Читать книгу Red Carpet Arrangement - Vicki Essex - Страница 11

CHAPTER THREE

“SO THE BABY’S YOURS?”

Riley’s fingers tightened around his tumbler of Scotch, his mind full of dark thoughts even though he was smiling broadly for the guests at the after party. He couldn’t give the impression that he hadn’t enjoyed his own movie, even though he’d barely seen any of it. “I don’t want to talk about this right now.”

His mother snatched the drink out of his hand. “If there is a baby, you shouldn’t be drinking.”

“Mom—” He glanced around to see if anyone had heard. He bent forward and spoke directly into her ear. “Don’t use the B word around here. Someone’s bound to hear. This is how rumors get started.”

“So it’s not yours?”

He sighed. “The timing is right.”

“And you and she...?” She made vague motions with her hands, but the action implied was clear.

“For Christ’s sake...” He refused to discuss his sex life with his mother.

Fortunately they were interrupted by a group of fans Sam had led over—members of his official fan club, apparently. He grinned and took photos, introduced his mother and made small talk. The women, ranging between nineteen and midfifties, giggled and beamed and spoke directly to his mother, praising her for raising such a talented son. His mother always got a kick out of his fans. Sam finally made excuses and they moved off.

“You’re getting better at this whole human-interaction thing,” Sam said. “You even smiled like you’re supposed to.”

He rolled his eyes. “This bunch wasn’t as bad as the last group you brought over. One of those girls was so nervous she was sweating through her shirt.”

“Can you blame her? She was meeting a big Hollywood star.”

“She was meeting a human being who happened to be in a couple of movies she liked. She gets more out of her mail carrier, but you don’t see her fawning over him.”

“Don’t be such a grouch. No one wants to know how human you are. Speaking of which—” she turned serious “—if anyone asks, you offered your limo to a fan who was having a medical emergency. We escorted her from the theater and dropped her off at the nearest hospital, but she was feeling much better when we left her at the ER.”

“Won’t someone follow up on that?”

“The hospital’s not accountable if a patient walks out without checking in at reception. The world will assume she was embarrassed and slunk off after we drove away.”

Riley smirked. “You should write fiction.”

“I do PR. It’s nearly the same thing.” She opened a notebook. “Did you get a chance to talk to her yet?”

“Not really. She’s at the hotel. I’m putting her up till we figure things out.”

Sam shook her head. “We can’t let her blab her story to the world. It could seriously affect your career momentum.”

“I hardly think that’s the issue here,” Winnie put in. “Not if there’s a ba—complication involved.” She made a face, obviously disliking the word.

Sam’s pointed face froze in that emotionless mask she wore when she was thinking, plotting, calculating. Riley figured she could probably solve global warming with that intensity if she put her mind to it. She blinked her dark eyes rapidly as she surfaced from her fugue. “All right. Tomorrow morning, before you head to the circuit, we’ll start some processes.”

“Processes?”

She lowered her voice. “Tests.”

Winnie started. “Can they do that while the ba—complica—” She huffed and said lowly, “No, it’s a baby, I’m not calling it anything else. Can they safely do tests while it’s still in the womb?”

“I’m pretty sure. I’ll find out. I know a doctor who’s discreet.” Riley swallowed thickly, wondering when and how often Sam had this discreet doctor come around for her clients. She shot Riley a serious look. “I don’t know what your past with this girl is, and right now I don’t care. But until we have confirmation on whether it’s yours, don’t make any promises. Do you understand?”

He nodded stiffly. He knew she meant well, but he resented that Sam was handling what should have been his private affair. She glided away on her deadly heels like a wraith on a mission. Riley felt bad that she had to deal with this new crisis on top of handling Juliette’s needs. Then again, Sam seemed to thrive when besieged. And she was well paid.

“You didn’t tell Sam that you and...” His mother left her inquiry dangling.

“Katherine,” he supplied.

“That you and Katherine have a history.”

“You heard her, Mom. No promises until we know for sure.”

“And then what?”

“Let’s cross that bridge when we get to it.”

“And if it’s not yours?”

He clenched his jaw. He wasn’t about to admit that he’d already accepted that the baby was his—not as an absolute truth, but as a precaution he could prepare for. He could plan around such a crisis. But if the baby wasn’t his... “Then, that’s something she’ll have to deal with.”

Winnie’s face puckered. “But what about the baby?”

“Not my problem.” Not if it wasn’t his.

Privately he hoped it was. A child didn’t deserve to be left struggling for survival. But he didn’t want to be roped into caring too much, either.

As for Kat... Well, he could only pray she wasn’t a gold-digging fame monster.

* * *

THE PHONE’S EAR-SHATTERING warble startled Kat out of a strange dream where she was being buried beneath a mountain of human fireflies. She groped for the handset and croaked, “Hello?”

“Are you awake?”

She turned over slowly, rubbing her eyes and focusing on the bedside clock. “It’s seven in the morning.”

“Yes, it is.” Riley’s voice sounded rough. She’d assumed he would stay out late and sleep in this morning, giving her a chance to catch up on some much-needed rest. No such luck. Apart from the usual pregnancy fatigue, the baby had tumbled and kicked all night, as if it was telling her to keep moving, keep looking for that new adventure, a new home.

No, she thought firmly. Home is where you can grow up and have a normal childhood. Home is where you’ll get to make friends for life and go to school.

“You still there?” Riley’s sharp tone prodded her to wakefulness.

“Yeah.”

“Good. I’ll be down in twenty minutes. We need to talk.” He hung up.

She groggily got up, brushed her teeth and fixed her hair as best as she could. There was nothing she could do about makeup, since she’d carried none of her toiletries with her to the premiere. She told herself it didn’t matter anyway, that looking good for Riley this morning would not help Sweetpea’s cause.

Then she remembered her clothes. The concierge informed her they wouldn’t be ready until eight this morning. Fantastic. At least she’d kept her bra and underwear.

She bundled the robe around her tightly. Despite how plush and voluminous it was, she still felt naked, especially when Riley knocked. She drew in a breath, gathered her dignity and opened the door.

The glacial shine in Riley’s eyes fractured briefly. His light brown hair—it’d been blond when she’d first met him—was mussed in that way only a Hollywood star like him seemed capable of pulling off. Beneath his fashionable scruff, faint lines of displeasure bracketed his firmly set lips. His black T-shirt and gray jeans reflected his mood.

“You’re not dressed.”

Good morning to you, too. She hoped Sweetpea inherited her manners. “And I won’t be until I get my clothes back from housekeeping.”

“I was going to take you to breakfast.”

“I thought you didn’t want me out in public.”

“I mean upstairs in my suite. With my mother.”

She spread her hands. “Well, unless you want me half naked...”

He forked his fingers through his hair, pulling his scalp back in that motion that among men seemed to mean “stay with me, hair, no use falling out over this.” Posed as he was, she admired his toned arms, the flatness of his abs and his deep chest stretching his T-shirt. Even with those shadows under his eyes, the man was a walking photo shoot.

She yanked her gaze away. “Nothing going your way lately, huh?” she asked wryly, heading back into the room. If she had to face him, she would have a cup of tea first, even if it was bad hotel room tea. “Must be so tough, having your entire life turned upside down. I wouldn’t know what that was like at all.”

“Hey, I never expected to see you again. And showing up at my biggest movie release and announcing you’re pregnant in front of the whole world—”

“I told you, I did everything I could to reach you—”

“I know, I know.” He rubbed the spot between his eyes. “Is there coffee? I haven’t had any yet.”

He was looking everywhere but at her. It shouldn’t have hurt, but it did. “Yeah. But it’s sh—sugar pie.”

“So it’s...good?”

“The opposite of that.” Man, her vocabulary was so limited when she couldn’t swear.

She brewed the pod system coffee, and soon he had a lukewarm cup of awful with the supposedly shelf-stable creamer she was certain hadn’t been anywhere near a cow.

He took a tentative sip, made a face and ran to pour it out in the bathroom sink. “Dear God.”

“Told you.” She smirked. That’d show him for not listening to her.

He rinsed his mouth and exited the bathroom. He glanced around nervously. “Guess we’ll just wait for your clothes. Can I sit?”

She tipped a hand in invitation. He fell into the single armchair by the window and stared out pensively, one knee bouncing. For a moment, she actually felt bad for him. She’d had months to adjust to the idea of bringing a new life into the world—he’d only received the news last night. He actually looked as if he were trying to decide if he should jump out the window.

“How’ve you been managing?” he asked abruptly. “I mean...how’ve you paid for doctor’s appointments and that kind of thing?”

She shrugged. “It was okay for a while. I didn’t get confirmation until about ten weeks in. My period’s not regular, so I didn’t suspect I was pregnant until I realized the morning sickness wasn’t going away. Even then, I thought it was a stomach bug.”

His tanned brow wrinkled. “Was it bad?”

“Yeah.” Kat sank onto the edge of the bed. “I got it at night, so it made working at the bar hard. One night I fainted and dropped a whole tray of beers. Then I threw up all over one of the customers. I got fired that night.”

Riley sat forward. “That’s...that’s discrimination! You can’t fire someone for being pregnant. Was it that old boss at the tiki bar? The slimy one?”

“No, no, I left that bar after...” She trailed off. She didn’t want him to know what her attraction to him had cost her. “I’d just started at this new place downtown. I didn’t have to wear a coconut bikini top there, at least.”

He smirked. “Shame.”

Kat rolled her eyes, but was secretly pleased by his appraisal. “Anyhow, it’s not as if I could’ve fought it. The boss claimed I’d been drinking on the job. I didn’t confirm I was pregnant until after I’d been fired.”

“So how’d you come to California?”

“I had some savings. I sold my car and most of my stuff, got my plane ticket on the cheap. I have a few friends in LA who let me couch surf. Did a little random clerical work for a few of them—transcribing and that sort of thing. Spent what I had to for doctor’s appointments and medication.”

“Didn’t you sign up for health insurance?”

She shook her head. “Kind of had other issues to deal with...like finding a job and a place to stay.”

His scowl said it all. The judgment, the reproach, the pity. It all came off Riley as stony intensity, with his thoughts boiling beneath his calm veneer.

He steered away from her employment history. “So is everything with the baby...?”

“I’m healthy, and so is the baby. Things were slow to start—the fetus wasn’t growing as quickly as the doctor hoped. But that changed quickly.” She patted her belly.

“You don’t look as if you’ve been eating enough.” Riley rubbed his palms together, as if he could summon up a plate of hash browns for her there and then. She kind of wished he could. “I mean, for a pregnant woman.”

She smiled to herself, wondering what he’d think when he got the room service bill. “All women are different. I’m eating what I need to. I’ve been taking care of myself as well as I can.” There was no denying that before her pregnancy she’d been much less careful about what she put in her body. Being a waitress meant she worked odd hours, and she’d subsisted on bar food for much of her life. But now that a new life was involved, she’d become more conscious of everything she put in her mouth, as if every french fry and loaded nacho would become a part of the baby’s physical makeup.

She blew out a breath. “I won’t be coy, Riley. The truth is, you’re right, I’m running out of money, and no one will hire a pregnant waitress. My mother is the only family I have, and she’s AWOL. I can’t rely on my friends forever, either. I mean, my friend Jamie’s been great, and I don’t think she’d mind having me around, but a baby in a one-bedroom apartment with two women—”

“No, no, of course.” At least he wasn’t sneering about the money issue anymore. He stared at a spot on the floor. It seemed to be really sinking in now, his brow gathering furrows as pronounced as the San Andreas Fault. He looked so much older than his thirty-seven years, though the late-night talk show hosts always remarked on his ageless, devil-may-care grin.

They’d never seen his real smile, though. The one he wore for the cameras was entirely different from the one she’d seen when they’d lain in bed together, the moonlight pouring in through the hotel room window with the sound of the surf so close she thought she could dip her toes in if she let her feet dangle off the mattress. She wondered if she’d ever see that smile again.

A loud knock on the door startled her out of the moment. “Must be my clothes.” She went to answer it.

* * *

SO THIS WAS all about money.

Riley supposed he shouldn’t have been disappointed. Of course, any discussion about the baby was going to be a practical one. He knew better than anyone that money made a difference. He didn’t know why he’d expected more from Kat.

Once she’d gotten dressed, Riley escorted Kat up to his suite. He studied her reflection in the mirrored elevator. Too thin, and so pale, despite the coastal sunshine. Weren’t pregnant women supposed to glow or something? Maybe it was anemia. That was a pregnancy thing, right?

As they entered the suite, Winnie greeted Kat with a smile. A sudden bout of nerves flashed through Riley. Stripped of makeup and that designer evening gown, she was much more “mom” in a light sweater and capris, and now she was meeting the woman who was very likely carrying her grandchild. Kat rubbed her arms nervously, looking like a small, trapped animal.

“Good morning, dear. Please, come in. I’ve got French toast warming in the oven, fresh fruit and bacon. I also have plain oatmeal if you’re not feeling up to anything rich.”

“You have a kitchen in here.” Kat took in the amenities with a note of awe.

“I prefer to cook when I travel with Riley. Eating out too much is bad for your health, and it can get so expensive in LA.” She held out her hands entreatingly. “How are you doing? Did you sleep well? I had such a difficult time with this one, I remember...” She nodded at Riley. “Always rolling around and kicking me black-and-blue inside at the ungodliest of hours.”

“He or she must take after her father, then.” Kat placed a hand over her stomach. “Stuntman in the womb.”

Winnie laughed and they got to chatting about pregnant-lady things. Riley tuned them out ruthlessly as he picked up his tablet and absentmindedly scanned the entertainment news headlines, searching for word about the Infinite Destinies premiere. Though he’d privately accepted the likelihood that the baby was his, that modicum of doubt made him nervous about his mom bonding with Kat.

“Help me set the table, Riley.” His mother’s sweet command pulled him out of his turbulent thoughts. To Kat, she said, “Don’t ever let him off the hook when it comes to quality time. He’s always on about how busy he is, but that doesn’t excuse him from sitting down for a proper meal with his family.”

A small smile curved Kat’s lips even as she slid Riley an apologetic look. The way his mom was talking, it sounded as if she fully expected them to have a more permanent arrangement.

Someone knocked as they were sitting down for breakfast. Riley answered the door. “We’ve got problems,” Sam said without preamble as she strode in, before correcting herself graciously. “I beg your pardon. Good morning, Winnie. Excuse me for barging in. I’ve got—”

“Business with my son, yes, yes. Let’s have breakfast first. I don’t like to hear bad news on an empty stomach.”

“I’ve already had—”

“Coffee and cigarettes alone won’t sustain a body. Now, you sit down and eat, Samantha Silverman.” Winnie settled her hands over the petite agent’s shoulders and marched her to the table.

“Don’t argue with her,” Riley murmured, slightly amused by his agent’s long-suffering sigh. He knew Sam secretly loved Winnie’s doting.

Sam smiled tightly as she faced Kat. “Good morning, Miss Schwinn.”

“Kat, please,” she said a touch hesitantly.

Sam, normally a friendly sort, seemed visibly wary—she obviously didn’t trust Kat. None of them should. But Riley didn’t like the tension running across Kat’s shoulders. It couldn’t be good for the baby.

That note of strain remained as everyone heaped their plates with food. They were quiet as they ate. Riley watched Kat cut her food into bite-size pieces and chew them carefully. He thought eating for two meant stuffing your face with abandon. Or did the baby need as much food at six-and-a-half months?

Then it occurred to him he had no idea about anything to do with babies or pregnancy. He liked other people’s kids fine, and worked with lots of children’s charities. He knew how to be a big brother and the man of the house. But a dad?

He set down his cutlery and hid his suddenly trembling hands in his lap. “I’m a bit nauseous,” he explained when his mother sent him a questioning look. “Too much to drink last night.”

“Something else you’ll have to watch out for with all the schmoozing he does,” Winnie said to Kat.

“I’m not a boozehound, Mom.” He knew she was sensitive to his drinking because of the way his father had been, but it was hard to avoid a social cocktail at big Hollywood shindigs.

“That reminds me,” Sam interjected, “I received an invitation to a spirits tasting in early October. It’s a charity thing to raise awareness for...bah, now I can’t remember. A thousand a head. Good cause, and a few friends of Harlan’s will be there.”

“Friends of Harlan’s” was code for bigwig producers, directors and investors, guys who could give Riley the Oscar-worthy scripts he craved. Playing Captain Jaxon Killian would be fine for a few years—and it would provide a steady paycheck of residuals and merchandise royalties for the rest of his life—but he wanted meatier parts, more challenging roles. “Put me down for yes.”

His mother frowned while Sam made a note in her leather-bound planner. Mom knew very well that networking at such events and keeping his face in Hollywood’s mind was part of the job.

“Okay, on to business.” Sam closed her planner and turned toward Kat. “Riley’s told me about how you two met. The timing’s right. I went through my emails and correspondence over the past year, but I don’t have any record of you contacting me, so you’ll understand my suspicions. It’s possible, however, that your messages went through the filters of the administration staff and my assistants first.”

“No one believed me.” Kat’s voice was flat, resigned. “No one.”

“I’m sorry for that. Please don’t take it personally. The agency must protect Riley’s interests, and I’ve been through this before with other clients. In fact, over the past two years, three women have come forward claiming they’re pregnant with Riley’s baby.”

Riley fixed his expression, watching the play of emotions on Kat’s face shift from disbelief to amusement to solemn apprehension. If she was lying, it didn’t show. She only squared her shoulders and defiantly declared, “It’s Riley’s. I wish it weren’t. But it is.”

Irritation pricked him again. Wasn’t he good enough? Maybe she was manipulating him, pulling a reverse-psychology bit, but she hadn’t come off as a con artist when they’d first met in Hawaii, and she didn’t come off as one now. Unless she was that good. He was an actor after all, and had worked with some of the best. He knew how a great actor could transform him or herself.

“Why would you have heard about those other three pregnant women and not me? How’d they get your attention?”

“They went directly to the press when they couldn’t get to Riley. Thought they’d grab some quick cash by selling exclusives to the tabloids.” She cut Kat an intrigued look “You could’ve gone to the papers, too, but you risked getting yourself thrown in jail, or worse, to see Riley. So either you’re a very convincing sociopath, or you’re telling the truth.”

Kat’s chin jutted. Riley thought Sam was being unnecessarily provocative, but Kat’s reactions were telling.

“I looked into doing paternity tests,” Sam went on, pulling some printouts from her bag. “There are options, but at this stage in your pregnancy, there’s some risk involved in extracting what we need.”

“We’re not doing that, then,” Riley cut in sharply. “I won’t risk the baby’s health.” He sensed surprise from the others as he met Kat’s eye. “Until we know for sure, I’ll help you cover the costs for everything you’ll need.”

He suddenly realized what he was saying. That he was accepting her word without proof, and that he was willing to stick it out with her at least until the baby’s birth.

“Are...are you sure?” Kat looked shocked.

“I may be a jerk, but I’m not an asshole.”

Kat clapped her palms on either side of her belly, as if she could cover the baby’s delicate ears. “Ah-bah-bah! Shh!”

He rolled his eyes. “Fine...artichoke. Whatever.”

She wrinkled her nose and stuck out her tongue. He held back a smile. She’d done that before, when they’d first met—when she’d still looked bright and fresh and indomitable, even in a coconut-shell bikini top. He was glad that spark hadn’t been completely snuffed out.

Sam shrugged. “All right, then. I guess that’s settled.” Her tone told Riley she didn’t entirely approve, but wouldn’t argue. She removed another sheaf of papers from her bag and slid them toward Kat. “I’ll need you to sign this.”

Kat picked them up warily. “What is it?”

“Nondisclosure agreement. While Riley is paying for your doctor’s visits and whatever else you need, you’ll be legally bound to keep silent about who you’re with, who’s footing the tab, who the father of your child is—” She paused. “Unless you’ve already told someone.”

“Obviously people know I’m pregnant. Kind of hard to hide.” She thought a moment. “I told my mom that the baby’s father was an actor and that I was headed to LA to track him down, but I didn’t name Riley. And I’ve only left her messages. She hasn’t called me back yet, so she may not even know.” Hurt and concern creased her face. She quickly covered it up with a too-dry chuckle. “Last I heard, she was sailing on a catamaran in the Caribbean. I don’t think she gets on land too often.”

“What’s your mother’s name?”

“Dorothy Schwinn. Most people call her Dotty.”

Sam jotted furiously in her notebook. “Anyone else? Someone close to her who might have access to her voice mails?”

“She’s had a few boyfriends, but no one who’d have access to her messages. She’s kind of private. Prefers to be independent.”

Sam nodded in understanding. “You’re staying with a friend, I hear?”

“Yeah. She doesn’t know about Riley, either.”

“But she knows you’re pregnant.”

“What do you think?” she asked, pointing to her stomach.

Sam pursed her lips. “Okay. First things first. You’re moving out of her place today. Tell her another friend is taking you in. Say nothing else.”

“Is that really necessary?”

“Kat, we already agreed to this,” Riley said. Her continued resistance annoyed him.

“First rule in Hollywood—don’t trust anyone,” Sam said. “I’ve seen lifelong friends and family members dish on actors’ lives for a payout. The tabloids have a lot of money to throw around.”

Kat cast Riley a sad look. “The price of fame?”

He lifted a shoulder. Sam’s cynicism wasn’t unfounded, but he had yet to abandon anyone in his life because they’d betrayed him or his family to the press.

“You don’t read the tabloids, do you?” his agent guessed.

“Not really.”

“Well, these people are ruthless. They will rip apart your life bit by bit, follow you everywhere, turn every friend you’ve ever had into an informant, breathe down your neck, peer through your windows, dig through your trash and make up stories about you based on everything you eat, buy and throw out. It’s all bullsh—” she stopped herself at Kat’s narrowed look “—uh...bonbons?” Thrown off, Sam shook her head. “Anyhow, they’re vicious. This is a cutthroat business. Do you want to expose your child to that?”

“Of course not.”

“Then, for God’s sake, tell your friend nothing. I’m sorry, Kat, but your life isn’t yours anymore.”