopping reputation of Hollywood. It was hardly surprising that Mitchell had thrown himself headlong into his work with such a quagmire of heartache behind him. I’d have done whatever I could to outrun it, too.

‘She never told you why? How long had it been going on?’

‘I didn’t ask. What was the point? I begged her to stay, but she loved him, not me. I haven’t spoken to either of them since.’

I didn’t know what to say. Mitchell had been betrayed by the two people closest to him and they hadn’t even cared enough to tell him why. My heart ached for him and I reached out a hand to stroke the side of his face.

‘Thank you for telling me,’ I said at last.

‘You must think I’m pretty pathetic,’ he said with a wry smile.

‘Not at all,’ I said. ‘We’ve all been there.’ Okay, I hadn’t actually had the insanely attractive love of my life stolen from me by a cinema luminary, but I definitely knew what it was like to live with loss.

There was just one more question I needed to ask Mitchell – and it was another one that I had no right to ask.

‘Mitchell?’

He looked up, that freshly turned-over pain blazing in his eyes.

‘Are you over her?’

His gaze was steady. ‘Yes,’ he said, and his voice was strong and clear. ‘It’s taken a long time, but yes.’

‘In that case, would you like to come inside?’

If Mitchell was surprised by my boldness, he didn’t show it. I, on the other hand, was a quivering wreck. I had never propositioned a man before, and I was under no illusions that that was exactly what I was doing. I didn’t want Mitchell to come into the house for a cup of coffee. I had something hotter in mind.

He leaned over and pressed his lips to mine, cupping my chin with his warm hand. I felt my body respond at once, pressing against his solid frame with a need I hadn’t anticipated.

But then, just as with our first kiss in the street hours earlier, Mitchell pulled away. ‘I would like to come inside,’ he said, not meeting my eyes. ‘But I won’t.’

I felt myself deflate like an abandoned balloon. ‘Oh. Okay.’

‘I think this could really be something, Kitty. You and me. Do you know what I mean?’

I nodded. Even now, in the cold light of near-day, it makes absolutely no sense to me. I mean, I’ve known the guy all of twenty-four hours, and spent a good chunk of that time despising him. Plus, I slapped him and he got me fired. Let’s not forget that.

And yet I’m drawn to Mitchell in a way I don’t think I’ve ever felt drawn to anyone. It’s as if he’s emitting some sort of tractor beam that’s pulling me in, almost in spite of myself.

‘You’ll think I’m crazy for saying this, but I don’t think we should rush it,’ Mitchell had continued. ‘I think we should . . . well, wait. Is that all right?’

I tried not to take Mitchell’s reticence personally, reminding myself that his heart had been pulverised almost beyond repair just a few months before. I also tried to avoid thinking about the fact that I had one of the world’s most notorious species – the gorgeous Hollywood A-lister – on my front porch, a breed renowned for its indiscriminate conquests, and he wasn’t picking up what I was putting down, so to speak. Wasn’t it just my luck to find myself in the company of the rare Lesser Spotted Chaste Celebrity? And one with a side of heartbreak, no less.

But I didn’t say that to Mitchell. Instead I nodded again, kissed him goodnight and went to bed, while he drove back to his city hotel with Mack.

And I’m not about to say any of this to Frankie now, even though she’s still bouncing up and down on my bed like a toddler on Christmas morning.

‘Why didn’t you go for it, Kit?’ she asks. ‘I thought you were going to throw caution to the wind and allow yourself a bit of no-strings fun with the hot famous dude?’

‘I was – I did. Things just didn’t go that way.’
Take the hint, Frankie.

‘It hardly matters anyway,’ she says, apparently satisfied with my explanation. ‘Once they figure out who you are, the world and his wife are going to think you two are doing it. You’ll get the cachet without the drama.’

‘I’m not interested in the cachet, Frankie. I really like Mitchell.’ It feels weird to say it aloud, but there it is: I really like this guy.

Frankie’s eyes widen. ‘What happened to “where can this possibly go”?’

I shrug. ‘I don’t know where it will go. Maybe it won’t go anywhere. But I want to find out.’

The phone on my bedside table rings then, and I’m grateful for the interruption. Even though it’s not even six o’clock on a Saturday morning and no right-minded person has any business calling me at this hour. Frankie dives across me and grabs the receiver.