Читать книгу Infamous - Jane Porter - Страница 15

Wolf Kerrick was seen having a cozy dinner Tuesday night with former flame, actress Joy Hughes, at Manhattan’s celebrity favorite, Nobu. Are Wolf and Joy back together again?

Alexandra read the gossip item over and over again until her eyes began to burn and a lump formed in her throat. She felt almost … betrayed. Which was stupid since she and Wolf weren’t a real couple, but still, they’d been spending so much time together lately that in some ways she did feel as if she was part of Wolf’s life. Felt almost like Wolf’s woman.

Quickly, before anyone could see, Alexandra wiped away tears, stood up, trashed the paper and went to make her third coffee run of the day.

Wolf picked her up in the limo fifteen minutes after the party officially started, but even then they were among the first arriving at Matt Silverman’s fabulous Bel Air estate.

Although it was a private party and media hadn’t been invited, dozens of photographers had still set up their cameras on tripods across the street from the Silverman mansion.

Walking through the gardens next to Wolf, Alexandra recognized nearly half the people there. And the other half were probably the really important people—the producers, directors, power agents like Benjamin Foster.

“Did you get my flowers?” Wolf asked as they stopped near the pool to take in the hundreds of floating water lilies illuminated by just as many floating candles.

Alexandra’s stomach immediately knotted. “I did.”

He turned his head, looked at her. “I’m sorry I was held up—”

“No apologies or explanations required.”

She was trying to be poised, but the tartness of her answer gave her pain away.

“You saw the photograph of Joy and me at Nobu,” Wolf said.

Had there been a photograph in another paper? Her heart felt strange. Tender. Almost fearful. “No. I just read a little blurb about your dinner in the local paper.”

He was still looking at her. “There’s nothing between us, Alexandra.”

She nearly hung her head and then thought better of it. She was wearing vintage Armani tonight, an exquisite ivory pleated gown that the stylist had brought over yesterday. With the gold-heeled sandals on her feet and the gold band wrapped around her arm she felt beautiful, like an Egyptian priestess or maybe a princess, and she didn’t want anything to ruin that.

“It’s none of my business,” she answered calmly.

“But it is, at least until our contract ends.”

She managed a droll smile. “You’re too good an actor.”

“What does that mean?”

“It means we both know the truth. I’m not the kind of woman you usually date. I’m serious, industrious. I like the quiet evenings in and you—” she broke off and smiled brighter “—are the bad-boy playboy, notorious for all-night parties.”

He swore under his breath, a short, sharp, profane curse that caught her by surprise.

Alexandra blinked at him. “I’ve never heard you curse before.”

He took her chin in his hand, lifted it up. “I wish everything was as simple as you make it out to be. I’d love for life to be so black-and-white, but it’s not. And you, sweetheart, don’t know me.” His dark eyes burned into her, promising, punishing. “You know nothing about who I really am, and maybe that’s a good thing. Maybe it’s better to let you remain sweet, inexperienced, naive.”

Alexandra didn’t have time to answer or defend herself. People were heading their way, flocking toward Wolf as though he were a beacon of light.

Concealing her chaotic emotions, Alexandra quietly stood next to him. Wolf appeared to have many industry friends. He’d been a Hollywood force for nearly ten years, but it was only in the last two years, since winning the Oscar for Boys in Belfast, that he’d become viewed as a serious talent.

Waiters passed glasses of specialty cocktails on gilded wood trays—cocktails like pomegranate martinis and Lemon Drop shooters—and the crowd around Wolf grew louder and more jovial as the drinks were consumed.

Alexandra tried not to wiggle while she stood for the first hour at Wolf’s side, but it was difficult not to feel self-conscious given the amount of skin her cream Armani gown exposed.

Fortunately Wolf didn’t forget her. Several times in that long hour he broke off his conversation to introduce her, point someone out or try to explain a reference, making sure he included her as much as he could. He even once reached out and touched her upper arm as he talked to yet another woman who’d come to congratulate him on his exceptional performance in his last film.

Two more young women were approaching Wolf now, both stunning, one very fair with straight waist-length blond hair and a figure that looked as though she could model for Victoria’s Secret, and the other a sexy, sultry brunette that reminded Alexandra of Wolf’s former flame, Joy Hughes.

As it turned out, the blonde was a model for Victoria’s Secret and she introduced her friend, a former Miss Venezuela who’d come to Los Angeles to pursue an acting career.

Despite Alexandra’s presence, the women flirted outrageously with Wolf, touching him, laughing, leaning seductively toward him, showing cleavage Alexandra would never have. But once again Wolf put his hand on her arm, rubbed it as if to reassure her, and some of Alexandra’s tension eased. That was until Paige, the Victoria’s Secret model, tripped and sent her red pomegranate martini flying—all across Alexandra’s exquisite ivory Armani dress.

For a moment Alexandra just stood there, her bare shoulder wet and sticky, her breast and fitted bodice a splash of pale red, with little droplets of red staining the long straight skirt.

A seven-thousand-dollar vintage gown ruined.

She stared at Paige in shock, her gaze riveted to the model’s empty glass. Empty because the cocktail was now all over her gown.

For a moment she could think of absolutely nothing to say—at least nothing polite, because on the inside she was livid, fuming. How could a model that pranced down a runway in four-inch heels and enormous white angel wings trip over nothing? And not just spill her drink but dump the entire contents over Alexandra and only Alexandra?

“Are you okay?” Wolf asked, his arm encircling her, bringing her closer to his side.

“I’m fine,” she choked out. But she wasn’t fine. She was shaking, trembling in her heels. Her lovely dress was ruined and there would be no easy exit from the party, not with a stain like this.

Wolf flagged down a waiter and requested some soda water and a towel. “Soda water might help,” he said.

She nodded, forcing a tight smile. “I’m fine, it’s fine,” she repeated, but her voice had grown husky. It was humiliating being Wolf’s pretend girlfriend, humiliating playing a role and being ignored by everyone and pretending she didn’t notice their condescension when Wolf introduced her.

But she understood their snubs, understood why they didn’t care to meet her or remember her. Wolf had a reputation for dating and discarding young Hollywood starlets. And being young and reasonably pretty, people probably assumed that Alexandra—Wolf’s newest plaything—would soon be gone. These people weren’t going to try to impress someone or even be kind to someone who wasn’t important.

And she wasn’t important. Not to anyone here.

Shame filled her, shame at so many different levels. She shouldn’t have signed the contract. Shouldn’t have let her own ambition get before her morals. Shouldn’t have allowed herself to be used.

Just because she wasn’t an actress or a model or someone powerful in Hollywood didn’t mean she wasn’t valuable.

“I’m sorry.” She struggled to maintain her composure. “This is so embarrassing.”

“It’s not at all.” Wolf suddenly looked at Paige and Lulu and gave them such a dark, ferocious look that both women scuttled away. With Paige and Lulu gone, he drew her closer. “And you couldn’t embarrass me, so don’t say things like that.”

Blinking back tears, she glanced up, and the depth of his concern made her see yet again that he did wear a public mask, a coolly amused mask, as though he were always laughing at life. Laughing at himself. But she was just beginning to realize that underneath the mask he wasn’t laughing at all. “I should go before the entertainment reporters and photographers spot me looking like this.”

She took a deep breath, straightened her shoulders. “Now let me just slip out now so no one can get pictures of us together. You stay here and do what you have to do.”

“I’m not going to let you leave alone. If you want to go, we’ll go together.” Wolf reached inside his tuxedo for his mobile phone. “I’ll call for the car.”

She covered his hand with hers so he couldn’t make the call. “You have to stay. Aren’t you making one of the birthday toasts?”

He shrugged. “It’s more of a roast than a toast.”

“But still, you’re wanted here, needed here.”

He shook her hand off and punched in the number before putting the phone to his ear. “The speech is already typed up. I could have someone else do it.”

The waiter returned at that moment with a small bottle of soda water and two clean white kitchen towels. Wolf hung up, reached into his pocket for a twenty-dollar bill to tip the waiter.

“Thank you, Mr. Kerrick,” the waiter said, nodding appreciatively.

Alexandra took the soda water and towels from the waiter. “All right. I’ll make you a deal. You stay here, and I’ll go find a bathroom and see what I can do to salvage this dress. Okay?”

“Okay.”

She nodded and forced a light note into her voice. “I’ll be back soon.”

Alexandra was heading to the house to look for a bathroom when she crossed paths with Jason Kirkpatrick, a young director she’d met earlier in the year when he’d dropped by Paradise Pictures to discuss directing a film for the studio. In the end, he wasn’t hired, but Alexandra had enjoyed her brief conversation with him that morning and she smiled in recognition as he flagged her down.

“Alex! It’s Alex, isn’t it?” he said, hailing her.

“Yes, although I prefer Alexandra,” she corrected. “And it’s Jason, right?”

“Good memory.” He rocked back on his heels. “So what happened to you?” he asked, lifting her hand that clutched the bottle of soda water to better see the vivid stain ruining her gown.

She’d nearly forgotten the catastrophe and grimaced now. “A famous lingerie model accidentally poured her drink on me.”

“That’s a lot of accident,” he retorted, taking a step into the shrubbery and pulling her with him to let people pass behind them on the curving stone path.

She glanced down at the stain. “I’m thinking the pomegranate martinis are better in the glass.”

He laughed. “You’re funny.”

“Thanks.”

His laugh turned to a sympathetic smile. “Why don’t you run home and change? The party hasn’t even started. It’s still only the cocktail hour.”

“I’d go home if I could, but I don’t want to make Wolf leave—”

“Why should Wolf have to leave? Zip home, change and come right back.”

Alexandra’s nose wrinkled. “I’d love to, but it’s not that easy. I don’t have a car and I didn’t bring money for a cab. And Wolf—”

“Let me take you.” Jason stretched his hands out. “My Porsche is right out front. Wolf’s a friend of mine. I’d love to help him out.”

“Oh, I don’t know if that’s a good idea.” She glanced over her shoulder, struggling to see if she could find Wolf in the crowd, but the extensive garden was packed. “Wolf might not like it.”

“It’ll only take a moment and then—snap!—you’ll be right back, pretty as a picture.” Jason winked. “And trust me, you’ll take a better picture in a new gown, if you get what I mean.