Fading Star

Chapter One Dante Ebersol tossed a file folder across his father‟s massive oak desk. Anxiety prickled at him as he stood and paced the floor. Gaze narrowed, Charles Ebersol leaned back in his seat. “We can‟t suffer another flop.” “The marketing people are positive about this one,” Dante assured him. “They conducted focus groups. Viewers can‟t get enough of reality programming. The trick is to find a subject they can feel superior to. Someone who appears foolish and who makes their own lives seem totally together by comparison.” Charles nodded. “Not like Hollywood isn‟t overflowing with such animals. What‟s got you so jumpy? I‟m exhausted just watching you. Siddown.” Ignoring his father‟s command, Dante continued pacing. Hadn‟t he threatened him with the axe if he didn‟t come up with something great? “We need a celebrity whose star has faded. One who‟s willing to give us total access. Someone really screwed up. People love that— someone worse off than themselves.” He snapped his fingers several times, trying to recall the name of a TV rerun he‟d watched a few nights ago. “Remember that precocious redheaded kid from the late eighties who Mike and I used to watch when we were kids? The show was called Too Cute.” “Vaguely. Thank god your mother has a better memory than I.” A grin broke through his stony expression. “What would I do without her at all those Beverly Hills parties? I‟d look like a fool who doesn‟t know who anyone is, that‟s what.” “Lenny Olsen is the star‟s name,” Dante continued. “And he‟s on his third wife. A damned train wreck. The show makes him look like a total idiot. And it‟s on top of the ratings.” He stopped to think about the ideal candidate for his project: someone quirky and pathetic. Hell, that described half of Hollywood. “Too bad you weren‟t smart enough to get to him before he signed with someone else, huh?” Dante ignored his father‟s barb. After all these years, he was used to them. “I know I can pull a hit like that together. All I need is a great subject. Someone who‟s as much of a mess as Lenny Olsen.” Charles lifted a thick, gray eyebrow. “Therein lies the problem, son. You have to find the right person.” Dante thought back to the meeting he‟d held with his staff a few hours ago. They‟d poured over dozens of issues of Variety, searching for the right subject for the show—a has-been the world still remembered and still cared about. A former TV or music star so desperate to deliver their face and name back into the public eye they would be willing to allow cameras complete access to their life. “We have the field narrowed to five,” he said. “All excellent possibilities.” Resting his chin on one fist, Charles regarded him for several seconds. “You realize I‟m taking a huge gamble.” He positioned a pencil under the blade of a guillotine paperweight, pushed a button and stared at the contraption as it maimed the yellow stick. Did his father really think he could intimidate him as he did the rest of his employees? Wasn‟t happening. “I‟d rather not go into those details yet, Dad.” If the old man didn‟t like his choices, he might elbow into the production, rather than letting him fly solo, as he‟d promised. “You‟ve only run one production and, as I recall, the second it lifted off, the whole mess came crashing down on your feet.” He shook his head. “That‟s what I get for putting your mother‟s wishes before my own common sense.”

Bastard. “I won‟t tolerate any more screw-ups.” Charles pointed at him with the eraser end of the broken pencil. “If I‟m going to invest a big chunk of this company‟s assets in you, you‟d better pray it doesn‟t end up like your last venture. Lose another half a million and I‟ll carve it out of your ass.” That brass ring was so close now he could taste it. “I won‟t let you down.” Again. Charles pounded his fist onto the desk. “Two strikes and you‟re out. Got it? The second you become an albatross around the neck of Ebersol Productions is the moment you‟re unemployed, family or not.” Dante clenched his teeth. “Thanks for the vote of confidence, Dad.” He couldn‟t wait to get the hell out of the room. Charles shrugged. “Just want you to be clear about what‟s at stake.” He pushed another pencil into place for its execution by guillotine. “I got it.” Turning his back a second before he heard the quick snap of wood, he returned to his office, a smaller version of his father‟s. He shut the door and stared at the framed degree on the wall. Charles loved to point out that NYU would have prepared Dante for a career in television production better than the University of Chicago. The fact that he hadn‟t been accepted into NYU was merely another failure in the old man‟s eyes. A top-rated series would surely vanquish some of the doubts the old man had about his abilities, but surviving shark-infested waters would be easier than pleasing Charles Ebersol. If this project wasn‟t a hit, his career, not to mention his dream of becoming a successful producer was over. **** I‟m a total mess. Jolie Brown set a plate of cheese and crackers in front of her agent at her kitchen table, and instantly regretted the decision to conduct a meeting on her housekeeper‟s day off. She had to do something or be swallowed by a sea of debt. Time is running out. “I can‟t go on like this, Clive.” As she sat opposite him, she concentrated on keeping a shrill edge out of her voice. “Another year of little or no income and I‟ll have to sell my house.” She shook her head. “You have no idea how humiliating it is for me to say that out loud.” Clive Peterson gazed at his nearly empty martini glass, speared the olive with a toothpick then sucked it into his mouth. “I‟m an agent, not a miracle worker.” His British accent sounded particularly formal this afternoon, almost snobbish. Or maybe she was too used to her husband Lane‟s lazy Cockney drawl. “I‟m doing everything I can, love. What ever happened with your husband‟s comeback? Didn‟t you say he has a reunion tour in the works with his old band?” She crinkled her nose, then remembered what the plastic surgeon said about that motion causing wrinkles. “The other members of Cracked Mirror backed out at the last minute, the bastards. Lane can‟t perform any of their songs as a solo act; the lawyers won‟t let him.” Her heart ached, thinking about the disappointment she saw in her husband‟s eyes after he got the news that financing for the tour had fallen through. Not to mention her disillusion when she realized he wouldn‟t be earning a paycheck anytime soon. She couldn‟t keep supporting him forever. She‟d barely been able to make the mortgage payment this month. “We‟re not talking

about him. I need work. There must be something. My family background alone should carry enough weight.” “No one remembers that far back, love. And your pedigree is rather checkered, as I see it. You turned down the last two TV spots I offered.” “Infomercials for denture adhesive, another for adjustable beds?” She stuck out her chin. “Have a heart, Clive. I‟m only thirty. I want a real role, one that will show the world I‟m a serious actress. After all those years on a sitcom and the TV movies I did as a teenager, someone has to have a juicy role for me.” She smarted over the idea that he‟d think she‟d even consider such jobs as peddling whiter teeth or the latest cure for sleep disorders. If she had anything left, it was her dignity, for heaven‟s sake. “I‟ll have you know my grandfather is one of the very finest people I‟ve ever met.” “I seem to remember a steady stream of young starlets associated with him years ago. Quite the playboy, hmm?” He raised an eyebrow she could swear was less gray than the last time she‟d seen him. “And didn‟t I hear something about the vice squad arresting your mother for possession several years back?” “A trumped up charge and you know it.” Unaccustomed to defending the woman she despised, she fisted one hand and prayed he wouldn‟t mention her father. “You never said such mean things when I was on top.” The hand he laid atop hers felt reptilian for its coldness. It looked like a skeleton‟s hand next to her dark skin. He flashed his venomous smile, all snake-oil charm. “Forgive me. Not my place to pull the old skeletons out of the closet.” “Apology accepted.” She withdrew her hand and tucked it into her lap. “Now, what are you going to do about finding me some work? Much as I enjoyed my stint at summer stock earlier this year, it paid next to nothing.” “What about those rug rats you work with in that Van Nuys community center? Don‟t any of the mums or dads have connections you might use?” “We‟re talking about children whose parents work for minimum wage, Clive. And don‟t call them rug rats.” She thought about the precious souls in her weekly drama class. “They‟re little angels who deserve more than life‟s given them.” “Whatever.” He drummed bony fingers on the table and stared toward the corner of the room. “I have a thought. What do you think of me throwing your name out there for one of those reality shows where they gather a bunch of B-list stars in a mansion, or put them on competitive diets?” Pointing at her, he concluded. “You could do something like that.” B-list stars? Had he completely lost his mind? “Live with wannabe celebrities? Do I look like I need to lose weight?” She sucked in her gut and felt her navel nudge her backbone. “My face adorned a gazillion lunch boxes and T-shirts when I was a kid. Throughout the late eighties and early nineties, I was the reason millions of people turned on their TV sets every Friday night.” He handed her his empty glass. “May I trouble you for another?” “How can I sink to the level of reality TV? I‟m an actress, not a side show freak.” Why couldn‟t he find a serious role for her? “Have you seen what they do to people on those shows? Every facet of their lives is exposed and they‟re made to look like fools.” She glanced around for Hilda, her housekeeper, then remembered she wasn‟t there. Poor Hilda counted on this job. She had to find a way to keep her, even if it meant digging into savings to pay her salary. She crossed the room to mix him another martini, then dropped in an olive. “At this point in your career, love, any exposure would be positive.”

“Why should I subject myself to such humiliation?” Because you’re nearly broke. At the rate you’re going, you’ll lose everything before long. They’ll find out you’re nothing special—just someone who got a lucky break because of her last name—Henry Brown’s no-talent granddaughter. She swallowed back her fear. “I‟ve been taking voice lessons. Maybe a movie role with singing?” She returned to the table, set Clive‟s drink before him. “No one‟s making musicals now. Reality television is where it‟s at, sweetheart. It‟s hotter than hell and you know it.” He turned sideways in the chair and yawned. “If you‟re not interested, I‟m sure I can find a dog food ad or another infomercial.” A chill skittered across her skin. What choice did she have? Her savings were nearly dried up. “See what else is out there, but I refuse to take up residence with a bunch of strangers.” Bad enough she had to live with Lane. Not that she didn‟t love him, but after four years, much of the initial spark had fizzled. And his not-so-endearing faults were adding up. “I‟ll do what I can.” Clive met her stare. “Put out the word that you‟re open to a fishbowl situation.” As long as she could make enough money to get out of her current slump and put her back into the hearts and minds of the viewing public, she would endure it. If she were lucky, a casting director might see her and pluck her for the role of a lifetime. Clive sipped his martini and winced. “You really need to have Hilda teach you to make decent drinks.” Pushing his glass away, he stood. “Thank you for…” He threw a glance toward the plate of cheese and crackers. “Lunch, such as it was.” She squared her shoulders. “Call me when you have something.” Please, let it be soon. She grabbed her purse and walked him to his car. “Where are you off to?” He unlocked the door to his Lexus. “I promised the kids in my class I‟d read them Snow White this week. I have to run to the bookstore to pick up a copy.” With a roll of his eyes and a shake of his head, he said, “If you put half the effort into your career as you do those kids, you might be on top right now.” “I put plenty of effort into my career.” He slid into the car. “Seems like you‟re always doing, doing, doing for the little buggers.” He‟d never understand what the children meant to her. “I love them.” “Right-o, love. Ta ta.” She drove to her favorite book store and searched the children‟s section until she found the book. It was a large, colorful edition with beautiful pictures. On a whim, she took all seven copies to the register. Each child should have his or her own. She cringed as she watched the total ring up. It’s for a good cause. For my angels. On the way home, her cell rang. “Hello, Lane,” she said after seeing his name on the display. The only reason he ever phoned was to ask for something. Usually money. And she was through doling hers out. “Where are you, kitten?” His voice was sticky sweet. He definitely wanted something. That was the only time he used the pet name anymore. She never heard I love you, kitten or You look pretty, kitten. “Right this second, I‟m turning onto Ventura.”

“Good, good.” He cleared his throat. “Listen, I need you to spot me a few C-notes. Maybe seven or eight.” “What‟s wrong with your ATM card?” “Cash flow problems. Me business manager says he‟ll have it all cleared up in a matter of days. Help me out. Just this once.” “That‟s what you said last time, Lane.” She couldn‟t keep supporting him. They‟d agreed before the marriage to maintain their finances separately. He‟d reneged on that deal dozens of times. “Sorry. I can‟t spare it.” “Have a heart. How am I supposed to get me career movin‟ without proper duds? I can get away with only a new jacket. But face it, kitten, I can‟t buy anythin‟ halfway decent for less than four hundred quid.” “I‟ll think about it.” “Bloody hell.” “I‟m sorry, Lane, I…” The line went dead. She blinked several times and tightened her grip on the wheel, swallowing back frustration along with the tears. She tossed the phone onto the seat. If you loved someone, you didn‟t treat them badly—though every man she‟d ever loved behaved that way. Before the well began running dry, she‟d promised herself to stick to her guns where Lane was concerned, but lately he‟d turned into a bottomless money pit—just like her mother so long ago. As she neared Encino Boulevard, her ancient Mercedes slowed and seemed to lose power. Now what? Increasing pressure on the accelerator, she held her breath. Oh, God, it was going to die right there on the road. Taking advantage of the momentum on the downward slope, she pulled into a parking lot and shut off the motor. Please start. Please. Squeezing her eyes shut, she turned the key. Nothing. She leaned her head on the steering wheel and listened to cars whoosh past at breakneck speeds. Working cars, newer, better cars than hers. She wiped away a few tears. No time for a pity party. Taking her phone from the seat, she dialed the auto club number from memory. Hopefully they hadn‟t dropped her for all the times she‟d used the service in recent months. After an hour and fifteen-minute wait, a scruffy driver with three and a half teeth hooked her car to a winch and helped her into his wrecker. The cab reeked of body odor, cigarette smoke, and hamburger grease. She called Lane‟s number and left a third message. “Where are you? Call me immediately when you get this. I need your help.” Glancing at the driver, she shivered. His eyes spent more time on her cleavage than on the road. She ventured a peek at her poor car behind them, hoping it could be resurrected. No way could she swing the cost of a new one now. After they pulled into the dealership, she exited the truck as quickly as possible. “Thank you,” she called to the driver before shutting the door. Once inside the waiting area, she phoned a cab. Another expense she couldn‟t afford. As she thumbed through a People magazine to pass the time, a clerk called her to the service window. “Timing belt needs replacing.” She let out the breath she‟d been holding. Thank heavens it sounded simple. A belt was only an accessory, after all. “Problem is,” he went on, “there‟s been some damage to the engine.” Her short-lived relief evaporated when he told her the price of fixing it. What choice did she have? If Clive didn‟t find her some work soon, she‟d be in even deeper trouble.

**** After hitting the disconnect button of his phone, Lane Wood glanced out the window of his lover‟s Ventura Boulevard apartment toward the street below. Why was Jolie so bloody stingy? Regardless of her claim of poverty, he knew she had to have some money stashed somewhere. After all, her granddad had millions. He‟d probably have to shag Her Royal Highness before she‟d part with a nickel, tell her she was beautiful, cram her full of compliments, make her feel like a million to stimulate her generosity. Jonathan came up behind him and spun him around. “What‟s wrong? I thought you were here for a reason.” Taking a step out of his lover‟s reach, Lane snapped the curtains. “How many times do I have to tell you, mate? Keep the damned windows covered when I‟m here. You know what would happen to me career if anyone found out about us.” “I don‟t think any gossip rags are still watching you. Anyway, no one would be terribly surprised.” He crossed the room and sat on the bed. “It‟s your wife you‟re worried about, isn‟t it? You‟re afraid she‟ll find out about you. Why would she stay with a queen?” No one could possibly suspect guitar god Lane Wood of being a fairy. His reputation had him bedding hundreds of crumpets during his single days. He studied his lover. If he wasn‟t so muscular, so tan, so young and randy, he‟d have given Jonathan the boot several years ago. Who else would guard his secret? And who else but Lane would pay for the expensive acting classes that the tips from Jonathan‟s restaurant job didn‟t afford him? “Jolie would never believe such rumors about me. When Cracked Mirror went on our last tour three years back, she was a bloody ravin‟ lunatic about all the groupies hangin‟ round me.” He snickered. “She‟s the last thing I‟m worried about. It‟s all about the cash. Her Royal Highness pinches a penny so tight, she makes the buffalo ride the Indian.” Jonathan snickered. “What about your royalties? I still see Cracked Mirror CDs in stores.” Lane swallowed the acid taste in his mouth. “I sold me rights two years back.” Tension tightened his shoulders. “Candy cane had me in its grip. A bloke will sell his soul to the devil himself to keep the supply coming.” Jonathan‟s eyes questioned him. “Cocaine, mate. I blew all me money up me nose. I got nothin‟ left. A few grand, that‟s it.” If only he could think of a way to get his career kick started. But that took cash, loads of it. “What about making a new CD?” Lane couldn‟t bring himself to admit aloud that the creative well had run dry. Try as he might, he couldn‟t come up with a single decent song, not even a good riff or catchy chorus. No, the only way he‟d be able to cash in was to get backing for a reunion tour. Play the old stuff, tap into that whole nostalgia thing. “New records take financing. Any idea what studio time costs?” “Get some investors.” “Get some investors,” Lane parroted. He let out a bitter laugh. “Just like that, eh?” Snapping his fingers, he wondered if his lover were really that naïve. “Sorry, chum, but investors aren‟t linin‟ up at me door, begging me to take their money.” Jonathan lifted an eyebrow. “Bet I can take your mind off your problems.” Which was exactly why he was here. Lane sauntered toward the bed. He had to think of a way to get his hands on some big money, and soon. Might as well be his wife‟s money.

Chapter Two Jolie stopped her car at the imposing brick and wrought iron entrance to her grandfather‟s Beverly Hills estate a few days later and pressed the intercom button. A garbled female voice asked, “Yes?” She leaned out the window toward the speaker and shouted over the roar of the Mercedes‟ sputtering engine. After all the money she‟d sank into the damned thing, it shouldn‟t sound so sickly. “It‟s Jolie, Carmela.” An electric hum preceded the scraping of the heavy gate over the pavement. She blew out a deep breath and with it some of her tension evaporated as she took in the beautiful rolling hills dotted with black walnut trees where she‟d played hide and seek as a child. Calm wrapped around her when she parked in front of the stately colonial-style mansion bathed in the glow of the setting October sun. Grabbing a gift bag from the passenger seat, she got out of the car and stepped onto the long porch. She breathed in the familiar scents of comfort—sage and gardenia. The creak of the old swing caught her attention. Glancing to her right, she wondered how she could have missed him. Henry Brown looked thinner, more frail than he had a few weeks ago. A white wicker table beside him held a tall glass of what looked like lemonade, though she knew better. He started to pull himself out of the swing. “How‟s my girl?” “Don‟t get up, Grampy.” She closed the distance between them and bent to hug him. “I brought you your Bombay Sapphire.” She set the bag on the table next to his drink, then sat with him and caught the scent of the wild hyacinth that grew near the porch. Shutting her eyes for a brief second, she let her mind wander back to the few carefree days of her childhood, the times she‟d spent here with her grandfather. This had been her refuge from her tumultuous world of arguing parents, demanding tutors and short-tempered directors. A place where she didn‟t have to smile for cameras or learn difficult lines. “You‟re good to me, Jolie.” He patted her leg and stared into her eyes. His brown irises seemed to have more red surrounding them. “Go tell Carmela to get you your own gin and bitter lemon. I don‟t want to share.” He lowered his voice “She‟s watering it down, although she vehemently denies it.” His laugh sounded more like a hoarse croak. “I‟ll wait.” She gave him a big smile; he didn‟t need to know about her troubles, not at his age with all his ailments. “I promise I won‟t drink yours.” “I‟m holding you to that, this time.” His gaze seemed to study her face, assessing it. “Tell me what‟s eating you, Jojo.” Why would she suddenly think she could keep things from him? He‟d see through a white lie if she held out. Lifting her feet off the ground, she let the swing gently rock her. “I‟m having trouble finding decent work. Clive keeps throwing me annoying bones like denture commercials or one of those awful infomercials.” She leaned her head against his shoulder and sighed. “I won an Emmy when I was ten. I shouldn‟t have to do ads.” “As long as your finances are in solid shape, you shouldn‟t have to do anything you don‟t want.” He wrapped a thin arm around her. “I stopped making movies when they quit offering me the juicy parts and started shoving those old man roles at me. I wouldn‟t settle for the hero‟s father or grandfather. I had to play the hero himself.” “You‟re a star, not a supporting character.”

Henry Brown had been a superior adult actor who wisely invested his money. He‟d pioneered roles for generations of African-American actors. Next to his, her accomplishments paled. “Sometimes I had to pay the bills,” he continued. “So, I went overseas and did lucrative commercial work. Places like Germany and France. Didn‟t bother me a bit. Years ago they paid big. Maybe they still do. Important to keep up the positive cash flow.” He squeezed her arm. “The work you did at summer stock was brilliant. Too bad it only ran for the summer. Maybe you could find another production.” “Unless it‟s Broadway, theater pays nothing these days. After the grueling weeks of rehearsals, I only earned about twenty thousand.” She thought about the hundreds of faces she‟d seen every day in the audience during the run of the play, the energy they returned to her. Their enthusiasm made all the long hours worthwhile. “The work had its rewards, but I‟m hoping for TV or film work. Unfortunately, I‟m not the draw you were, Grampy. Your movies went worldwide. My audience was primarily American. And very young.” Leaning forward, she picked up his glass from the table and took a long sip of his drink, letting it warm her insides. “You promised,” he teased. She winked at him. “I did, didn‟t I?” Handing him the glass, she flashed back to her last conversation with her agent. Maybe a reality show wasn‟t such a bad idea. At least it would bring in some money. “Clive said he‟d try to find me a TV spot.” “I thought you enjoyed that volunteer thing you do. Why the sudden desire to go back to work?” “Working with inner city kids is really fulfilling but I need lucrative endeavors. I‟ve been sitting on my butt far too long.” “I have no doubt you‟ll be working again in no time. You‟ve got loads of talent.” Age spots she hadn‟t noticed before dotted his hairline. “Soon as your agent gets off his ass and puts the word out, they‟ll be knocking down your door. You wait and see.” Grampy was the only one who had any faith in her. What would she do if anything happened to him? She stared at the man whose opinion meant more to her than anyone‟s. “Have you ever seen a program where they follow people around and film them in their daily life? Or gather a bunch of celebrities and make them live in a house together or perform some feat? All the networks are doing them.” He slowly nodded. “I was flipping through the channels the other night after Carmela went to her room. I saw bits and pieces of a couple. Reality television, they call it. Biggest bunch of horseshit. And damned cheap for the networks, I‟d guess. No sets to build, scripts to write, unions to deal with. Reminds me of peeking into people‟s windows.” “That‟s the idea.” She sank deeper into the padded seat. “It‟s degrading for the participants, don‟t you think? Makes them look like idiots.” She studied his face, hoping for some pearl of wisdom. He stared at her for several seconds. “Are you seeking my thoughts on the subject or my approval?” Snickering, she shook her head. “I still can‟t get anything past you.” The front door opened. Carmela poked her head through, beaming at Jolie. “Hello, sweetheart.” Her dark hair was coiled into a bun on top of her head with a few wiry strands of silver springing out. She wore a floral print dress and flat sandals. “Can I get you a drink?” Jolie shook her head. “Thanks, no. I‟ll share Grampy‟s.” She winked at the woman.

He feigned an angry glance in Jolie‟s direction. “Like hell she will. Get her her own, please.” After Carmela disappeared inside the house, his expression grew more serious. “Is that cracker musician bleeding you dry? I‟ll never understand what you see in him.” She straightened at the mention of Lane, whose name he never, ever spoke. It had nothing to do with the fact he was white. Grampy was merely protective and he‟d never understood her attraction to Lane. Although she was questioning that herself lately. Folding her arms over her chest, she sighed. “Millions of female fans would gladly list all his charms. And for your information, no. He hasn‟t asked me for any money.” The lie stabbed at her gut. “He has his own career, you know, and royalties from his music.” Which she feared he‟d squandered. She‟d not seen him buy a thing since he purchased his Corvette three years ago. “That‟s never stopped him from asking before.” Lane was the last subject she wanted to discuss. For the past few days after she‟d refused his request for money, he‟d given her the cold shoulder. She pointed to a trellis on the opposite end of the porch. “You ought to have the gardener trim back that vine. It‟ll flower more.” He chuckled. “Don‟t want to talk about the bastard, do you? You shouldn‟t have divorced Ellis. He must be making millions by now. I read in the paper his firm is handling OJ‟s latest legal troubles.” “Ellis left me, remember?” She wished she‟d never discovered his disgusting affair. The memory was a hurt that transcended all others. She‟d hardly spoken to her mother since. “And please don‟t refer to Lane as a bastard. He‟s my husband.” “Ellis wanted to reconcile. But you insisted on the divorce.” He shook his head. “I‟ll never understand that.” Only because you don’t know the devastating truth I can’t bring myself to talk about even with you. Thankfully, Carmela returned with a drink, set it on the table and looked from Henry to Jolie. “What time do you want me to serve dinner?” “Give us half an hour.” He turned to Jolie. “Want to take a walk?” She sipped her drink before returning it to the table. “I‟d love that. Will you join us, Carmela?” The woman‟s cheeks flushed as she shook her head. “Thanks, no. I have to get the meal together.” She hurried inside the house. Henry stood and gestured toward the steps. “After you.” They strolled the path that led to the pond in comfortable silence, then sat on a bench overlooking the water. Two large maple trees provided shade and privacy from the neighboring homes. “Do you need a loan, Jolie?” he finally asked. “Is that it?” Her cheeks burned as she whipped her head toward him. “No, of course not. I just want to be working, that‟s all. I‟m fine.” How could she admit that she‟d paid the mortgage late the last few months? Merely thinking about her money woes set her stomach roiling. Swallowing hard, she dropped her gaze and ran her hand along the rough wooden bench. Had he already seen the duplicity in her eyes, the flush of her cheeks? His silence told her he had. She stared toward the sunset. “Well, maybe things are a little tight.” “Is the guitar player contributing anything at all?” She squared her shoulders. “He‟s working on it. Trying to get the band back together for a big comeback.” She gazed at the pond, wondering if that sounded as lame to her grandfather as it had to her.

“Grow up, Jojo. His fifteen minutes of fame are up. He‟s not like you and me.” He poked a finger at her. “And you can do much better. All those musicians are good for is destroying hotel rooms and rabble rousing. You have real talent. You‟ll get back on your feet. He‟ll continue hanging onto your coattails as long as you let him.” Lane was the only subject they ever argued about. Well, that and Ellis. “If rumors were correct, you did some serious rabble rousing yourself in your younger days.” She regretted the accusation the moment it left her lips. She‟d always ignored the stories her mother had told her about his womanizing and drinking, but she‟d had it in for her former father-in-law as far back as Jolie could remember. Considering the woman‟s track record for poor judgment, she figured it was sour grapes, nothing more. She ventured a glance at him. His stony expression told her she‟d struck a nerve. Why had she lashed out? “I‟m sorry, Grampy. That was uncalled for. Let‟s talk about something else.” She pasted on a smile. “Should I participate in a reality show if Clive can find one for me? Or do you think they‟ll make me look foolish?” “No one could make you appear foolish. Any publicity is good publicity. Isn‟t that what they say now?” She quirked an eyebrow. “I guess.” “Not in my day. But that was a long time ago. You never wanted to get caught with your hand in the cookie jar.” He glanced sideways at her. “You‟re right. I had my share of indiscretions. Guess I was kind of notorious in my heyday. Back then, the studio executives would call you in, give you a little tongue- lashing. In the final analysis, I don‟t think it did my career any harm.” She scrutinized the network of lines on his weathered face. The strong cheekbones, prominent jaw and rich, brown skin he was famous for were still intact. “So you think I should go for it?” “Why not? The worst that‟ll happen is your name will be introduced to a new generation of consumers. Reinvent your brand, as they say.” If he thought she should go forward and do it, she would take whatever Clive found, within reason. “Thanks, Grampy.” She hugged him. “You always know what to do.” He checked his watch. “Carmela will have my hide if we‟re late for dinner. We‟d better start back to the house.” Pulling himself up using the back of the bench, he groaned. “Are you all right?” She studied his face. His wince set her heart pounding. “What is it?” She rubbed her hand across his back. He shrugged her off. “Quit it. I‟m fine.” Taking a few steps toward the house, he looked over his shoulder at her. “You coming or not?” Shaking her head, she sighed. “You make me very nervous.” Following him along the trail, she watched him walk. He shuffled his feet, almost stumbled a couple times, but always recovered. “I‟m an old man. Aches and pains are normal.” He stopped midway up the path to lean against a tree, breathing heavily. “I get enough shit from Carmela about being careful” After dinner, Jolie sipped coffee while her grandfather gently rolled brandy around in his glass. “You have a big birthday coming soon. I‟d like to do something special,” she said. Time was running short, but if she started immediately, she could pull together a fabulous event. Several of his friends had already pledged their help. Lester Weinberg, the retired head of a big movie studio, had even offered the use of his home.

“Eighty is nothing to celebrate, so don‟t you dare.” The sparkle in his chestnut eyes let her know regardless of what he said, he‟d love a party. She‟d briefly considered surprising him, but realized that wasn‟t such a good idea for a man at his age with a weak heart. “Your friends and family want to celebrate. We‟d like to show you how much you mean to us.” He scoffed. “Nonsense. You‟re my only family. And the only friends I care to associate with wear short skirts and accept most major credit cards. They‟ll even take their clothes off if the price is right.” She crinkled her nose, but quickly relaxed it, reminding herself she didn‟t need any new wrinkles. “It‟s a good thing I know you‟re kidding.” Carmela reached between them to clear the dessert dishes, throwing him a quick scowl. Jolie held back her grin. . Carmela had worked for Grampy for more than twenty years. Every now and then, Jolie noticed the two exchange a tender glance. Could it be there was something there? He‟d be eighty soon, after all. Then again, the man had such a reputation, maybe he could still… No. Don’t go there. It warmed her heart to surmise he had that kind of companionship at his age. Would Lane be around when she was old and frail? A chill skittered across her skin when the answer came. On her way home, she called her house. “Is Lane there, Hilda?” “Mr. Lane say he be home late. He say tell you don‟t wait up. You go sleep.” That made three nights this week he‟d gone out without her. “Did he say where he was, or who he was with?” “No, no. Just for you go sleep.” Emptiness settled in the pit of her stomach. “Okay, thanks.” “I go my room now, okay? Watch Telemundo, si?” “Okay, sure. Goodnight.” She disconnected, then dialed her best friend, Caroline. She needed some girl talk. Maybe a spa day. “This is Caroline. I‟m busy right now. You know what to do.” Jolie huffed as she dropped the phone into her purse. Probably just as well that she hadn‟t reached Caroline. She couldn‟t afford to splurge on herself anyway. She arrived at her silent house a few minutes later. As she passed the hallway off the kitchen, the indigo glow of a TV and the sound of soft Spanish voices spilled from under Hilda‟s door. She made her way up the stairs toward the double doors that led to her all white bedroom. After entering the closet, she found Lane‟s bathrobe hanging on a hook. She gathered the soft fabric in her hands, held it to her face, breathing in his spicy scent. With a sigh, she let it go, then toed off her shoes before crossing the room to sprawl atop the huge four-poster bed. The desolation of the vast space amplified the hole in her heart. She missed him. Or—perhaps she merely craved a man‟s touch. Without adoring fans to refill her nearly empty emotional coffer, what did she have? Only him to make her feel loved and appreciated. Lately, he‟d been remiss in that department. Without people to love her, she was nothing, a no one. What if she never got another good role? What if her money continued to dry up and she had to sell her home? Where would she go? What would she do? Fear‟s icy fingers crawled over her skin. She had to get back into her fans‟ hearts. The only way she‟d earn enough money to hold onto what she had was to land something more than an ad or an infomercial. She needed something that would propel her star and secure her future.

**** Dante approached the on-ramp to I-405 a little after five pm and turned off his cell. He didn‟t have the energy for his assistant‟s usual half-dozen calls during the drive to Sherman Oaks. He and his assistant, Wendy had spent more than nine hours today poring over production costs, focus group tapes and bios of has-been celebrities for the show. He had to make it work. But would it ever be good enough for his father? He cringed as his mind wandered back to his last disaster of a project. He remembered the familiar expression of disgust on the old man‟s face. The same face he‟d seen when he failed to make the winning field goal and when he didn‟t make valedictorian in high school, when his application to NYU was turned down. Gripping the steering wheel, he resolved to make it work this time. He had to avoid the mistakes he‟d made on his last attempt at a reality show. His father had yelled, screamed and nearly had a heart attack when he found out about the fiasco. Dante had stormed out of the office and stayed gone for almost a week. Their relationship had been more strained than usual ever since, even though the incident clearly had not been Dante‟s fault. I should have known LeShawn Washington was too unstable. With his violent history, I should never have signed him on the word of his manager alone. Next time, he‟d be more careful, scrutinize his subject much more thoroughly. If his own father fired him, no one in the industry would touch him with a ten-foot pole, especially with two flops under his belt. Charles Ebersol would make sure of it. Turning onto his street, he slowed his speed and cruised past his new neighbor. She gave him a grin and a sideways glance as she retrieved the day‟s mail from her box. An envelope fell to the ground. Turning her back to Dante, she bent to pick it up, giving him a nice view of her very hot ass. The top of her thong panties peeked out over her jeans. Had she done that on purpose? Feeling himself grow hard, he bit his lip. Out of nowhere, a towheaded boy, not more than five, ran toward her. “Mommy, Mommy, Mommy, Mommy.” The woman threw Dante a plaintive look, before grabbing the boy‟s hand and roughly leading him toward her house. When had mothers gotten so hot? He shook his head and hit the garage door opener button. Pulling his BMW into the driveway, he noticed a strange car parked on the street in front of his house. Could his brother be here? Nah, Mike would never have wheels that nice. Maybe it was someone visiting a neighbor, or another of Emily‟s gazillion girlfriends. His shoulders and neck ached as he got out of his car and started inside. He dropped his keys onto the kitchen counter and scanned the area. Bogart, his cat, wound around his ankles. “Hey, buster.” Dante bent to pat the Russian Blue‟s thick gray fur. A corkscrew with the cork still attached lay beside the sink. He sniffed the air, trying to figure out the source of the rotten stench. His nose led him to the trashcan under the sink, so full that some of its contents had overflowed onto the bottom of the cabinet. What the hell did Emily have to do all day that she couldn‟t empty the damn thing? She hadn‟t been going on many auditions lately. Clenching his jaw, he took out the bag and dumped it in the metal can in the garage. When he returned to the kitchen, he thought he heard laughter. He found the living room empty. A gut feeling told him not to call out to his live-in girlfriend.

He took the steps two at a time, then quietly stalked down the hallway. The bedroom door sat open a crack. An unfamiliar musky smell wafted to his nose. The hairs on the back of his neck stood on end. Steeling himself for a confrontation, he pushed the door open a few inches to peek inside. As his eyes adjusted to the darkened room, the presence of a male voice galvanized his fury. “Mm, mm.” A man kneeled on the floor beside the bed, his hands on Emily‟s hips and his head between her outstretched legs. “Yeah, right there,” she purred. “God, that‟s it. Oh, baby.” Dante recognized the words. He‟d heard them dozens of times in the two and a half months since Emily had moved in. He flipped on the light switch, temples throbbing as fast as his gut soured. “Am I interrupting something?” Stunned gasps immediately followed expletives. The man fumbled on the floor for a moment before finding his shorts and yanking them on. Emily grabbed the covers and thrust them beneath her chin. “No need for modesty, Em. We‟ve both seen all your assets now, haven‟t we?” He surveyed the scene, trying to decide if he should punch the guy or thank him for revealing Emily‟s true nature. The man, a twenty-something surfer with a broad chest and well-muscled shoulders, zipped his shorts, backed away from the bed and raised his hands in a protective gesture. “I don‟t want any trouble, dude. She didn‟t tell me she was married.” If he punched him, the guy would probably hit back. Emily wasn‟t worth the pain. Dante shook his head. “She‟s not married. Just some trash I brought home a while back. But I‟m through with her now. Been meaning to get rid of her.” He set his hands on his waist. “Since I‟m basically a nice guy, I‟m gonna give you to ten to get the hell out of my house.” “Go fuck yourself, Dante.” Emily jerked the sheet free from the bed and wrapped it around her body. “I wouldn‟t have done it if you‟d kept me satisfied.” Ouch. She climbed off the bed and pointed to her young lover. “Stay right there. I‟ll only be a few minutes.” Poor guy turned white as a marshmallow. He took only a second to make up his mind. He raced past Dante and out the door. Moments later the front door opened, then slammed shut. Smart move. Emily mumbled something unintelligible as she dragged a duffle bag out of the closet—the same one she‟d arrived with months earlier—then pulled clothes from the dresser drawers and started packing. Without the fortitude to watch, Dante left the room and returned to the kitchen. Her purse hung from the back of a chair. He grabbed it and dumped the contents onto the granite countertop. He located her keys, slipped the two that unlocked his house off the chain and pocketed them. Next, he shuffled through the rubber- banded stack of plastic cards and removed his video store membership card and his Visa, which he‟d loaned her only last night. Had he paid for her date? He refilled the bag and returned it to the chair. Doors opened and shut and feet stomped above his head. As he glanced toward the ceiling, a vindictive grin curled his lips. Opening a drawer, he retrieved a plastic zipper bag, then hurried to the half bathroom next to the kitchen. He reached for the cat litter scoop and searched the pan for any obvious droppings. He felt like an archeologist, sifting through sand for buried treasure.

Stifling a chuckle, he shoveled two large litter-covered turds into the bag. Back in the kitchen, he emptied the chunks into Emily‟s purse and threw away the empty bag. Minutes later, she rushed in as he was washing his hands. “Have you seen my…Here it is.” She seized her purse and left the room. “Have a nice fucking life, asshole,” she called back to him. “Same to you.” He shut his eyes when he heard the front door slam. “No more actresses, Bogart.” The cat meowed agreement. Leaning over the sink, Dante took a deep breath, willing his stomach to settle. She wasn‟t worth barfing over. Just an extra long date, really. His best bet was no more women—period. At least for a while. How many times did he have to get dumped on before he wised up? Prior to Emily, there was MaryAnn. Gorgeous, hot, sexy MaryAnn. She‟d cleaned out his bank account on her way to Acapulco. Carly came before her. Another struggling actress, but with a fondness for crack. He‟d deposited her on the doorstep of an exclusive Malibu drug treatment center. Even paid the ridiculously expensive tab. The price was well worth it to have her out of his life. Rather than twenty-something hotties, maybe he should date women closer to his thirty-seven years. He needed to concentrate on making the project a success. A relationship only gave him excuses not to give the work his undivided attention. Not that he could really call the last few dalliances with women relationships. More like steady sex. The doorbell startled him. If Emily thought she could apologize and just waltz back into his life, she had another thing coming. Crossing the floor, fists clenched, he made up his mind. No more chances. The answer was no. Pulling open the door, he furrowed his brow, expecting to see her on her knees. Instead, his brother Mike stood there, looking thin and unwashed, his dark hair hanging to his shoulders. A black trash bag lay at his feet, probably filled with all his worldly possessions. He grinned and the sparkle in his green eyes instantly relaxed Dante. “How the heck are you, bro?” he asked, pulling him into a hug. Dante looked past him at the ancient beater parked where Emily‟s lover‟s car had been a little while earlier. “I‟m great. Come on in.” He picked up the bag and took it inside. Mike followed him to the living room and sprawled across the leather sofa. “Mind if I crash here for a few days?” In his brother‟s world, a few days meant a month or two. Dante didn‟t mind. If Mike was here, he was safe, not doing any drugs or getting into trouble with the law again. “Course not. Mi casa es su casa.” He took in Mike‟s clothing: old, ripped jeans, a pair of holey Converse sneakers and a stained T-shirt that might have been white in a former life. “You want to borrow some duds? Grab a shower?” Mike‟s smile showed the dimples common to the Ebersol men. “Is that a hint?” “Bet your ass.” He sat on the recliner and stared at the lanky bag of bones his older brother had become. Knowing better than to ask questions about Mike‟s whereabouts for the past several months, he settled on a safe subject. “You hungry?” He studied his brother‟s eyes, searched for signs of recent drug use, but Mike appeared alert and lucid. “I could eat. Especially if you‟re cooking. Let‟s catch up first.” Mike raked his fingers through his hair, rubbed at the stubble on his cheeks. Pain flashed in his eyes for a brief second. “How‟s the old man?” Dante‟s chest tightened. “Charming as ever. He‟s threatening to can me if my latest project bombs.” He rolled his eyes. “Gives me the warm fuzzies, just thinking about him.”

Mike chuckled. “Yeah. I always get those when the jackass comes to mind.” He sat up straighter. “So that rap star show didn‟t work, huh?” Bile burned Dante‟s throat. “Nope. Maybe I should have stuck to being an assistant producer.” “What happened?” He shook his head, thinking about it. “LeShawn Washington and his buddies were a little rougher around the edges than I realized. A few weeks into shooting, they roughed up one of the cameramen, stole the equipment then ran over it with their Hummer.” “Wow.” Mike scratched his head and Dante swore he saw something live fly out of his brother‟s hair. “Don‟t let a rough patch rob you of all you‟ve worked for. You‟ve always wanted to be a producer. Not an assistant.” “Always.” He sighed and laced his fingers together. “But with the old man on my ass all the time, I‟m almost afraid to make any decisions.” “Did he really say he‟d fire you?” He quirked an eyebrow. “Yup.” “I always thought he was tougher on me. Kind of comforting to hear he gives you the same kind of shit.” His gaze landed on Bogart who sniffed at his shoes. “At least we‟ll get some of his money after he dies.” Dante wasn‟t so confident. Everything the man did had strings. He‟d never make anything easy for his sons, even after his death. There were probably a million conditions tied to any inheritance he might leave them. “I know he‟s a hard ass, but I‟m sure he‟s worried about you. I know Mom is. Mind if I let her know you‟re here?” Mike stiffened. “She‟ll tell him in a New York minute, so I‟d rather you didn‟t.” Dante wondered what had transpired between the two men but knew better than to ask because neither would tell him. “No problem.” Mike glanced toward the staircase as he petted Bogart‟s thick fur. “Is that cute blonde still with you?” He drew a deep breath, blew it out slowly. “Which one? You just missed the latest version.” Mike tilted his head. “A new one already? Everything okay?” “Not really. She‟s not coming back. I don‟t want to talk about it.” He rubbed his fingers against his throbbing temples. “Why don‟t you drop your stuff in the guest room and grab a shower while I throw a couple of steaks on the grill?” He did some of his best thinking while he cooked and he needed some time to sort out the emotions of the day. Mike eased off the couch and picked up his bag. “An offer I can‟t refuse.” He started toward the steps. “Between these plush digs and your gourmet cooking, I might be tempted to stay a while.” “That‟s cool with me.” Dante headed to the kitchen and pulled open the big Sub Zero refrigerator, searching for inspiration. Puff pastry sheets, frozen spinach, baby bella mushrooms, feta cheese. Yes—he could whip up a meal. While the steaks marinated, he worked on a spinach pie and considered possibilities for his show. That proved much less taxing than dwelling on Emily‟s departure. An hour later, he set two plates on the dining room table while his brother poured them each a glass of merlot. He now wore clothes that hung on his gaunt frame. Dante recognized them as his own. Sitting opposite his brother, Dante tapped his glass to Mike‟s. “To family.” “Family,” Mike echoed before he sipped. He stared at his plate. “Man, have I missed your cooking.” He cut into the steak and pushed a small piece into his mouth. “Mm.”

“Feel better after cleaning up?” Dante set his glass down and studied him. “You have no idea how good a hot shower feels after…” “After what? Where have you been?” There was so much about his brother that remained a mystery, one he‟d probably never solve. Mike took a bite of spinach pie, ignoring Dante‟s question. After a long silence, he said, “Here and there.” So much for the direct approach. “What about you?” Mike asked. “Tell me about your new project.” “Can you think of any has-been actors or singers who would be good subjects for a reality series?” He wasn‟t a hundred percent thrilled with the top choices his team had come up with. Fork poised at his mouth, a chunk of porterhouse impaled on the tines, Mike said, “I‟ll think on it and let you know.” Dante pushed away from the table and went into the kitchen for a glass of water. He returned to the dining room to find another big slice of spinach pie gone. “Damn, bro. You got a hollow leg or what?” Mike shrugged. “Stuff‟s delicious. Take it as a compliment.” He would have if he didn‟t suspect it was the first good meal his brother had eaten in a long while. And it wouldn‟t be the last. He‟d make sure of that. Whatever Mike had been doing, wherever he disappeared to, didn‟t matter. Maybe someday he‟d let Dante in on some of his secrets.

Chapter Three Jolie descended the stairs the next morning dressed in a hot pink leotard, white tights and black shorts. She turned toward the kitchen but electronic noises drew her attention in the opposite direction. Changing her planned course, she marched into the family room and found Lane sprawled across the sofa wearing a pair of boxer shorts and a T-shirt that barely covered his growing beer belly. His wavy brown hair flew in all directions. She stood in the doorway, silently watching. He reminded her of a little boy, playing video games, giving his privates an occasional scratch while letting out several robust belches. Her stomach roiled. Where had the charming man she‟d married gone? The man who used to say „excuse me‟ and „God bless you‟ and who would never have done anything even remotely offensive. She backed out of the room and drew a deep breath before going into the kitchen. Hilda was nowhere to be found, but the aroma of fresh coffee told her she‟d been there. She poured herself a cup, grabbed the phone and carried it to the breakfast bar to call Caroline. “Hey, girl. How the heck are you?” Caroline drawled in her Tennessee twang. Relief washed over her. “Thank God you‟re home. Are you free for lunch?” She crossed her fingers. “No.” Her heart sank. “But I can get free,” Caroline said. “I have a dentist appointment I‟m not in the mood to make. I‟d much rather chew the fat with you.” Jolie smiled and sipped her coffee. “You‟re the best.” “Everything okay?” She knitted her brow, trying to decide how to answer. “I need some of your positive vibes.” “Okay. I‟ll pick some up on the way. When and where do you want to meet?” “How about one-thirty at that new organic deli on Ventura? The paper gave it a good writeup.” What they ate or where was inconsequential. In truth, all she wanted was to spend time with Caroline, to speak candidly about Lane and her career. Caroline had been a wildly successful television actress in her teen years and could relate to Jolie‟s life like no one else. Unlike Jolie, Caroline had easily parlayed her early celebrity into adult movie roles. She was also married to a rock star, but Ben was American and totally devoted to her. Jolie gulped down the rest of her coffee before heading to the garage. On her way to the gym, she realized she‟d forgotten her music player. No way could she complete an hour on the elliptical trainer without it. Making a U-turn on Encino Avenue, she started to her house. With her rarely used key, she opened the front door, came inside and reached toward the table for the player. A startled gasp drew her attention to the living room. Lane sat at her desk, a pen in his hand poised over a sheet of paper. His eyes were huge. In an instant, he snatched the paper, wadded it into a tight ball and tossed it into the trashcan. “Hello, kitten. Thought you were off to your workout.” He gave her an obviously false smile. “I forgot my music.” “Well, get it then and hurry off.” He gestured toward the door. “Don‟t want to miss your aerobics class, eh?” What was he up to? “I have a headache.” She wanted to run to the trash and retrieve what he‟d discarded. “Would you mind fetching me some aspirin and a glass of water?” She sank onto the chaise, rubbing her forehead in earnest.

Lane‟s gaze darted from the desk to the trashcan to her. He begrudgingly slid the chair out. “You stay there, love. I‟ll be right back.” He disappeared into the hallway. The second he was out of sight, Jolie raced into the room and picked the paper out of the can. She balled another piece to replace it and dropped it into the trash. Returning to her seat moments before Lane returned, she stuffed the recovered paper into her bra. “Here we go.” He handed her two white pills and a small glass of water. “Drink up.” She took the medicine, chasing it down with water. “Thank you. I‟ve hardly seen you the last few days. I had hoped we could have spent some time together after I got home from my grandfather‟s the other evening.” She flashed on all the nights lately he‟d been gone. Even when he was home, he seemed to be avoiding her, always playing his video games, or watching shootem-up movies he knew she hated. “Last night, I waited up until two for you. When did you get in?” Anger flashed briefly in his eyes. “How was I supposed to know you were waitin‟ up?” Or when you were comin‟ home from your granddad‟s?” His tone softened. “Sometimes you‟re there for bloody hours. I get lonely too, love. I wanted a bit of company. Can you blame a guy?” Guilt prickled her skin. She had to stop assuming the worst. “So, where‟d you go?” She set the glass on the table and folded her arms. He rolled his eyes. “You know what I been up to, kitten. Tryin‟ to find backin‟ for the band. I have to stay on top of the club scene. That‟s where it all goes down. I‟m lookin‟ out for me career. You keep sayin‟ that I have to contribute to the household expenses, eh? That‟s all I‟m tryin‟ to do. You‟re foremost in me mind.” She wondered if he was being truthful. Did he care as much as she? The wad of paper in her cleavage was beginning to itch her skin and her curiosity refused to be put off any longer. She gave him a quick peck on the lips. “I‟ll be at the gym.” “Righto. Work your arse off.” He lightly slapped her rear end. “You could stand to lose some of that cottage cheese.” She threw him a frown. “Just kidding, of course. Take a joke, will you?” Without replying, she dashed out the door and into the safety of her car. A block from home, she pulled to the curb and removed the ball of paper from her bra. Her heart pounded as she opened it and saw her signature written a dozen or more times. How could he? I trusted him, loved him. This was what she‟d gotten in return. Her chest tightened and breathing became difficult. Would everyone she ever cared about betray her? At least she had her grandfather, who would die before he‟d lie to her. Forcing herself to take slow, steady breaths, she quelled the rising nausea. She rifled through her purse until she found her cell. Punching in a few numbers, she phoned her banker. “Cynthia? This is Jolie Brown. I need to make some changes to my accounts.” **** As Dante drove into work the next morning he spotted an older silver Mercedes on the side of the road. It wasn‟t so much the car as much as the hot black woman dressed in workout garb standing next to it that claimed his attention. Slowing so he could safely move past it, her dark locks reflected the morning sunlight and her full, luscious lips moved as she spoke into a cell phone.

A horn honked behind him. Checking his mirrors, he decided to go back to see if the lady needed help. For a gorgeous woman in spandex, he‟d play Good Samaritan any day. As he parked behind the Benz, her body language grew increasingly more agitated. Her foot stomped; her clenched fist punched the early morning air. He stepped over, smiled and waited for her to finish the call. Thrusting out her chin, she held the phone away from her mouth and snapped, “Can I help you?” There was something familiar about her. He wished he could see her eyes, but large, dark glasses obscured them. “I was wondering the same. Are you broken down?” Her shoulders dropped a little; her stance relaxed. “Because it‟s rush hour, the auto club says it‟ll be at least an hour before they can get here.” Dante nodded. “Maybe I can help.” Doubtful, since he knew squat about cars, but perhaps he could give her a ride somewhere, and with any luck, even get her phone number. No women. No relationships. Period. “I‟ll call back if I need you,” she said into her cell, then snapped it shut. Gesturing toward the car, she shook her head. “I lost power. And it was in the shop for the same problem not a week ago. Can you believe that?” Though it was probably beyond his extremely limited ability, he said, “I‟ll give her a look.” As he went around to the front of the car, a whiff of her floral scent floral drifted to his nose, drowning out the stench of exhaust fumes. Raising the hood, he narrowed his gaze and pretended to study the complex workings of the engine. He smiled when he immediately spotted the cause of her breakdown Lady luck is shining on me this morning. “Here‟s your problem.” He pointed at the battery terminal where one of the cables had broken free. She joined him and lifted her sunglasses, bending toward the spot. “What does that mean?” Means I can be a hero. “Let me go grab a pair of pliers from my car. I can have you back on the road in a minute.” “I love you” Don’t I wish? With a stupid grin on his face, he hurried to his car, opened a rarely used tool kit his mother had given him several Christmases ago and pulled out the pliers. He had her ready to go in seconds. “I don‟t know how to thank you. You wouldn‟t be insulted if I gave you a tip, would you?” He was about to ask for her number when he spotted the wedding ring. Son of a bitch. He held up a hand. “Not necessary. Just helping out a pretty lady.” He waited until she‟d started her car before he returned to his. Pulling away from the curb, he glanced in his rearview mirror and shook his head. Why did she have to be married? **** Jolie stepped out of the post-workout shower in the locker room and caught a glimpse of herself in the foggy mirror. Frozen in her tracks, she assessed herself. Her formerly lustrous black curls hung lifeless around her shoulders. Tiny web of lines fanned out from the corners of her eyes and lips. Her breasts weren‟t big by today‟s standards but at least they were still perky.

As much as she worked out, she still had more than an inch to pinch. She needed at least thirty thousand dollars worth of bodywork to get into peak shape. The harsh reality that she might never again be able to afford such luxuries hit like a shot gun blast. How could she compete with today‟s television stars, who fetched up to a million bucks per episode, and had whatever surgeries or beauty treatments they wanted. Hell, spas routinely shut down for the likes of Jennifer Aniston or Scarlett Johansson. Jolie hadn‟t earned a million dollars a season when she was in Little Sister Sam. Why should Lane have any desire for her? She had nothing a man would find attractive. Had he come to despise her? Why else would he consider embezzling from her? If he were indeed trying to steal her money, she‟d have no choice but to end their marriage. Fear settled in her belly when she reflected on all those unhappy movie and television stars whom the tabloids fed off, enumerating marriages and divorces like badges of honor. Would she spend the rest of her days alone like them? Maybe she‟d been wrong in assuming Lane was up to no good. There had to be another explanation. Rracking her brain to think of a reason gave her a headache. The man she‟d spent the last four years with, the man she‟d banked her hopes and dreams on couldn‟t be a thief. Her grandfather was wrong about him. Maybe he was so desperate to make a comeback, so determined to climb to the top again, that he‟d had a momentary lapse in judgment. He‟d never have gone through with anything so dastardly as to steal from her. With the alert she‟d placed on her accounts, she‟d know within minutes if someone tried to embezzle her assets. Until that time, she had to believe he was innocent. She arrived at Oscar‟s Organic Deli at one-forty, dismayed to find she‟d gotten there before Caroline, again. A young, pretty hostess sat her by the window. Jolie hid behind the large paper menu. A commotion near the front of the place caught her attention. Chairs scraped loudly, cameras flashed and several excited shouts disturbed the normal restaurant din. Most notably for Jolie, Caroline‟s deep honey voice rose above the rest. Jolie peered over her menu to see a small crowd forming around her friend. Caroline signed autographs, waved to other patrons and basked in all the adoration that always surrounded her. If it were anyone else, Jolie would have begrudged her the time in the spotlight. But Caroline— ever the glamorous star—had a heart as big as all California. She wore a vivid purple duster over a hot pink cat suit and at least a dozen brightly colored bracelets on each wrist. Her blond hair was tied back with a long scarf the same color as the duster. As she made her way to the table, Jolie could have sworn someone had sprinkled pixie dust over the woman‟s head because she radiated glitter. “Hey, honey,” Caroline said as she bent to hug her. “How are you?” She sat across from Jolie and set a colorful drawstring purse on the table. A waiter and the hostess appeared immediately. The hostess handed Caroline a menu. “So nice to see you again, Miss Ross.” Again? The place hasn‟t been open a month yet. The waiter presented her with a bottle of wine. “From the manager.” “Aren‟t y‟all sweet?” Caroline drawled, winking at him. With a roll of her eyes, Jolie lamented the fact that she didn‟t inspire this sort of adoration from complete strangers anymore. Caroline hadn‟t done any movies or TV in nearly as long as she. Why was she so much more memorable?

After the wine was poured and the staff retreated, she exhaled deeply and smiled at her dearest friend. “God, it‟s good to see you. Will you ever age? Your perfect skin is really beginning to piss me off.” Caroline‟s laugh was like sunshine. “And I didn‟t even have to pay you to say that.” She lifted her wine glass to her lips and delicately took a sip. “Mm. Try it.” Jolie felt her friend‟s eyes scrutinizing her as she tasted the chardonnay. “You‟re right. It‟s delicious.” Caroline reached across the table and patted Jolie‟s hand. “What‟s eatin‟ you, sugar? Tell me all about it.” “Where shall I begin?” Jolie blew out a long breath. “Until this morning, I worried that Lane and I were growing apart. Now I‟m wondering if he‟s trying to pilfer my money.” Caroline drew her eyebrows together. “What on earth does that mean?” Jolie glanced around for prying paparazzi and thankfully, found none. “I caught him practicing my signature. I‟ve put an alert on my accounts, but I don‟t want to believe he‟d do that.” Caroline shook her head. “I can‟t see Lane doin‟ anything so awful. I mean, he‟s obviously no boy scout, but stealing?” “What would you do if you found Ben signing your name?” Her lips flattened into a thin line. “Exactly what you did. I‟d put a fraud alert out and hold my breath. If my suspicions proved true, I‟d whip his ass and watch him run like a scalded dog.” Jolie laughed. “Is that a Tennessee expression?” “Maybe.” She leaned closer and lowered her voice. “Long as you‟ve got your banker watchin,‟ you can rest easy, right?” She shrugged. “I don‟t know? How can I live with a man I don‟t trust?” Caroline snickered. “Shit. Half my friends do. So get that sourpuss off your face. Dr. Katz would skin you alive for that scowl. Scratch your ass and get glad.” She waggled her finger. “Now that is a Tennessee expression. Direct from my Grandma Nannybell.” Jolie had to smile. In her heart she wasn‟t certain she could trust her own husband. But, God, she wanted to. She couldn‟t handle the pain and upheaval of another divorce, not so soon after Ellis. Nausea accompanied the thought. There had to be an explanation. “I wonder if he‟s signing us up for some sort of contract he doesn‟t want me to know about, like a… Help me here.” She stared plaintively at her friend. Caroline pursed her lips. “Don‟t turn it into somethin‟ completely harmless.” “But I thought you said…” “I said to keep one eye open all the time. Knowin‟ you might not be able to trust him is a whole lot better than thinkin‟ you can then gettin‟ jammed.” “Maybe you‟re right.” “I know what you need.” Caroline reached across the table and patted her hand. “Why don‟t you go see Dr. Katz? Set up a date for a facelift or some liposuction. Always makes me feel better.” “I was just thinking the same thing this morning. Some Botox and lipo would do me a world of good.” “Of course it would.” Her friend‟s gaze followed a woman passing with an infant in her arms. A pained expression on Caroline‟s face was so fleeting, Jolie wasn‟t sure it had really been there. She swallowed back the lump in her throat. “How are the fertility shots going?” Caroline‟s lips flattened. “Fine, if you don‟t mind feeling like a pin cushion with a bad attitude.”

“You know if you need anything—” “We‟ll make it.” Her smile didn‟t quite reach her eyes. “Ben‟s been wonderfully understanding.” “You‟re lucky to have him.” “I know. I only wish… Well, you know what I wish. Let‟s not dwell on it.” She patted Jolie‟s hand. “Enough about that. Listen to what I bought my sister for Christmas.” Jolie drank her wine while her friend recounted her shopping adventures. By time they‟d finished lunch, they‟d shared enough laughter to banish Jolie‟s fun deficit. Her burdens seemed a little lighter than when she‟d arrived. But on the drive home, she couldn‟t shake the feeling that something bad was about to happen. **** “I thought of someone for your show,” Mike said over dinner that evening. Dante took a sip of his wine and gave his brother a cursory nod. “Who‟s that?” “I was watching the nostalgia channel this afternoon and Little Sister Sam came on. Cute kid. Remember her?” Dante tried to recall the girl‟s name. “Something Brown. She‟s Henry Brown‟s granddaughter.” He conjured an image of her. Shiny chestnut hair, eyes like coal. He wondered what she‟d look like now. Probably a knockout. “Yeah. Married to that heavy metal star from Cracked Mirror, Lane Wood.” He shoveled a bite of salmon into his mouth, washed it down with wine. Dante rubbed the bridge of his nose, trying to grasp the woman‟s first name, but it remained just out of reach. “God, I hate that. What‟s her name? Father killed himself, mother was a minor actress.” “Jolie!” Mike shouted. “Jolie Brown.” “That‟s it.” Dante raced into the living room and entered her name on his PDA. With a rock star for a husband, Jolie Brown might just be the type he‟d been searching for. **** Lane sat in a dark corner of an out-of-the-way dive in Van Nuys, waiting for someone named Vi whose byline he‟d seen in a series of tabloid articles. She specialized in celebrity dirt. Contacting her proved so easy, he figured it must be fate. Taking a gulp of lager, he let his dark glasses slide down his nose to scan the place. A hefty bloke played billiards all alone. The buxom brunette barmaid sat on a stool, reading a newspaper. Her skimpy tank top and shorts left no doubt what her naughty bits looked like. A smartly dressed redhead entered the place and marched straight to his table. She wore an expensive looking pantsuit, carried a handbag the size of Buckingham Palace, and walked like she had a large stick up her ass. “Mr. Oak?” He nodded and gestured toward the chair opposite him. “That ain‟t me name, you know. I didn‟t want to use me real one over the phone.” She took her seat. “I‟m well aware of your identity, Mr. Wood.” He lifted an eyebrow. She wasn‟t half bad looking. If he fancied girls, he‟d probably shag her. “Didn‟t fool you, eh?” She snickered, then snapped her fingers in the barmaid‟s direction.

The lazy cow looked up from her newspaper, gave the lady the once over. “What can I get you?” The woman laced her fingers together on the table. “Club soda, please. No ice. Make sure the glass is clean.” The bartender lumbered off her stool and went behind the bar. Her movements couldn‟t have been any slower. The reporter extended a well-manicured hand to Lane. “Vi Cunningham. Pleased to meet you.” He brought it to his lips while capturing her gaze. As he kissed her skin, he noticed the distinct smell of hand sanitizer. “Enchante.” Couldn‟t hurt to pour on a little charm. The pink flush that rose to her cheeks was fleeting. I still have it. Tucking her hands under the table, she cleared her throat and held her head high. “You said you had a line on a good story. I‟m always up for new ideas. As long as it‟s true, that is.” He stifled a grin. Truth didn‟t seem terribly important to the rag she worked for, unless aliens really had kidnapped Jimmy Hoffa and Amelia Earhart. “Of course it is.” The barmaid arrived with Vi‟s club soda and set the glass on the table hard. “Two-fifty,” she said with a gravely voice. Vi gave her a cool grin and handed her a five. “Keep it.” After the bartender left, Lane decided to reveal part of his hand. “Can I interest you in some information concernin‟ Jolie or Henry Brown?” Though her brown eyes sparkled, she only shrugged. “Depends what you‟ve got.” She removed a pink handkerchief from her purse and swept it around the edge of her glass before taking a sip. “It‟s not like either of them has been terribly noteworthy of late. I mean, if you were talking about Jennifer Garner or Taylor Swift, well, then we‟d give you an enthusiastic yes.” His chest tightened. He‟d counted on being able to strike a profitable deal with her. He needed it, especially after Jolie had discovered him practicing her signature, the dirty mare. “What if I told you she was nearly broke?” Her eyes fluttered. “So is half of Hollywood.” She leaned toward him. “You get me a story, something really big about her or her grandfather, then we‟ll talk.” Sipping his lager, he tried to hide his disappointment. He‟d hoped for at least a few hundred quid today. “How worth me while will you make it?” She reached into her purse and palmed something green. He grinned. “Want to keep me on retainer, eh?” “Something like that.” She handed him her business card and a hundred-dollar bill. Much less than he needed, but he‟d accept it. His brain raced with ideas. How could he find out all the secrets he knew Jolie was keeping from him? And those of the old man? His wife became more talkative after a nip of gin or a spot of brandy. And even more so when she had a love hangover, the randy old cow. Maybe he could coax some deep-buried secret out of her with a good shaggin.‟ Candy’s dandy but liquor’s quicker. His lips curled into a smile. “I‟ll have a juicy morsel for you soon.” She tilted her head and bit her top lip, staring at him as if he were a science project. “May I ask you a question, Mr. Wood?” “You can ask. Doesn‟t mean I‟ll answer.” “Are you planning to leave your wife?”

He jerked back. “Leave her? Of course not.” She was his meal ticket. Why would he give that up? Her brow furrowed. “Then why are you interested in selling her secrets?” He folded his arms then rocked his chair back on two legs. “I‟m your typical heavy metal star, love. I‟ve burned through all me money. I‟m hoping to do reunion concerts with me band. Tourin‟ costs a pretty penny.” He‟d get into the footlights again if he had to sell his bloody soul to the devil himself. On his way back home, suddenly feeling randy, he decided to stop by Jonathan‟s place. His lover peeked out the door of his flat and gave him the once-over. Lane rolled his eyes, pushing into the room. “Lemme in, for Christ‟s sake. You want your bleedin‟ neighbors to see me?” He shut the door, unnerved by the less-than-welcoming expression on Jonathan‟s face. His dark eyes darted all over the place and he wrung his hands. “Don‟t panic, mate. I brought you some cash.” Reaching into his pocket, he took out his billfold and peeled off the hundred Vi had given him. “Here you go.” He held the bill out to him, but Jonathan‟s demeanor didn‟t relax. In fact, he grew more agitated. “What the fuck is it?” Jonathan slipped the money into his shorts pocket. “It‟s not a good time.” His gaze meandered to the closed bathroom door. “I‟m not feeling well.” He could see why Jonathan couldn‟t make a living as an actor. That was the worst performance ever. Lane pointed to the bathroom. “Someone here?” Jonathan pursed his lips and nodded quickly. A mix of jealousy and surprise swirled in Lane‟s gut. He knew he had no right to the jealousy. They‟d never discussed seeing other chaps, after all. Certainly wasn‟t like he felt any compulsion to remain exclusive. But he didn‟t have the freedom to be with anyone else regularly, not like this. He backed toward the door, having no desire to be discovered there by whomever Jonathan had stashed in the loo. “I‟ll be off, then. See you round.” “Call me,” Jonathan stage whispered before shutting the door. Not bloody likely. He slipped on his shades and hurried to his car. So much for some afternoon delight. Then he remembered the message he‟d gotten the night before. “I’m crashing at a house not far from you. Give me a call if you want to get together.” A grin lifted one corner of his lips. He used his cell phone‟s call records to get hold of his old friend so he could ask for directions. After he hung up, he headed toward Sherman Oaks, anticipating the reunion. **** Lane pulled on his pants, leering at the nude man on the bed. “I‟ve missed you, mate. Where you been hiding?” The man shrugged. “Here and there.” Turning onto his side, he propped himself on one elbow. Lane‟s eyes suddenly burned. He rubbed a finger under his nose. That only delayed the sneeze. He found a box of tissues beside the bed and braced for the onslaught of a full-blown allergy attack. “Christ, mate. Is there a pussy around?” The man laughed. “Only us boys. I thought you only did a woman when you had to.” Another sneeze sent stars floating before his eyes. “Very funny. I‟m serious. Where‟s the bloody cat?” His head felt ready to explode at any second.

“Downstairs probably. He doesn‟t want anything to do with me.” He sat up, threw his legs over the side of the bed, and pulled on a pair of chinos, expensive ones. “I think he‟s pissed off that I‟m here. He usually sleeps in this room.” Lane rolled his eyes. “Well, that‟s just fucking wonderful. Didn‟t you know I was allergic?” “How would I?” He slipped on a pair of Birkenstocks, then stood. “Did you see what I did with my shirt?” Lane narrowed his gaze. “Rich uncle die and leave you a bundle?” “What are you talking about?” He pointed to the shoes, the pants. “I‟ve never seen you in such pricey duds. Who is this gent you‟re shacked up with?” “It‟s not like that.” He crossed the room and retrieved his T-shirt from a chair. “This is my brother‟s place.” “Your brother? Didn‟t know you had one. What‟s he do?” He rubbed his eyes and sniffled. “Produces TV shows. He works for our father.” He pulled the shirt over his head. “In fact, I suggested your wife for a new show he‟s putting together.” Interest tweaked Lane‟s belly. “Jolie? God bless you, mate. That‟s exactly what she needs, what I need.” He sat on the bed to tie his shoes. “Absolutely perfect. If she was workin,‟ she‟d be away from home all day and she‟d be bringin‟ home a paycheck.” “I figured it might free you up.” He smiled suggestively. “Speaking of my brother, you‟d better get going. The last thing I need is for him to find you here.” He nodded. “Righto.” He drew a deep breath as he stared at the man. “I‟d like to see you again, soon. It‟s been too damned long, Mike.” “I‟ll call you.” Mike walked him to the door, peered outside. “Coast is clear. Later.” Donning his dark glasses, Lane hurried to his car. Things were definitely looking up. His comeback might actually happen sooner than expected. If Her Majesty started working again, she‟d be making enough to help finance a Cracked Mirror reunion tour. Turning onto Ventura Boulevard, he remembered how Jolie had caught him writing her name a few days earlier. What if she dumped him before she started working? He had to find some dirt on her before she came into any big money or he might not get the opportunity to share in the wealth. He knew they had secrets, her and the old man. There were too many times he‟d walked into a room in the middle of a conversation and noticed how they‟d suddenly stop talking. Yes, he had to stick with his original plan. She‟d tell him all her sordid secrets if he got her plastered enough. He‟d keep whatever he got out of her to himself. Unless she refused to share her money. Then he‟d be forced to sell the information to Vi. And if Jolie did get the lead in a new show, it would make dirt on her that much more valuable. All round, it was a win-win situation. He turned on the radio and sang all the way home. Had to get his voice back into shape. Only a matter of time until he was singing on stage again, bathed in the adoration of fans, laughing all the way to the bloody bank. **** Jolie strolled across the brick patio at Spago to her grandfather‟s table. Henry made a show of looking at his watch as she sat. “You‟re fifteen minutes late.” She waved away his comment. “I‟m merely making an entrance, Grampy.” He, of all people, had to understand.

His frown almost had her convinced he was angry. “You can make an entrance on your own damn time.” Leaning across the linen-covered table, she kissed his cheek. “I love you.” He took a sip of his coffee, then signaled the waiter to get Jolie a cup. “I love you, too. Are you going to tell me why you asked me to lunch?” She hung her head. “How do you know I‟m not starving for your scintillating company?” He snickered. “Because you had some of my scintillating company a few days ago at the house. Come on, it‟s me. What‟s on your mind?” The waiter came and poured her coffee. “Are you ready to order?” Jolie glanced at the nearby tables. “I‟ll have the goat cheese omelet.” Henry handed the young man the two menus that neither he nor Jolie had opened. They ate here enough to know the offerings by heart. “Double that, Clark.” “Yes sir.” He laced his fingers together. “So, what‟s on your mind, Jojo?” She swallowed hard. How much could she tell him without completely cinching his disdain for Lane? “I was thinking.” She stirred sweetener and cream into her coffee. “Yes?” “When I was at the house for dinner the other night, you offered me a loan.” She hated to ask him for anything, but she knew he‟d refuse her nothing. His scowl was unexpected. Had she made a mistake in asking? “What‟s going on that you need it?” She suddenly felt like a teenager again, having to explain why she‟d been out late or why she‟d flunked geometry. “It‟s a cash flow problem, that‟s all. I know Clive will have a role for me soon.” In truth, she‟d left three messages for him in the last day and a half and he had yet to return them. She wondered if he was dropping her. The humiliation stabbed at her gut. He‟d have never left her hanging this long years ago, when she was on top. “Mm. Having trouble making the bills or is it something specific you need?” Her stomach roiled. He‟d never approve of her having plastic surgery, let alone borrowing the money for it. He‟d never understand that without youthful beauty, she was nothing and no one anyone would hire. “No, no. It‟s not that. I‟d like to make some improvements…to the house.” She dropped her gaze to her lap and twisted her napkin. He set his coffee cup down hard on the saucer. “You‟re lying.” She looked at him wide-eyed. Could he hear her heart thudding? “Lying? Why would you say such a thing?” He poked a finger at her. “Tell me the truth. You‟re no better at fibbing now than you were at seven.” He leaned toward her. “Fess up.” Tears stung her eyes. She bit her lip, trying to hold them back. “Okay. It‟s not my house that needs improvements. It‟s me. I want to have some plastic surgery.” If she didn‟t have a major overhaul, and soon, she‟d be too old for her skin to bounce back quickly. Her prospects for work were growing dimmer with each passing day. With her household bills, she couldn‟t spare the cash for any extras like some much needed self improvements. “Nonsense. You‟re beautiful as you are.” “I can‟t get work, Grampy. If I had my neck done and my breasts enlarged, I‟d have more of a shot.” She wiped a rogue tear away. “All you have to do is open a magazine or turn on the TV to see how perfect everyone is nowadays. How can I compete with that?”

“Maybe you‟re trying to swim in the wrong pool. There are plenty of actresses your age who get good roles.” She nodded. “You‟re right. And they all have work done to stay young looking. Selfimprovement is an investment in my future. I‟ll never get a decent role unless I can make myself look ten years younger.” Clark arrived with their omelets. “Can I get you anything else? A refill on your coffee, Mr. Brown?” “Sure. Thanks.” As soon as the waiter left, Henry continued. “You have to live within your means. Borrowing money for a frivolous pursuit like plastic surgery is just plain immature.” Pointing his fork at her, he frowned. “And carving up what nature gave you won‟t make you like yourself any more than you do now. Nor will it help your marriage.” He slid a bite of eggs into his mouth and looked away. Jolie felt as if she‟d been slapped. He‟d never said anything so hurtful before. Staring down at her food, her stomach turned. He didn‟t understand what it was like out there these days. No one cared that she‟d been a sensation twenty years ago. It only made her a has-been. After she left the restaurant, she called Clive from her car. Again, she got his voicemail. Next she tried Lane, but he, too, was apparently too busy to speak to her. Clive used to take her calls regardless of who he was meeting with, never mind where or when. Magazines like People and Us clamored for interviews and TV entertainment shows gave her top billing when they reported on her whereabouts. Fans lined up outside the studio, sometimes waiting hours for her autograph. When she‟d been on top, everyone wanted to be near her, bask in her glow. Had she become like so many faded celebrities, out of sight and out of mind? No one seemed to care what she did, where she went, not anymore. Perhaps her star had burned out, never to blaze brightly again. She drove home, then finally allowed herself a good, long cry in the privacy of her bedroom.

Chapter Four Dante‟s production assistant, Wendy, handed him a cup of coffee. “Ready when you are, boss.” He surveyed the top-notch team he‟d put together: Fred, a seasoned television news cameraman with an Emmy award under his belt for a nature documentary; Elaine, a sought-after sound tech and Wendy‟s life partner; Omar, a quiet Egyptian lighting tech Dante had snagged from the latest Tony-nominated Broadway production of Sleuth; and Kim, location coordinator and all-around organizer. More than a dozen years ago, while undergrads at the University of Chicago‟s film school, they‟d pledged to work on at least one project together after graduation. Dante was pleased his peers had waited until they‟d gained experience—not to mention professional accolades—before they came together as one unbeatable team. Leaning back in his chair, he threaded his fingers together and pointed both index fingers at Wendy. “I have a name to add to the top five.” They all stared at him expectantly. “I thought we were going to pick from the list we already have,” Wendy said. “I thought so, too. But the more I mulled it over, the more dissatisfied I became. Someone recently dropped a name I haven‟t heard in a while.” He gestured toward the coffee table, where he‟d laid several copies of Jolie Brown‟s last publicity photo. “Check out that picture. See if you can tell me who it is.” Omar picked a sheet and stared at it. Fred took the stack and passed them to the women. “Little Sister Sam, right?” “She‟s related to Henry Brown, isn‟t she?” Elaine asked. “Love child or something?” “His granddaughter,” Wendy corrected. Dante nodded. “Her name is Jolie. One of the first mixed race child actresses in a top rated TV show. Father was black, mother‟s white. After her series ended when she was fourteen, she took a two-year hiatus until her mother pushed her back into the business.” He glanced at the bio he‟d printed from the Internet. “She did a few after-school specials, some TV movies. Pretty much disappeared by her early twenties. She‟s had a few runs in community theater the last ten years, nothing spectacular.” “If she‟s been out of the spotlight that long, why would our audience care about her?” Kim asked. Dante came out from behind his desk and crossed the room to a large whiteboard. Picking up a marker, he motioned toward one of the columns he‟d drawn during a previous meeting. “What‟s our demographic?” He circled it on the board. “Thirties to fifties, mostly female. The folks who grew up in the eighties and nineties or the parents of those who did. Our target audience adore nostalgia and will know exactly who she is.” He returned to his chair and watched all their faces for reactions. All but Omar‟s seemed enthusiastic. Of course, Omar rarely got excited about anything. “Isn‟t she married to a musician?” Fred asked. “Mm hmm. An added benefit; we get two for the price of one. Lane Wood was the front man for Cracked Mirror. A juicy subject himself, one of those rockers who used to trash hotel rooms and go into rehab every other week. They‟ve been married four or five years now.” He glanced at the paper on his desk. “I didn‟t find much recent info on him, except that his band

tried to reunite a few years ago. They did a ten-city tour and failed to sell out even small venues.” “I thought he ODed a couple years ago,” Elaine said. “Apparently not, although his brain‟s probably pickled.” Kim furrowed her brow. “Might be an interesting couple to put under our microscope.” “Exactly what I was thinking.” Dante rubbed his hands together. “My top two contenders are Jolie Brown and Ed Green.” Kim shook her head. “I still say only guys will watch a show about Ed Green. Most women hate boxing and won‟t know or care who he is.” “He made a few movies in the eighties,” Wendy said, “And was quite a hot property, as I remember. People Magazine chose him as the sexiest man alive once.” “Have we contacted any of our candidates yet?” Fred asked. “Three. Two sound pretty interested,” Wendy said. “Green and Nora Danforth.” “Nora Danforth is too highbrow for our audience,” Elaine said. “I know we discussed this last week, but I‟m sorry. The woman is an amazing actress and incredibly bright. But too many people hold a grudge against her for that parody she did of Ronald Reagan as Jesus. We‟ll instantly alienate the religious right. Might even be the target of a boycott.” “She‟s bipolar,” Kim interjected. “God, if that doesn‟t make for great ratings, what does?” Dante concentrated on what each of them had to say. They all had valid points. He stood, signaling it was time for them to clear out of his office. “Pleasure chatting with you all, especially you, Omar.” Omar gave his head a quick nod, then hurried from the room. Wendy threw Dante an exasperated grin. “You‟re so bad.” He winked at her. “My schedule is open this week. Top priority is sitting down with our candidates.” “How can we find out about them, aside from what the tabloids say?” “Which may or may not be true.” He drew a deep breath then let it out slowly. “Why don‟t you let me speak to the reps? They‟ll be more inclined to share things like marital problems with me. They‟d never discuss that sort of thing unless properly prodded.” After Wendy left, he scribbled a few notes so he‟d be sure to get all the information he needed. He hoped Jolie Brown would be open to the prospect of a show. Mike‟s idea about getting her had been brilliant. Too bad Mike hadn‟t pursued a career in the entertainment industry as Dante had. They could all work together. Well, maybe not. Once Mike had gotten on the old man‟s bad side, everyone knew there was no going back. Charles Ebersol didn‟t have a forgiving bone in his body. A chill traveled over his skin as he recalled the last family dysfunction when Mike and Charles nearly came to blows over Christmas dinner. Wendy breezed in, left several index cards on his desk, and left with a whispered, “Need anything else?” He shuffled through the choices. “This ought to hold me for a while. Thanks.” He called Ed Green‟s rep, but got a recording asking him to leave his name and number. Next he phoned Clive Peterson, Jolie Brown‟s agent. He made an appointment with Peterson to meet at Jolie‟s house on Thursday morning. The rest of the day was spent researching Jolie Brown‟s life and gathering as much information industry insiders could offer.

When he arrived home that evening, he found his hot blond neighbor walking toward his front door wearing very short shorts and a belly shirt, carrying a measuring cup. He stopped his car in the driveway and rolled down the window as she approached. Sweeping his gaze over her long legs, firm ass, perky tits and cute face, he beamed. “What can I do for you?” She pushed her breasts out and held the measuring cup toward him. “I need some sugar,” she said in a baby voice. He glanced toward her house, searching for her kid, but didn‟t see him. “Making cookies for your boy?” “Nope. He‟s at his daddy‟s. I‟m all alone tonight.” She touched the tip of her tongue to her top lip and stared at him for a long moment. “I‟m in the mood for something sweet, only I have no sugar.” Lifting an eyebrow several shades darker than her hair, she added, “Of course, I‟m a lousy baker. But most anything tastes better with sugar on it, don‟t you think?” No, no, no. No women, and that’s final. “I‟m a pretty good cook,” he heard himself say as he looked her up and down. “I‟d be willing to teach you.” What the hell are you doing? The traitorous bulge in his pants argued louder. Go for it. “Yeah? I‟m a quick study.” She tilted her head to the side and grinned seductively. “Wanna come over?” He struggled against his libido. “Um, yeah, I really appreciate…everything, but I‟ve got plans. Maybe another time.” Her ridiculous pout assured him an excuse has been the right thing. “Okay, but I‟ll be waiting for a lesson.” She shook her ass as she strutted toward her house. He parked his car, eased out of the seat and went inside his house. Mike lay sprawled across the family room couch holding the remote, watching TV. “Hey, bro.” “I‟ll talk to you in a few. Gotta go grab a shower,” Dante said. He jogged up the steps, then turned the faucet in his shower to cold and stripped off his clothes. He had to start thinking with his brain and not his cock. Damned thing always got him into trouble. No more actresses. From now on, when he met a woman that would be the first question he asked. Actresses. They were all completely bananas. He thought about his conversation with Clive Peterson earlier. Jolie Brown was an actress. Which proved his hypothesis. All crazy. Well, he didn‟t think Jolie was crazy, just screwed up from what Peterson had said. She sounded like the kind of screwball he needed.

Chapter Five Jolie pulled open the heavy glass door at Salon Twenty-One then marched to the reception desk. “Is Tara ready for me?” God, she needed a manicure. More than that, she craved the release that came with confiding in her manicurist—a woman who knew her innermost thoughts, and the majority of her secrets. When Jolie‟s financial situation forced her to stop seeing a therapist two years ago, manicures became an indispensable part of her week. “She‟ll be right with you, Miss Brown,” the anorexic-looking blonde receptionist told her. “She‟s finishing up with someone.” Jolie took a seat on the overstuffed chair in the waiting area. Familiar scents of hairspray, perm solution and nail polish comforted her. Before picking up a copy of Architectural Digest, she glanced around the room. Two couture-clad teens perused a shelf of hair products for sale. She recognized a woman sitting across from her as a local television news anchor and smiled when she caught her eye. “Au revoir, mon ami.” It came on so suddenly, with no warning, Jolie‟s blood ran cold. She wished the floor would open and swallow her. She fumbled with her sunglasses, nearly poked her eye out when she slipped them on. Holding the magazine inches from her face, she prayed she‟d been quick enough to avoid being seen. “Mon dieux!” The high-pitched shriek, still as dramatic as ever went on. “Jolie! Ma belle Jolie.” The French accent, still thick despite more than four decades in the States, never failed to turn Jolie‟s stomach. With exaggerated effort, the woman went to her knees on the Persian rug, then grasped the arms of Jolie‟s chair, effectively locking her in. “It has been so long, ma belle fille. When will you bury your anger for your poor old maman? Perhaps after I am dead and gone, oui?” “What are you doing here, Mother?” She wouldn‟t lower herself to a scene in the middle of a salon, particularly with a member of the press within earshot. She should have run out of the place the moment she heard that hideous screech. “Will you not speak to me?” Emmanuelle shrilled. “Surely you will forgive me before I die, non?” She laid her head on Jolie‟s lap and pretended to sob loudly. Jolie wasn‟t fooled. Her mother had no heart, was incapable of real tears or true penitence. She cared for no one other than herself, having proved that too many times over the years. Though her mother had never progressed beyond walk-on parts, it was an Oscar worthy performance. Emmanuelle Bonchant was nothing but an aging French whore who was quite capable of making a scene, and dragging Jolie into it. She swallowed hard and prayed her voice wouldn‟t fail her. “Please get up, Emmanuelle.” A pitiful whimper escaped her mother‟s mouth as she lifted her head and stared into Jolie‟s eyes. Her lower lip stuck out in a ridiculous pout. “You have no idea how I‟ve longed for this moment.” Reaching up, she placed a trembling hand on Jolie‟s cheek. Jolie shrank away. “Don‟t touch me.” Emmanuelle gripped the arms of the loveseat to pull herself to her feet. “Anger will destroy you, my darling.” She smoothed her sweater, then reached into her purse, taking out a handkerchief. Sniffling for effect, she dabbed the hankie under her eyes.

Jolie tried not to stare, though she was fascinated by her mother‟s appearance. The woman didn‟t look a day older than she had five years earlier. Facelift, she decided. With my money. “I‟m ready, Jolie,” Tara said from the desk. Thank God. Extricating herself from the seat, she avoided touching her mother, even though she stood only inches from her. With her head high, she followed Tara to the nail area without a backward glance. Her heart rate gradually slowed. When she reached her destination, she sank into the chair and blew out a breath of relief. Holding one trembling hand over her heart, she waved away Tara‟s worried expression with the other. “I‟m fine, really. Could you get me some water, please?” Tara disappeared for a minute, returned with a glass. “Sure you‟re okay?” Jolie drank half the water, nodding when she set it down. “What was that all about?” “Control and drama. It‟s what governs her every move.” With a deep sigh, she placed her hands on the towel covering the table. “How could you not tell me my mother had started coming here?” Staring innocently, Tara soaked a puff of cotton with polish remover and pressed it to Jolie‟s thumbnail. “Who? That woman you were talking to?” “Emmanuelle Bonchant. She must have been here getting her hair done.” Tara‟s eyes went wide as saucers. “Your mother? Oh my gosh. That was her?” She worked off the nail polish on each nail, discarded the cotton, then soaked another piece and moved on to the other hand. “She looked way too young.” Old angers seethed. “She‟s had all sorts of work done, enough to turn a wrinkled old prune into a fresh plum. Money I worked my ass off for as a kid paid for all of it.” Tara took a metal file from her drawer and began shaping Jolie‟s nails. “What did she say to you?” “She asked if I would forgive her before she dies.” Jolie brushed away shreds of guilt that managed to pierce her fury. Emmanuelle didn‟t deserve forgiveness, the damage went too deep. She wouldn‟t be in her current dire financial straits if her mother hadn‟t embezzled most of what she had earned from Little Sister Sam. Another memory, courtesy of her mother, surfaced. She shut her eyes and saw herself walking into Ellis‟s office, finding her husband and Emmanuelle on the Oriental rug, going at it like a couple of wild dogs. She wondered if either image would ever fade from her brain—Ellis‟s shame or Emmanuelle‟s smug look of betrayal. Tara pulled on Jolie‟s hand. “You have to loosen up or I can‟t do my job.” She made a conscious effort to relax. “I don‟t ever want to see her again. You have to promise me you‟ll check the appointment book and call me if we‟re scheduled on the same day, anywhere near the same time.” The girl quickly bobbed her head up and down. “I will. I don‟t ever want you to be uncomfortable coming here.” “Thank you.” As much as she liked Tara, she‟d never set foot inside the place again if it happened once more. She‟d arrange for her to come to the house and give her manicures. “I wonder why she‟s here in Encino. You don‟t think she could have moved to the area, do you?” Her chest tightened at the thought. Tara scoffed. “And give up her Beverly Hills address? I don‟t think so. Not from what you‟ve told me.”

“No, of course she wouldn‟t. Maybe she‟s visiting a friend.” She scrunched her brow and forced herself to relax. Inviting wrinkles onto her forehead wouldn‟t help. “No, she‟s not a friend sort of person.” “Vultures don‟t form lasting relationships.” Tara snickered. “Maybe a guy?” “That would be more likely. Another woman‟s husband, no doubt.” Jolie raised an eyebrow as questions formed in her mind. There were no coincidences when it came to her mother. She suspected their chance meeting hadn‟t been pure chance at all. “Would you do me a favor?” “Sure.” Leaning closer, she lowered her voice. “Find out who did her hair and if she‟s coming back. See if you can get any information on her. Like why she‟s here instead of Beverly Hills. Maybe there‟s a phone number on the appointment book.” Tara drew her head back and gave her a wary stare. “I don‟t know, Jolie.” Channeling her ability to make herself cry, she blinked back tears. “I…I understand.” She sniffled and turned away. Tara let out a loud sigh. “Fine, fine. I‟ll try. That‟s all I‟ll promise.” Jolie squeezed the girl‟s hand. “Thank you. You‟re the best.” She‟d remember this when the holidays rolled around. Tara would get an extra nice gift. **** Jolie bit on her lower lip as she pulled her car into the garage and saw Lane‟s Corvette already there. Seeing her mother reminded her how few allies she had in this world. Should she really throw Lane away without giving him another chance? Maybe with some counseling, or a vacation she could work on trusting him again. But how could she work on a marriage with a man who was rarely home? Think positive. Perhaps today she could rekindle the flame that once burned between them. She hurried into the kitchen and dropped her keys and purse on the counter. Hilda shut off the vacuum cleaner. “Hola, Miss Jolie. You get phone call.” She took a pink slip of paper out of her pocket and held it in the air. Jolie waved her away. “Not now. Whatever it is, I‟ll deal with it later, thank you.” She couldn‟t be bothered with such things as returning phone calls. “Where‟s Lane, and do we have any champagne?” Hilda set the message on the counter by the keys. “He play video games in family room. Just like my twelve- year-old nephew.” She clucked her tongue and set her hands on her hips. “Like little boy.” What was she talking about? Whatever it was would wait. She had more pressing matters on her mind. “Champagne, Hilda. Put a bottle on ice in my bedroom, please.” She rushed toward the family room, stopping at the hall mirror to check her makeup. Satisfied with the look, she licked her lips and went inside. Lane lay across the couch holding a cordless video controller, his hair pulled back into a messy ponytail. Attention riveted to the screen, he didn‟t even acknowledge her presence. “Take that, you bastard,” he shouted at the television. Bleeps and bells sounded as things exploded in the game. “Lane,” she ventured. Nothing.

She tried again. “I‟m home, honey.” He glanced at her for a split second then returned his gaze to the screen. “Hello, love. How was the salon? Your hair looks lovely, by the way.” He pushed buttons on his controller as if his life depended upon winning the video game. “I had my nails done, not my hair.” She pushed his feet off the couch so she could sit beside him. “Would you mind turning the game off? I thought we could have a talk, spend a little quality time together.” She ran her hand along his denim-clad leg, dropped her head and threw a pouty look his way. All she got in return was a momentary glance. “Hang on. Lemme kill this bloke off. This is me highest score yet.” She moved toward him and rubbed his shoulders, the way she knew he liked. He shrugged her off. “You‟re killin‟ me concentration.” Abandoning his shoulders, she crawled her fingers along his thigh, venturing close to his crotch. He brushed her away like a pesky fly. She stood and clenched her fists. “Isn‟t it bad enough I have to compete with hot, young groupies for your attention? Now I have to fight with a damned video game?” She turned and started toward the door. The TV noises stopped. “Jolie?” She looked back at him, hoping, praying he would toss her a kind word. Show her he still had feelings for her. “Yes?” “Get me a beer from the kitchen, would you? I want to see if I can beat me last score.” She stood there, resentment and hurt bubbling inside. “I…I wanted…” He narrowed his gaze. “What is it, kitten?” She drew a ragged breath, attempted to control the deluge of tears ready to take over. I should be grateful I’m not completely alone, like I was after Ellis left, and after Daddy died. Lane pulled himself off the couch and hurried to her, wrapping an arm around her shoulder. He bent his head toward hers. “Talk to me.” She buried her head against his chest and sobbed. He held her close, rubbed his hands over her back. “Somethin‟ happen today at the salon?” She nodded. “Emmanuelle was there. She asked me to forgive her, in front of everyone.” He exhaled loudly. “There, there. Don‟t let that old witch ruin your day.” Hugging her tighter, he sighed. “She‟s your past, love. I‟m here now. She stole your money. Fine. It happened a long time ago. Maybe you should consider givin‟ her a break? It‟s not like she‟s the only Hollywood mum who ever done that to her kid, eh?” He held her at arm‟s length. Biting her tongue, she stopped speaking, unwilling to tell him the full extent of her mother‟s betrayal. “She did so much more than that.” He eyed her. “What else?” “Nothing. I don‟t want to talk about her anymore.” She pushed away, shook her head. “You‟re never here for me, Lane. The moment I get home, you leave. It‟s like you can‟t even look at me.” She wiped her hands across her cheeks. “What did I do to turn you off? Am I too fat? Too old and saggy? Is there someone else?” “No, kitten. There‟s only you. I love you more than ever.” Taking a step toward her, he swept her into his arms. “I‟ve been so caught up in me own business, I‟ve neglected you, haven‟t I? I‟m so sorry.” She nodded. “I don‟t feel very loved.”

“How about we spend the afternoon together, the two of us?” He lowered his face to hers and smiled. “Tell me what you want to do. Whatever your heart desires.” She dropped her shoulders. “Be with you. That‟s all.” “Shall we go to dinner? Drive along the coast? Take a bubble bath?” She lifted an eyebrow at his last suggestion, wondering if he wanted to make love to her. It had been so long she‟d assumed he no longer had any desire for her. He smirked. “That‟s it, eh? You‟re a randy girl, aren‟t you?” He smacked her backside. “Up you go. I‟ll be there shortly. Let me turn off the telly and such.” Anticipating an afternoon of his undivided attention, she raced through the house, wiping residual tears off her cheeks. Some cuddle time would do her good, do them good. The confrontation with her mother this morning had shaken her to the core. A shiver of excitement danced across her skin as she entered her bedroom and found the champagne in an ice bucket with two flutes on the night table. Shedding clothes as she went, she entered her bathroom. She turned on the water in the whirlpool tub and sprinkled in bubble bath beads. Then she lit candles and drew the curtains. While the tub filled, she hurried to her closet and retrieved her sheer, black robe, one of Lane‟s favorites. Back in her bedroom, she picked up her discarded clothes and dropped them into the hamper. Lane poked his head through the door before coming into the bedroom. “There‟s me girl. Dressed in me favorite outfit.” He leered at her nearly naked body as he closed the distance between them. Her breath grew ragged. She sucked in her stomach and pushed out her chest. A cool breeze from the ceiling fan sent a chill over her skin and hardened her nipples. “I should check on our bath.” He took her arm and drew her against him. Pinching her butt, he growled into her ear. “You do that,” he whispered, the suggestion in his voice sending a tingle up her spine. She watched him unfasten his ponytail and let his wavy hair fall around his shoulders. How many women would give their right arm to be married to Lane Wood? And he was all hers. She pushed those nagging doubts from her mind. Licking her lips, she turned and headed for the bath. “Would you open the champagne?” she called over her shoulder. “Of course, love.” As she shut off the faucet, the telltale pop of a champagne bottle put a smile on her face. She dipped a toe into the water and decided it was exactly the right temperature. Stepping inside, she let the warmth and the bubbles melt away her troubles. She shut her eyes, laid her head on the tiled rim and breathed in the scents of lavender and chamomile. All unpleasant thoughts of her mother, of distrust, of money woes, floated away with the steam. Footfalls on the marble tile caught her attention. She opened her eyes to see Lane standing before her, naked, holding two glasses and the champagne bottle. He poured the bubbly into one and held it out to her. She accepted it, waited while he filled his. He took a foil packet out of a drawer, tore it open and set it next to the bottle. “Me John Thomas has missed you,” he said, clinking his glass against hers. “Cheers.” He climbed into the other side of the tub, raising the water level several inches. She‟d hoped for a bit more romance, but Lane had a style all his own. Taking a sip of champagne, she thought about the day they‟d met… Cracked Mirror had performed at a fundraiser for some disease. She couldn’t remember which one. She’d gone to so many. After their last set, he made a beeline for her and asked for an autograph. He was sweaty from his high-energy performance and he smelled like raw sex.

Still smarting from Ellis’s recent betrayal, she felt ugly and unlovable. They talked. She’d found his Cockney slang captivating. He plucked tiny pieces of confetti from her jacket and her hair. When his hand brushed against her cheek, heat erupted on the spot. He was the sexiest man she’d ever laid eyes on. They made love that very night, stayed in his hotel room for a week straight. He proposed a month later. “What‟s running through that head of yours?” he said, breaking her nostalgic spell. She sipped her champagne and eyed him. Had he become less attractive, or was she blinded by love back then? “I was remembering when we met. How we couldn‟t keep our hands off each other.” She downed the rest of the bubbly, letting it heat her insides. Lane refilled her glass. “I still can‟t keep me hands off you.” Liar. He never touché her anymore. He usually had somewhere to go when she suggested they make love. She pushed the negative thoughts from her mind and conjured a positive attitude. Giving the relationship her best shot meant looking on the bright side, banishing the bad. She took several sips of champagne then set her glass on the ledge. He immediately refilled it. His foot slid up her leg under the water, veering tantalizingly close to her entrance. She took a bath sponge from the windowsill and poured liquid soap on it. Moving closer to him, she gently rubbed it over his chest, his arms, his legs. “Tell me what else Emmanuelle did to turn you away,” he said quietly, handing Jolie his champagne. “I know there‟s more than the money. Has to be.” She took a long swallow before giving it back to him. Alcohol‟s numbing buzz swirled in her head. No. She couldn‟t share that. If anyone ever knew, she‟d die of shame. She remained silent, ignoring his question. “There must be more. Don‟t you trust me? You had a relationship with her after she stole your money. I know you did.” He held his glass to her lips, tipping wine into her mouth. “She was awful to me while I was growing up. Treated me more like her slave than her child. Made me work when I didn‟t feel well, didn‟t let me have any friends, yelled at me all the time.” Picking up her glass, she took a gulp of wine. Why did he keep bringing up her mother? “I don‟t want to talk about her now. I‟m enjoying this too much.” He closed his eyes and laid his head back as she washed him. After she‟d finished, she sluiced water over his exposed skin, lingering on certain spots. Positioning herself on his lap, facing him, she bent her head to lick his nipples, suckled them until he groaned. She ran her fingernails over his chest, his back, his thighs. He lifted her off his lap then sat on the edge of the tub, staring down at her. Pulling a towel from a nearby shelf, he handed it to her. She knew what he wanted. They‟d done it so many times before. The sex was all about him. But it was the price she paid to have his undivided attention. And every now and then, he gave her what she needed, too. Getting on her knees, she patted dry his thighs, his stomach, his chest. He motioned toward his groin as he unstopped the drain. Jolie lapped the water from his swelling cock, then his balls. She delighted in watching his erection rise with each stroke. He had to love her. Who else knew exactly how to touch him? It’s only sex, a voice in her head insisted. She brushed the thought away. He’ll hold me after, make me feel wanted and loved. Lane‟s eyes remained shut, his head lolled to the side as he whispered what he wanted her to do. “Take it into your mouth. Mm, that‟s it. There‟s still a wet spot. Lick it.”

She closed her lips around his shaft, feeling him stiffen against her tongue‟s slow flicks. Gently grasping his scrotum, she gave him what he loved, a long, leisurely blowjob. When his moans grew more insistent, she stopped and turned her body around, waiting on all fours, the way he liked. He positioned himself behind her, rolled on the condom and stabbed into her as he held onto her breasts, tugged painfully on her taut nipples. After a minute or two of that, he jerked twice, then collapsed against her back, panting. “Oh, God, love. You turn me on.” He moved away and slid off the condom before getting out of the tub. “I‟ll wait for you in the bed. Don‟t be long.” He wrapped a towel around his waist and left the room. She tried to shove down the disappointment She went to the stall and turned on the faucet. Stepping into the shower, she let the water cascade over her body. Her nipples were still red from Lane‟s attack. She poured liquid soap onto a bath sponge and scrubbed it over her arms, her shoulders, her stomach. Leaning against the tiled wall, she traced tiny circles on her breasts and felt the familiar stirring in her loins. Removing the showerhead from its clip, she turned the spray setting to pulse and directed it between her thighs. Water pounded rhythmically on her delicate flesh. She lifted one foot onto the built-in seat to allow the water to penetrate deeper. Her hand wandered to the spot and rubbed slowly, then faster until she came. After her shower, she donned her black robe and joined Lane in bed. He was sitting up, opening another bottle of champagne. “Where‟d you get that?” she asked. He popped the cork. “I snuck downstairs while you were in the loo. I think Hilda knows what we‟re up to.” He snickered. “She shook her head at me.” Jolie‟s cheeks burned. “How embarrassing.” He shrugged. “We‟re human, love. Not like it‟s the first time the fat cow‟s been aware of us shagging, eh.” “I wish you wouldn‟t call her ugly names, Lane. Hilda‟s a good person and she does so much for us.” He waved away her comment. “And we pay her well for what she does. Mostly she sits around on her fat arse watchin‟ the telly.” He filled a glass with champagne and handed it to her. “Drink up.” Lifting his flute, he sipped the remnants from before. Jolie‟s head swam, but she drank anyway. The bubbles felt good. After she‟d finished the glass she set it on her night table and slid under the covers. Lane joined her seconds later, wrapping his arms around her. “It‟ll help if you talk about what‟s botherin‟ you. Secrets eat away at your insides, makin‟ you a bitter, bloody mess.” Her mind swirled in a champagne-induced fog. She could tell him, couldn‟t she? No, just talking about it would ruin her day, her week. Some secrets had to stay buried, even if they did fester. “It‟s fine. I don‟t want to talk about Emmanuelle.” He climbed over her and lay facing her. “A marriage has to be a partnership, love. An open, honest union. I‟ve told you all about me humble roots, growin‟ up in squalor, me dad‟s drinkin‟ and carousin‟.” He sighed and shook his head. “I wish you‟d trust me as I trust you.” Turning away, he exhaled loudly, sniffled. Jolie swallowed hard. Was she destroying any chance they had of making the marriage work? She knit her brow and contemplated telling him. But she had to be sure first. “Why were you practicing my signature the other day?”

He rolled over and stared into her eyes. “I‟m not proud of meself, but I‟ll tell you.” A cloud settled on his handsome face. “I‟d planned to forge your name on a credit account.” She gasped as tears rushed to her eyes. “Oh, Lane. How could you?” He sat up and wrung his hands. “I‟ve blown through most of me money, love. I wanted to make your granddad‟s birthday special. Except, I have nothin‟ to give him. I know he hates me guts.” Scrubbing his hands over his face, he moaned miserably. “It‟s the sorriest thing in the world, ain‟t it? Makin‟ you pay for a bleedin‟ gift for your granddad that‟s supposed to be from me.” A lump formed in her throat. She‟d always assumed Lane‟s skin was thick enough to endure her grandfather‟s obvious disdain. Apparently, she was wrong. “That‟s why I asked you for a few hundred quid last week. When you turned me down, I grew desperate.” Her heart broke when she saw the expression on his face, pure misery. She‟d envisioned a betrayal almost as brutal as Ellis‟s. But Lane wasn‟t Ellis. He‟d never treat her as wretchedly. She took his hand and held it against her heart. “You don‟t need to impress Grampy. He‟s just old and set in his ways. It‟s wonderful to know you love me.” “Of course I love you, kitten.” He squeezed her hand. “You have no idea how much. You‟re me whole world.” She laid her head on his lap. He ran his fingers through her hair, sending gentle ripples of pleasure across her scalp. “I love you, too, Lane.” “What is it that has you all tied up in knots? What did your mother do that‟s got you so bloomin‟ brassed off that you haven‟t spoken in years? What could be so bad that you‟d part ways with your own flesh and blood?” The combination of the champagne‟s haze and his fingers in her hair made her drowsy. She shut her eyes. “Emmanuelle betrayed me, just as she did my father.” His steady strokes on her head felt like heaven. His voice was soft, soothing. “How did she do that, kitten?” The pain that shot through her brain whenever she thought about her mother instantly deadened. She sighed as a tear rolled from her eye into her hair. “She had an affair with Ellis. It was bad enough that she‟d led my father to kill himself after he discovered that she‟d seduced Grampy. She had to twist the knife even deeper.” Lane stiffened. “Emmanuelle had an affair with your granddad? And your ex?” She winced, hating the sound of horrible deeds spoken aloud. “My mother didn‟t have an affair with Grampy. She got him drunk, took advantage of him.” She looked up at him. “You must never, ever, tell a soul. If that got out, it could ruin both me and him.” He nodded. “Of course.” She turned her head away when Lane resumed his stroking. “I‟d be a laughing stock. So pathetic, no one would ever even consider hiring me again. The tabloids would have a field day. „French whore beds husband‟s father and daughter‟s husband.‟ It‟s so sordid. So typical Emmanuelle.” Lane‟s hand stopped moving over her hair for a few seconds, then resumed. “That feels wonderful. You‟re keeping my head from bursting.” The buzzing in her brain grew louder. She closed her eyes. After holding onto her secret for so long, it felt good to finally unburden herself. Lane would never use it against her. He loved her. She drifted in and out of sleep, finally succumbing to a nap.

Chapter Six Barely able to restrain a giggle of excitement, Lane eased out of bed. The juicy tidbits Jolie had revealed would fetch a handsome bounty. Maybe enough to get the ball rolling for the reunion tour. And the best part? He could blame Emmanuelle for leaking the story to the tabloids. Amazing what sound nookie and a couple bottles of champagne got him. He pulled on a pair of jeans, a T-shirt and sneakers, then looked at Jolie, curled up on the bed. She‟d be knackered when she woke. All that bubbly didn‟t only loosen her lips, it shut her up after she told him what he needed to know. Great stuff. Tiptoeing across the room, he passed a mirror and grinned at his reflection. His star would shine brightly again. Fans would put him where he longed, where he deserved to be, back on top. He combed his hair into a ponytail, donned a cap with an extra wide brim. With the big sunglasses he kept in his car, no one would recognize him. He took one last glance at his wife and almost felt sorry for her. Not sorry enough to put his plans on hold. She‟d had years on top. Now it was his turn. The smell of raw onions hung in the air as he approached the kitchen. Crinkling his nose, he walked into the room. Hilda looked up from her chopping board. “Miss Jolie has message.” She waved a pink slip of paper at him. “She wouldn‟t look when she come home. You give her? Man says is important.” “What are you on about, Hilda?” He tore it from her grasp and read aloud. “Clive Peterson. Call ASAP.” “He‟s her agent, Hilda. Could be urgent.” Might be the offer Mike had spoken about. “Why didn‟t you give it to her before?” She narrowed her gaze and sank her hands onto her ample hips. “I did, Mr. Lane. She no take it.” He never understood what the fat cow said. Why couldn‟t they learn the damned language? “See that she gets it when she wakes. I‟m off.” He dropped the message on the counter and plucked his car keys from a hook on the wall. She followed him to the door. “Where I say you go?” Bloody hell. Might as well have two wives. “For a drive.” He slammed the door behind him. He slid into his Corvette and started the engine. The moment he pulled out of the garage, he made the phone call he‟d been dying to make for the last half hour. “Vi? This is Lane Wood. I have something for you. Something big.” **** Jolie woke with a miserable headache. She forced her eyes open and squinted against the sunlight peeking through the split in the curtains. Was it morning? Glancing at the clock on her night table, she tried to clear the fog in her head and think. Six-thirty. Couldn‟t be morning. Then she remembered. She and Lane had made love, such as it was. Turning toward his side of the bed, she frowned at his empty pillow. He always disappeared when she wanted him close. She threw back the covers and sat up , causing her headache intensified.

She dressed in khakis and a polo shirt, then went downstairs and searched for Lane and pain pills for her head. The sound of Spanish voices drew her to the kitchen. Hilda stood at the sink washing dishes. A soap opera played on the small TV set on the counter. Wonderful spicy aromas filled the air. Jolie set her sights on the crock-pot on the counter and lifted the lid. Steam floated before her eyes. Hilda suddenly turned toward her. “Miss Jolie. You scare me.” She reached a rubber glove covered hand toward her and swatted Jolie‟s arm. “Not ready. Close, please.” Smiling, she replaced the lid. “Whatever it is, it smells delicious.” “Arroz a la Mexicana. For dinner.” She made a beeline for the cabinet, found a bottle of aspirin and took two with a glass of water. God, she hated having to ask Hilda about her husband‟s whereabouts, but his absence left her no other choice. “Have you seen Lane?” Hilda‟s lips pressed into a tight line but she said nothing. Was that pity in her eyes? “Well?” The housekeeper faced the sink, dropped her head. “He go for drive.” “Thank you,” she said, then started out of the room. “Wait.” Hilda handed her a pink scrap of paper. “Message. Important.” Jolie nodded, recalling how she‟d waved off the attempt to give it to her hours earlier. “Sorry if I was rude before. I was in a hurry. Of course, that‟s no excuse.” The woman shrugged. “You no rude. Mr. Lane rude.” She read the message and sucked in a breath. Could Clive have found work for her? “I‟ll be in the living room.” She raced to her desk and called his cell. “Clive, it‟s Jolie.” She held her palm against her chest to calm her racing heart. “Big news, love. You‟re in the running for a reality show.” A bit of air escaped her balloon. She‟d hoped for a dramatic role, but at least the gig was paying work. “I won‟t have to go live somewhere else or eat worms or anything, will I?” She‟d been watching more TV lately, trying to figure out the draw of those shows. The public‟s fascination with them continued to escape her. “No, no, no. Nothing like that. It would be all about you, your life, your daily interactions.” She bit at a hangnail Tara had missed. Would they realize she had absolutely nothing going on? That her life was as boring and mundane as the average housewife‟s? “Are you sure that‟s a good idea? I mean I don‟t exactly live an exciting life. I putter in the garden, go to the gym, do my volunteer work.” He chuckled. “Being a star is exciting. You‟ll be perfect. Listen. They want to meet with us as soon as possible. Everyone in the household must sign a release.” She wondered if Lane and Hilda would go along with it. “Of course, they‟d be paid a token amount as consideration for signing. The producer didn‟t make a monetary offer yet. I‟m sure it will be quite generous, though. If he chooses you. What do you say?” She hesitated, wishing Lane were home. She ought to discuss something this important with him. “Jolie, this could put you back on top. Pay for things like new couture, that cosmetic surgery you‟re always running on about.”

And people would love her again. They‟d ask for her autograph and treat her like a princess as they used to. She‟d be more like Caroline with doting fans everywhere she went. “Set up the appointment.” The moment she hung up with Clive, she phoned Lane. “Where are you? Why did you leave after…you know?” “I had errands to run. I may have a lead on funding for the tour. I‟m off to a meeting.” “That may not be a problem.” Her heart fluttered with anticipation. “I talked to Clive. We‟re speaking with a producer Thursday morning.” She giggled. “They might want to cast me in a reality show, all about me, my personal life. Isn‟t that wonderful?” “Fabulous, love. Exactly what you need to put you back on top.” He didn‟t sound nearly as excited as she‟d expected. She pinched her eyebrows together. “You don‟t act very surprised.” “I‟m drivin,‟ love. Signal must be poor. I‟m quite surprised. Can‟t wait. Gotta run. Bleedin‟ traffic‟s drivin‟ me buggers.” The line went dead. Glancing at the clock, she realized she had no time to be irritated about his reaction. She was expected at the Van Nuys Community Center in less than an hour. During the drive, she pondered what it would be like to be on a weekly TV show again. What did they pay these days? Maybe enough for her to have the breast lift she so desperately wanted. A new, dependable car would be nice, too. Parking at the community center, a pang of guilt attacked her. She went inside and all thoughts of TV shows and cosmetic surgery evaporated as she scanned the group of seven and eight-year olds waiting for her. Ricardo, whose father was in prison, Sophie, whose clothes were always stained or torn, Tyrell, who lived with his aunt since both his parents were drug addicts. She dropped her purse on a chair and six pairs of arms hugged her, swelling her heart. “Miss Jolie, I missed you.” “Can we act out another fairy tale today, Miss Jolie?” “I want to be the princess today.” “You got to be the princess last week. No fair.” The warmth of their energy and love filled her empty coffer. She inhaled their innocence and promise. Easing them away, she pointed to the floor. “Let‟s sit in a circle.” The children arranged themselves on the carpet. “Sit next to me,” Haley begged. Jolie got to the floor and sat akimbo beside the redhead. The girl gave her a big, mostly toothless grin. Jolie smiled, exhilarated by the children‟s enthusiasm. “Tonight we‟ll start with the mirror exercise,” she told them. “Who wants to go first?” Several hands shot into the air. “Me, me.” “I do.” “Pick me, Miss Jolie.” She scanned the eager faces for a child who needed the interaction most. Her gaze landed on Tomas. Thin and wiry, the boy rarely said a word. Yet he was always the first to welcome her, the last to let go when it was time for her to leave. While the other children readily volunteered to participate in any of the games and roles she suggested, he had to be prodded. “Tomas,” she said. The boy shook his head. She reached for his hand and squeezed. “Please?” He studied the floor. After a moment, he nodded.

“Good. Now stand up. Ricardo. You be the leader and Tomas will follow.” Tomas tapped her shoulder, bent his head to her ear. “Can I be leader this time?” Something squeezed at her heart. He was beginning to come out of his shell. “Change of plans,” she announced. “Tomas will lead.” She winked at him. “Go ahead.” Tomas made different gestures and facial movements Ricardo imitated. When they‟d gone through several rounds of the game, Jolie patted Haley‟s head and pointed to Tyrell. “Now you two.” Tomas took the spot Haley had vacated and moved close to Jolie. As they watched the other children run through the exercise, he moved nearer, occasionally leaning against her. Wrapping a protective arm around him, she swallowed back the lump in her throat. “Who wants to play the freeze game?” she asked, getting to her feet. Most of them raised their hands. “Okay. Since we‟ve only done this one once before, I‟ll demonstrate. Luisa, you say freeze as I‟m moving. Then I have to improvise an action.” She searched all the little faces for understanding. “Do you guys remember what improvising is?” They nodded, some said, “Yes.” Confident they understood, she started moving her arms around, over her head, turning herself around. “Freeze,” Luisa shouted. Jolie stopped with her fists one on top of the other in front of her. “One potato, two potato, three potato, four,” she said, alternating her hands‟ positions. The kids laughed. When Sophie‟s turn came, she was told to freeze when her hands were in front of her face. “Don‟t hit me again,” the child cried. “I promise I‟ll be good.” Jolie‟s blood turned to ice. The girl‟s stance was too natural, her words too real for her to be playacting. “Okay,” she managed. “Snack time.” The children gathered around the table as Jolie set out napkins with a bunch of grapes on each. Seeing the kids were content with the fruit, she took Sophie aside and got to her knees, facing the girl. “That was a very good performance, Sophie.” The child dropped her gaze and stuck out her lower lip. Jolie bit back tears. “Looked like you‟ve done it before.” Sophie remained silent. “Does someone hit you, honey?” She held her breath, wondering how anyone could lay a hand on the angelic girl. Sophie refused to speak, or even nod. Jolie pulled her into a hug, wishing she could make it better. “When I grow up, I‟m going to be the queen of the world,” Sophie whispered. “Then nobody can tell me what to do or yell at me.” “I believe you will be queen,” Jolie said. “And you‟ll be the most wonderful queen there ever was.” When the parents came to pick up their children, Jolie paid close attention to Sophie‟s mother. The woman took her daughter‟s hand, roughly leading her outside. The scene reminded her of how she‟d been treated by her own mother. Turning away, she squeezed her eyes shut. Nothing you can do about it.

Sophie‟s face haunted her. Could the child‟s mother be abusing her? Or could another relative? She‟d lay odds it was the mother. Her mind wandered back to her childhood. She was eight or nine years old. Little Sister Sam was at the height of its popularity. She sat on a chair in her dressing room, holding a script that called for her to kiss a boy on the lips. “I don’t want to do it, Mother.” She folded her arms and stared at the floor. “Would you please excuse us?” Emmanuelle asked the hairdresser. The moment the woman left, Emmanuelle became the monster, the controlling shrew she turned into when no one else was around. Grabbing a fistful of Jolie’s hair, she pulled the girl’s head close to hers. “You will do as you are told.” “But I don’t want to do it,” Jolie whined. “I don’t want to do any of it anymore.” “You ungrateful little diable. You ruined my life. You think it was easy for a white woman to have a black man’s child?” Emmanuelle’s eyes shot fire as she yanked Jolie’s head back. “This is the least you will do for all I gave up for you.” She wagged a finger in her face. “You’ll do it and do it right, or I’ll mess up your face for good.” The intimidation stayed with Jolie through every rehearsal, every taping. Her mother had already carried through on previous warnings with the buckle end of a belt. Jolie dared not tell anyone, even her father, of her mother‟s violent threats. Who would believe such a thing about the charming woman who made an effort to dote on her only child? The memory of the threat left a pain in its wake that dulled over the years. Until today. How could she let Sophie endure what she had as a child? But she had no proof. Nor was she an expert at dealing with such behavior. After class, she cornered the center‟s director as the woman locked the doors. “Marta, can I ask you a question?” The middle-aged brunette lifted a bushy eyebrow. “Is there a problem, Miss Brown?” “Well, yes. It‟s one of the children.” Marta put her hands on her wide hips. “One of „em giving you a hard time?” Jolie shook her head. “Not at all. But I suspect Sophie‟s mother is abusive.” She let her words hang in the air a few seconds before continuing. “I‟m not sure what to do about it.” Marta shrugged. “I don‟t know nothing about that. Might want to call the cops or something. If you‟re sure, that is.” Only she wasn‟t sure. All she could do was wait and watch. If she saw bruises, she‟d report them to the police. For now, her hands were tied. After arriving home, she sat in the dining room, eating Mexican rice and chicken all by herself and contemplated how she could help the children in her group. She‟d love to make a large donation to the center. Pay for a full-time counselor to whom kids like Sophie and Tomas could talk, one who would have the resources to help them. In so many ways, a reality show could change her life. Yes. A fat paycheck would fix everything—her financial woes, her loneliness, even the center‟s money problems. She raised her wine glass to the empty room, toasting her future. **** Lane was almost at the bar when his cell phone rang. If it was Jolie again, he‟d ignore it. Checking the display, his heart fell. He hit the send button. “Hello, Vi, darling. Everything all right?” She‟d better not be canceling.

“Not really,” she said in that prissy way of hers. “I‟m stuck in a meeting. I‟m afraid we‟ll have to reschedule. How about Thursday morning? Around eleven-thirty?” Blast. “Yeah. I s‟pose that‟ll have to do.” “Thanks. Bye.” Bitch. Now what? He didn‟t want to go home and be stuck with Jolie all evening. She‟d go on endlessly about the telly show she knew nothing about yet or about the little urchins she worked with. As if he cared. Maybe a thank you was in order for the man responsible for the reality series offer. He punched in the number Mike had given him. “Hello, Lane. How are you?” Mike said, his voice deep and enticing. Lane grinned. “Much better, thanks to you.” “Oh? What did I do?” “Aside from what you did to me the other day, you‟ve planted a seed with your brother that looks like it‟ll get me wife some much needed work. Might even put me ugly mug on the small screen. Give me a shot of publicity.” “Excellent. I‟m glad to hear that. What are you doing now?” Just thinking about Mike made him hard. “I‟m not terribly far from Sherman Oaks. Is the coast clear?” “I don‟t expect my brother for at least two hours. How soon can you get here?” He pressed harder on the accelerator and passed a slow-moving minivan. “How does ten minutes sound?” Minutes later, he parked a few houses down from the house where Mike was staying. Glancing around the neighborhood, he thankfully found it quiet. He got out of the car wearing the dark glasses and went to the door. Mike opened it wearing nothing but a towel around his waist. “That was quick.” Water droplets ran down his chest. His face looked freshly shaven and he smelled like a Christmas tree. He followed Mike upstairs, then stopped in the doorway of the bedroom. “Bloody cat still sleep in here?” “The cleaning lady did an extra thorough job. I told her I was the allergic one. I‟ve been keeping the door shut so Bogart can‟t get in.” Lane nodded his relief. “Right nice of you, mate.” He entered the room and sat on the bed. “What‟d you say to your brother to get him to pick Jolie for his show?” He shrugged. “Just threw her name out there. Told him he‟d get two for the price of one since you‟re a celebrity as well. Although I don‟t think he‟s made his final decision. At least, that was the last I‟d heard.” “Well, he‟s meetin‟ with us Thursday mornin‟.” His head snapped back when a thought occurred to him. “Damn.” “What is it?” “I have another appointment at the same time. Bloody hell.” Maybe he could ask Vi to switch the time. Nah. He‟d sign whatever papers the producer wanted then make an excuse to cut out early. “Doesn‟t sound like an insurmountable problem.”

The sound of a door closing downstairs galvanized Lane‟s attention. They exchanged a worried glance. “I thought you said no one would be round?” Lane whispered. Damn. Had he come for nothing? Mike ran to the dresser, yanked open a drawer and pulled out a pair of shorts and a T-shirt. As he dressed, they both remained silent. “Stay here,” he said, walking toward the door. “Let me see what‟s going on. I‟ll be right back.” Lane heard voices a minute later. He couldn‟t differentiate between them. The other had to be Mike‟s brother. Lane couldn‟t risk being caught in a compromising position any more than Mike wanted to reveal his orientation to his family. Laughter filtered up through the walls, then the sound of a door closing. Seconds later, Mike returned to his bedroom. “He‟s gone, but not for long. I told him I was entertaining a young lady.” “I beg your pardon, mate,” Lane teased. “I‟ve been called lots of awful things, but never a lady.” Mike snickered as he pulled aside the curtain and looked out the window. “He just drove off.” Turning his gaze back to Lane, he frowned. “Sorry. You‟ll have to go.” “I understand. It‟s all your fault that I now have to spend the evenin‟ with me bloody wife.” Mike slapped his back, then pulled him into a hug. “Come earlier next time.” “Righto. Thanks again for plantin‟ that bug in your brother‟s ear about the show. I hope it works out.” On his way home, he phoned one of his former band members. “Brian, it‟s Lane. Got news, mate.” “Yeah? What is it?” Brian asked in the familiar accent of home. “Sounds like I‟ll be comin‟ into some money. Me wife‟s workin‟ on gettin‟ on one of them reality shows. Could be some limelight left over for me. You still interested in tourin‟ soon?” “Why not? I‟m sitting on me bum all day.” Lane laughed. “Well get off the fat thing and dust off your drums.” “Thanks, mate. I‟m chuffed to bits. Wait „til I tell the missus.” Lane rolled his eyes. “Don‟t count your chickens yet. Nothing‟s been signed. I‟ll call when I have more news.” When he arrived home a little while later, the house was quiet. Good. He could retreat into his games with a lager. The distraction provided him with lots of thinking time so he could plan out his big comeback. Soon enough he‟d be back on top. **** Dante came home after a trip to the grocery store. Carrying the bags into the kitchen, he purposely made lots of noise, in case the mystery woman Mike had over the day before was still there. He didn‟t want to surprise anyone—not after his experience of walking in on Emily. Mike strolled into the kitchen and helped him put his purchases away. “So, what‟s for dinner tonight?” “Not sure yet,” Dante said, trying to decide between Marsala and Picatta. “A chicken dish.” “Cool.” He elbowed his brother. “So who was the lucky lady?” Mike shrugged, but his rosy cheeks gave him away. “Just a friend.”

“Uh huh. You always entertain your friends in your bedroom? Why didn‟t you introduce me to her? Afraid she‟d like me better?” He immediately regretted his words as he remembered a nameless girl in high school he‟d kissed. The one Mike had told him he liked. His brother‟s smile failed to reach his eyes. “Yeah, right. I would have let you meet her, only she‟s shy.” Dante set a pack of mushrooms and a thick bunch of asparagus on the counter next to the sink. “Been dating her long?” His curiosity was piqued. Mike hardly ever spoke of anyone in his life. Hadn‟t for ages. “On and off for a couple of years.” Years? Dante raised an eyebrow, then began washing the vegetables. He wished they were closer, knew more about each other‟s lives. No, he wished he knew more about Mike‟s world. His own was an open book. “I thought you had plans this evening.” Mike climbed onto a barstool on the opposite side of the counter. “I did. Wendy and I met with Ed Green to talk about the possibility of him being the subject of my show.” Mike narrowed his gaze. “He‟ll never appeal to the women in your audience. They‟ll remember him as a wrestler, not an actor.” He nodded while he scrubbed mushrooms. “I know. That‟s why I cut the meeting short. Well, that and the fact that he‟s found the Lord and his life is so squeaky clean now it‟s disgusting.” Mike let out a dry laugh. “Squeaky clean doesn‟t cut it, huh? The old man wants ratings, no doubt. And that requires miserable, screwed up people.” He shook his head. “Hell, you could use me in your show. I qualify as miserable and screwed up.” Dante looked up from his prep work and stared into his brother‟s eyes. His chest tightened. “Want to tell me about it?” Setting the knife on the counter, he gave his brother his full attention, hoping Mike would share something, anything about his life. Jumping off the stool, Mike went to the refrigerator and helped himself to a beer. “Not really.” No surprise there. Dante poured olive oil into a skillet and turned on the burner underneath. Then he opened the package of chicken and coated each cutlet with thyme, salt and pepper before placing them in the pan. “Mom called me today,” he finally said. “Yeah?” Mike took a long pull on his beer. “What‟d she want?” “She asked if I wanted to bring Emily to Thanksgiving dinner.” He exhaled loudly. “So, I had to tell her I threw the bitch out. Of course, I left out the part about finding her banging some surfer dude in my bed.” He set his beer bottle on the counter. “I‟d have left that out, too.” Reaching into the freezer, Dante took out a small container of leftover beef stock. He set it in the microwave and hit the defrost button. “She said she hoped you‟d find it in your heart to come.” Mike combed his fingers through his hair. “How‟d you get from Emily to me?” “Mom misses you, bro. They both do.” Not that their father had ever voiced that sentiment, but he was sure the old man had feelings somewhere deep in his cast iron heart. “I guess Dad will be there, huh?” “Don‟t see why he wouldn‟t. Mom really wants to see you.”

He shrugged, then began pacing the room. “Maybe I‟ll meet her for lunch. Assure her I‟m alive and well.” “They worry about you. Especially around the holidays.” Mike took another slug of beer. “No they don‟t. They worry about you. You‟re the golden child. I‟m the screw-up. Remember?” His chest tightened. “That‟s not true and you know it. Nothing I did was ever good enough either.” Quirking an eyebrow, Mike snickered. “Really? You made the softball teams I didn‟t, scored the grades I couldn‟t, screwed the girls that wouldn‟t give me a second glance.” He swept his arm through the air. “Look at your house, for Christ‟s sake. You‟re following in Dad‟s footsteps. The best I can do is mooch off you.” He shook his head. “You can tell Mom you heard from me and I‟ll call her about lunch soon.” That would have to do. Any contact was a step in the right direction. He worked on dinner in silence while Mike opened the newspaper and scanned the pages. “So, are you meeting with Jolie Brown?” Mike rubbed his hands together. Dante turned the chicken then dumped in the sliced mushrooms. “As a matter of fact, I am. Thursday.” He took out a casserole dish and poured in water. Then he opened the microwave, removed the beef stock and set the casserole inside. Placing the asparagus on a cutting board, he set it on the counter in front of Mike. “Cut the bottoms off, please.” He handed him a knife. Mike took out another beer, then sat and started cutting. “Slave labor.” Dante laughed as he stirred the mushrooms and felt some of the tension in the air dissipate. “„Who will make this flour into bread?‟ asked the little red hen.” Mike rolled his eyes. “Not that stupid kids‟ story again. „Not I, said the dog‟.” “Remember Mom used to recite it when I‟d help her bake cookies or a cake and you‟d refuse to help?” He nodded. “Yeah. You were such a suck-up. Still are.” Dante snapped a dishtowel at him, purposely missing him by only a couple of inches. “It‟s a good thing you‟re holding my asparagus hostage or I‟d have nailed you.” Mike chuckled and set the knife on the counter. “My ass. You couldn‟t hit the Empire State Building at twenty feet.” The shrill ring of the phone ended their conversation. Dante answered it. “Dante, it‟s Mom. I‟m at the hospital. In the ER.” He sucked in a breath. “What‟s wrong, Mom?” He glanced at Mike, who must have sensed his fear, because he came over and held his head near the phone. “They think your father‟s had a heart attack. I need you to come.” He clutched the phone tightly. “How bad is it?” She sighed. “They don‟t know yet.” He wrote down the information—where they were, the doctor‟s name—then assured her he‟d get there as quickly as he could. Hanging up, he looked at Mike. “You coming?” Mike stared at the floor. He winced at his brother‟s reaction, but knew better than to insist. Wouldn‟t do any good. “Fine. The chicken‟s almost done. Pour a cup of dry couscous into the casserole and let it sit a few minutes. Enjoy dinner.” Grabbing his keys off the counter, he hurried to the garage, hoping he‟d make it in time to see his father one more time.

Chapter Seven Dante tapped his foot at the Emergency Room reception desk waiting for the attractive brunette seated there to finish on the phone. After she hung up, he said, “I‟m looking for my father, Charles Ebersol.” She punched keys on her computer then studied the screen. “He‟s in exam room three. Down this hall and take the first left. Third bed.” Following her directions, he arrived at the spot a minute later. His mother sat on a metal chair a foot from the gurney where his father lay connected to monitors. The moment his mother spotted him, relief washed over her features. “Oh, Dante. Thank you for coming.” Her blond hair, always so perfectly done, looked like she‟d raked her fingers through it about a hundred times. He kissed her cheek. “How is he?” He inched nearer his father‟s head. Charles‟ eyes opened. He furrowed his brow when he saw Dante, then looked at his wife. “I told you not to call him, Bev.” She waved away his comment. “Hush. You‟re supposed to be resting, not directing.” Dante had to smile. She was the only one the old man would take that from. “What did the doctor say?” She stood and took his arm, leading him a few yards away. “Tests confirmed he‟s had a heart attack. As soon as a bed opens upstairs, they‟ll admit him.” She looked toward Charles and Dante saw wrinkles on her face he hadn‟t noticed before. “Tomorrow morning they plan to do angioplasty and put in a stent coated with medicine. The heart doctor said that reduces the chances of him needing the procedure redone sometime in the future.” Dante nodded. “How long will he be here?” “He should be out in a day or two. The hard part is going to be getting him to do what they recommend. Low fat diet,” she counted on her fingers. “Exercise, lower his stress level. That‟s where you come in.” He furrowed his brow. “Me?” She folded her arms across her chest. “I‟m trusting you to see he doesn‟t get too worked up at the office.” He rolled his eyes. If only she really understood how controlling his father was at work. “I‟ll do what I can.” She shook her head, sending short, blond curls flying around her head. “Not good enough. I‟ll keep him home as long as I can. When he goes back, you have to make him leave the office by three every day. See that he doesn‟t get stressed out about things.” She had no clue what she was asking. Keeping the man calm would be impossible. “Okay, Mom. Sure.” The furrow of her brow deepened. “Do you have any idea where Michael is?” He swallowed hard. Lying to the old man was one thing, but a whole different story with her. “Why do you ask?” She narrowed her gaze. “Because I think he might be interested in his father‟s condition. Do you know something you‟re not telling me?” How could she always tell? “If I see him, I‟ll be sure to let him know.” He slipped away and returned to his father‟s side. The man looked almost innocent, lying there, sedated and calm.

Charles‟ eyes fluttered for a brief second, then opened and focused on Dante‟s. “Don‟t forget what I said about that show. Just because I‟ll be out of work a few days doesn‟t mean I‟m not still totally in charge. It had better not suck like the last one.” His eyelids drooped, then shut. So much for sedated and calm. **** Dressed in her most conservative outfit, Jolie raced through the house Thursday morning, fluffing the couch cushions, straightening pictures on the wall, making sure everything was perfect. Lane came downstairs in jeans and a T-shirt, rather than the khakis and polo shirt she‟d set out. “Why are you wearing that?” He gave her an indignant frown. “Cause it‟s what I feel like wearin‟ today. I ain‟t so daft that you have to tell me how to dress.” Apparently he was. Sweeping her gaze from his head to his feet, she pressed her lips together in a flat line and sighed. “For Christ‟s sake, Jolie. You act as if I‟m entertaining with me dangly-bits hangin‟ out or something.” He spun on a sneaker-clad heel and marched back up the stairs. When the doorbell rang, she sucked in a breath. Her heart beat like a drum against her ribs. Peering toward the kitchen, she didn‟t see Hilda. Anything she wanted done, she‟d obviously have to do herself. Perfect, she silently chanted. Everything had to be perfect. She channeled June Cleaver, pasted a bright smile on her face, pulled open the door and smiled brightly. Clive stood there next to Melvin Levine, her lawyer. Her shoulders sank. She‟d hoped the producer would have showed up first so they could chat, get to know each other. “Hi Clive, Melvin. Come in, please.” She led them into the living room and gestured toward the couch. After they were seated, she picked up the porcelain bell she‟d set on the coffee table and rang it, hoping Hilda would remember her signal to enter. She listened and waited, but when nothing happened, irritation prickled. “Would you please excuse me?” The men nodded. Melvin clicked open the large briefcase on his lap. She marched to the kitchen where she found Hilda huddled in front of the television watching a soap opera, apparently unaware of Jolie‟s presence. Clenching her fists, Jolie stalked to the wall and unplugged the TV. Hilda startled. “Miss Jolie! Sorry.” Her lips curled in a pathetic smile. “You need me?” She tugged at her skirt. Jolie was glad she‟d insisted Hilda wear a black and white maid‟s uniform rather than her usual housecoat or jeans today. She took a deep, cleansing breath, like she‟d learned in yoga class and concentrated on maintaining her composure. “When I ring the bell, you come into the living room and ask what I need. We went over this, remember?” “I no like this dress,” Hilda‟s said, planting her hands on her hips. “Why I have to wear?” Didn‟t anyone understand what this meeting could mean to her? “Please, Hilda, act like a housekeeper, just for today.” She shook her head. “Sorry. Didn‟t mean that.” Too late. Hilda‟s lips were puckered like she‟d eaten a lemon. “Fine. You want I call you your highness?”

Rubbing the bridge of her nose, she tried to push back the headache she felt starting beneath the surface. “All I want you to do is your job. Please accept my apology.” She had no time to grovel. She returned to the living room, gave the men her famous wink, picked up the bell and rang it. Hilda raced into the room, skidding to a stop in her new black shoes, leaving long black streaks across the white marble tile. “Yes, Miss Jolie?” Please don’t let this be indicative of how this morning’s meeting will go. She pointed at the floor. “Look what you‟ve done.” She shut her eyes for a moment and tried to swallow back her annoyance. She’s trying. “First, ask our guests of they‟d like a drink. Then, clean these scuffs,” she said as gently as possible. Hilda nodded curtly and looked at the men. “Can I get you drink?” Before they could answer, she scurried from the room, returning a minute later with a bucket and a brush. Getting to her knees, she sloshed some liquid from the bucket onto the floor and began scrubbing. Pain stabbed Jolie‟s temples. “Is there no less intrusive way of cleaning this up?” she asked, mustering all her patience. Hilda looked up at her and scrunched her forehead. “Eh?” The doorbell rang, but she continued working the brush over the tile. The men on the couch stared at Jolie. “Someone‟s at the door, love,” Clive offered. “Really?” she said, stomping to the foyer. Smoothing her hair down, she adjusted her skirt and repeated her mantra aloud. “Perfect.” She opened the door to a tall, handsome man with dark hair and sparkling green eyes. His smile revealed adorable dimples worthy of Matthew McConaughey. There was something familiar about him, but she couldn‟t recall what it was. Her breath locked in her throat. She forced her gaze away from his. Beside him, stood a short blonde with fluffy curls and a silver nose ring who didn‟t look a minute over twenty-five. “Welcome,” Jolie said, ushering the couple inside. He offered his hand. “I‟m Dante Ebersol.” When Jolie took it, every nerve ending in her body tingled. Way too handsome to stay behind the camera, his dark hair and dazzling eyes screamed, “leading man.” Unnerved by her reaction, she quickly let go, moving on to the woman. “This is my associate, Wendy Crothers,” Dante said, stepping into the foyer. “So nice to meet you,” Jolie told her. “Please, come into the living room.” Lane chose that moment to barrel down the staircase wearing a tux with a pink ruffled shirt, and shoeless. “Will this do, kitten?” Jolie‟s headache jumped up ten notches, way beyond anything yoga deep breathing could fix. “Dante Ebersol, Wendy Crothers, this is my husband, Lane Wood.” He was going to blow this whole thing. Making a wide ark around Hilda and her bucket, she led her guests into the living room. “That will be all, Hilda.” Hilda pointed at the floor. “Stain still there.” “Leave it, please.” Hilda tossed the brush into the bucket, sending splashes of sudsy water over the top. Then she grabbed onto the edge of a chair and hauled herself up. With fists at her sides, she marched to the coffee table, picked up the bell and rang it in Jolie‟s direction. “Anybody have drink?” she asked, glaring at Jolie. All the guests indicated they didn‟t want anything.

Jolie let out a nervous giggle as she looped her arm through Hilda‟s and led her from the room, seizing the bucket on the way. The moment they entered the kitchen, she dropped Hilda‟s arm. “How can you embarrass me like this?” she growled, barely above a whisper. “Please don‟t ruin this for me. It could be my last shot.” Hilda lifted a penciled eyebrow, turned and walked into her room, slamming the door. Jolie sucked in a deep breath and mouthed, “Perfect.” Straightening her suit, she returned to the living room, the picture of composure. Everyone was seated and they chatted amongst themselves. “Dante, Wendy, have you met Clive?” she said. “And this is Melvin, my attorney.” “I woulda done that if I‟d known any of them,” Lane said to no one in particular. She cringed at his crass demeanor. “You‟ve forgotten your shoes, dear.” When he ignored her, she cleared her throat. “Your shoes, Lane.” He winked at Wendy. “That means she wants to have a chin waggin‟ with me.” Wendy smirked. “You‟d better go, then.” He started toward the foyer, skating on the wet floor on the way. Jolie held up a finger to her guests. “I‟m so sorry for the interruptions. I‟ll be right back.” She followed Lane toward the staircase. The chortles she heard from the room as she climbed the steps brought tears to her eyes. Why was everyone conspiring to make her look anything but perfect? The moment they got inside their bedroom, she threw her hands in the air. “I picked a totally appropriate outfit for you. Why didn‟t you wear that?” He stuck out his chin. “I told you bunches of times I needed some cash for new clothes. But no. You won‟t part with a bleedin‟ nickel, will you?” So he was punishing her for refusing to give him money. “Why? Why are you sabotaging this for me? I thought you wanted it. You said it was a good idea. A way for me to get on top again. All I wanted was to present a perfect picture of us, of our household.” She glared at him through narrowed eyes and it hit her: he couldn‟t handle her getting top billing. His massive ego wouldn‟t accept it. “I get it. You‟re jealous. They want me to be the star, not you.” He threw his head back, laughing. “Are you that dense?” She flared her nostrils. He was jealous. Had to be. “Do you think anybody wants to watch a perfect household? Come on, love. They want to see a bloody mess. That‟s why they‟re here. Cause we‟re that bloody mess.” She stared at him, trying to reconcile his take on the situation with hers. No. He‟s wrong. They want a star. She was that star. His silly male ego couldn‟t comprehend that they wanted her, not him. She‟d play along. Anything to get him to stop this ridiculous game he was playing. “Have it your way. Just put your damned shoes on and get downstairs.” With that, she stormed out of the room and headed back to her guests. Seconds later, she joined them. “I‟m so sorry for the delay. Lane‟s been under the weather the past few days. I think he has a fever. Makes him delirious.” Dante leaned toward her. “Please don‟t worry about it. We only want to talk to you, look around your house, see if we‟d like to pursue the relationship.” Lane‟s words floated through her head. They want to see a bloody mess. Could he possibly be right? “Why me?” “People love you,” Wendy answered. “They want to know their favorite stars are real people, just like them. They want to see the human being you are.” She clasped

her hands over her heart. “What you do in the course of a day, who you speak to, where you go.” “I understand you work with children in a poor area,” Dante said. She stared into his emerald eyes, hoping she‟d be able to look away when the time came. “I do an acting workshop one evening a week.” “That‟s the sort of thing people want to know about. Stars mingling with the common folk,” Dante said. She shook her head. “I won‟t have you exploit the children.” “No, no. We wouldn‟t dream of it.” He looked at Wendy for a moment. “We‟d have to blur their faces.” “Legal would have our heads if we didn‟t.” Wendy agreed. Dante smiled reassuringly. “All we‟re trying to do is chronicle your days, not to exploit anyone.” Lane was wrong. She knew it. They‟d confirmed it. “What‟d I miss?” Lane said, entering the room in khakis and a polo shirt, the outfit she‟d set out earlier. Thankfully, he had shoes on. Jolie squared her shoulders. “Dante and Wendy were explaining that they chose me because my fans want to see that I‟m a real person.” “If you say so.” He snickered. “Well, it‟s been quite lovely meetin‟ all of you. but I have an important appointment. I must be headin‟ out.” What? No! He couldn‟t do this to her. Her heart pounded wildly, but she made a valiant attempt to sound nonchalant. “Can‟t whatever it is wait, dear?” “Afraid not.” He bowed toward Wendy. “I hope to be seein‟ you all again soon.” He gave the blonde a suggestive wink, then left. Jolie was too flabbergasted to say anything. Thankfully, Clive came to her rescue. “Lane is a rock musician. You know how they are, don‟t you?” he asked Dante, as if that would explain the man‟s rude behavior. Wendy leaned back in her seat. “I had all three of their albums when I was a teenager. Great stuff.” Dante nodded. “Part of the reason we‟re considering you, Miss Brown.” His stare made Jolie shudder. “Call me Jolie.” She sat on the edge of an antique chair and crossed her legs, aware of his gaze on her. “So the show would actually be about both of us?” Dante shook his head. “We‟d be focusing on you, not Lane. Obviously, as your husband, he‟d be in the picture, but not as the primary target.” His gaze swept the length of her legs. Jolie‟s toes curled. “I see. So you‟d follow me everywhere I go?” She conjured a picture of Dante in her bedroom, watching her undress, then quickly swept the image from her mind. “Most everywhere,” Wendy answered. “We‟ll get our crew to come over and tour your house. Certain rooms may not be conducive to filming.” Jolie put her palm to her cheek. “I hope I can learn to live with the constant surveillance. I‟m used to following direction when the cameras are rolling, then having a break. I wouldn‟t know what it‟s like to be on all the time.” Dante leaned forward. “It‟s not like you‟re acting, Jolie. You‟d have to learn to ignore the cameras and the crew. We‟d have as few people as we can here. They‟ll do their very best not to be intrusive.”

A chill of excitement rolled over her. Clive had advised her not to act too enthusiastic. Play a little hard-to-get. “It sounds as though we‟d have no privacy at all. I mean, the cameras would be everywhere. In the bedroom, the kitchen. I don‟t want anyone to film me as I eat.” Dante and Wendy exchanged a glance. “I can‟t promise you that,” he said. “We‟ll try not to have the camera on you when you‟re actually putting food into your mouth.” His gaze lingered on her lips and she caught a faint whiff of desire. Goose bumps sprawled across her flesh. “We can live with that, right, love?” Clive asked her. She shrugged. “I suppose. When would the filming begin?” “As soon as possible,” Wendy answered. “Once we make our decision and the legal red tape is cleared away—” Dante held up his palm and cut her off. “Actually, I have made a decision.” His gaze captured Jolie‟s and wouldn‟t release it. Then it hit her. He was the man who rescued her when her car broke down the other day. Why didn‟t he acknowledge that they‟d met? Unless he didn‟t recognize her that day. Everyone stared at him. The room grew silent. His gaze slowly traveled the length of her body, undressing her. “I want you, Jolie.” Her chest heaved and heat flooded her face. She swallowed hard. Was the electricity between them only her imagination? Must be. A man like him surely had all the women he wanted. Why on earth would he want a saggy old prune like her? “I…” “We‟re certainly open to an offer,” Clive said, breaking the spell. “Aren‟t we, love?” Placing her hand over her chest, she smiled. “Yes. We are.” Her heart beat like a bass drum. She hoped they couldn‟t hear it. Dante sat back and smiled like a Cheshire cat. Jolie wondered if she could trust his offer. Clive and Melvin wouldn‟t steer her wrong. If they thought she should go with him, it must be fine. Wendy handed Clive a manila file folder. “Here‟s a sample contract. We‟ll have all the blanks filled in and get it back to you.” He opened the folder and stared at the paper, drawing his eyebrows together. When he‟d finished, he handed the document to Melvin, who took longer to peruse it. After several tense, silent minutes, he nodded at Clive. “We‟ll let you mull this over,” Dante said. Clive extended his hand to Dante and the men shook. “I‟ll ring you up tomorrow morning. I look forward to doing business with you.” Next, Dante moved to Jolie and took her hand. The same spark of energy she‟d felt earlier coursed through her. Danger, danger. She pulled away and swallowed the disquieting feeling. Forcing her gaze from his, she smiled. “So nice to meet you.” “Same here,” he said. Jolie shut the door behind them and let out a loud, “Yes!” This was the start of a wonderful new phase in her life. She knew it. It wouldn‟t be long until she was back on top. If Lane‟s ego didn‟t screw it up for her. She‟d have to make him see how his career would benefit as much as hers from the exposure. Look what reality TV had done for the entire Kardashian brood. Her headache returned. What if the show revealed things about her, about Lane that were best kept under wraps? She shook off the notion. No, she wouldn‟t let her insecurity ruin this moment. Everything would be perfect.

Chapter Eight Lane parked his Corvette behind The Watering Hole, the bar where he and Vi had agreed to meet and slipped on his dark sunglasses. When his cell phone rang, he answered on the first ring, hoping it wasn‟t her canceling again. “Hello?” Jolie said, “Lane, I have the most wonderful news.” He rolled his eyes. “Yes, love. What is it?” “I‟m still angry with you for your performance this morning, by the way.” “Yes, yes. I beg your majesty‟s forgiveness.” He shot the phone a bird. “So what‟d they offer?” “They‟re moving forward with the show—and paying me very well. Plus, they‟re offering you something as well.” He quirked an eyebrow. “Oh? How much?” “A hundred thousand for ten episodes. And they‟re even paying Hilda a little.” “Hilda? Why would they give that lazy cow a cent?” At least he‟d get something out of it, beside the exposure. “Now, Lane. That‟s not very nice. I know she tends to slack off every now and then, but she‟s one of the family.” Yeah. Another freaking wife. “Yes, love.” “What was so pressing that you had to run out of here? I was so embarrassed.” He watched Vi turn into the parking lot in a Volvo and get out of her car. “I have a lead on some backing. And me contact just arrived. Must run.” “Wait a second. I want to say something.” He rolled his eyes again. “Please, let‟s try not to act out, especially before the show. If we draw negative attention, they could still cancel the contract.” He froze. What if Vi‟s story caused the producer to can the show? Then where would he be? “I‟ll be good, love.” She made some disgusting kissing sound into the phone. “Love you.” He stuck his finger into his throat and mimed a gag. “Love you, too.” He disconnected, then got out of his car and strolled inside the bar. Mick Jagger sang about far away eyes in a bad imitation of a Southern accent. Lane strutted past the bar where two blokes sat several stools apart. A few tables lined the back wall, all empty but the one where he spotted Vi wiping down the weathered wood surface with a napkin. Flipping a chair to face away from the table, he straddled the seat and smiled at her. “Hello, Vi. How are you?” The corners of her thin lips lifted a tiny bit in what she probably considered a smile. “Fine, thank you. What have you got for me?” Jolie‟s words played in his head. If we draw negative attention, they could still cancel the contract. Maybe he could save the juicy gossip she‟d revealed until the show was on top of the ratings. Then it would be too late to terminate the show and he‟d already have his money in hand. “I have some news.” She drummed her fingers on the table. “I‟m waiting.”

He looked toward the bar. A middle aged bald man stood behind it, drying a glass. “How about a couple of lagers over here?” Lane called to him. The man stopped what he was doing and nodded. “Foster‟s okay?” “Yeah. Perfect.” A few seconds later, the bartender carried the bottles to the table and set them down hard. “Need mugs?” “No thanks,” Vi answered. Lane shook his head. “Seven-fifty,” the bartender said. Vi handed him a ten. “Keep the change.” He stepped away and melted into the dreary gray of the place. “So, what have you got for me?” She took a wet wipe out of her purse and dragged it around the bottle‟s lip before taking a delicate sip. He scrambled to think of something. “There‟s a reality show on the horizon starrin‟ yours truly.” He slapped his hands against his chest. She furrowed her brow. “You?” She did a piss-poor job of stifling her laugh. “Why in the world would anyone want to watch that?” Too bad she’s not a bloke. If she were, he‟d have to sock her for that nasty tone. “Well, me wife gets top billin‟, but they wanted me as well. Gonna be a big hit. I can feel it in me bones.” She glanced at her watch. “Is that all you‟ve got?” He thought about telling her everything Jolie had let slip for the sheer joy of watching her smug face change its tune. Nah. Not worth taking a chance on screwing up the TV deal and she‟d never match a hundred grand. “That‟s it, love.” He held out his hand for a few bills. She stared at it for a moment before putting on a smirk. “You‟ve got to be kidding. It‟ll be in Variety by morning. He shrugged. “I offered it to you first, didn‟t I? You can scoop Variety.” She pushed out her chair and stood. “Call me when you really have something. Don‟t waste my time again.” He watched her march to the door, wondering how far up her ass the stick went. He‟d call her all right. When the show was on top and everyone wanted to know about Jolie, he‟d call her then. She‟d pay him way bigger than she would now for that information. Then he could hire himself a manager and a promoter. Then everyone who‟d turned him down would be chomping at the bit to finance a tour. They‟d all want a piece of him. He was banking on it. **** The air was alive with excitement and activity as the crew set up for the first day of shooting weeks later at Jolie Brown‟s house. Kim raced around barking orders. “We need a sound check on the maid‟s mike, Elaine. Move that plant, Omar, it‟s bound to get in the way.” She pointed to her right. “Stick it over there.” “Coffee, Mr. Ebersol?” Hilda offered, holding up a mug. Dante smiled at her and nodded as she filled his cup. “Thanks, Hilda.” He crossed the room to Kim and whispered into her ear, “Please refer to her by name, not the maid.” She looked up at him and bit her lip. “Have I offended her?” He shrugged. “Don‟t think so, but let‟s try extra hard to be nice.”

“You got it.” She hurried away and resumed shouting orders. Jolie entered the room wearing a red and white striped sundress and strappy red sandals that made her legs look a mile long. Dante caught himself wondering what those legs would feel like wrapped around his… Stop it! This was a professional relationship and shewas a married woman. So what that Lane was a jerk, he was still her husband. She poured herself a cup of coffee and came over to where he stood. She smelled like new mown grass and fresh cut flowers. “How‟s it going?” Unsure of his voice, he cleared his throat. “I hope you don‟t mind that we‟ve moved a few things around.” He pointed to the plant Omar had relocated. “That palm was in the way of a clear camera angle.” “No problem. I grew up around cameras. I‟ve never had them in my home before, though.” Her voice reminded him of a song, soft and sweet. With great effort, he shifted his concentration to the crew. Fred monkeyed with one of the hand-held cameras and Omar assembled a light stand in the corner. Dante watched as Jolie slid onto a stool next to the breakfast bar. The heel of her sandals hooked the lower rung, bending her shapely legs. His gaze traveled their length, stopped at the hem of her dress where he could barely make out firm thighs. “Where‟s Lane?” Kim asked no one in particular. “He‟s still sleeping,” Jolie told her. Kim looked around the kitchen. “Everyone set up?” Omar gave her a thumb up. Elaine and Fred nodded. “Let‟s start with a wakeup call,” Kim said. Mischief danced in her dark eyes. Everyone followed her toward the back staircase, equipment in hand. “What are they doing?” Jolie asked Dante. Her cherry red lipstick left a mark on the coffee mug. He swallowed hard against the mental picture of Lane Wood sharing her bed. “They‟re going to wake your husband.” Her eyes opened wide. “Oh, he‟ll hate that. He‟s mean when he‟s awakened.” As opposed to the sunny disposition he demonstrated a couple weeks ago? He started to follow them. “Total access. That‟s what the contract says.” “But it‟s supposed to be all about me.” She covered her mouth, as if she knew how selfcentered her statement had sounded. He threw her a patient smile. “They‟re getting the ball rolling. Stimulating some interaction between the characters.” He tilted his head and studied her for a moment. “Pretend we weren‟t here. What do you usually do in the morning?” She took another drink of coffee. “I‟d go to the gym or work in the garden. Hilda would do some housekeeper things and Lane would sleep in until eleven or twelve. Then he‟d go do…whatever it is he does. See friends, play video games or something.” She pointed a finger at him. “And every Wednesday I see my voice coach.” She obviously needed a little coaching on how this worked. He thought he‟d gone through it all with her agent. Maybe Clive hadn‟t bothered to share the details with her. He looked her over. “How come you‟re not going to the gym or working in the garden this morning?” She shrugged. “Because you all are here.”

Closing the distance between them, he said, “We want to capture your real life. What we absolutely do not want is for you to act, or do things you don‟t normally do.” He sat on the stool next to her. “What‟s on your itinerary after you get home from your workout?” He pictured her in skin-hugging Lycra clothes and started to grow hard. She drew a deep breath, enhancing her cleavage. “Today I should probably put the finishing touches on plans for my grandfather‟s eightieth birthday party. The guest list is growing every day.” Excitement swirled in his belly. A big party for Henry Brown could bring out some of Hollywood‟s A list. “When and where is that?” Wrapping her hands around her mug, she stared at some unknown spot on the wall. “Two weeks from Saturday. Lester and Sadie Weinberg are hosting it at their home in Bel-Air.” He rubbed his hands together. “That‟s exactly the kind of thing we want to be there for. It‟ll be a big night for you.” He hoped by making their interest sound more about her, she‟d allow the crew to film the event. She drew her eyebrows together. “I don‟t know, Dante. I don‟t want to detract from the experience for my grandfather.” He quickly shook his head and put his hand over hers. The heat from her skin sent a jolt of excitement through him. “You‟ll hardly know we‟re there. Promise.” From upstairs, Lane shouted, “Blood-dee „ell.” Jolie pulled her hand out from under Dante‟s and stood, looking toward the hall. Seconds later, Lane appeared in the doorway wearing purple boxer shorts. His long, wavy hair sprung in every direction and angry sparks flew from his eyes. “What the fuck is this?” He jerked a thumb over his shoulder. Fred came into the room with a camera on his shoulder. Elaine stood nearby holding a microphone on a pole over his head. “I haven‟t even taken a piss yet and they‟re on me.” He turned toward the camera and stuck out his tongue. “Gonna join me in the loo, are you, bloke? Better hold your nose. I plan to blow off.” Fred shut off the camera and lowered it to his side. “Following orders, buddy.” “And I ain‟t your buddy.” Lane stomped from the room. The crew and Dante looked at one another in turn, then started giggling. Even Jolie joined in. When she stopped laughing, her face grew serious. “I‟d better go talk to him. Guess I‟ll change so I can go for my workout.” She threw a sweet smile at Dante, melting his heart. Hours later, all they had to show for their first day of filming was footage of Jolie‟s workout and Lane‟s morning outburst, which they‟d probably use. The couple had hardly any interaction at all. After lunch, he gathered the crew out back behind the pool for a pow-wow. “We have to make them forget we‟re here, guys,” he told them. “Fade into the background, stand behind a plant, as far as you can from them so they interact as they normally would.” He thought about his last production. The LeShawn Washington show had been so much easier at first. The rapper always had a party going on, always had so many people around him that the crew could blend into the group. With there being only three people in this household, blending in was going to be way more difficult. He pointed at Wendy. “See if you can get hold of Jolie‟s daily planner. I want to see how she normally fills her time, who she hangs with.”

Wendy scribbled notes on a legal pad. “What am I looking for?” “Go back a few weeks. Where does she go? What does she do? Who does she have lunch with regularly. See how often she does things with the grandfather. That might be good stuff.” “It‟s only the first day,” Kim pointed out. “And it‟s not your ass hanging in the balance, is it? Any idea what it costs Ebersol Productions to have the lot of you here for a day?” None of them could begin to understand how demanding his father was. Or how difficult it was not to yell back at the jerk since his heart attack. They remained silent. Not proud of his outburst, he said, “Look, guys. I‟m not trying to be a jerk. Before we commit a lot of time and money to this project, we need to know if there‟s some meat here. We‟re looking for dysfunction, strife, conflict. Show me the mess these people are.” Something stirred in his gut. Lane was obviously a crass bastard and deserved the treatment the show would give him. Hilda‟s stock would only rise. But Jolie… How could he allow her to continue, knowing she‟d end up looking like a fool, an outcome she had no idea was coming. It’s a job. One I must succeed at. She’s a project. “I‟ll get right on it, boss,” Wendy said. “Maybe we should be following Lane‟s daily routine,” Kim suggested. “Could be juicier stuff there.” He held a fist to his lips, thinking. “Fred, who‟s your backup?” “Guy I worked with at Fox. Quentin.” “I want to meet with him as soon as possible. I think we‟ll start trailing Lane with a second team, on the QT. Keep the regular crew on Jolie. I want to see what that asshole‟s up to.” If he got lucky, maybe they‟d catch Lane with his pants down. **** Jolie pumped the pedals on the elliptical trainer the next morning while Fred the cameraman filmed her. She winced at the thought of seeing herself on TV sweating like a pig, hair in a ponytail, hardly any makeup on. Did the public really want to see that? How necessary was it for them to know every detail? Would they still love her if they saw how hard she worked at looking good? After her shower, she met Fred, Kim and Elaine in the parking lot. “I‟m off to a doctor appointment now.” She started walking to her car. “See you all back at the house.” “We‟ll be right behind you,” Kim said. “Our instructions were to go with you.” Her stomach lurched. “Go with me? To the doctor?” When she learned what the show would be paying her, she made an appointment with Dr. Katz, her cosmetic surgeon. She‟d waited two weeks for this appointment. “Can‟t you skip this one? I promise you can come to the dentist with me next week.” She crossed her fingers behind her back. She couldn‟t allow them to film this consultation? It was no one‟s business that she wanted to have her breasts lifted? Kim shook her head. “Total access, remember?” She gestured for the others to get into the white van parked beside Jolie‟s Mercedes. She squeezed her eyes shut. “I remember.” The situation could always be worse. At least she wasn‟t in one of those weight loss competition shows or one where she had to eat disgusting creepy crawlies.

Fifteen minutes later, in Dr. Katz‟s waiting room, Jolie took a seat and picked up a magazine to pass the time. When Fred began filming, the other waiting patients scurried to the other side of the room. She‟d become a leper. The nurse called her name much sooner than usual. Jolie and her new entourage followed the woman to an exam room. “They can‟t all come inside,” the nurse said, pointing to Fred, Elaine and Kim. “Room‟s too small,” Jolie agreed, secretly thrilled not to have to bear the humiliation on film. “I‟ll shoot it,” Kim offered as she took the video camera from Fred. “Sound won‟t be perfect, but it‟ll do.” Damn. “I won‟t have my bare breasts filmed. Topless pictures of me will appear on the Internet moments after it airs.” She was adamant. “You can forget it.” “I‟ll shoot you from the neck up. I promise. We can‟t put boob shots on regular TV anyway. Don‟t worry. You won‟t even know I‟m there.” Jolie‟s shoulders sank, along with her heart. Dr. Katz came in, smiled at Kim and shook Jolie‟s hand. “I understand we‟re filming today.” Kim lifted the camera to her shoulder and said, “Yes, sir. Ignore me.” He nodded and sat on the stool Kim had vacated. “We‟re considering breast augmentation today?” he asked Jolie. “Up a size or two?” Heat rushed to her cheeks. “Yes, and a lift.” He crossed the small room, opened her gown and stared at her breasts. Taking her hand, he helped her off the table and over to a full-length mirror. Standing behind her, he said, “Show me how you want them to look.” It was humiliating enough in front of a doctor. Knowing it could be on national TV turned her stomach. Cupping her hands under her breasts, she lifted them to the height she wanted. Then he showed her various sized implants. She picked up the C cups. The doctor nodded. “That much bigger, hmm. Okay then. After you‟re dressed, come to my office across the hall. We‟ll discuss the logistics.” He turned to Kim. “Sorry, miss. Can‟t allow you to film that. Medical confidentiality and all that.” Jolie rolled her eyes. Oh, sure. She can record my breast humiliation, but not his fee schedule. Forty-five minutes later, they were back at Jolie‟s house. A new cameraman she‟d never seen before was recording Lane yelling and cursing at the television while he played video games. She rubbed the bridge of her nose, thinking about how asinine he‟d come off in the show. “Hello, Lane.” With a wave, she left the den and headed to the living room. She took a seat at her desk and removed her planning notebook from the drawer. She counted the list of invited guests for her grandfather‟s party, then phoned the printer to see if the invitations had been mailed. “Yes, Miss Brown,” the receptionist told her. “They went out three days ago. I‟ll have the extras delivered to your house this afternoon.” When she was through, she started to leave the room, heading to the kitchen for a drink when Lane appeared in the doorway. The new cameraman stalked behind him. “I was thinkin‟ „bout this shindig you‟re planning for your granddad, love,” he said, wrapping a hand around her waist. She narrowed her gaze. “Yes? What about it?”

“How would you like to have Cracked Mirror play a few songs? Wouldn‟t that be a gas? The gig could be a kickoff for our upcoming reunion tour.” Could he be serious? “It‟s not that kind of party, Lane. We‟re talking about a bunch of seventy and eighty- year-olds. I don‟t think your music is really their speed.” He flattened his lips, looking genuinely hurt. “I wish I could help, Lane. I really do. The host, Lester Weinberg has already hired a string quartet to perform. They‟re going for elegance. Heavy metal doesn‟t fit the bill for the evening.” “I understand, love. He‟s your granddad, after all.” His stooped shoulders and puppy dog eyes nearly convinced her to cave, but she remained firm in her resolve. He raised a hopeful eyebrow. “I have an idea. What if I can at least invite the fellows? It‟ll make their day to attend a party for such a Hollywood legend as Henry Brown. Get them back in the public eye.” His pleading expression softened her heart. “You have to promise me they‟ll be on their best behavior. No getting drunk and breaking things.” He swept her into a hug. “You‟re the best, kitten. They‟ll be perfect gentlemen. I promise. Just give me their invitations and I‟ll „and deliver them meself.” He gave her a quick peck on the lips. “They‟ll be here later. Remind me.” Slipping from his grasp, she left the room and headed upstairs to lie down. The humiliation at Dr. Katz‟s office had sapped all her energy. As she entered her room, a huge man rushed toward her. They crashed into each other with a thud. A flash of light blinded her. Stars swam before her eyes. Everything went black.

Chapter Nine Jolie knew she was dreaming because Dante‟s handsome face hovered above her staring lovingly down at her. His hand cradled her cheek. She let her eyelids slip shut, awaiting his kiss. When it didn‟t happen, she opened her eyes. Then Lane was there, frowning. “Are you all right?” Dante moved his hand to her shoulder. “You had us worried.” Her head started throbbing. She touched a finger to her brow and winced. “Ouch.” She became aware of movement all around her. “What happened?” “Omar was setting up a light in your bedroom,” Dante said, smiling. “Seems you two wanted to occupy the same spot at the same time. He‟s sorry.” She searched the area for Omar. Aside from Dante and Lane, she only saw Kim. “Is he okay?” “Fine,” Dante told her. “You walked into his chest.” She rubbed the swelling lump on her forehead. “His chest? It felt more like granite.” Dante chuckled. I think he‟s a weight lifter. “Ready to get up?” He took her hand to help. His skin felt warm. “Yes.” She dreaded the moment he‟d let go. “How about we try sitting first?” His gentle touch reassured her. Nodding, she let him pull her up. Black dots appeared in front of her eyes. For a second, she thought she might pass out again. “Breathe,” Dante urged. After a minute, the spots disappeared and he helped her stand. She crossed the room to her vanity and studied her face in the mirror. A pale purple bruise covered the area above her left eyebrow. She counted the days until her grandfather‟s party. Eleven. Plenty of time to heal. “If she‟s okay,” Kim said, “I‟m going to join the crew downstairs.” Dante waved her out. “Go ahead.” Lane sat on the bed. “I‟m sure you fellows have insurance for this sort of mishap, eh?” He stared at Dante. “She could have long-term side effects from such a hard knock.” “Is that what went wrong with you?” Dante asked him. Jolie held back a chuckle. “Oh, Lane. Don‟t be ridiculous. I‟m fine.” She fluffed her hair and shook her head at Dante. His amused expression set off a giggle deep inside her that bubbled to the surface. “What‟s so funny? Are you daft or something?” Lane looked from Jolie to Dante. “What do you mean, is that what happened to me?” Dante shrugged. “I‟m startin‟ not to like you or your people, Ebersol. Think you‟re better than me, eh?” Lane stood, squared his shoulders and took a step toward Dante. “Havin‟ a laugh at me expense?” Dante held up his hands in surrender. “You‟ve got the wrong idea.” Jolie could see from the look in Dante‟s eyes that Lane had the right idea. “Now boys, let‟s not say things we‟ll regret.” She threw Lane a warning look. “He‟s just glad I‟m not seriously hurt.” Shifting her gaze to Dante, she said, “Isn‟t that right?” “Absolutely.” His grin broadened. “It‟s relief you see on my face.” Lane glared at her. “Takin‟ his side, now? So much for loyalty.”

Blood rushed to her cheeks. Why did he always have to embarrass her? She thought about her grandfather‟s disdain for him and wondered if she‟d made a mistake inviting his old band mates to the party. They were all cut from the same rough cloth. The doorbell chimed from downstairs. Lane balled his fists and started toward the door. Before he made it there, someone knocked. He yanked it open. “What do you want, now?” Hilda frowned at him as she marched past and crossed the room to Jolie, holding a stack of envelopes. Fred filed in, the ever present camera filming. “Bloody hell,” Lane muttered. “This arrive for you, Miss Jolie.” Hilda handed her half a dozen small, white envelopes. Dante removed himself from the camera‟s reach, sidestepping toward the door along the edge of the room. Jolie took the envelopes, pulled out one of the invitations and inspected it. Gold embossing on the front spelled out her grandfather‟s initials, HF. “Thank, you, Hilda.” Lane raced to her side and held out his hand. “If those are your invites, hand some over. I‟ll go deliver them.” She studied him, wondering if he was up to no good. “Who did you say you were giving them to?” He rolled his eyes. “I already told you, Brian and Chris.” She kept a tight hold on the envelopes in case Lane decided to yank a few away in front of the camera. “Give me their addresses; I‟ll have the calligrapher letter them.” “Bloody hell. It‟s not an invite for an audience with the pope, is it? They don‟t give a rat‟s ass if a calligrapher makes their names all fancy. They only want to go to the bleedin‟ party.” Her cheeks burned as she handed him two envelopes. Noticing the expression of pity on Dante‟s face, she had to avert her gaze. Fred had caught her shame on tape. Lane practically tore the invitations from her hand, then stalked from the room. “See you later, your highness.” She sucked in a breath, turned away from the camera‟s prying lens and set the rest of the envelopes on her vanity. When she heard receding footsteps, then the door closing, she let her tears fall, thankful Fred and Dante had left the room. She needed some time alone after Lane‟s humiliating treatment. “He shouldn‟t speak to you that way,” Dante said. Startled, she spun around. “I thought…” Scrubbing her hands over her cheeks, she sniffled. “I thought you‟d left.” “I guess I should have.” He took a few steps toward her. “Anything I can do?” A lump caught in her throat. His sympathy only intensified the humiliation. “There‟s something in my eye, making it water.” She leaned close to the vanity mirror and pretended to search for the imaginary speck. Dante‟s woodsy scent drifted to her nose. “Let me take a look.” He stepped closer. She felt the heat from his body. Turning around, she found herself inches from him. He took her face in his hands and examined her left eye. His nearness set her heart pounding, his fingers on her skin made her tremble. “I don‟t see anything there,” he said softly, still holding her face. She swallowed hard. “I think it‟s fine now.” “You deserve more.”

Her heart pounded like a jackhammer. “He‟s not always like that.” Her pathetic defense sounded lame even to her ears. Dante took a step back then started toward the door. “It‟s none of my business.” She didn‟t want him to leave. “I meant to ask you…” He stopped, waiting. “Thanksgiving is next week. You don‟t plan to be here for that, do you?” For some reason, she hoped they would—hoped he would. “I hadn‟t planned to be. Are you doing anything special? Something we can shoot?” “No. Lane and I are going to my grandfather‟s house. Nothing special.” Grampy would never forgive her if she brought the film crew. Bad enough they were coming to his birthday party. “What about you?” She studied his face. Why was she suddenly interested in his life? A cloud passed quickly over his features. “I‟ll be with my folks. Maybe I can talk my brother into coming. He shies away from family gatherings.” “You‟re lucky to have a brother. And parents.” Her heart squeezed at the thought of her father. The loss hurt more during the holidays. “Not close to your mother?” At the mention of Emmanuelle her jaw clamped. “Not at all.” Did he know something about her? Or was he genuinely ignorant of the rift between them? Studying his expression, she couldn‟t be sure. Dante‟s cell rang, shattering the calm. “Excuse me,” he said, removing it from his belt and turning away. Ebersol… Okay. Be there as quick as I can.” He snapped the phone shut. “Got to go.” She hated the idea of him leaving. “Everything all right?” He shook his head. “I‟m acting president of the company while my father‟s out of work this week, recuperating from a heart procedure. It seems one of our other productions hit a snag.” He hurried to the door, then stopped and looked back at her. “I‟ll see you tomorrow.” It sounded like more of a promise than a passing of information. Though she knew she had no right, she longed to see him again—soon. He treated her in a way few people did—with respect and affection. As if she were worthy of those things. She tried to think of a time when Lane had made her feel that way. Had he ever? She sat on her bed and ran her hand over the soft spread. Ellis used to make her feel special. He‟d bring her gifts for no reason, make love to her all the time. Until her mother moved in with them. She shut her eyes, forcing back the tears. Twice she‟d forgiven Emmanuelle for terrible wrongdoings. That had cost Jolie dearly. She wouldn‟t be her mother‟s fool ever again. **** Lane lounged by the pool, eating his Yummy Ohs as he read the funnies. A rustling in the nearby bushes caught his attention. Craning his head to see what was causing the sound, he made out two figures sitting on the ground. Quietly, he got up and edged closer. He relaxed when he saw it was two of the lasses from the crew, Wendy and Elaine. One of them smoked a fag, then passed it to the other. He could barely hear what they were saying, so he inched nearer. “What‟s Jolie doing now?” Elaine asked.

“Getting ready to go to the salon. She has a manicure appointment,” Wendy told her. Good. She’ll be gone for hours. And so will that damned film crew. “What are we going to wear to her grandfather‟s party? I don‟t have anything that dressy,” Elaine said. “Dante will give us money to get something. We‟ll be on the clock, after all.” “Think anything exciting will happen there?” one of them said. “God, I hope so. If we don‟t shoot something more interesting than a manicure or another marital squabble, Dante said he‟d have to cancel production. Shut it all down.” If the series didn‟t air, he‟d never get the chance to launch a reunion tour. His face had to be on the small screen or his career would be dead in the water. Somehow, he needed to find a way to stir the pot, create some drama at the party. He returned to the patio table and quietly eased himself back into the chair. What could he do that would create a ruckus? Then it came to him. There was only one person who could turn things upside down at that bash. He shoveled the rest of his Yummy Ohs into his mouth, then raced upstairs and took a quick shower. Jolie sat at her vanity putting on makeup when he came out of the bathroom. “What are your plans today?” she asked, painting a thin brown line across her eyelid. Pulling on a pair of knickers, he rolled his eyes. Nosy cow. “The usual, love. Maybe a game of billiards with me old manager. He has a line on some sound equipment we‟ll need for the band. Been four years since we last played together. All the old amps are obsolete now.” She glanced over her shoulder at him. “You think the tour will happen soon?” He gave her a broad grin. “Of course it will, love.” He finished dressing in a hurry, then kissed the top of her head. “I‟m off. Have a nice time at the salon.” Without waiting for her reply, he left the room and jogged down the stairs. Grabbing his keys in the kitchen, he waved to the film crew who were seated at the breakfast bar drinking coffee. “Cheerio.” Bastards, every one of them. Once inside his car, he hooked on his Bluetooth then drove toward Ventura Boulevard and phoned an old friend who had done work for him years ago. “Hello, Andy. Guess who this is.” “Lane Wood?” Andy said immediately. “How are you?” “Never forget a voice, eh? I‟ve got an easy job for you. Can you see me in a few minutes?” “Sure. Come on up.” Ten minutes later, Lane tucked his hair into a baseball cap and slid on his sunglasses before climbing out of his car and entering the beige office building. He mounted the stairs to level three, not wanting to chance meeting someone who might recognize him in the elevator. When he went into the office, the place looked exactly as it had years earlier. He walked straight through the empty outer area to Andy‟s private office. The man never did have a secretary. He told everyone she was on vacation or visiting her mum. But Lane knew the truth, not that he cared. As long as the bloke remained as discreet as ever. “How the fuck are you, mate?” Lane shook Andy‟s thick hand. Andy looked as though he‟d gained a pound or thirty since Lane had last seen him. “Doing great. What brings you here?” Lane reached into his back pocket for his wallet. Pulling five hundred-dollar bills out, he eyed Andy. The man licked his lips the second he caught a glimpse of the cash.

Laying the currency on the desk between them, Lane grinned. “This should be the easiest money you‟ve ever earned, me friend. All I need is an address and a phone number. And I want it within the next forty-eight hours.” **** Jolie scanned the waiting area of Salon Twenty-One before taking a seat. “Tara will be right with you, Miss Brown,” the receptionist said more to the camera than to Jolie. Her perky smile was extra wide today. “Thank you.” Jolie picked up a magazine from the end table. Before she could get past the first page, Tara appeared, wearing a black skirt and a frilly pink blouse. In all the years she‟d known her, Tara had never worn anything but khakis. Of course, she‟d never had the opportunity to be on a TV show before. Tara smiled big for the camera. “Good morning, Jolie. All ready for your deluxe manicure at Salon Twenty- One?” Chuckling, Jolie exchanged a look with Kim, who elbowed Fred. “Take five,” Kim told the team. Then she approached the reception desk and gestured for Tara to come over. “We can‟t shoot scenes with Miss Brown in here if you all are going to act like you‟re in a commercial for this place or something. This is for a reality show. Notice the word, reality.” Tara pursed her lips. “Were we that obvious?” She fluffed the ruffles closest to her neck. Kim quirked an eyebrow at her. “Um, yes.” “Sorry,” the receptionist said. “We‟ll act natural.” Kim nodded. “Thanks. Try to pretend we‟re not here.” She motioned for the film crew to get back to work. Once the camera was rolling, Tara led Jolie back to her station. “Tell me how the plans for your grandfather‟s party are coming along,” Tara said as she removed Jolie‟s old nail polish. “Well, although it‟s not a surprise, he‟ll be shocked at how the guest list has grown. Lots of his old cronies are invited. They‟ll be over a hundred there if all goes according to plan.” As they chatted about the party, gossiped about mutual acquaintances, referring to them only with initials, other clients and employees came over to say hello and share in the spotlight. Jolie was glad it had turned into a lively event. She was afraid her life was shaping up to be more boring than the crew had anticipated. Half an hour into the manicure, Kim told Fred to stop filming. They had enough footage. Without the camera or microphone, Jolie finally leaned toward her and lowered her voice. “Has she been back?” Tara knew exactly whom she referred to. “I haven‟t seen her. I found out it was MaryMargaret who did her hair.” “Did you ask her why Emmanuelle came all the way up here, instead of a place in Beverly Hills?” Tara glanced left and right before nodding. “Mary- Margaret moved here from a salon in Santa Monica. Your…Emmanuelle followed her. But I made it clear to her she wasn‟t to let her come on Tuesdays.” Jolie exhaled deeply and felt the tension slip away. “Thanks. That‟s all I need. To run into her.”

Tara painted topcoat over Jolie‟s French manicure. “I‟ve got your back. No worries.” When Jolie returned home, entourage in tow, Dante was waiting in the kitchen. Excitement bubbled the moment she saw him smile. He took her hand, examining her nails. “Lovely,” he said, holding on a little longer than necessary. Did he flirt so obviously with every woman? Maybe he felt sorry for her and wanted to make her feel attractive. He complimented Hilda all the time. Just a born charmer, no doubt. Suddenly aware of Hilda‟s stare, Jolie backed up a few steps. “What is that delicious smell?” The woman‟s expression softened. “Enchiladas. For everybody.” Jolie sat with the crew and tuned out as they talked about a problem with the new wireless microphones they were using. She couldn‟t concentrate on anything but Dante and his frequent stares. Finding it difficult to eat with butterflies dancing in her stomach, she laid her fork on her plate and pretended to pay attention. When Hilda came to the breakfast bar to refill everyone‟s glasses with iced tea, she threw Jolie a warning look. Had everyone noticed the glances passing between her and Dante, or was it only Hilda? What was she doing? She was a married woman and for all she knew, Dante could be taken as well. She climbed off the stool and set her napkin on the bar. “I have some gardening to do,” she said. “After I change, I‟ll be in the yard.” Hurrying from the room, she rubbed her temples. She could not have a crush on Dante. Once she‟d donned her gardening clothes and floppy hat, she stepped onto the deck. Getting on her knees, she scoped out invading weeds and began plucking. She breathed in the scent of the earth and sweet aromas of her precious flowers. “Why don‟t you let your gardener do this?” She looked up and saw Dante standing there, studying her. “I enjoy getting my hands in the dirt, nurturing seedlings to beautiful flowers.” She yanked a dandelion out of the ground and tossed it onto the deck. “What‟s that?” Dante asked, pointing to a cluster of pink flowers. “Bleeding Heart. See how the flowers look like something‟s dripping from them?” “Beautiful,” he said, staring intently at her. She swallowed hard and continued her work. “What about that one?” He gestured toward a cluster of purple blooms near the fence. “Wallflowers. They‟re some of my favorites.” She tipped her chin toward a grouping of white ginger. “Take a whiff of these.” He crouched next to her and stuck his nose near the fragile blooms. Shutting his eyes, he breathed deeply. “Wow. Those smell amazing. They remind me of you.” She turned away so he wouldn‟t see color rising in her cheeks. “Sometimes I wear white ginger perfume. You have a keen sense of smell.” She couldn‟t resist meeting his stare. His eyes sparkled like emeralds. “I find many things about you fascinating.” Annoying butterflies took to flight in her stomach. She swallowed hard inched away. Why couldn‟t Lane ever make her feel this way? She couldn‟t remember a time when her husband had made her feel pretty or special. Sometimes she‟d catch him staring at her with what seemed like disdain. Her mother always looked at her the same way. Shaking off the notion, she returned to her task. “I never realized what care flowers needed.”

She plucked dead leaves off a Canterbury Bell. “The more delicate and beautiful the flower, the more nurturing it needs.” “I‟m sure that‟s true. Without love, they whither and die, hmm?” A chill rolled over her skin. “Well, that‟s not always true. I was generalizing. Some flowers flourish without the slightest effort.” She stared at the ground, afraid to look at him. “Have you ever seen an untended field overrun with lovely wildflowers? They don‟t need anything or anyone. That‟s all they‟ve ever known, neglect, even abuse.” A tear slid down her cheek. She quickly wiped it away, wondering why in the world she was crying. “Those wild flowers have no idea what they‟re missing.” **** Lane drove along Ventura Boulevards toward Sherman Oaks. Excitement made it difficult for him to sit still even for the short trip. Turning onto Mike‟s street, he noticed the lack of traffic. Except for a dark colored minivan behind him, there were hardly any cars on the street. And that was good. No one around to spot him. He sprayed his mouth with breath freshener, hid his hair under a baseball cap and headed toward the house. Mike met him at the front door and led him inside. “I‟ve locked the cat in the bathroom. If you hear some scratching or howling, it‟s only Bogart.” Lane followed him upstairs. “Might be you in a little while, scratchin‟ and howlin,‟ eh?” Mike laughed. “My brother will be gone all day. Said he‟s doing some editing later. So we can have all the time we like.” Grinning, Lane entered the bedroom. “Glad to hear that, mate.” He sat on the bed, removed his hat and pulled off his shirt. “I have a favor to ask.” “Oh?” He winked. “You want something special?” Lane snickered. “No, something else. I‟d like you to attend a party for me dear wife‟s granddad.” Mike raised an eyebrow. “You want me to go to a party with your wife?” Lane shook his head. “She‟ll be there, with me. You‟ll be takin‟ a date. A very special lady.” He took an invitation out of his back pocket and set it on the nightstand. “You‟ll need that to get in.” Kicking off his shorts, Mike smiled. “What have you got up your sleeve?” He went to window and pulled the curtains shut. Lane grinned. “Never you mind about that. The evenin‟ will be a smashin‟ success. Mark me words.” An hour later, the two went downstairs and raided the fridge. Mike set all sorts of yummy looking leftovers on the table—chicken potpie, veal Marsala, salmon mousse and pasta with vodka sauce. “You have to teach me housekeeper how to cook.” Lane spread salmon mousse over a piece of crusty bread. “All Hilda can cook is wetback rubbish.” He slid the bread into his mouth, savoring the smooth texture and delicate flavors. “I‟m not the chef. That‟s my brother. He does everything better than me.” Mike slapped his stomach. “Haven‟t you noticed I‟ve gained weight since I‟ve been here?” Lane looked him over. “You have. I see that now.”

He nodded. “All Dante‟s fault.” Lane‟s head started aching at the mention of Dante. “I think your brother has a thing for me wife.” He sighed. “A friggin‟ thorn in me side, he is.” “Don‟t tell me you‟re jealous. It‟s not like you have any feelings for her.” He helped himself to a slice of veal. “Anyway, Dante goes for young hotties. Jolie‟s too old for him.” “Coulda fooled me.” He shook his head. “He‟s always eyin‟ her and smilin‟ at her. Not that I care, mind you. But I need to hang in there until she collects her money for the show, and I collect mine as well. I have to get on the telly and remind the public who the bloody hell I am.” He pointed his knife at Mike. “I‟ll be damned before I leave that marriage empty-handed. I‟ve put in four long years with the old cow.” Mike speared some pasta then slipped it into his mouth. “Why‟d you marry her in the first place?” Lane sighed, thinking back. “Well, the band thing had burned out by then. We were on a downward slide. She was rich, or so I thought, and not half bad lookin‟ And rather desperate for someone to tell her how pretty she was.” He snickered. “I thought her granddad would kick off soon and leave her all his money. How was I supposed to know he‟d live to be this bloody old?” “You‟re terrible.” Mike shook his head and chuckled. “Why didn‟t you ever come out of the closet? It‟s not like gay musicians are shunned or anything.” Was he totally daft? “Mate, I was in a bloody heavy metal band. How many gay heavy metal rockers do you know of? None, that‟s how many. And me band mates.” He rolled his eyes. “Oh, Lord. They‟d have thrown me out on me arse. I ain‟t so confident to believe I could make it as a solo act. If I were, I‟d have ditched the boys long ago, filthy lot of them.” They finished eating, said their goodbyes. Lane left feeling on top of the world. Not only had he thoroughly enjoyed himself, but he‟d also arranged for Mike to accompany Cinderella to the ball. Everything was falling into place. Henry Brown‟s eightieth birthday bash would be a night no one would forget for a very long time.

Chapter Ten Dante sat at the patio table watching Jolie swim laps in the pool. He tried to concentrate on the crew but the swell in his pants reminded him how easily he could be distracted. She looked like a mermaid in an emerald colored bathing suit with her black hair fanning out behind her. Slicing through the water, she slowed her pace, then came up near the steps. Fred moved in closer for a shot of her, dripping wet and incredibly sexy. Neil, her new personal trainer handed her a towel. “That‟s enough cardio for now. Let‟s do some weight lifting.” She scowled. “Isn‟t there any other way? I hate weights.” She dried off then set the towel over the back of a chair. Neil laughed. “Sorry. You want to be sculpted? This is it.” He handed her two small barbells and demonstrated how he wanted her to move them. Taking the weights from him, she held them high over her head then bent her arms back at ninety-degree angles. “How‟s this? “Good.” Neil moved behind her and set a hand on her side. “You should be feeling that here.” God, what I’d give to be that guy’s hands. Dante watched her muscles work, studied her long lines, tight ass and full breasts. He had to think about something else or he‟d never be able to stand. Only he couldn‟t force his gaze away. “Now remember what I said about carbs.” Neil wagged a finger at her. “Stick with white meat tomorrow and no stuffing, potatoes or pie.” She saluted him. “Yes, sir.” “Are you and your husband hosting a gathering?” he asked, taking the barbells from her, then handing her larger ones. “Nope. We‟re going to my grandfather‟s. Or rather I am. My husband refuses to participate in Thanksgiving since I won‟t celebrate St. George‟s Day.” He squinted at her. “What‟s St. George‟s Day?” She shrugged. “Some national holiday in England that hardly anyone celebrates anymore. It‟s an excuse for him to avoid having to go to my grandfather‟s house.” Dante was surprised that she spoke so candidly about Lane while she was being recorded. Dante‟s constant suggestions for her to ignore the camera were finally working. The crew filmed as she and Neil argued over how many repetitions she had to do, how many more exercises she needed. When Neil left, Dante rallied his crew. “Let‟s wrap it up, guys,” he told them. “I want every one of you to stuff your face with turkey and pumpkin pie tomorrow. I‟ll see you bright and early Monday morning.” “Staff meeting here or at the office Monday?” Kim asked. “Let‟s do it at the office.” He helped them carry their equipment out front and load it into the van. “What are your plans for Turkey Day, boss?” Fred asked him. He scrubbed his hands over his face. “Since my father insists I bring footage tomorrow for him to look at to see how the show is progressing, I‟ll probably spend tonight and tomorrow

morning in the studio poring over the hours and hours of video we‟ve shot so far.” He hoped and prayed he would find enough good stuff to keep his father happy. Fred slapped Dante‟s back. “Sorry, buddy.” He shrugged. “I don‟t mind the work. My mother‟s doing all the cooking for tomorrow. And it‟s not like I‟ve got a gorgeous wife waiting at home for me, like you do.” Unexpected envy niggled at him. He hated being single during the holidays. Fred smiled. “Yeah, she‟s pretty hot. Even at six months along.” Dante got into his car and waited until the crew had pulled away. He looked toward Jolie‟s house and caught a glimpse of her in the window. When she saw him, she backed away. She was married yet she appeared as lonely as he, maybe even more so. Of course, her husband was an asshole. He wondered what she‟d ever seen in him. Could it have been that rock star magnetism? He‟d have figured someone like Jolie Brown would have been above hero worship. He drove to the studio in silence, trying to push images of her from his mind. When he got to the office, he found Quentin, the backup cameraman, pacing beside Wendy‟s empty desk. “Don‟t you know it‟s a holiday weekend?” Dante asked. “What are you doing still here?” “I got something I need to show you.” He dropped his gaze to the DVD case in the man‟s hand. “Come on into my office.” They went inside and he motioned for the camera man to sit on the couch. After shutting the door, Dante sat across from him. “So, what‟s up?” Quentin held up the DVD. “I think you ought to see this. It puts a whole new spin on your show.” Dante quirked an eyebrow. “Care to tell me about it?” He shook his head. “You can see it for yourself.” He handed over the case, then stood. “The show might be a big hit after all.” His curiosity piqued. “What do you mean?” Starting toward the door, Quentin turned back and smiled. “I got the goods on Lane Wood. Take a look at it.” He waved. “Have a great holiday, boss.” Dante studied the disk in his hand as the door shut. Excitement flared inside him. He‟d like nothing better than to crucify Lane on tape. But the idea that it might hurt Jolie twisted his gut. He crossed the room to the TV and put in the DVD. A shot of the back of Lane‟s Corvette came into focus. He parked behind an office building then got out of his car wearing dark glasses and a baseball cap and went inside the building. The next shot zeroed in on an office door. He froze the frame so he could read it. “Andrew Peters, Private Detective.” Was this what Quentin thought was so earth shattering? He fast-forwarded through shots of the Corvette moving along Ventura Boulevard. It turned onto another road, one that looked familiar. Hey—that’s my street. What the hell was he doing there? Lane climbed out of his car, took a look around, then crossed the street and—what the hell? Why is he going into my house? He backed up the frames, played them very slow. A figure opened the door. Dante froze the picture and stared at his brother‟s smiling face. A fleeting wave of nausea stirred in his gut. He moved through the footage, slowly. Mike looked both ways, as if he was checking to see if anyone saw. Then he let Lane inside. Like they knew each other. A few minutes went by with nothing. Dante sped the frames until the camera focused in on movement in an upstairs window. Mike, standing in front of it, naked.

Then the curtain closed. The blood drained from his face. He turned away from the television as if that would erase what he‟d just seen. Like a car wreck on the highway, much as you didn‟t want to see, you were compelled to gawk at it. Facing the TV, he watched as the time counter ticked. It skipped to a quarter after three. The front door opened and Lane left. He‟d spent more than three hours there. With Mike. He shut off the television, marched across the room, back and forth. Dozens of emotions warred inside him, turning his stomach. Anger, deception, disappointment, astonishment, sorrow. Why would Mike keep his sexuality hidden? How long had he hidden his true nature from Dante and everyone else? And what about Lane? Quentin was right. Something like this could make for a whole different show than he‟d planned. Why would Lane stay in a marriage if he was…Jolie. Did she know? He knew instinctively she didn‟t. This would break her heart. Sinking into the couch, he wondered if he‟d have to be the one to tell her. He buried his face in his hands and sighed. A thunderous pounding started in his temples and soon attacked his whole head. Shutting his eyes, he tried to recall if Mike had ever mentioned Lane. Of course he did. He‟d planted the idea of using Jolie and Lane as subjects in Dante‟s mind. He shook his head in the empty room, laughing bitterly. “What an idiot I‟ve been. I let him manipulate me.” How in the world was he going to break this to Jolie? Would she hate the messenger? Maybe he should have someone else do it. No, it had to be done gently. The truth would be so painful for her. There was no one he trusted to tell her—no one but him. He thought about going home, seeing Mike, and his stomach roiled. Knowing of Mike‟s ruse, he couldn‟t face him now. Maybe he should camp out at his old room in his parents‟ house. Panic seized him when he realized he‟d have to show his father something tomorrow. No way could he bring the footage of Lane and Mike. Charles might have another heart attack. But if he didn‟t show him, would the old man yell and scream that he didn‟t have enough meat? He yanked at his hair and squeezed his eyes shut. How could a few seconds of video have the potential to ruin so many lives? What had he started by setting a camera on Lane Wood? He kicked the coffee table over as he stood. He had to get away, had to figure out what to do. Dashing to his car, he gulped deep breaths of cool, dry air. When he got to the BMW, he bent over, holding his stomach, afraid he was about to be sick. The feeling passed, but left the putrid taste of bile in its wake. His head pounded as he drove parallel to the sunset. Nearing his house, the nausea returned. He wasn‟t ready to face his brother. The wound was too fresh. Turning west on Ventura Boulevard, he drove on autopilot. He found himself back on Jolie‟s street and parked across from her house. A high hedge and some trees kept his presence hidden. When the garage door started to rise, he slid down in his seat, afraid he‟d be spotted. Seconds later, he heard the roar of a sports car. Headlights cut through the darkness above him. Sitting up, he watched Lane‟s Corvette speed away. He looked back toward Jolie‟s house in time to see her car in the garage. Hilda‟s old Honda, which was usually parked on the side of the house, was gone.

Jolie was alone. She deserved to know her husband was cheating. He slumped against the seat. He‟d known the woman little more than a month. How had she become so important to him in that short time? She’s married. I have no right. His conscience sparred within him, coming up with arguments in favor of telling her, then equally compelling rebuttals. After a long while, he sucked in a breath and got out of his car. Crossing the street, he fisted his hands, then relaxed them. Blood pounded in his ears and his head ached. He struggled to remain calm. His legs felt like they were made of lead as he climbed the steps leading to her door. Gathering all his courage, he rang the bell. **** The doorbell startled her. Glancing at the clock, Jolie wondered who it could be this late. Seeing Dante‟s face through the peephole, a rush of excitement set her heart pounding. She drew a deep breath then opened the door and smiled. “Well, hello. Did you forget something?” His face was ashen and his hair a mess. “Is anything wrong?” He dropped his head and ran his fingers through his hair. “Um, I need to talk to you.” Why wouldn‟t he look at her? Were they canceling the show? Oh, God, please, not that. She already had the first installment of her paycheck spent and much of the rest earmarked. Her stomach knotted. She stepped aside. “Come in.” She led him into the living room. “Have a seat.” She gestured toward the couch, sat beside him. “What‟s going on, Dante?” Please, don’t cancel the show. I need it. His eyes were hooded when he met her stare. “There‟s something I have to tell you.” Reaching across the space between them, he took her hand and squeezed. His touch was warm, yet disconcerting. She wished he‟d come out with whatever he wanted to say. “Go ahead.” Bracing herself for bad news, she gazed into his eyes. She saw hurt and loneliness there. Why did it bother her so much? Because you see the same emotions in the mirror every day. Because he means something to you, more than he should. All she cared to do at that moment was take away his pain. “Tell me.” His shoulders slumped as he nodded. “All right.” He sighed, furrowed his brow. You remember how inclusive your contract is. Gives us license to record you even at times you‟re not aware you‟re being watched.” She narrowed her gaze, unsure where he was leading. “Right, but not private places like bathrooms and such.” Why wouldn‟t he look at her? Could he be ashamed of something he‟d done? “Lane signed the same release.” His eyes met hers. His lips flattened into a thin line. “And?” She wished she knew why he seemed so upset, was afraid to find out. Suddenly he stood and turned away. “Are you canceling the show?” She went to him, touched his arm. He spun around, looked down at her. “I…I have feelings for you.” Oh. Swallowing the lump in her throat, she took a step back. She didn‟t dare say she too, cared for him. She had no right. Staring at her left hand, she twisted her wedding ring.

“I know you‟re married,” he went on. “And I know I have no right to feel this way, but—” he paused, “—I can‟t get you out of my mind.” She couldn‟t deny she thought about him more than she should. “I‟d never break my vows.” She shuddered, recalling the agony she‟d experienced when she discovered Ellis with her mother. “This is wrong, Dante. I would never inflict the pain of betrayal on Lane. No matter what.” He took her arm, pulled her to him. “Lane‟s…” Releasing her, he shook his head. “I know he can be a jackass. But he‟s still my husband.” Regardless of the powerful attraction she felt for Dante, she‟d never do to Lane what Ellis did to her. Besides all that, it was just infatuation between her and Dante. The result of spending so much time together. By all appearances, he was as lonely as she. Without further thought, she turned and marched to the foyer. “You need to leave. Now.” His defeated expression broke her heart. Dropping his head, he nodded, shuffled past her. She shut her eyes when she heard the door open, then close. After a minute, she turned off the lights in the foyer, then moved the drapes aside and peered out the window. Dante disappeared behind the hedge. She had to push these feelings for him out of her mind, her heart. Foibles and all, Lane was her husband. And that meant something to her. She wasn‟t free to love Dante. Even if her heart and her body burned for him. She headed to her bedroom and opted for a bubble bath. Laying her head back against the ledge, she pictured Dante‟s handsome face, the sexy vee from his broad shoulders to his narrow waist, the compassionate eyes that told her he wanted nothing more than to ease her burdens. The junction between her thighs ached for a manly touch—Dante‟s touch. The realization knocked her off kilter, but what harm could a little fantasy be? She slid her hand over her breasts and squeezed her pebbled nipples as she imagined Dante sucking on them. She squirmed to diffuse the sudden heat in her core. Checking that she‟d locked the door, she lowered one hand to the source of her need. She rubbed a finger through her folds, slick in a different way than from the water. Her hips moved of their own free will as she pushed inside her entrance and partook in her most intimate pleasure. All her pent-up frustration bubbled to the surface. She needed this, needed the release and the indulgence. An orgasm built inside her, dragging her closer and closer to the edge until she exploded in pleasure. Minutes later, as she rested in the giant tub all alone, she wished for someone to share with, someone to touch her and make her feel what she‟d always longed to. Could that someone be Dante? She brushed the thought away like a parent scolding a child for grabbing at something that wasn‟t theirs. She‟d made her bed with Lane. Too bad he was never around to share it. And even when he was, it lacked a warmth she knew ought to be there. **** Dante rose before sunrise Thanksgiving morning. No point in staying in bed when he couldn‟t sleep. Padding down the hall, he took pains not to wake Mike. Although he‟d thought about little else beside his current predicament as he‟d tossed and turned all night, he wasn‟t yet ready to confront his brother.

Bogart wound around his legs as Dante made his way through the house. The smell of fresh coffee stopped him a few feet before he reached the kitchen. He waited, listening for other signs of life. The sound of a cabinet door opening, then closing confirmed it. Bogart meowed, giving him away. Mike poked his head out the door. “Hey. What are you doing up so early?” He wore Dante‟s silk robe, a gift from Emily. Dante bent to pick up the cat then carried him into the kitchen without responding to Mike‟s question. He cleared his throat, afraid his voice might fail him. Pulling open the refrigerator door, he thought about what he‟d like to eat. Bogart squirmed in his arms until he put him down. His shield was gone. “Hey,” Mike repeated. “You sleepwalking or something?” He removed a carton of eggs then closed the fridge door. “No. Just half asleep.” He set the eggs on the counter. Coffee sounded good. He took a mug from the cabinet and poured himself a cup. Then he went to the pantry and found a can of pumpkin, another of whole berry cranberry sauce and a bottle of vegetable oil. He set it all on the counter by the eggs. “What are we making?” Mike asked, climbing onto a barstool. “We are going to bake a pumpkin-cranberry loaf.” He hoped Mike hadn‟t picked up on the acid in his voice. Mike stirred sugar into his coffee. “Mom ask you to bring that today?” “Nope.” Gathering ingredients, he tried to avoid eye contact with his brother. The disappointment might show. “I‟m just in the mood to bake.” He measured flour, brown sugar, baking soda and salt into a large mixing bowl. Pulling spices from the rack, he ventured a quick glance at Mike. “Think you‟ll make an appearance today?” He hoped Mike wouldn‟t for his sake. Guilt stabbed at him. Mike‟s presence would make their mother‟s day. “At the folks‟ place? Don‟t think so.” Dante cracked eggs into a smaller bowl. He opened the cans of cranberry sauce and pumpkin and spooned them in. “Got a hot date or something?” “Something like that.” He slid off the stool. “I‟m going to see if the paper‟s arrived yet. Be right back.” As he mixed the wet ingredients, he thought about Mike‟s rift with their father. Could it have something to do with Mike‟s homosexuality? He‟d never known his father to be particularly homophobic, but maybe when it came to his own son… No, he was sure the old man had no idea. Mike returned to the room and set the paper on the counter next to where Dante was working. “Here you go.” Dante slammed a fist onto the counter. “Do I look like I want to read the damn newspaper right now? Or do you think I might be a little busy?” Mike backed away and held up his hands in surrender. “Whoa. What‟s going on here?” Damn it. He couldn‟t have this discussion now. If he laid his cards on the table, Mike was sure to tell Lane. And Dante wanted to maintain the secrecy of his project, at least for now. He knew Lane was up to more than just an affair. For the sake of the show, he had to keep his mouth shut. “Talk to me, bro.”

He met Mike‟s gaze. “You‟re wearing my brand new robe. I don‟t even think I cut the tags off yet. It was a birthday gift.” He went to the sink and rinsed out the cans, then set them on the counter, hoping Mike would buy that excuse as the cause of Dante‟s foul mood. “Hey, I‟m really sorry. I didn‟t think you‟d mind. I‟ll put it back in your closet right now.” His footsteps receded. Dante let out the breath he‟d been holding and squeezed his eyes shut. He had to have more self-control. Returning to his baking, he wondered if he could lead Mike into a conversation about his private life. Could he get him to come clean then? Doubtful. Mike‟s answers to personal questions were always evasive. He was forever here and there, doing this and that. The more pressing matter was what to do about his father today. Scraping batter into two loaf pans, he considered his options. If he showed Charles highlights of the footage less Quentin‟s contribution, the old man might can the project for lack of excitement. On the other hand, if he presented Quentin‟s covert recording, he might scrap it on the basis of his personal feelings. Either way, Dante was screwed. Mike came back wearing his own ratty T-shirt and jeans. “Is this better?” Dante‟s gut clenched. “I didn‟t mean you couldn‟t wear anything of mine. It‟s just…” He shook his head. “Look, the robe was a gift from Emily, okay? Seeing it stirred all that shit up in my head. I‟m sorry I yelled.” Mike sat on a stool. “No problem. I appreciate you opening your home and your closet to me. I‟ll try to be a better houseguest. I promise.” Dante loaded the pans into the oven then took the stool next to his brother‟s. “Will you at least think about coming to dinner today? It breaks Mom‟s heart when you don‟t.” Mike laid his head on the counter. “You suck. I can‟t believe you‟d play the Mom trump card.” Dante chuckled. “Desperate times call for desperate measures.” He yawned, missing the sleep he‟d lost. “Come on. If Dad starts in on you, I‟ll distract him long enough for you to leave.” He sat up and shook his head. “No can do, brother. Anyway, I‟ve got plans already.” Something Jolie said yesterday popped into his brain. “We’re going to my grandfather’s. Or rather I am. My husband refuses to participate in Thanksgiving.” Dante stiffened as he replayed her words in his head. Were Mike and Lane planning their own private celebration? His skin crawled at the thought. “Are you having someone over?” Mike raised an eyebrow and smiled. “That‟s what I‟m hoping. If I can talk her into it. You don‟t mind, do you?” Of course I do. “Course not.” He stood and started gathering dirty bowls and measuring spoons. “Anyway, it‟s not like I‟ll be here. I‟m glad you‟ll have better company than poor old Bogart.” He dropped the items he‟d collected into the sink. “Speaking of Bogart, my friend is extremely allergic to cats. I hope you don‟t mind if I confine him to the bathroom.” He grinned. “I can‟t have her sneezing her head off. Then I‟ll never get anywhere with her.” Dante loaded the dishwasher, wondering if Lane had a cat allergy. “Sure. You can close him in there. Make sure you put his food and water in with him.” He imagined Bogart‟s claws sticking into Lane‟s skin. What could Mike possibly see in the rotten turd? Dante finished cleaning the kitchen, then headed upstairs to shower.

After he dressed, he followed his nose to the kitchen and removed the loaf pans from the oven, savoring the aromas of cloves, cinnamon and pumpkin. He cut a slice for himself and one for Mike, who was now immersed in the newspaper. “Thanks,” Mike said when Dante handed him a steaming plate. A minute later, Mike set the paper aside, went to the counter and cut another piece. “This stuff is amazing. Mind if I share some with my date later?” Dante‟s stomach burned, thinking of Lane partaking of his culinary creation. Hell no. “Sorry. I‟m taking it to the folks‟ place.” Mike huffed. “You said you weren‟t bringing anything.” Dante opened a drawer and removed a roll of aluminum foil. “Changed my mind.” He wrapped both loaves then placed them into a bag. He‟d be damned before he‟d knowingly cook for a son of a bitch like Lane Wood. Hours later, he sat opposite his father in his parents‟ dining room pushing turkey, sweet potato casserole, stuffing and green beans around his plate. His mother stood and picked up her dish. “I‟ll make coffee.” She looked at Dante and smiled weakly. “You‟re not eating much. Don‟t you like it?” He loaded his fork with stuffing. “Everything‟s great, Mom. Guess I had too much for breakfast.” He could tell she didn‟t buy that from the furrow of her brow. Charles moved his plate away. “I want to see what you‟ve got for the new show after dinner.” Dante swallowed hard. “I‟d rather you wait until I‟ve had a couple more weeks to shoot, edit down to the good stuff.” Beverly took his plate. “Charles, must we conduct business today, on a holiday.” She shook her head. “I‟ll get the pie.” The moment she left the room, his father waggled a finger at him. “I‟ll see that footage today. As long as your mother‟s keeping me prisoner here, I may as well get some work done.” He pursed his lips, praying for a reprieve. “She‟s not holding you prisoner. Someone has to make you follow the doctor‟s orders.” The ringing of the doorbell gave Dante an excuse to escape the tension of the dining room. His mother beat him to the door. She pulled it open and let out a gleeful gasp. Mike stood there, dressed in khaki‟s and a polo shirt, looking quite presentable in Dante‟s clothes. Beverly hugged her arms around him and squealed. “You came. I‟m so glad.” He winked at Dante. “I couldn‟t let the day pass without coming to see my favorite lady.” Dante watched them embrace, glad Mike had decided to make an appearance. His presence obviously meant a lot to their mother. He knew she worried all the time about Mike. And maybe, if he were lucky, it would distract the old man from asking to see clips from the show. “We just finished dinner, but let me fix you a plate. We were about to cut into the pie.” She led him into the dining room. Dante followed. “Look who‟s here, Charles.” The scowl never left the old man‟s face. “Nice to see you, Mike. Might check what time dinner is next time.” Mike stiffened. “I came by to say hello. If you‟d rather I left…” Beverly looped her arm through Mike‟s. “Nonsense. We‟re thrilled you‟re here.” She directed an angry glare at her husband. “Behave yourself.” Pulling out a chair, she told Mike, “Sit. I‟ll be right back.” He did as she instructed.

“You look good son,” Charles said. “Are you working?” Mike shrugged. “I‟m between jobs, actually.” Dante wanted to carry his plate into the kitchen, but he dared not leave his brother alone with their father. Last time he had, they‟d argued and Mike had stormed off, not to be seen for months. “I like your outfit,” he said, grinning at Mike. Mike straightened his collar. “Thanks.” Turning his gaze toward Charles, he pasted an obviously fake smile on. “So, what‟s new, Dad?” Charles fidgeted with his silverware. “Well, I had a heart attack a couple weeks ago, if you care.” Mike‟s Adam‟s apple bobbed up and down. “Of course I care. I gather everything came out all right, since you‟re sitting here laying on the guilt.” The tension grew thick, punctuated by silence. Dante scratched his head then turned his attention to his father. “Are you going to watch some football? What colleges are playing today?” Beverly came in and set a plate loaded with turkey and fixings in front of Mike. “Here you go. I‟ll be right back with the pie.” She hurried from the room. Mike tore into his meal, probably to avoid having to talk to their father anymore. After they‟d all had their fill of pumpkin pie and pumpkin-cranberry bread, Dante followed Mike to the door. Beverly hugged Mike and Charles shook his hand. “I‟m going to head out, too. I promised some friends I‟d stop by their house,” Dante lied. “What about the show?” Charles asked him. Dante kissed his mother, patted his father on the back. “You know what? I forgot to bring it anyway. When you‟re back at work, I‟ll do a screening. You‟ll love it.” He slipped out the door and hurried to his car. Backing out of the drive, he drew a deep breath, relieved he‟d dodged a bullet—for now. He still hadn‟t made a decision about what he‟d do with the footage of Lane visiting Mike. His avoidance tactic couldn‟t go on indefinitely. One thing he knew for sure. Between his angst toward his brother, trying to avoid his father and fighting his feelings for Jolie, the next few weeks would be incredibly stressful. The coming months could make or break him, personally and professionally.

Chapter Eleven Jolie was surprised to see another car parked at her grandfather‟s house. She thought it was just going to be Grampy, Carmela and her for Thanksgiving. She let herself into the front door, and breathed in the aromas of cinnamon, sage and fresh bread. Voices floated into the foyer from the living room—unfamiliar ones. Poking her head inside, she spotted her grandfather sitting in his overstuffed recliner, a tall glass of yellowish cloudy liquid in his hand. “There‟s my girl,” he said, easing out of the chair. A middle-aged couple she didn‟t recognize sat on the couch. The man stood when he saw her. “Jolie, this is Carmela‟s brother, Tony, and his bride, Estelle,” her grandfather said. She met Grampy in the center of the room for a hug. Then she turned to the couple. “It‟s nice to meet you.” Tony shook her hand, practically squeezing it off. After they‟d all exchanged pleasantries, Jolie scooted around her grandfather, grabbed his drink, took a sip. Henry huffed. “She‟s so fresh, my granddaughter.” He slowly sat back in his seat. “Always snatching my drink.” As she sat in a rocking chair, she winced at the effort it took for him to move around. “Where‟s Carmela?” “In the kitchen. She‟s cooking up a storm,” Tony said. “That‟s where she‟s always been most comfortable since we were kids.” “Yes, I smell it,” Jolie said. She looked at her grandfather, silently asking if their guests were staying for dinner. He winked at her. “Tony and Estelle are on their honeymoon. They surprised Carmela yesterday and came by. She insisted they join our celebration.” She nodded. “Where are you from?” “Upstate New York,” Estelle said. “Although we‟re considering moving here. Tony would like to be near his sister.” “Newlyweds, hmm? Congratulations,” she said. Tony took his wife‟s hand. “It‟s the second marriage for both of us. Estelle was widowed several years back. I was in a loveless marriage for twenty years. I wasted so much of my life with the wrong person.” He looked lovingly into Estelle‟s eyes, then raised her hand to his lips and kissed it sweetly. “Thank God I finally found this woman. She‟s my soul mate.” Jolie squirmed in her seat. “Speaking of waste,” Henry told them. “My granddaughter‟s husband decided to skip the festivities today,” Heat rushed to Jolie‟s face. “Grampy! That‟s not nice.” She shook her head. “Lane is British. It‟s not a holiday for him.” “Why would he pass on an opportunity to be with his lovely wife?” Tony asked. He glanced quickly at Estelle, then back at Jolie. “I spend every moment I can with my bride. There‟s no one I‟d rather be with.” Biting back tears, she thought about all the time Lane spent away from her. She must be the last person he cared to be with. “He‟s working on putting a tour together with his band.”

“Nonsense,” Henry balked. “It‟s a Goddamned holiday. No one‟s working today.” “His band mates are also English. I‟m sure none of them celebrate Thanksgiving.” She wondered why she was forever defending him. Would he do the same for her? “They have to rehearse. It‟s been a long time since they‟ve played together.” “I must tell you,” Tony said. “I was a big fan of your show.” Estelle nodded quickly. “My daughter watched it years ago. She even had a lunchbox with your picture on it.” Her plump cheeks glowed pink and her blue eyes sparkled. Love had painted its mark on her. “Always a pleasure to meet fans.” Jolie smiled, although a deep emptiness settled in her heart. Lane never looked at her the way Tony did at Estelle. And she doubted she‟d ever experienced such adoration as these newlyweds had for each other, even from Ellis. Carmela entered the room carrying a drink. She handed it to Jolie. “Happy Thanksgiving, sweetheart.” She took Jolie‟s face in her hands and kissed each cheek in turn. “Same to you.” Jolie raised her glass to Carmela then drank, savoring pungent gin and sour lemon. “Perfect.” Carmela planted them on her hips. “Then why do you look so sad? Is it „cause your husband isn‟t here?” Jolie took another swallow from her glass to wash down the bile in her throat. “I‟m fine.” “She doesn‟t miss that guitar player,” Henry muttered. “Damned jackass doesn‟t deserve to polish my granddaughter‟s shoes.” Jolie shot him a warning look. What was wrong with him, speaking that way in front of people they‟d just met? Carmela gestured toward Henry. “Ignore him. That‟s his third drink.” She frowned in Henry‟s direction. “Old coot‟s jealous of any man who comes near her, even her husband.” Jolie knitted her brow. “His third drink?” She thought Carmela limited him to one or occasionally two a day, per his doctor‟s orders. “I can‟t force him do what I say.” Carmela shrugged. “I refuse to make it, so he fixes it himself.” She rubbed her hands together. “The bird is on the table and everything‟s ready to go.” Tony and Estelle headed into the dining room, followed by Carmela. Jolie waited for her grandfather. He used the arms of the recliner to help him stand. Wobbling a little, he took a step, then immediately stumbled backward and into the chair. “Grampy!” Jolie raced to him, her heart pounding. What happened?” Brushing away her hand, he grimaced. “I lost my balance, that‟s all. Quit making a fuss over every little thing.” Carmela returned to the room. “Everything okay? I thought I heard someone shout.” “That was me,” Jolie said. Her grandfather grabbed her hand and squeezed. She knew he wanted her to keep quiet, but she couldn‟t. “He nearly fell. Thank goodness he landed in his recliner.” She wondered if he was telling her everything about his health. He‟d grown so much more frail in recent months. Carmela shook her head. “No more drinks for you today. I‟ll pour your expensive gin down the drain if you don‟t behave yourself.” She wagged a finger at him. “You want to kill yourself or something?” Turning to Jolie, she said, “And no more Bombay Sapphire. Understand?” Jolie bobbed her head. She didn‟t want to make matters any worse, nor did she like being on Carmela‟s bad side.

After dinner, Jolie insisted on helping Carmela clean up, although her purpose was to get the woman alone. “What did the doctor say last time?” she asked, wrapping leftover turkey in aluminum foil. The sigh Carmela let out worried her. “Both his blood pressure and cholesterol are up. I‟ve been feeding him healthy foods, but I can‟t be his babysitter when he goes out.” Worry etched deep creases around her dark eyes. She hung a dishtowel over a bar next to the sink and pursed her lips. “I don‟t know what else I can do.” “I‟ll try to be sure he eats well when we‟re out. And I promise I‟ll stop bringing him gin.” She smiled. “Thanks for taking such good care of him. It helps to know you‟re here with him.” “Sometimes he makes me crazy.” Carmela exhaled loudly. “I do the best I can. He won‟t allow me to fuss over him.” Jolie studied the woman‟s face. The concern she saw was greater than that of an employee. Even more than a friend. Gathering her courage, Jolie swallowed hard. “May I ask you a question?” Carmela met her stare, but remained silent. She may not answer, but Jolie felt compelled to ask. If something ever happened to her grandfather, she wanted to know if he and Carmela were…involved. Of course, whether they were or not was none of her business, but if they were, she‟d make sure Carmela could be part of any plans and arrangements Jolie made. “Are you and Grampy…more than friends?” Carmela turned away, giving Jolie her answer. She laid a gentle hand on the older woman‟s shoulder. “I‟m glad you have each other.” “How did you know?” “I sense your feelings in the way you stare at him and in the way he talks about you.” Jolie stepped around her so she could look Carmela in the eyes. “How long?” “Many years.” “Why didn‟t you ever marry, or come out in the open about it?” “I never could. It‟s not right, with me being his housekeeper.” Jolie rolled her head back. “That‟s so old fashioned. No one thinks that way anymore.” She couldn‟t imagine her grandfather letting such notions stand between him and love. If he loved her, wouldn‟t he want to be open about it? “I do.” Carmela squared her shoulders. “Honestly, sweetheart, it‟s between me and your grandfather.” “If you‟re happy together, why wouldn‟t you want to make it official?” “If you‟re unhappy, why do you stay with Lane? It‟s plain to see you‟re miserable.” Jolie took a step back as if she‟d been slapped. She wanted to say something to refute Carmela‟s words, but her thoughts tangled. Was her despair so obvious? “Oh, sweetheart, I‟m sorry.” She wrapped her arms around Jolie‟s shoulders. “I shouldn‟t have spoken out of turn.” Jolie couldn‟t move. She stood with her arms stiffly at her sides. Ice ran through her veins. Squirming out of Carmela‟s embrace, she met the woman‟s stare. “I…I should go.” She ran from the kitchen, bid her grandfather and the others a hasty goodbye then hurried to the solitude of her car. With tears streaming endlessly down her cheeks, she drove home to her cold, empty house. ****

“Quentin told me he captured Lane‟s down low experience for posterity,” Fred said at Monday morning‟s team meeting. “Who knew a guy like him would switch teams?” Irritation soured Dante‟s stomach. How dare Quentin open his mouth? Then again, he hadn‟t asked him to keep the information to himself. Scrubbing his hands over his face, he grappled for a way to change the conversation. “How was everyone‟s holiday?” He glanced at each of them in turn. “I could use a refill on my coffee, Wendy.” He handed her his empty mug. She stood and eyed him. Damn. Why did she have to know him so well? “Lane‟s on the down low?” Elaine asked. “Hiding in the marriage?” She let out a hearty laugh. “Finally. The show has some meat. Where‟s the footage. I want to see it.” “Me too,” Wendy added, still staring at Dante. His gut roiled. “What are you guys talking about?” Kim asked. Dante shot out of his chair and paced the room. “I‟m not so sure we can include the footage. I have to check with legal first.” He glanced into his coffee mug, then at Wendy who was still frozen in her spot. “I‟m growing old here.” She pursed her lips before marching from the room. Kim said, “Will someone please tell me what‟s going on?” “Quentin taped Lane going to some guy‟s house Wednesday,” Fred told her. “Seems our not-so-loving husband is loving another.” Kim‟s eyes opened wide. “Shut up!” Fred smiled and shook his head. “Swear to God.” “You‟ve got to let us see it, Dante,” Elaine demanded. Every one of them had been to his house at least once. They‟d all recognize the place. He‟d been lucky Quentin was the one following Lane. He was the only person on the team who had no idea what Dante‟s house looked like. He took a seat behind his desk and weighed his options. They were going to bug him until he showed them the DVD. If he had it. “I hate to disappoint you all, but I don‟t have the footage here.” “What?” Wendy entered the office carrying a steaming mug. “Are you shitting us?” “Of course not. I took it home with me and forgot to grab it this morning.” Fred unhooked his phone from his belt and flipped it open. “We always keep a copy. I‟ll call Quentin.” “No,” Dante said too quickly. They all stared at him. “We need to discuss this week‟s schedule.” Lame. Wendy‟s face showed she knew he was hiding something. Averting his gaze, he said, “Fred, have Quentin do his shift at Jolie‟s house in the evening. We‟re short of nighttime shots. He can lay off Lane for now.” “Lay off Lane?” Kim asked, wide-eyed. “Just when we‟re starting to uncover something that could blow the lid off the show?” Dante swallowed hard. Why did his team have to be so damned perceptive? “Only until we get clearance from the lawyers. Might as well not burn a bunch of man hours filming stuff we can‟t air.” He spun his chair away from them. “That‟s all, folks. Onward and upward.” Their footsteps faded. Wendy remained. He could hear her breathing, feel her glare on the back of his head. “Why are you still here? He tried to focus on the palm tree outside his window, gently swaying in the breeze.

“What is keeping you from using the footage of Lane?” He laced his fingers together. “I already answered that.” “Sure you did.” She marched from the room, closing the door after her. He‟d have to do better than that when his father returned to work, which he feared would be any day now. He couldn‟t dismiss the old man‟s questions like he had Wendy‟s. Come up with something fast or you‟ll be out on your ass. **** With her entourage following, Jolie entered an out-of- the-way restaurant and took a seat. The crew hovered nearby. “Look. Isn‟t that Caroline Ross?” a man at the next table asked his lunch companion. Jolie rolled her eyes, steeling herself for The Caroline Ross Experience again. The film crew trained their attention on Caroline as she came inside wearing a pink suit with matching purse and shoes from this year‟s Lily Pulitzer collection. “Hello, darlin,‟” Caroline drawled as she sat. “Sorry I‟m late, again.” She winked directly at the camera. “No problem.” “What‟s good here?” Jolie leaned her chin on one hand. “All of it.” “Are you okay?” Caroline‟s brow furrowed. “Those orphans you work with gettin‟ you down again?” Jolie shook her head. “No. And they‟re not orphans. They‟re underprivileged.” Holding her hand over her heart, Caroline said, “Well, thank God they have parents, at least. But is it really worth it if you‟re depressed after you‟re with them?” Should she make yet one more attempt to explain how the volunteer work made her feel? How giving something of herself lifted her spirit? “They have nothing to do with my mood.” “What is it then, honey?” Jolie thrust her chin toward the camera. “Later.” Caroline nodded. “An invitation came in the mail this morning. Sounds like the party of the season.” “I hope so. I‟ve gone to a lot of trouble for that ornery old man.” “And he‟ll appreciate all of it.” Jolie snorted. “He‟ll do nothing but complain the entire time. The next day, however, he‟ll realize how wonderful the evening was and call me, gushing with praise.” Caroline laughed. “Sounds like you know him.” She thought back to her time at his house on Thanksgiving. The day had been so emotionally charged. Carmela‟s pronouncement that Jolie was obviously miserable replayed in her mind. Her sham of a marriage would come off like a farce on television. Maybe Lane was right when he said Dante chose them for their dysfunction. Her stomach turned. That Dante would choose to parade her on the series like a pathetic fool stabbed at her heart. She had to believe he had more integrity than that, more decency. Her instincts couldn‟t be that off. She‟d come to know him, to like him. More than like him. Much as she tried to push her desire away, it remained. “You okay?” Caroline asked.

“Mm hmm. Just tired. All this party planning is keeping me up nights.” She wished that was all she lost sleep over. “What about you? Anything new?” Caroline‟s face clouded, telling Jolie all she needed to know. “No luck with the fertility drugs yet, huh?” She shook her head. “We‟re not givin‟ up. We have lots more options.” “Of course you do.” She smiled reassuringly. “It‟ll happen. I know it will.” But she had her doubts. Four years had passed since Caroline‟s announcement that they wanted to have a baby. On the drive home she thought about Caroline‟s quest to become pregnant. Why were some people deprived of the ability to conceive when others had children they clearly didn‟t care about? Like her mother. Her father had wanted her, she was sure of it. He loved her more than anything and told her so all the time. He was so fun to be around. Except the times he‟d shut himself in the basement and didn‟t speak to her or her mother. Emmanuelle wasn‟t easy on either of them. A car horn blasted through her contemplation. She swerved to avoid hitting an oncoming SUV. She had enough painful things to think about lately without borrowing some from her past. Lane made sure of that.

Chapter Twelve The thin office walls at Ebersol Productions weren‟t built to muffle Charles Ebersol‟s angry rants. “What the hell have you people been doing all this time, sitting with your thumbs up your ass?” Dante cringed as he stepped past his father‟s door. “Who‟s he got in there?” Myra, the old man‟s secretary of more than twenty years, shook her head as she straightened the papers on her desk. “The guys from the home renovation show.” She leaned her head toward him and lowered her voice. “Your mother called this morning to warn me. I had no idea he‟d be back so soon.” Dante‟s chest tightened. “Neither did I. Doesn‟t sound like that meeting is doing his heart any good. Don‟t tell him you‟ve seen me. I‟m going to wrap up a couple things right away, then get the hell out of Dodge.” She nodded. “Lucky you. Wish I could leave with you.” He patted her hand before heading to his office. Once inside, he quietly crossed the room to his desk, leaving the lights off. Then he booted up his computer and made sure there was no email he had to deal with immediately. He slid open his middle drawer and stared at the DVD—evidence of his brother and Lane‟s tryst. He wished to God the whole thing had been his imagination. The door flew open. His father stood there, barrel-chested and red-faced, six feet of walking terror. “Hiding?” he asked, flipping on the light switch. Dante forced a chuckle. “Hey, Dad. I didn‟t think you‟d be back until next week.” He slowly closed his drawer, his heart beating wildly. “I‟m surprised Mom let you out.” Charles‟ thick, white brows drew closer. “God damn place has gone to hell in a hand basket while I was away.” He stalked into the room and took a seat on the couch. “I want to see what you‟ve got for that new show of yours and it had better not suck like the last thing you did.” He gestured toward the television. “Play something for me.” Dante coughed nervously. “Dad, nothing‟s been edited yet and I‟m out the door. I‟m already late.” He stood and stepped out from behind the desk, hoping his father would accept his excuse and leave. “I‟ll expect to see something, this week. Understand? I want to see exactly how you‟re pissing your future inheritance away.” “We‟ll try. We‟re filming a big event Saturday night, a party at Lester Weinberg‟s house. Old Hollywood A-list.” A thick finger jabbed at the air. “I won‟t be put off another week. History had better not be repeating itself. I want to see for myself that you‟re worth half the salary your mother forces me to pay you. Have Wendy set something up with Myra. I want to meet soon. Very soon.” He stood. “If you don‟t have anything worthwhile, we‟ll have to cut this project short before it racks up a ton of additional debt.” He glowered at Dante. “And maybe you along with the show.” Dante was banking everything on the party. With luck, they‟d record enough at Lester Weinberg‟s place for two episodes. Without some major star action at the event, he‟d be forced to use the footage of Lane and Mike or risk losing his job and likely his future as a producer. “Yes, sir. I get it.”

Charles marched out without so much as a wave of his hand. Bastard. Dante fished his keys out of his pocket and flipped to the rarely used one to his desk. His chest tightened as he locked the middle drawer. The drive to Encino calmed his nerves. Dealing with erratic drivers and road hazards was less taxing than a five-minute conversation with the old man. Arriving at Jolie‟s house half an hour later, he found the crew filming her and Hilda arguing in the family room. “I not do it.” Hilda yelled, pointing toward the door. “He cerdo. A pig,” Kim stood in the doorway with a hand over her mouth, obviously stifling a laugh. Even Omar was grinning. Jolie glared at her housekeeper. “So you think I should do it?” She planted her fists on her waist. “That‟s what I pay you for.” Even angry she was gorgeous, he decided. And beyond sexy in a velour workout suit. Hilda folded her arms across her chest and turned away. “No. Repugnante.” Jolie‟s chest heaved. “Hilda, dammit, put on a pair of rubber gloves and get this mess cleaned up.” Dante craned his neck to see what the housekeeper objected to. All he could make out was what looked like several crumpled tissues on the carpet in front of the couch. Hilda stomped past him, heading in the direction of the kitchen. Jolie raced after her, followed by Fred, Elaine and Omar. Kim finally let out a chuckle. Dante took a few steps toward her. “What‟s going on?” “Well, that depends who you ask.” She rolled her eyes. “It seems Lane tied one on last night and according to Hilda, barfed on the floor, covered it up with tissues and left it there for her to clean.” He shook his head. “Lovely. I have no idea what Jolie sees in him.” “Nor do I. She insists the mess is only cheesy poufs and beer that Lane stepped on.” Kim shrugged. “Either way, Hilda‟s right. He is a cerdo.” “Among other things,” Dante said under his breath. She eyed him. “Like?” Shaking his head, he sighed. “Nothing.” “Why are you protecting him? What did Quentin catch him doing exactly?” When he didn‟t answer her, she got in his face. “Dante? What‟s going on? This isn‟t like you to be so secretive.” He bristled. “It‟s not your ass on the chopping block, Kim. I know what‟s best for this production. Or have you suddenly turned into a producer?” She shrank back. “Sorry. I just thought… Never mind.” Hugging her arms around her body, she started walking away. He grabbed her wrist. “Wait.” She stopped and looked into his eyes. “I‟m sorry, Kim. I‟m under a lot of pressure. Things you guys don‟t know about.” She nodded after he released her arm. “Okay. Apology accepted.” As she strode away, he wasn‟t so sure she‟d forgiven him. Raking his fingers through his hair, he blew out a troubled breath. This entire project had turned into a nightmare. Between the information he‟d discovered about his brother, the pressure his father was putting on him and these unexpected feelings for Jolie, he wondered what the landscape of his life would look like when the dust settled. It might be a whole new ballgame. “Got a sec?” Wendy asked, interrupting his thoughts.

“Sure. What do you need?” She shifted from foot to foot, twirled a blond curl around one finger. “Um, about tonight‟s shoot, I can‟t be here.” He smiled. “No prob. I can live without my assistant for a couple of hours.” She exhaled loudly, but continued playing with her hair. “Well, it‟s not only me.” He held up his palms. “What are you trying to say?” “We‟re going to my folks place for my mom‟s birthday.” He lifted an eyebrow, waiting for her to tell him the rest. “And?” “Well, Elaine would really like to be there.” She donned her puppy dog eyes. “Her backup isn‟t able to work tonight, some prior commitment.” He flattened his lips and mentally went over the schedule. They planned to film Jolie at the Van Nuys Community Center tonight, while she taught her acting class. “With a group of kids, we‟ve got to have a sound person. Any suggestions?” “Actually, yes. And before you say no, I‟ve already run this by Kim and it‟s all right with her.” He felt like a parent, being primed for some big request by his kid. “Go on.” “As you know, Kim used to be a sound tech before she was promoted to location manager. She can do sound if you can act as location manager. Do you mind going along for the shoot?” More time with Jolie and without Lane. Sweat pooled at the base of his spine. “Sure. I can do that.” Wendy beamed. “You saved the day, boss. Thanks. I owe you.” “Yeah, you do.” **** Lane drove through Beverly Hills searching for the address Andy, his private detective friend, had supplied. Unfortunately, the bastard couldn‟t find a current phone number to go with the address. Didn‟t matter. Perhaps the element of surprise would work in his favor. His cell vibrated against his waist. He unclipped it and checked the display. Jonathan again. He rolled his eyes and tossed the phone onto the passenger seat. “Not now, you fairy. Go screw your new bloke.” Checking the address again from a slip of paper, he furrowed his brow. Could she live in an apartment? Jolie gave him the impression her mother lived in a fine house. “Wilshire North Luxury Apartments,” the sign read. He wondered if Andy had screwed up. Shrugging, he turned into the lot and parked his car. He shut off the motor and stared at the building in front of him. Two stories, with a grand entrance flanked by royal palms. Fancy, but hardly the lavish digs he‟d expected. To hear Jolie tell it, the woman lived like a bloody queen, on her daughter‟s money. As he approached the entrance, he rehearsed what he‟d say, just in case she really did live here. Grabbing the ornate door handle, he tugged. But it was locked. He searched for a directory and found one next the mailboxes. Bonchant —2-D. Bingo. He moved his finger to the black button beside the name, but hesitated. Why would she agree to let him in? He could be some mad rapist for all she knew. No, he had to have a plan. He hurried back to his car and devised one.

Twenty minutes later, he returned wearing a baseball cap and carrying a large vase of flowers. She‟d better be home, considering he‟d dropped over fifty bucks at the florist. He held his breath, pressed the button and waited. “Yes?” a high pitched female voice said a few seconds later. “Flower delivery for Miss Bonchant.” She said nothing for several moments. “Who sent them?” He could hear the French accent. Yeah, Andy must have been right. “Beverly Blooms Florist, ma‟am?” he said, stifling a laugh. “No, no. Who ordered them?” He grinned. “A Miss Brown, ma‟am.” He heard her gasp. “Yes. Yes, come in.” After the door buzzed, he pushed through. A wide staircase led to the second floor. Only four doors to choose from, one opened a crack. Lane held the bouquet in front of his face as he approached. “Miss Bonchant?” “Yes, that‟s me. Oh, how lovely.” She clapped her hands. “Un moment. Let me get you a gratuity.” She disappeared from the doorway. Emmanuelle looked much younger than he‟d expected. Her eyes were identical to Jolie‟s, but her hair was blond, unlike her daughter‟s jet black. Taking a step inside, he glanced around the room. Expensive furniture, Persian rugs and real paintings. Music drifted to his ears. The melody was sad and the lyrics French. “Non. Rien de rien. Je ne regrette rien...” Returning to the entryway, Emmanuella held out a five-dollar bill. She handed him the money, took the vase and set it on a table. Lane quickly pulled the brim of his cap low over his eyes and shoved the money into his pocket. “Lovely music. What is it?” She narrowed her gaze. “Edith Piaf.” She twisted her face into a scowl and waggled a finger in his direction. “I know who you are. You‟re my Jolie‟s husband.” She took a step back. “What are you doing here? What do you want with me?” He held up his hands in surrender. “Now hang on a minute, Miss Bonchant. I don‟t mean you no harm.” “Did she send you?” She inched closer and squared her shoulders. “She‟s angry I went to her salon, eh? Well, tough shit. This is a free country.” If the old cow would shut up, he could tell her why he was there. “Jolie didn‟t send me.” “Bullshit! That spoiled bitch blames everything that ever went wrong in her life on me.” Christ, this one sure had a mouth on her. “Miss Bonchant, Emmanuelle, I‟m not here to yell at you or cause you grief.” He dropped his shoulders and sighed, trying for the sad husband. “Me poor wife is miserable that she don‟t have her Mum in her life. Now that her granddad is advancing in years, she says you‟re all she‟ll have in the world after he passes.” He wiped an imaginary tear from the corner of his eye and sniffled. She turned her back on him and picked up a pink leather pouch covered in jewels. Unsnapping the top, she held it toward him and he saw the cigarette pack inside. “Haven‟t touched a fag in four years,” he told her, taking a step into the apartment. She shut the door then removed a smoke from the pack and lit it. Drawing a deep drag, she eyed him. He wondered if he‟d sold her on his mission. “You‟re full of shit,” she finally said. “But I like your tenacity.” He held his breath, hoping she‟d be an ally, rather than an enemy.

She circled him like a vulture assessing its prey. “Tell me the truth. Why did you come to see me?” “All right. You caught me.” He had to walk a fine line between truth and fiction, had to make it believable. “Jolie didn‟t send me. She doesn‟t have any idea I‟m here.” She nodded. “Come. Sit.” She led him to a rose-colored velvet couch with ornately carved arms and legs. She smashed the cigarette into a crystal ashtray on the coffee table. “What is your purpose, Monsieur Wood?” He leaned back in his seat and took a good look at her. Long, shapely legs, like Jolie‟s, porcelain skin, obviously well cared for, perfect makeup. He read shrewd on her face and knew he‟d better make this convincing. “Me wife, your daughter, is throwin‟ a bash for her granddad‟s eightieth birthday Saturday night. I asked her if she planned to invite you and she burst into tears.” He stuck out his chin. “I ain‟t gonna lie to you and say she forgives you for all that nasty business you done years back. She‟s still smartin‟ over it.” Emmanuelle averted her eyes. So far, so good. “Bein‟ her husband, I know her like the back of me hand. She misses her Mum.” He added another deep sigh for effect. “She‟d kill me if she knew I was here, with you. I shouldn‟t tell you this, but every Mother‟s Day she cries like a baby.” “She does?” He held a hand over his heart. “Swear to God.” She said nothing for several minutes. Edith Piaf filled the silence. “Le temps de commencer. Ou de finir…” “I‟d like you to come to the old man‟s party. I have a friend who‟d love to accompany you.” Then he added, “Good lookin‟ bloke.” “Je ne sais pas. I don‟t know. Henry and I…we parted on not so good terms.” She lit another fag. “And what if Jolie refuses to speak to me? I‟ve had my heart broken enough. What if she won‟t let me in?” He shrugged. “I just got into your apartment with flowers. A big gift would do the same. Or, you could wear a wig, dark glasses.” “At night?” “Half of bloody Hollywood will be there. They‟ll all be wearin‟ them.” He watched her face and knew the wheels were turning in her brain. She stood and paced the room. Smoke from the cigarette trailed behind her, stinking the place up. “I‟ll do it,” she finally said. He wanted to cheer, but kept his cool. “Glad to hear it. Me wife will be so happy.” Emmanuelle toyed with the top button of her blouse. “And what about you, Mr. Wood? What do you get out of this?” She sat beside him and crossed her legs. Leaning forward, she snuffed out her cigarette and gave him a peek of a black lace brassiere and deep cleavage. She licked her upper lip with the tip of her tongue, making her intentions plain. “An attractive man like you can have any woman he wants.” She was still a looker and she obviously needed to know he was taking the bait. “Maybe we can have own little reunion.” His gaze swept over her breasts, her long legs. “After the party, eh?” Lane gave her a wink and a nod. She‟d played right into his hands. The moment he got back to his car, he made the first of two phone calls that were the finishing touches on his plan. After he hung up, he smiled. He‟d secured an escort for Cinderella and a promise of a whopping fifty grand if he could get Vi into Henry‟s party.

The day had been more productive than he‟d ever hoped. **** Dante held a mike on a pole over a group of kids as they improvised a scene using various props. “Ho, ho, ho,” a Hispanic boy said as he crushed a beanbag pillow against his middle. “Merry Christmas.” Jolie clapped excitedly. “Very good, Ricardo.” She tussled the child‟s dark hair and took the prop from him. Handing it to a girl with red hair, she said, “Your turn.” The girl cradled the pillow in her arms. “Good baby.” She nestled the bundle against her shoulder. “Don‟t cry. You‟ll wake up Daddy. Then you get punished.” Dante watched Jolie‟s expression cloud. “Nice job, Sophie. Who wants to go next?” She pointed to a thin boy with a pasty complexion. “Tomas.” The kid shook his head and folded his arms over his chest. No way would she get this kid to play the game. She clapped her hands. “Let‟s take a quick break. I want all of you to be snakes. Slither on the carpet and show me how snakelike you can act.” Then she took Tomas aside and sat in a corner, pulling the boy onto her lap. Dante moved with her, hoping to capture whatever she was going to say. “Still upset about your Dad leaving?” she asked the child. He nodded. “My Dad…left when I was about your age, too.” He met her gaze. “He did?” Jolie nodded and swiped her finger under her eye. “I was lonely for a really long time.” “Did he ever come back?” Her brow knitted. “No,” she said softly. “But I have a feeling your Dad will come visit you. Maybe even take you out to the movies and do other fun stuff with you.” “He said we can go to Disneyland soon.” She smiled big. “Wow. Have you ever been there? It‟s really fun.” “Uh huh.” He climbed off her lap. “When I was this big.” He held his hand up to his waist. “Only I can‟t remember. „Cept I still have Mickey.” “A stuffed Mickey? I have Minnie. Would you like me to bring her next time?” He bobbed his head excitedly. “Mommy‟s fixed Mickey lots of times. But she says one more rip and he‟ll be ready for the trash.” His face fell. “Maybe Santa will fix him good as new for you.” Dante marveled at how well she dealt with the kids. The footage they were taking portrayed a totally different image than the Hollywood Prima Dona he‟d thought she was before he met her. But would it fit with the image he had for the show? After the class was over, Dante walked Jolie to her car and opened her door. “Maybe I‟ll see you tomorrow. We‟ll only be shooting a few hours. Not sure if I‟ll make it.” Although he‟d try like hell. “I hope you will.” The anticipation he saw on her face stirred something inside him. “You‟re wonderful…with the kids.”

She shook her head. “They make it easy. Every one of them is so enthusiastic and I know they look forward to the class. I have to make it fun.” He stared into her eyes, pitch black in the darkness. “I‟d be enthusiastic too.” “I should get going.” She climbed into her car and started the motor. He wanted to make her stay, to grab a few more moments with her. “I‟ll make every effort to come tomorrow.” He hated going an entire day without seeing her. God, he was worse than pathetic. “Okay. Bye.” “Night.” He shut her door, watched her drive away. Would she dream about him, as he did of her? His gut tightened, knowing she‟d be sharing her bed with her bastard husband. What could have made her marry a guy like Wood? She obviously had little confidence in herself, but could she have been wounded so badly that she thought he was all she deserved? He had to make her see what an amazing woman she was. He prayed she‟d give Wood the boot. Maybe then he‟d have a shot at her. **** Jolie took her daily walk around the neighborhood in blessed solitude. The music from her iPod didn‟t keep her from worrying about the hundreds of party details swimming through her head. Had she made the right food choices? Would the florists show up on time? Would Lane‟s band mates would get drunk and make fools of themselves? With only twenty-four hours until the event, her nerves were already beginning to frazzle. She crossed the street and started through the park. Ticking off items on her mental checklist, she noticed a long shadow beside hers. As she watched, the silhouette darted on and off the path several times. She stole a quick glance over her shoulder. A man walked behind her. Too close. Shutting off her player, she scanned the park. Why hadn‟t she ever noticed how desolate the place was? Damn. And she‟d left her phone at home. The pounding in her ears drowned out all other sounds. Keeping an eye on the shadow, she searched her pocket for something she could use to defend herself, but all she came up with was key ring. Could he be a paparazzo? No. She‟d have seen his camera. Maybe an overzealous fan. Or someone with bad intent. She looked over her shoulder and saw him duck behind a tree. Sucking in a deep breath, she positioned the keys between fingers and ran as fast as she could. She stayed on the path, hoping to find other people, someone who would frighten the man away. She ventures another backward glance and saw him gaining on her. “Help!” she shouted at the top of her lungs. “Someone help me.” She yanked her earphones off. “Miss Brown.” Oh, God. An unbalanced fan. Negotiating a sharp turn, she lost her footing and stumbled, falling onto the grass on the side of the path. She did a quick assessment of her physical condition. Nothing hurt. She squinted against the sun, hoping to see where the man had gone. A tall figure appeared above her. The glare made it impossible for her to see his face clearly. She shrank back, tightened her grip on her keys. “Get away,” she yelled. “Help me. Somebody help!”

Chapter Thirteen The man stood his ground and said calmly, “Miss Brown.” Adrenaline coursed through her, sending her heart rate into a wild, pounding beat. She desperately searched for someone, anyone, for help. Ignoring his proffered hand, she got to her feet, then lunged at him, landing a punch to his chest. He stumbled backward, clutching his shoulder. “Jesus Christ, lady. What‟s wrong with you?” A small circle of blood on his upper chest grew bigger, turning the top corner of his white polo shirt red. “I only wanted to speak to you,” he cried. “About Lane.” Glancing at her hand, she saw the ends of the keys sticking out from between her fingers. Had she actually done that to him? Her stomach knotted. “Who are you?” “I‟m a friend of Lane‟s.” He stared down at his shirt. “I can‟t handle the sight of bl…” He dropped to the ground like a stone. What if he were faking? Luring her closer so he could grab her? Her whole body trembled. Should she run away? She narrowed her gaze and studied him. Tall and lanky, he couldn‟t be older than thirty. His dark brown hair had salon-induced gold highlights. She took a step closer, prodded his side with her foot. He didn‟t move. The bloodstain had spread a little more. Getting on her knees, she sucked in a breath. She didn‟t much care for the sight of blood either. Lifting his shirt, she studied the wound. A deep red gash stared back at her a couple inches above his nipple. Nausea rose in her gut. Stars swam before her eyes. Rocking back on her legs, she swooned, sucked in a breath of cool air. The man moaned and his eyelids fluttered. “Are you all right?” She took a few steps back, afraid he might still be a threat. He winced. “I think I need stitches. I can‟t look or I‟ll pass out again.” Jolie took off her jacket and bunched it into a ball. “Here,” she said, handing it to him. “Hold this against your chest. Let‟s get you out of here.” She helped him sit, then stand. She spied a phone clipped to his pants and held out her hand. “Give me your cell. I‟ll call an ambulance.” He balked. “An ambulance? Forget it. I can‟t afford that. I‟m not rich like you and I have no insurance.” Was she really having this conversation with a man who was possibly stalking her? She led him to a nearby bench and sat with him. “Why were you following me?” He hung his head. “I didn‟t mean to scare you. I only wanted to talk.” And if he was a kook, why was she calmly sitting on a park bench speaking to him? Where was that damn film crew when she needed them? “Tell me who you are and how you know my husband.” “This isn‟t going as I‟d planned.” He clutched her jacket to his chest and sighed. “Lane and I…were lovers.” Lovers. Her temples throbbed like a bass drum as denial and anger swirled through her gut. No—not Lane.

He’s lying, trying to extort money from me or— “I can see you don‟t believe me, but it‟s the truth.” He blew out a loud breath. “He has a mole on the inside of his left thigh shaped like a heart.” “You could have seen that on a fan site or read it in a…a…” Only she knew he hadn‟t done any of that. She sucked in a breath and her entire body went limp as the implications hit her with the force of a tidal wave. She flew off the bench, shaking her head. She wanted to scream at him, force him to stop lying. Except...she knew this man was telling the truth. It explained Lane‟s lack of interest in her, in sex, the nightly disappearances. So it wasn’t me after all. His distance had nothing to do with her too-small breasts, her latest wrinkles. The problem was Lane didn‟t want any woman. “Had you fooled, didn‟t he?” Still numb with shock, she could only nod. Dear God, what if he‟d given her some dreaded disease? She rracked her brain trying to remember if they‟d ever foregone a condom. Thankfully, she couldn‟t recall any such time. I thought my life was a mess before? “I‟m sorry I frightened you. I couldn‟t chance going to your house and finding Lane there.” He tightened his grasp on her jacket. “Where you stabbed me really hurts. Maybe I need to have stitches.” Jolie was almost grateful she could concentrate on something beside Lane, anything else. “If you wait here, I‟ll run home and get my car, take you to the ER.” Fifteen minutes later, she helped him into her Mercedes and headed toward the hospital. He leaned against the door. “I‟m sorry to have to spill the beans about Lane.” “Oh, God.” She held her palm to her forehead, assuring herself she wasn‟t having a strange nightmare. “This is so funny. Weird funny.” What began as a chuckle grew into a full-blown, rip-roaring laugh. Tears spilled from her eyes. “I don‟t even know your name and I‟m driving you to the hospital because I stabbed you with my keys.” She stopped at a red light and doubled over in hysterics. The man laughed too. “Ouch.” He pressed both hands to his chest. “Oh, God. That hurts.” When a car horn honked behind them, Jolie composed herself and resumed driving. Her marriage was over. Her husband was sleeping with men and she was laughing. Which, of course, was better than crying. “My name is Jonathan.” The gravity of her situation hit her. From somewhere came the courage to ask the important questions. “How long have you and my husband been lovers?” “A couple of years.” He sniffled. “He stopped returning my calls about ten days ago. I think he‟s found someone else.” She glanced at him. “Why do you say that?” “He always returned my calls, until then.” Jolie wondered what had changed that Lane would end his affair. Could he have had second thoughts? Decided to give their marriage another chance? You’re pathetic. Everything he’s ever told you is bull. She flashed back to the morning she‟d caught him scribbling her signature. Another frightening thought occurred to her. Had he practiced safe sex with Jonathan and whoever else he‟d been with? She cleared her throat. “Um, Jonathan?”

“Yeah?” “I‟m sorry to ask this, but I have to know.” He snickered. “No, I‟m not in love with him. And I‟m positive he‟s not with me. Obviously.” She shook her head. “That wasn‟t what I was going to ask, but thanks for telling me.” Following signs for the Emergency entrance, she found a spot and parked her car. “Actually, I‟m wondering if when the two of you, you know…” Swallowing her pride, she held her head high. “Did you use condoms, every time?” He patted her leg. “Always. Don‟t worry. He was very insistent.” She felt an odd kinship with Jonathan and found the notion unsettling. While they languished in an overcrowded waiting room, Jolie‟s phone rang. Checking the display, she saw it was Lane. She glanced at Jonathan before answering. “Hello, kitten. Where are you?” Her stomach turned when she heard his voice, but she forced herself to maintain control. “Running errands.” “I need a thousand quid. You want me to look good for your granddad‟s shindig, don‟t you? Can‟t have me show up wearin‟ me old rags, eh?” She no longer felt like hosting the party, but had to, for her grandfather‟s sake. So many people had spent lots of time, effort and money to make the event a success. As much as she wanted to kick Lane out on his ass, the timing was terrible. She‟d have to wait until after the party to confront him, which meant she‟d have to pretend everything was fine. But she‟d never give the bastard another cent. And she certainly didn‟t care what he looked like anymore. “Sorry. I can‟t spare anything now. Wear whatever you have in the closet.” “Come on, love. Just this once?” “Nope.” She snapped the phone shut. Jonathan stared at her with unmistakable pity. “I never thought about how much he hurt you. How much pain he caused.” She bit back tears. “Why did you decide to tell me about your affair? What did you hope to gain?” His eyes darted around the room. “Guess I wanted to hurt him.” Pursing his lips, he looked away. “I was going to ask you for money. For my silence.” He met her gaze. “I feel awful about that now. You‟re a nice lady and you deserve way more.” She swallowed hard and nodded, too distraught to speak. “Jonathan Coleman,” a nurse called from the reception desk. He stood, squeezed Jolie‟s hand, then followed the nurse into a corridor. Jolie paced the lobby while she waited, contemplating her next move. She needed a plan. Yes, right after the party she ought to call Melvin, her lawyer for a referral to a good divorce attorney. Falling apart now wasn‟t an option. She had a huge party to throw. What would happen with the TV show? Would they cancel her contract since Lane wouldn‟t be in the picture anymore? Would she have to return the money they‟d already paid her? She shuddered, thinking about the substantial chunk she‟d already spent. My marriage is ending and all I’m concerned about is money? How much could she really love Lane if losing him wasn‟t her biggest worry? And why would her attraction to Dante always be on her mind if her marriage were all it should have been? “Are you the responsible party?”

Jolie snapped her head toward a woman in scrubs standing in front of her. “I…yes. I am.” The woman handed her a clipboard and a pen. “Would you mind filling out the Bill To section? Mr. Coleman left that blank.” Pasting on a smile, Jolie took the board and completed the forms, then arranged to pay for Jonathan‟s visit. He met her in the waiting room a little while later. “The damage you inflicted is all sewn up,” he said. The gleam in his eyes assured her he didn‟t hold the assault against her. “I‟m sorry. You shouldn‟t have acted like a stalker.” He elbowed her. “I‟m kidding. Only three stitches. Of course, for a queen, like me, that‟s a huge major deal.” She laughed as they walked to her car. When they were inside the Mercedes, she stared at him. “What now?” “Are you referring to this very minute or your life, in general?” Under other circumstances, they would probably become friends. She liked him, loved his dry wit. She leaned her head against the steering wheel. Then the tears came. And came. Jonathan rubbed her back. “What can I do? I feel awful for causing you so much hurt.” “Lane caused it. Hell, maybe I contributed to the downfall of our marriage.” She shook her head. “I don‟t know how I‟m going to get through the weekend. I‟m hosting this huge party for my grandfather and more than a hundred guests. No way can I deal with Lane until that‟s over.” “A party?” He scrubbed his hands together and grinned. “I‟m a party planner. When I‟m not waiting tables, or auditioning for American Idol. Or television roles. What still needs to be done? I can handle anything. I owe you, after all.” She hadn‟t known this man three hours and the circumstances of their meeting certainly didn‟t add any points on the trust meter. “That‟s very sweet of you. But you don‟t owe me. Everything is mostly set.” “What about keeping Lane occupied? I know your grandfather can‟t stand him. Lane said so himself. I feel like one of the family. He‟s told me everything.” Eyes sparkling, he puffed out his chest. She didn‟t want to know the details of their life Lane had shared, but she didn‟t want to piss Jonathan off. He had the power to cause her reputation great harm. “Give me your cell number; I‟ll call if anything comes up.” The disappointment on his face told her she‟d have to do better. “Look. I‟ll phone you in the morning and update you. Who knows? Maybe I‟ll need your help.” He beamed as he wrote his number on the back of a form the hospital had given him. “My tux is clean, pressed and waiting if you want me to attend the gala. I can be ready on a moment‟s notice. Whatever you need. A distraction for Lane, floral advice, you name it.” She nodded, having absolutely no intention of ever seeing him again. After dropping him at his car, she returned home and took a long, hot bath. Tomorrow might well be one of her most stressful days ever. **** Dante turned into Ebersol Productions and noticed his father‟s car in the lot. The headache that had been simmering under the surface all day ratcheted up a notch. He didn‟t want the usual barrage of questions and the request to see what he had so far. Rather than parking, he swung through the loop and left. He‟d successfully avoided the old man all week.

Mike would be at the house; he didn‟t want to see him, either. After twenty minutes of mindless driving, he found himself in Encino, wondering what Jolie was doing. What excuse could he use to pop in? And what if her bastard husband was there? Still on auto-pilot, the BMW drove to her house and parked across the street. “What the hell are you doing?” he said aloud. He got out, glanced left and right. The street was empty. Why wouldn‟t it be at nearly nine in the evening? Light spilled through the living room window of Jolie‟s house. He pictured her as he‟d seen her several times, sitting at her antique desk, writing a note, her chestnut curls spilling over her shoulders like a silken shawl. Why was he dwelling on her? She was so not his type. Too old and too much an actress. But she fascinated him with her vulnerability, her elegance and her quiet strength. He loved the playful way she argued with Hilda and the gardener. He respected her resolve to stay true to Lane, even though the asshole didn‟t deserve loyalty. She attracted him as no other woman had. She appeared in the window. He wanted to hide behind the shrubs, but his feet inexplicably felt like lead. His heart pounded as he watched her look left and right, then stare in his direction. Too far away to see her expression, he prayed she wasn‟t angry, hoped she‟d go to the door, invite him inside. She disappeared from the window. His heart lodged in his throat. He waited, but she didn‟t return, or go to the door. She probably thought he was some nutty stalker. He was beginning to believe that himself. Shaking his head, he opened his car door and took one last look toward her house before getting inside. “You‟re a loser, Ebersol.” If only he could clear his brain of images of Jolie and of his brother with Lane. Loud banging on his window nearly made him wet his pants. Jolie stood outside his car with a hand on her hip and a scowl on her face. She looked sold on the stalker idea. He opened the door and climbed out, his heart beating like a snare drum. “This isn‟t what you think.” He raised his hands in surrender. Her chestnut eyes sparked and he thought for sure he‟d see flames shoot from her nostrils at any moment. “Tell me your girlfriend or your mother lives on this street. If not, you‟d better have a darned good excuse why you‟re here. Again. This is the third time this week you‟ve showed up after hours.” God, she looked gorgeous when she was angry. Folding his arms over his chest, he leaned against the car. “No, my mother doesn‟t live here and I don‟t have a girlfriend.” “Then why are you here?” She rubbed her fingers over her forehead, sighing. Because I can’t make myself stay away. “Please don‟t be angry.” Meeting his gaze, she managed a weak smile. “I‟m not angry, just…confused.” He scanned the area. “Can we walk or something?” She flattened her lips and drew her brows together. “I don‟t dare take another walk today. I can‟t handle it.” Dante had no idea what she meant, but he knew he had to be with her as long as she‟d allow. He ached to be near her, to touch her. The thought of leaving her now was unbearable. He pointed to her house. “Can we go inside?” She shook her head. “Hilda‟s there. She eavesdrops.” “Let‟s drive.”

She eyed his car. After a quick glance toward her house, she nodded and went around to the passenger side. His heart soared as he followed her and opened the door. Minutes later, he drove through neighborhood streets, finally stopping within view of the Encino Reservoir. He opened the windows to let in a cool breeze fragranced with freesia before turning off the engine. The steady beat of cicadas filled the air. “I probably shouldn‟t be here with you.” Did she have any idea what her eyes did to him? He struggled to maintain composure. If he didn‟t, he‟d have a full-blown hard-on any moment. “I‟m not a weirdo or a stalker, Jolie. I just can‟t get you off my mind.” She was so close. The temptation to reach across the car and touch her was tough to resist. She turned away. “You have to stop this. I‟m not in a position…” She scrubbed a hand over her face. “You have no idea what I‟m dealing with right now, today.” He grasped her shoulder, feeling the same jolt of excitement he did the last time he‟d touched her, every time he did. “Let me help.” When she met his stare, her eyes glistened with moisture. His heart shattered, knowing he‟d put those tears there. “I understand you‟re married. But there are things you don‟t know.” He bit his lip. No. He wouldn‟t be the one to tell her about Lane. “There are things you don‟t know,” she shouted. Then her tears fell in earnest. She shook her head. “Today‟s been a rough one. And tomorrow will be even harder.” The desire to take her in his arms, to comfort her, was overwhelming, but he resisted and let her loose. “What can I do? I want to help.” “There‟s nothing anyone can do. My life is a total mess.” She hugged her arms tightly around her body and shivered. “I have to get through this party tomorrow. After that, I‟ll be able to think about the future.” “Are you cold?” She gave him a quick nod. He turned the key in the ignition so he could raise the windows most of the way, wondering if her plans for the future might include him. He wondered if Lane was part of the mess she referred to, hoped he was. She appeared so small and vulnerable, so sad. The desire to hold her proved more than he could resist. Reaching across the seat, he pulled her into his arms and felt her stiffen. As Dante held her, Jolie realized nothing had ever felt so good, so right. Only it wasn‟t right. Regardless of what Lane had done, she refused to violate her marriage vows. She sat perfectly still and rigid. His embrace was sure and strong. Rock hard arms and a muscled chest made her feel like everything would be okay. Breathing in his scent, fresh pine and something mint, she took a mental snapshot, wanting to remember how he affected all her senses. She stared into his eyes and could read all his emotions. He didn‟t just lust after her. He cared. Tearing her gaze from his, she took a deep breath before pulling away. “I can‟t.” She felt him deflate, saw him withdraw behind those captivating eyes. “Okay.” Grasping the steering wheel and staring straight ahead like a teenager on his first driving lesson, he puffed out his cheeks, blew out a breath. “Guess I should take you home. You have a long day tomorrow.”

There was nothing she wanted more than to stay here with him, enjoying the view and the company. She felt years younger, beautiful even. And safe for the first time in a very long time, as if nothing could harm her as long as she was with him. He was right, though. Tomorrow would be a long day. And being alone with him would only lead to disappointment as long as she was still married. “Good idea.” She straightened in her seat. Tension buttoned up the air in the car. He hardly spoke a word during the short drive home. She sensed his hurt. When he parked across the street from her house, she turned toward him. “I hope we can stay friends.” God, what a dumb thing to say. “Friends?” His brow furrowed. “Is that what you want?” She swallowed the lump in her throat. “No. I mean, yes. Friendship is all I have to give right now.” An ache behind her eyes thrummed. Her tummy roared. Dante‟s eyes shot open wide. “Was that your stomach?” She laughed, partly out of relief for the reprieve from the heavy part of the conversation. Partly out of embarrassment. “Afraid so. Eating was the last thing on my mind this evening.” He pointed to her house. “Is Lane home?” She exhaled heavily, glad for once that her husband kept such late hours. “He‟s probably out clubbing.” Sucking in a deep breath, she made a decision. Never again would she allow a man to exclude her from his social life. “I‟ve been told I‟m a fair chef.” He smiled, flashing those adorable dimples. “I‟ve never met a kitchen I couldn‟t scrounge a meal out of. What do you say?” She held her hand against her middle when another roar started. Checking the clock on the dashboard, she figured Lane would probably be out for several hours more. He rarely wandered into bed before two am, almost four hours from now. Hilda would probably be asleep. She brushed away a fleeting stab of guilt. The idea of spending more time with Dante was too irresistible. And cooking was innocent, unlike other things they could be doing. “Why not.” She opened the garage door using the keypad then held a finger to her lips to warn Dante to keep quiet so they wouldn‟t wake Hilda. As they entered the kitchen, Jolie turned on the lights and shut the door to the hallway. “I have no idea what you need, so help yourself.” She gestured toward the pantry while he washed his hands. “The pots and pans are in there below the canned and boxed food.” Grabbing two wine glasses from the cabinet, she watched him forage through the refrigerator. “Red or white?” she asked. He studied her for a moment. “I‟ll let you know in a minute.” Going back and forth between the pantry and the fridge, he held his fist against his mouth, appearing deep in concentration. After his third trip, he said, “White.” She washed her hands, found a bottle of zinfandel in the cooler, opened it and poured them each a glass. “Here you go.” She brought it to the stove where Dante was placing chicken breasts in a pan. He took the glass and tapped it to hers. “To a late dinner with a beautiful woman.” She averted her gaze before taking a sip. “What are we having?” Either the wine or Dante‟s close proximity sent a warm flush to her cheeks. He seemed to stare at her mouth for several seconds before he said a word. “Warm chicken salad. One of my own creations.” He handed her an onion and a stalk of celery. “Chop these into fine pieces.”

She narrowed her gaze. “Me?” He pointed to a cutting board on the counter. “Get to work.” A bag of slivered almonds went into a small pan. “Just do it.” “Easy for you to say.” She washed the celery and set it on the board. Getting a knife from the drawer, she stared at the onion, wondering if there was a method to removing the outer layer. No one had ever asked her to help cook anything before. Dante stepped behind her and took the knife. Arms around her, chest pressed to her back, he cut the bottom off the onion then peeled back the brown skin. Awareness started a burn in the pit of her belly that quickly spread to every bone, every muscle, every nerve. He set the onion aside and picked up a stalk of celery. “Cut this into thin strips, then chop them.” As he demonstrated the technique, Jolie could focus on nothing but the scratchy feel of his cheek, the sinewy muscles of his arms, his woodsy scent. Her heart thumped like a cannon; her breathing grew shallow. When she thought she couldn‟t stand another second, he took a step away and cleared his throat. “Smells like the almonds are sufficiently toasted.” Jolie concentrated on chopping, but ventured a glance in his direction. The knife cut into her index finger. “Ouch.” She ran to the sink as a blood droplet fattened on the tip of her finger. Dante met her there. “Let me see.” He lifted her hand to his face. Before she knew what was happening, he pushed her finger between his lips and licked off the blood. All she could do was watch, fascinated and aroused. Her mouth fell open. She imagined what it would be like to kiss that mouth, feel that smooth tongue on her— Jerking her hand away, she snapped her lips shut and took a step back. “I…I need a Bandaid. Be right back.” She raced to the guest bath. Searching through the medicine cabinet, she found a box of bandages and stuck one around her finger. She stared at her face in the mirror. “You will not succumb to his charms,” she whispered to her reflection. She squared her shoulders and returned to the kitchen. Dante was using a large spoon to mix ingredients in a bowl. “Find what you needed?” “Yes. Thank you.” Retrieving her wine from the counter, she crossed the room and sat a safe distance away at the breakfast bar. She sipped the wine, but it stuck in her throat. “Will you line two plates with lettuce?” He pointed to the greens on a paper towel beside the sink. She reluctantly abandoned her post and did as he asked. He gestured to a spot on the counter. “Set them here.” The air thickened. She tried to avoid his stare as she moved the plates. “Are you afraid of me, Jolie?” He spooned a portion of chicken onto each plate then topped it with almonds. She squared her shoulders. “Of course not. Why would you ask such a thing?” “No reason.” He took several steps toward her. She scooted away. “What are you doing?” “You are afraid.” When he grinned, she swore his only purpose in doing it was to show off those damned dimples. She folded her arms across her chest. “That‟s ridiculous.” He picked up a plate from the counter. “Where can I find the forks?” She pointed to the drawer. After he took out silverware, he approached her. “Open your mouth.”

Swallowing hard, she drew her eyebrows together. “What for? I‟m perfectly capable of feeding myself.” “Close your eyes and open your mouth. To truly appreciate the taste of the food, you have to try it with your eyes shut.” Her heart started pounding the moment she closed her eyes. She felt him near her, smelled him. He was so close she heard his heart beating. Or was that hers? “Open your mouth.” She did and he slid in a bite of chicken salad. The taste was superb, but she couldn‟t fully appreciate the food. With him so near, everything else paled in comparison. She opened her eyes and caught him staring at her mouth, licking his lips. “What do you think?” “Very dangerous.” She feared her pounding heart might give away her true meaning. “What are we talking about?” He tilted his head, gave her a smoky stare. She quirked an eyebrow. “The salad, of course. Mayonnaise, almonds. Neil would have a fit.” “Who?” “My personal trainer.” “You don‟t need that. Or the surgery you‟re planning.” His gaze slid down her body. “You‟re perfectly lovely as you are.” Heat rose to her cheeks. Of course he knew about that. His team had captured her doctor‟s appointment on tape. She took a step away. “This is Hollywood. I have to compete with women half my age.” He carried their plates to the table while Jolie brought their wine glasses. “You have no competition,” he said, sliding onto a stool. Jolie had just sat down when the door to the hall flew open. Lane staggered into the kitchen. “What the fuck is this?” He pointed to Dante. “What in bloody hell is he doin‟ here?” Jolie jumped off her seat and took several steps away from Dante. Lane‟s drunken odor of stale beer and sweat drifted to her nose, turning her stomach. “We‟re having a late dinner.” She looked him over. Dirt stained the knees of his pants and the front of his shirt. His hair was frizzy and wild. “A late dinner, me arse.” He swayed as he pointed at Dante. “You want to shag me wife, you bastard.” Dante stabbed his fork into the mound of chicken salad on his plate and stood. “I think I‟ll be leaving now.” He looked at Jolie. “Unless you‟d like me to stay.” She shook her head. “I‟m sorry, Dante.” “I’m sorry, Dante?” Lane parroted. “What about, „I‟m sorry, Lane?’ What about that, eh?” Hilda appeared in the doorway wearing a robe. “Que pasa?” Jolie shut her eyes, wishing the scene were a dream. But when she lifted her lids, the players were all still there. “Sorry we woke you, Hilda. Please go back to bed.” Lane spun around toward Hilda and nearly lost his balance. “Yes. Go back to bed, you fat cow. I don‟t need two bloody wives. One‟s quite enough, eh?” Hilda stomped from the room, muttering in Spanish. Dante stepped between Jolie and Lane. “You‟re a real asshole, Wood.” Lane tried to fold his arms, but seemed to forget how. After his third attempt, he dropped them at his sides. “At least I don‟t sneak behind a bloke‟s back and try to shag his woman.”

“No, you don‟t. You go for a man‟s brother.” He quickly shook his head. “I‟ll see you tomorrow, Jolie.” He left through the garage. She replayed Dante‟s words in her head. What did he mean? Did he know about the affair with Jonathan? Lane‟s eyes were glazed and his body slowly swayed. He looked as if he were sleeping standing up. Jolie rubbed her temples. “I hope you didn‟t drive home like that.” “I took a cab.” He leaned against the wall then slid to the floor. “I‟m plastered, not stupid.” “Actually, you‟re both.” She left him there and went upstairs, wondering how she‟d get through the next twenty-four hours.

Chapter Fourteen Lane finished his third game of Call of Duty on the X-Box and got up off the couch, knocking over the remnants of his Yummy Ohs. Milk and soggy cereal covered one of the couch cushions. Jolie would have a fit when she saw it. “Bloody hell. Hilda!” The lazy mare took her time getting there. When she finally did, she had her sourpuss face on, as usual. “Si?” “Speak bloody English.” He gestured toward the couch. “Me Yummy Ohs spilled. Get it cleaned up. Right away, before her royal highness sees it.” She pursed her lips like she‟d swallowed a turd and gave him a nasty stare before leaving the room. “Got a problem doin‟ your bloody job, eh?” he yelled after her. Jolie stuck her head into the doorway. “You will not speak to her that way.” He shot his head back. “What? I may speak to the lazy cow however I please. She works for me, not the other way round.” She lifted an eyebrow. “You don‟t sign her checks, do you?” She folded her arms over her chest. “Hmm. Maybe you do.” She narrowed her gaze. “Have you signed any of my checks lately, Lane?” Heat rose to his face. She was getting too fucking cheeky. Must be that damned producer‟s influence. “You never spoke to me that way before you had that randy Dante Ebersol sniffin‟ after your snatch, eh?” Sparks flew from her eyes. “You bastard!” She started away, then stopped and turned back. “Tomorrow, Lane. We‟ll have a talk tomorrow about your future.” She stomped away. Your future. Not our future. Bitch. Something had changed in her demeanor, the way she looked at him and spoke to him. He knew her well enough to know she didn‟t love him anymore. She was planning to kick him out on his ass. He could feel it in his bones. And it was all Dante Ebersol‟s doing. He‟d been right all along about that bastard. Jolie must be in love with Ebersol or she‟d never toss him aside so easily. He was sick of the old cow anyhow. He glanced around the room. Too bad he couldn‟t take her fancy house with him. Or could he? A grin curled one side of his mouth. Well, he‟d make a big, ugly splash tonight. What did he have to lose? **** Sitting at her desk, Jolie tried to stop trembling. She wished she could kick Lane out today, now. But his riffraff band mates were coming to the party and would probably make bigger asses of themselves if Lane wasn‟t there or if he told them she‟d thrown him out. No, she had too much going on today to deal with leaving her husband. Tomorrow. This was the last day she‟d have his nauseating presence in her home. What if he made a fuss tonight at the party? Who could she count on to keep him under control? She‟d hired two security guards, but Lane could be a nuisance without getting rowdy. He could open his mouth and spew some of his poison. Her head pounded. Glancing at the clock, she scowled. If she was going to be on time for her hair and nail appointments, she had to leave immediately.

She marched into Salon Twenty-One a few minutes later and went straight back to Rafael‟s station. After her hair was perfectly coifed, with corkscrew curls cascading over her shoulders, she joined Tara at her nail table. “Your hair looks beautiful. Excited about the party?” Tara asked as she removed Jolie‟s nail polish. She thought about all she still had to do, all the emotion she‟d expended in the last twentyfour hours. “I‟ll be glad to have it over with.” Tara frowned. “No, no. You have to relax. Enjoy it.” “You can‟t tell anyone this. Promise me.” Tara met her gaze and nodded. “You have my word.” If she didn‟t talk to someone about her problems, she‟d implode. She leaned closer, lowered her voice. “I‟m kicking Lane out tomorrow.” Tara‟s eyes popped open wide. “No!” “Yes. He‟s a lying, cheating bastard and I can‟t stand to look at him another day.” She poured out her heart, revealing details of her adventure with Jonathan yesterday, Lane‟s outburst last night, all of it. “You poor thing. How devastating.” Tara painted white tips on Jolie‟s nails. “Don‟t feel sorry for me. This is all for the best.” “I guess you‟re right. Better to find out now about Lane than when you‟re like fifty and old and wrinkled.” “I hope not to be old and wrinkled at fifty, thank you.” “You know what I mean.” “I pray Lane will behave himself tonight,” she sighed. “I‟ll die if he ruins Grampy‟s party.” Tara quirked an eyebrow. “Maybe you should have some insurance there.” “What do you mean?” “Didn‟t you say Lane‟s lover offered to go to the party, do whatever he could to help?” She put topcoat on the last nail, then closed the bottle. “Jonathan? Yes. Why?” “If Lane is so worried about his homosexuality being made public, as Jonathan told you, wouldn‟t the man‟s presence alone make Lane behave? He could talk to you in front of Lane, let him know you two know each other.” Jolie swirled the idea around in her mind. “That‟s brilliant. You‟re brilliant. I‟ll call Jonathan. Messenger over an invitation.” She winked at the girl. “Thanks.” Tara shrugged and gave her a grin. “All in a day‟s work.” On her way home, she passed her favorite book store and noticed a Going Out of Business Sale sign. She had little time to spare, but going home and possibly having to deal with Lane turned her stomach, so she pulled into the lot and entered the store. She welcomed the place‟s calm as she browsed the shelves and picked out a few books for the kids in her drama class. Bringing them to the register, she smiled at the owner, whose name she couldn‟t recall. “I‟ll take these.” She tapped the pile of books. “So you‟re going out of business, hmm? I hate to hear that.” The woman brushed a lock of gray hair from her cheek, revealing a smudge of dirt on her weathered cheek. “Me too. Wish I could do this forever, but business has been slow since they built the super book mart up the road.” She sighed as she rang up Jolie‟s purchases. “I can‟t compete with them.”

“But you offer so much more than the other store.” She pointed to the tiny stage in the children‟s department. “Like the Saturday readings and the junior book fair.” The woman nodded. “Maybe folks are too busy for that sort of thing now.” She bagged the books and shrugged. “I tried to compete with them for a couple years, but they got the better of me. You can‟t always control these things.” She swiped Jolie‟s credit card, handed it back to her. “I‟m buying into a place in the valley.” Jolie paid for her purchase, wished her luck and got into her car thinking about the woman‟s words. She was right. Some things were beyond our control, but others were not. Why should she take Lane‟s betrayal lying down? She wanted him to know she had ammunition to use against him. Rifling in her purse, she found the number Jonathan had given her and punched it into her phone. “I was wondering when you‟d call,” he said. “I had a busy morning.” She started the engine. “How‟s your cut healing?” “Fine. You don‟t have to coddle me. Not all faggots are wimps, you know.” “Asking how you are is hardly treating you like a wimp. I‟m simply concerned.” “Sorry. Guess I‟m a little sensitive.” “Listen. I was thinking about your offer to come to the party.” “Oh? I‟d love to. Anything in particular you want me to do?” She grinned. “As a matter of fact, there is.” **** “Your identification please, ma‟am?” a liveried security officer said to Jolie at the front gate of the Weinberg estate. She didn‟t even care that he failed to recognize her. Tight security was the important thing. Pulling her driver‟s license from her evening bag, she handed it to him and waited while he made a call. “Sorry, Miss Brown,” he said a minute later, returning her license. “Go ahead in.” “No problem.” Once the massive gates parted, she drove along the tree-lined road to the elegant three-story mansion. Workers rushed to and fro, carrying floral arrangements, long strips of fabric, topiaries and boxes of who-knows-what. Electricity filled the air. A rush of excitement skittered across her skin. The feeling quickly dissipated when her thoughts returned to Lane and all she‟d been through in the past twenty-four hours. She flashed on the memory of Dante in her kitchen, feeding her his creation, being so close to him. Her stomach flipped. She had to concentrate on getting through the night, making everything wonderful for Grampy, not her own issues. Parking near the door, she gathered her purse and the gifts she‟d brought for her hosts. “Jolie, you‟re here,” Sadie Weinberg said from the porch as Jolie approached. Sadie wore a pair of black Capri pants and an oversized T-shirt. “I‟m so glad you made it before I went upstairs to shower and dress.” She wrapped an arm around Jolie‟s shoulder as she led her inside. “I can‟t trust Les to supervise all these people. He‟ll have them set up the dance floor next to the kitchen, for heaven‟s sakes.” Jolie handed her two gift-wrapped boxes. “I‟ll take care of everything. These are for you and Les for being so kind and generous in hosting this party. I‟m so touched that you‟d go to so much trouble for Grampy.” “Our pleasure, darling. Henry means so much to us.”

Her gaze meandered around the foyer and living room. “Les is around here somewhere, unless he‟s hiding from me.” She chuckled, then headed toward the grand staircase. “I‟ll be back down in an hour or so. Have to make myself beautiful.” “You already are,” Jolie said, waving to her. The moment Sadie was gone, Jolie got to work, checking on the bar, the kitchen, the décor, and all the other details that could make or break the evening. By time Dante‟s staff arrived an hour later, everything was ready. The crews were dressed in formal attire in an attempt, she guessed, to fit in with the guests. Dante followed his people inside and made a beeline for Jolie. His handsome face and tall, angular physique took her breath away. “James Bond has nothing on you in a tuxedo.” Breathing in his scent, she practically swooned. He winked. “You look absolutely gorgeous, Jolie. Total Hollywood glamour.” The gaze that swept slowly over her sent chills dancing up her spine. “Is that vintage?” “Impressive, Mr. Bond.” She twirled for him, showing off her dress. “Balenciaga, peau de soie.” The gown made her feel like a princess. Hell, it cost me a king’s ransom. Dante gave her a chase kiss on her cheek. “Don‟t you have any decency?” Lane‟s irritating voice turned the sweet moment sour. Dante‟s jaw quivered. “Evening, Lane. I‟m so glad you weren‟t too hung over from yesterday to attend tonight‟s festivities.” Jolie stepped between them, placed her hand squarely on Lane‟s chest and gave him a gentle nudge. “Best behavior, please,” she stage whispered in her husband‟s direction. “I‟m not a bloody child. Quit treatin‟ me like one.” He threw Dante a cold stare before walking away. She took a deep breath, then forced a smile as she looked at Dante. “If you‟ll excuse me, I should be greeting the guests.” He threw her another wink, sending gooseflesh over her skin. The first wave of company arrived, too many for Jolie to welcome them all individually. Her grandfather came in with Carmela in tow, walking several feet behind, as if they were merely friends. “How‟s my Jojo?” He took her hand and kissed the top of her head. “You look lovely.” She beamed. “Happy birthday, Grampy. Thank you for allowing us to do this for you.” “You insisted, remember?” He rolled his eyes, then waved to someone nearby and disappeared in the swelling crowd. “What can I do to help?” Carmela asked. Jolie pulled the woman into a hug. “You‟ll do nothing but relax and enjoy yourself. You‟re all dressed up, looking gorgeous. I‟ll not have you working tonight.” She stopped a passing waiter, lifted a glass of champagne off the tray he carried and handed it to Carmela. “Drink, eat, dance. Have a wonderful time.” The woman‟s unconvincing nod told Jolie the evening wouldn‟t be as exciting for Carmela as it would for most of the other guests. She made a mental note to make sure Carmela didn‟t hide in the kitchen all evening. Scanning the crowd, she noticed Lane speaking to Brian McGill, one of his old band mates, and an attractive redhead who definitely wasn‟t Brian‟s wife. Jolie started toward them, her curiosity piqued about the woman, who looked way out of Brian‟s league.

“Jolie, how nice to see you,” Calista Emerson said, laying her hand on Jolie‟s shoulder. “What‟s it been, two, three years?” Jolie smiled politely at the actress. “At least. I think we last spoke at the Leukemia Society benefit at the Hilton.” “Right, right.” She looped her arm through one belonging to a very young man. “This is Gregory Abbott. We‟re working on a project with David Lynch.” David Lynch? Calista had moved up in the world since her days as a scream queen. “How wonderful for you both. Would you excuse me a moment?” She slipped into the crowd before they could answer. Where had Lane, Brian and the redhead gone? A hand around her waist plucked her out of the throng. She twirled a half turn and found herself face to face with Dante. “Care to dance?” Butterflies took to flight in her belly as he threaded his fingers through hers. Her nipples tingled and pushed against the fabric of her strapless bra. “I…no. I really shouldn‟t.” She forced her gaze away. “Not here, not now.” “Can I have a rain check?” His voice sent shivers up her spine. Looking up into his eyes, she answered without uttering a word. The voltage between them amplified. She took a step back, afraid she wouldn‟t be able to control herself if she remained so close. “My…situation will be changing very soon. With Lane, I mean. After that, we can talk.” “Oh?” He arched his brows. “Care to elaborate?” She glanced left and right, searching for prying eyes. Finding none, she moved a little nearer. “I‟m leaving him.” She let her words hang in the air between them as she watched his face for a reaction. His features softened into a smile. “I can‟t say I‟m sorry, or that I‟m surprised.” Out of the corner of her eye, she saw a camera swing around a corner and train its lens on her. She swallowed hard and backed away from Dante. How could she have forgotten? Would the show be cancelled if she threw Lane out? She looked where Dante had stood seconds earlier, but he was gone, removed from the camera‟s reach, as always. Raised voices caught her attention. Following the sound, she saw two young, blondes arguing nearby. A hush fell over the room. The crowd opened around them, giving them a stage of sorts. Jolie recognized the women as the co-hosts of a new daytime talk show. She scanned the area, searching for a security guard, someone, anyone who could separate them if things got out of hand. The unmistakable crack of a hard slap galvanized her attention. One of the women held her hand to her cheek with an expression of shock and anger twisting her delicate features. Jolie hurried over, fearing an escalation could ruin all her hard work. Another smack echoed through the air. Suddenly the women were on the floor, rolling around, pulling hair and destroying ridiculously expensive gowns. “No,” Jolie shouted to no one in particular. Please…don‟t ruin this for Grampy. **** Lane licked his lips as he watched a couple of blond crumpets duke it out. He elbowed Vi. “I knew those two hated each other,” she said, smirking. “They act all cozy on the set, but I could see it in their eyes.” “Well worth the money for the show, eh?” Lane said in her ear.

Her face returned to its usual bored expression. “There had better be more than just a couple of catty TV hosts throwing a few cuffs at each other.” He snickered. “Just you wait. The fireworks haven‟t yet begun.” Two blokes in penguin suits pulled the ladies apart, right when the action was getting good. Bastards. He downed the remainder of his champagne. Where was one of those fancy waiters when he needed one? “Excuse me a moment, Vi.” Without waiting for reply, he pushed into the crowd on his way to the bar. After he‟d gotten a rum and coke, he tried to see where Vi had gone. His gaze settled on a wiry man in a tux. Although the bloke had his back to Lane, something seemed familiar about him. When the man turned, Lane gasped. Jonathan. What the hell is he doing here? The room grew warm. He yanked his tie looser. Downing the rest of his drink in one swallow, he set it down hard on the bar, then started across the room toward his former lover. A half-dead old lady with blue hair tugged on his arm. “Excuse me, sir,” she said with a quavering voice. “Can you direct me to the bar?” He cocked his thumb over his shoulder. “Back there,” he answered. By time the old mare had moved out of his way, Jonathan was gone. Bloody hell. He walked and craned his neck, hoping to catch a glimpse of him. Instead, he crashed into to someone. Taking a step back, he saw it was Jolie‟s granddad. “Well, hello, Henry. Happy birthday.” He patted the older man‟s back. “Didn‟t think you‟d make it this long, eh?” Henry gave him a disgusted look and moved out of his reach. “So glad you could make it, Wood.” “Wouldn‟t have missed it for the world.” He couldn‟t care less what the geezer thought of him. Stepping around Henry, he scanned the room. Where in the hell had Jonathan gone? Then he saw him near the staircase standing next to… Son of a bitch. Jonathan was talking to Jolie and the two of them looked cozy. No. They‟re only making small talk. Jonathan would never rat him out. Would he? As he watched, Jolie looked around and suddenly her face turned pale and her mouth dropped open. He followed her gaze and smiled. Cinderella had arrived at the ball.

Chapter Fifteen Dante wondered what had finally pushed Jolie to decide to end her marriage. Whatever the reason, he didn‟t care. The important thing was she‟d soon be free of that albatross around her neck. He plucked the biggest shrimp he‟d ever seen from a bowl on the buffet. While savoring the succulent flavor, he studied Jolie from a distance as she spoke to a tall, lanky man whom he suspected was gay. Her face paled and she dropped her jaw. Dante followed the direction of her gaze and gasped. His brother, Mike stood beside a woman who bore a strong resemblance to Jolie except she was white with blonde hair. But her eyes were nearly identical to Jolie‟s. She was older by at least twenty years. What the hell are you doing here, Mike? Confusion and anger brewed in his gut. Could Lane have arranged for him to be here? But why? Lane guarded his secrets so carefully. He handed his plate to a passing waiter then negotiated the swarm of bejeweled guests, making his way toward his brother. By time he got there, the woman was nowhere to be seen. Dante shoved his hands into his pockets and cornered his brother. “Hey,” he said, trying to keep the acid from his voice. “What are you doing here?” Mike shrugged, refusing to look at him. “A friend asked me to accompany a woman to a big party. I never refuse an invitation.” Bullshit. “This isn‟t exactly your regular crowd.” He searched the area for the woman but couldn‟t find her. “And who‟s your friend? Mike stared directly into Dante‟s eyes and grinned. “Just a woman I know.” Dante wanted to call him a liar. Something wasn‟t right. No way was Mike being straight with him. Lane had set this up for some reason, although he couldn‟t fathom why he‟d do such a thing. Why would he chance anyone connecting him with Mike? “Does your date have a name? Is she related to Jolie Brown?” “I think I saw a guy with champagne over there.” Mike pointed across the room. “Be back in a flash.” He strode away without a backward glance. Dante charged into the crowd, searching for the mystery woman. He saw her at the bar, taking a drink from the bartender. Before he could get to her, Henry Brown grabbed her arm roughly. “What the hell are you doing here, Emmanuelle?” Jolie’s mother? Dante stopped moving, stayed close so he could hear their conversation. He had a full view of Emmanuelle but could only see the back of Brown‟s head. “I wanted to wish you a joyeux anniversaire. Happy birthday.” She tipped her glass to her mouth, drinking half the contents. “Aren‟t you pleased to see your son‟s widow? It‟s been so long.” “I had hoped I‟d never have to lay eyes on you again.” She threw her head back and laughed. “And to think I once loved you.” Once loved him? Dante‟s mind raced to fill in the pieces. Nothing in his research indicated something between Henry and Emmanuelle. All he knew was that she had married Henry‟s son Robert seven months prior to Jolie‟s birth. “You‟re a manipulative liar and you‟ve never loved anyone, even your own daughter.”

She downed the rest of her drink then set the glass in front of the bartender. “Another, sil vous plait.” While she waited for her refill, she glared at Henry. “I loved you so much I hid the truth for all these years. But now, I am done protecting you.” Snatching her drink from the bar, she marched off. Henry turned and went in the opposite direction, brushing past Dante. Still trying to make sense of what he‟d overheard, Dante searched the room for Jolie. He spotted her having an animated discussion with a man he recognized as an actor from several old westerns. Every few seconds her eyes darted around, like she was looking for something, or more likely, someone. While one of Dante‟s teams filmed her, another crew focused on Lane as he entertained a small group of attractive women across the room. He caught a glimpse of Emmanuelle as she marched toward the grand staircase in the huge foyer. She climbed halfway up and turned toward the railing, swaying. His stomach churned with anticipation. And dread. Emmanuelle grasped the banister. “Allons, allons,” she called loudly. “May I have everyone‟s attention?” Wobbling on her heels, she waved a hand over her head. “Preter attension, si vous plait.” The din quieted as guests turned toward the staircase. After a few seconds, most every eye in the place was trained on her, as were both cameras. “A toast,” she shouted, lifting her glass. “To Henry Brown. Happy birthday, Henry.” Cheers of “happy birthday” echoed through the cavernous space. “I have an announcement to make in honor of this auspicious occasion,” she went on. “Henry has always know this, but no one else does.” Something told him was going to be bad; he felt it in his bones. Pushing his way through the crowd, he tried to get to Jolie. As he passed Lane, the bastard threw his arms around Dante. “Where you hurryin‟ off to, Ebersol?” Dante‟s hard push sent Lane to the floor. “Emmanuelle, no!” Henry yelled from the back of the room. “Someone get her out of here. She‟s drunk.” A collective gasp could be heard in the room. “Henry and I were lovers, many years ago. Ours was a brief but passionate affair,” Emmanuelle said. A vindictive smirk twisted her features and her eyes shone with liquor‟s confidence. “Only he and I knew—” “Don‟t, Emmanuelle,” Henry shouted. “Please.” “—That my beautiful daughter, Jolie, is in fact his child, not his grandchild.” A stunned silence fell over the room as Dante reached Jolie. She looked as though she might pass out. He wrapped his arms around her, shielding her from the stares. Shaking free of his grasp, she ran from the foyer, out the front door. **** The cool evening air did little to quell Jolie‟s shock. She raced past the valets, down the treelined drive until she saw the gates at the edge of the estate. She had to get away from everyone, escape the awful, stifling stares. Veering off the paved road, she stumbled along the grass. Tears of humiliation and rage blinded her as her mind played the hideous scene over and over. Her body ached with betrayal.

How could her grandfather have not told her? The only person in the entire world she‟d always trusted had lied her whole life. Had her father known? “Jolie.” She stood completely still, held her breath. “Jolie.” Dante. The show. Oh, God. They‟d filmed the whole sordid mess. She covered her mouth with her hand, afraid she‟d be sick. He approached in the dark, held out his arms. She stood her ground for several seconds, then, unable to resist the pull, she ran to him, burying her head against his chest. She wanted to crawl inside him, hide from the world, absorb his strength. Her body felt cold and numb, like a limb whose blood supply has withered. Emmanuelle‟s words continued to pierce her soul. Her mother. Bitch. “Tell me what to do.” He ran strong hands over her back. She had no words, only sobs. She needed a do-over, for the last few minutes to rewind. “Can I take you away from this?” She nodded against his shoulder, unable to form a response. Tightening his grip on her, he led her to his car, helped her inside. She shook uncontrollably as he drove them away from the estate, away from the most devastating minutes of her life. “Are you cold?” She managed only a trembling shake of her head. He turned on the heater, but the warmth made no difference, the shivering continued. Questions buzzed through her head. Why was her mother at the party? Why had she chosen that moment to drop her bomb? Her grandfather must have known she was going to do it and had tried to stop her. Had he always known he was her father? Would he have taken the secret to his grave? Did her father, or the man she knew as her father, know the truth? Dante pulled the car to the side of the road. He climbed out and removed his jacket. When he got back inside, he put it around her shoulders and held her in his arms for several minutes. Finally, the shuddering ceased. “I don‟t know what to do,” he said. The tenderness in his voice reached through the misery and touched her. “I have no clue what happened back there, but if you want to talk about it, I‟ll listen. If you don‟t, that‟s fine too.” She shook her head. As sweet as Dante was, she knew she‟d never trust another living soul. Her grandfather wasn‟t who she thought, nor was her husband. No one except her father had ever truly loved her and she couldn‟t even be sure about him now. Had he known she wasn‟t his and kept up the pretense? Dante reached into the back seat and took a tissue out of a small box. He dabbed her cheeks. His gentle touch only made her cry more. Pulling her closer, he kissed the top of her head, then held her face in his hands. “Talk to me. Say something.” “Thank you,” she said, though her voice was hoarse and sounded foreign to her ears. “I wish I had comforting words to offer.” He bent his face closer, kissed the tears from her cheeks. “None of them love me. Never have,” she wept. “No one ever has. Every one of them has lied to me. Every single one.” He ran a finger along her jaw. “I love you, Jolie. Like I‟ve never loved anyone.” She backed away. “No. Don‟t. I don‟t deserve your love.”

He grasped her arms. “I know they‟ve hurt you, Lane, Henry, your mother. But I‟ll never lie to you.” She turned away, stared into the inky night. He‟d never understand, no one would. People only pretended to care. They were drawn to her fame, her family name. Her life was too screwed up to allow anyone else in. “You don‟t know what it‟s like. To have people around you, acting as if they love you. Only it‟s not real. Like a movie set. When the glitter fades, there‟s nothing there.” “I do understand. My father always pushed me to be the best. „Don‟t come home without the best score on the test. Don‟t play the game if you can‟t win. Be number one or nothing at all.‟ Believe me, I can relate to conditions being placed on love.” She shook her head. “That‟s not the same.” He may think he loves me, but he doesn‟t. No one ever can. I don‟t deserve to be loved. She thought about Lane. Hilda would be more than willing to pack his things. Taking Dante‟s hand, she tried to smile. “You‟re very sweet. You saved me tonight. But I‟m not ready to have anyone in my life. I have to get Lane out of it first.” He nodded and squeezed her hand. “I‟m willing to wait. As long as I know you‟ll give me a chance.” “Would you take me home?” She gave him back his hand and looked away. A few tears slid down her face. She‟d never be able to give him her heart. Love was something she‟d never risk again. **** Lane watched Jolie run from the mansion. “Now that was some bloody good fireworks, eh?” he said to Vi. “Well worth the investment.” The stuffy wench actually smiled. “Perhaps we should keep you on retainer.” His mouth watered. “I‟d be open to that sort of arrangement.” He scanned the place, searching for Mike. Finding him near the bottom of the staircase, he excused himself and headed over. Emmanuelle draped her arm over Mike‟s shoulder as Lane approached. “Thank you for finding me such a handsome date, Mr. Wood.” Lane smirked. “All in a day‟s work.” He pointed to the empty glass in her hand. “Would you like a refill?” He elbowed Mike. Catching his drift, Mike gave his head a subtle nod then took Emmanuelle‟s glass. “Allow me.” He melted into the masses. “How long you been keepin‟ that little tidbit up your sleeve?” he asked her. “About Jolie‟s paternity?” She looked away. “Since the beginning.” “Have a thing for older men, do you?” She threw her head back, laughing. “I have a thing for all men. Particularly men who serve a purpose in my grand plans.” He gulped down the remnants of his drink. “So you couldn‟t care less what your daughter thinks of you, eh?” She met his gaze. “I care about her as deeply as you do, Mr. Wood.” Could she be mocking him? He narrowed his gaze. “You had no intention of mendin‟ fences with her tonight. You lied to me.”

“No more than you had intentions of helping heal the rift between her and me. You came to my home to cause trouble for your wife, maybe get something you wanted out of her. Two can play this game.” She inched closer to speak quietly into his ear. “Nor did you have any intention of sleeping with me after the party. Your only purpose was to watch your wife and perhaps her grandfather suffer.” She looked him up and down and smirked. “Never shit a shitter, Mr. Wood.” He caught a whiff of a familiar cologne. Someone pushed past him, knocking him into Emmanuelle. “I had me reasons. And makin‟ anyone suffer wasn‟t one of them.” Not at first, anyway. He took a step back and swept his eyes over her from head to toe. “You‟re right about one thing. I never fancied the likes of an old cow like you.” He started toward the bar, but stopped when he noticed a commotion across the room. He pushed his way through the crowd and found Henry Brown sprawled on the floor, his old housekeeper kneeling at his side. “What‟s happened?” Lane asked a middle-aged woman next to him. “He collapsed. They‟ve called for an ambulance.” This was all Emmanuelle‟s fault. He hoped no one would connect her to him. All he‟d done was to ask Mike to take her to the party, after all. How could he know the old mare would drop such a powerful bomb? Turning around, he literally bumped into Jonathan. “Want to tell me what the bloody hell you‟re doin‟ here?” Jonathan ignored the question and hurried away. That cologne again. He looked around to see where he‟d gone, but the bugger seemed to have disappeared. Bloody Hell. He made his way toward the food feeling like a salmon swimming upstream. Everyone was headed the other direction to gawk at the old man on the floor. Lucky for him the buffet was empty. He snatched a piece of bread and spooned some caviar onto it. No sense letting good food go to waste. As he slipped the delicacy between his lips, he nearly gagged. Jonathan stood near the door, right beside Vi. They were speaking, then grinning like Cheshire cats. No. Jonathan wouldn’t. Lane‟s heart pumped double-time. His head pounded. He quickly swallowed the clump of fish eggs in his mouth. Instantly, his stomach lurched. He started toward then as he heard the faint whine of a siren. The noise grew louder and the guests started moving to clear a path. Someone shoved him backward. By time he made it to the door, Jonathan was nowhere in sight. Vi appeared next to him, smiling. “You friend Jonathan is an interesting fellow.” His mouth grew dry. “He‟s no friend of mine. Hardly know the bloke.” She let out a dry laugh. “That‟s not what he says.” He lifted an eyebrow and felt sweat roll down his forehead. “According to Jonathan, you two were…quite close.” She threw her shawl over her shoulder and winked. “Thanks for a very interesting evening, Mr. Wood. I‟ve enjoyed myself immensely. My cab is waiting.” God, I hate her. He watched the paramedics wheel Henry out on a stretcher. With any luck, the old coot wouldn‟t make it. Lane‟s only chance now was to try to stay married long enough to get some of the loot Henry would leave to Jolie. His career would be down the toilet if Vi revealed his sexual preferences to the world. The least he deserved was to live comfortably. Henry Brown had to die, very soon.

Chapter Sixteen After they arrived at Jolie‟s house, Dante killed the headlights and shut off the motor. “May I come in?” Jolie drew a deep breath while she considered his request. “I don‟t know. It‟s been an exhausting night.” She laughed mirthlessly. “Actually, the entire week has been pretty brutal.” She thought about the encounter with Jonathan, learning about Lane‟s betrayal, all the stress of the party plans. Tonight‟s events had to be the crowning glories. Rubbing her temples, she closed her eyes. “Tomorrow I get to tell Lane to leave. That should be pleasant.” She looked into Dante‟s eyes and wished she wasn‟t so damaged. “Can I make you something to eat?” Her stomach churned at the mention of food. “I couldn‟t manage food right now.” Staring toward her empty house, she sighed. The prospect of being all alone terrified her. “You can come in for a drink if you like.” “I would like.” He came around to her door and helped her out. When they entered the kitchen he immediately went to the refrigerator. “Sure you‟re not hungry?” She climbed onto a barstool and shook her head. “But please, help yourself.” The phone rang seconds later. Jolie stared at it, deciding if she should answer. Considering the late hour, she was afraid not to. The Caller ID listed Bel-Air Memorial Hospital. Dread crept under her skin. She trembled as she picked up. “Jolie, it‟s Carmela.” Her voice sounded flat, pained. She sucked in a breath, fearing the worst. “What‟s wrong?” Carmela started sobbing. “Your grandfather‟s had a stroke.” The room began to spin. She took a step toward the wall, leaning against it, afraid she might fall. Dante rushed to her side to hold her up. “A stroke?” she managed. “How is he?” “Holding his own. They‟ve given him medicine to dissolve the clot, but…” She gripped the phone tightly. “What?” “I don‟t understand some of what the doctors said, but he looks awful.” Jolie‟s heart sank. “I‟ll be right there.” Dante insisted on taking her to the hospital. Carmela met them at the Emergency entrance. The women hugged, neither uttered a word as Carmela led them inside. “When did this happen?” Jolie asked, hurrying down a long white corridor. Carmela held her hand over her mouth and shook her head. Tears stained her cheeks. “Was it at the party?” Jolie asked. She nodded. “Right after you left.” Guilt knotted into a tight ball in her gut. She forced herself to swallow her fear. Both Grampy and Carmela would need her to be strong. “No more than two at a time,” a nurse told them when they arrived at the ICU. “You go ahead,” Carmela insisted. “You‟re family, after all. I‟ll be right here.” Jolie looked from her to Dante. He gave her a reassuring nod. She entered the small room and choked back a cry at the sight of Henry, hooked up to several machines and an IV line. He appeared to have shrunk since she saw him last. She took his hand. “Grampy?”

He opened one eye; the other remained closed. His mouth looked cockeyed as well. “Jojo.” His voice was a hoarse whisper. She smiled down at him, hoping he was at least comfortable. “Shh. Don‟t try to talk. You rest.” He shut the one eye. “Have to tell you—” Only the right side of his mouth worked. Suddenly, the right eye opened. “Mother...lying. Must...believe. . ..” She wasn‟t prepared to deal with the evening‟s revelations yet, but she nodded and tears filled her eyes. “Okay. Let‟s not discuss that right now.” The right side of his face twisted into a scowl. “Now, dammit.” Even in his condition, he was the most stubborn person she‟d ever met. She clenched her jaw, knowing he would have his way. “Fine.” He squeezed her hand. And with that seemed to get better, stronger. “I had a very brief affair with her … a few days. You knew that.” She tried to hold it together, not break down in the middle of his hospital room. “For me… just sex. She was … young starlet looking for her big break.” Though his frown remained crooked, his speech seemed suddenly more clear, more concise. “I‟m not proud of it, but I used her, cast her aside.” He took a breath. “To get even with me, she went after … your father. Seduced him, … a month later, told him she was pregnant.” She stood totally still, listening, wondering whom to believe. Her grandfather had always been there for her. Emmanuelle had lied, stolen and cheated all her life. “After they were married, she would taunt me, tell me the baby she carried … was mine.” He took another breath and grimaced. “I knew better.” She crinkled her brow. “How?” “When your father was eighteen or nineteen, my second wife wanted to get pregnant. We tried … three years, no luck. The doctors checked us both out and discovered I had a condition where there were varicose veins around my testicles.” He pointed to a water cup on the bedside table. Jolie helped him take a sip. As uncomfortable as the conversation was, she knew she had to listen, had to hear the answers he insisted she have. “Thanks. Anyway, that raises the temperature of the sperm … renders a man infertile. Linda and I split up shortly after.” He shrugged. “Never bothered to have it corrected. Then right after my marriage broke up … I had that affair with Emmanuelle.” Anger churned inside her. “Emmanuelle made the entire thing up.” Why had she believed her for a moment? The rest of the world would listen to her, though. The tabloids were always eager for celebrity dirt and this certainly qualified. She could no longer hold back her tears. She found a box of tissues beside the bed and wiped the scratchy paper under her eyes. He gave her hand another squeeze. “I couldn‟t check out without you knowing the truth.” “No,” she cried. “You‟re not going to die. I‟m not ready to lose you.” She got to her knees and laid her head on his arm. “You‟ll be fine without me, Jojo. I just hope you kick that guitar player out on his ass. You deserve so much more.” She smiled through her tears. “I‟m leaving him, Grampy. Tomorrow.” He patted her head. “Good girl. There‟s someone out there for you. Someone who will love you the way you deserve to be loved.” A second later, she heard the door open, knew her time was up. “You rest now, Grampy. I love you.” She stood and smoothed his hair down. She kissed his cheek, then left the room,

thinking about Emmanuelle. This was all her fault. Who could have brought her to the party? Everyone in Hollywood knew of the deep rift between her and Emmanuelle. Running down the list of people she‟d invited, she drew a blank as to who would do such a thing. She shook her head, thinking about her mother‟s outburst at the salon last week, begging Jolie‟s forgiveness. Had her refusal to speak to Emmanuelle led her to lash out so cruelly at Jolie and her grandfather? She found Dante and Carmela seated near the nurses‟ station. “How is he?” Carmela asked as she stood. “He‟s talking. That‟s a good sign, I think.” Jolie took her hand. “Why don‟t you go in?” Carmela sniffled and gave her head a quick nod. “I‟ll let him rest a while. Then I‟ll go.” She looked at Dante. “Would you take her home?” He nodded and placed a hand on her back sending a shiver of desire to her core. She blanched at the notion that her body would respond to him even at a time like this. “Thank you, but I‟ll stay.” Carmela shook her head. “You will not. I‟ll be here. Henry needs you rested, not exhausted.” Jolie looked at Dante who winked. “She‟s right. He needs to sleep. There‟s nothing else you can do here.” “You‟ll call me if anything changes?” she asked Carmela. “Of course.” Dante drove them back to Jolie‟s house in silence. He parked in the drive and cut off the engine. “Want me to come inside?” She stared at her illuminated bedroom window and her gut twisted. “Thank you for everything you did tonight, but no. Lane‟s in there and we have some talking to do.” Her temples started pounding. “Your presence would only make him angrier.” “And what about you?” She arched her brows and studied his face, tried to ascertain his meaning. “Does my presence help or hurt?” Tearing her gaze from his, she smiled. “I wish I didn‟t want to be near you every second of the day.” With a finger under her chin, he turned her face toward his. “Please don‟t wish away your feelings for me.” She swallowed back the lump in her throat. “I…I can‟t—” He stilled her with a gentle kiss. As he drew away, his smoky gaze captured hers, refused to release it. “I‟ll wait until you‟re ready.” Her lips tingled where his had touched. Desire uncoiled the knots she‟d kept tied for so long. Ignoring the longing in her heart and the moisture between her legs, she sucked in a breath and struggled to stay in control. How could she let him hold out hope when she knew she‟d never be willing to have another relationship? “You have to get on with your life. Mine has no place for a nice guy like you.” He winked and tipped his head. “I‟ll take my chances.” She couldn‟t trust herself to be near him. “I should go.” “Anything you need, you call me. Understand?” “Yeah. Thanks.” She forced herself to leave the safe confines of his car and enter what she knew would be a battleground inside her house. Knowing she couldn‟t delay things until

morning, she climbed the stairs, steeling herself for a confrontation. She opened the bedroom door and found Lane sitting on the bed, pulling off his shoes. “Hello, kitten.” He dropped a shoe on the floor, then rolled his socks down. “Been at the hospital or out shaggin‟ your pretty producer?” She winced at the crudity as she crossed the room then dropped her purse onto the vanity. “Thank you for your characteristic empathy. You never let me down.” “You‟re welcome.” He tossed his socks onto the floor then got off the bed and disappeared into the closet. “You can use the guest room tonight.” Though she tried to maintain a cool façade, her mouth was desert dry, and her heart thumped like a jungle drum. She toed off her shoes and set them in the trashcan. “I want you out in the morning.” Lane marched back into the room. “You can‟t just toss me away like yesterday‟s rubbish. I have rights.” “Why can‟t we do this in a civil fashion?” With a groan, she sank onto the vanity stool. “You don‟t want me and I don‟t want you. Simple as that.” Her stomach roiled. He wasn‟t going to give up easily. She‟d feared as much. “A civil fashion?” he mimicked. “Piss on that. You‟re bangin‟ someone else. I could drag your name through the bloody mud.” She lifted an eyebrow. “Are you sure you want to go down that road?” He eyed her warily. “What do you mean by that?” “I haven‟t been unfaithful.” Crossing her arms, she looked him over. “But you have. And not with a lady.” His panicked expression was gone in an instant, but not quick enough to escape her notice. “You got nothin‟ on me.” She squared her shoulders. “Want to try me?” His sneer morphed into a devilish mask. “Show me.” She had nothing, not really. Only Jonathan‟s word. She flattened her lips. “I‟ll be in the bloody guest room.” Stalking to the bed, he grabbed his pillow. “But I won‟t leave this house. Unless you have proof, I‟ll fight this tooth and nail.” The door slammed as he left. Jolie allowed the masquerade of cool confidence to slip away. She shook for several minutes before she could get ready for bed. The idea that she‟d have to force him to leave was more than she could handle at the moment. Tomorrow she‟d find a way to get him out and she‟d stop at nothing to remove him from her life, even if it meant selling the home she loved. **** Dante dragged into his house, exhausted and drained. He froze when he saw Mike on the couch, an empty beer bottle nestled between his legs. Anger surged in his gut. He sat on the coffee table and stared at his brother, waiting for him to speak. An apology, an excuse, something. When Mike remained quiet, Dante leaned his elbows on his thighs and drew a deep sigh. “I know you‟ve got something to say or you wouldn‟t be sitting here. You‟d be hiding in your room or packing your bags.” “Quite a party, hmm?” he finally said. Typical Mike understatement. “So, you want to tell me how you scored an invitation or should I guess?” Mike rested his head on the back of the couch. “Does it really matter now?”

“Yeah. It does. A man is in the hospital after suffering a stroke that may have been brought on by the stress your date caused him. That makes it matter.” Mike rubbed the bridge of his nose. “I‟ve been seeing this woman, an older woman. She called and asked if I‟d go with her to some fancy birthday party.” He looked straight into Dante‟s eyes. “It was a last minute kind of thing. No biggie.” His brother‟s lies and omissions were adding up. Give him another chance before you lose your cool. “You‟re telling me the woman I saw you with—Jolie Brown‟s mother—invited you. And you‟ve been dating her.” Mike stuck out his chin, challenging Dante to call him on the untruths. “Something like that.” “Mm hmm. And where‟d you get the tux? Not from my closet, where you get everything else.” His eyes shifted back and forth. “She rented it for me.” Anger boiled. All he‟d given Mike, all the slack he‟d cut him, all the times he‟d bailed him out of trouble, and the bastard couldn‟t even be straight with him. He bolted off the table, grabbed him by his collar and pulled him off the couch. Mike gave him a hard shove, but he was no match for Dante, who tackled him. The two landed on the floor, locked in combat reminiscent of their youth. Only now, Dante was bigger and stronger. Straddling Mike, he pinned him down with a hand around his throat. “Tell me the truth,” he shouted. “You‟re not seeing Jolie‟s mother. You‟re not seeing any woman because you‟re a god damn queer.” Mike stopped resisting and went perfectly still. Dante climbed off him and covered his face with his hands. “I‟m sorry. I didn‟t mean to say that, to call you…” He offered his brother a hand up, but he ignored it. “I don‟t get why you never told me. Why you couldn‟t come clean?” He shook his head. “No one would have loved you any less.” Mike sat up and threw him an angry glance. Getting to his feet, he smoothed down his jacket and pants. “That would just be one more thing I screwed up. One more thing I couldn‟t do as well as my younger brother, the golden child.” He started toward the stairs. “Wait a second.” Dante grabbed his arm and spun him around. “What the hell are you talking about? Dad gave me the same crap he gave you about never being good enough.” “You‟re so clueless.” He shook his head and laughed. “You did well in school, you played sports, you even followed in his professional footsteps, for Christ‟s sake.” He ticked off Dante‟s achievements on his fingers. “Star of every play in high school, winner of trophies for your successes in softball and football, blue ribbons for debate contests and spelling bees and science fair projects. Let‟s face it, bro, you‟re everything I‟m not.” The rant left Dante speechless. Sure, he‟d excelled at a few things, but none of it was ever good enough to please their father. “You screwed the frigging prom queen and went to college on scholarship.” Mike swept his arm through the air. “You scored this house after you landed a cherry job straight out of school. How am I supposed to compete with that?” Dante dropped his shoulders. “I never realized we had a competition going. Is that why you started seeing Lane Wood? Because you knew the guy was a thorn in my side?”

Mike stood completely still for several seconds, then he bent over, laughing. “You are so full of yourself, bro. I‟ve known Lane for years. I was a roadie on one of his band‟s concert tours.” Dante felt as if he were speaking to a stranger. He never knew Mike had been a roadie, although that would explain some of his long absences. The depth of his brother‟s jealousy caught him off guard. “Why didn‟t you ever say anything? It didn‟t have to come to this.” He shrugged. “Maybe I wanted to have a little fun at your expense.” He went to the steps, then turned back. “How did you find out?” Did it matter if Lane found out Dante had a camera following him around? Not anymore. “I had a cameraman on him. We have his visit on film.” Mike‟s Adam‟s apple bobbed, his face turned pale. “Has Dad seen it?” Anger instantly turned to pity. Mike had spent his whole life either trying to please their father, or running from the old man‟s disappointment. “No. I‟ve got the footage under lock and key.” “Are you going to use it?” Dante‟s gut tightened. “Probably not. I can‟t make any promises, though.” Mike nodded as he climbed the first few steps. He stopped and looked at Dante. “Please. I‟ll do anything.” Dante had to tear his gaze away or risk crying in front of his brother. He nodded. A minute later, after Mike‟s door shut, Dante collapsed onto the couch. Destroying the footage of Mike and Lane would protect everyone, even Lane, unfortunately. Something told him not to dispose of it. What if Jolie needed it to get Wood out of her life for good? He had to secure it, make sure it didn‟t fall into the wrong hands. **** Lane paced the floor in the family room, stopping to scratch his nuts every few minutes. His head ached as he thought about last night‟s blasted party, which hadn‟t gone at all like he‟d planned. You couldn‟t trust a female as far as you could throw her. No wonder he fancied blokes. His cell phone interrupted his mental rant. “Hello,” he barked. “Hey,” Mike said. “You okay? You looked kind of green around the edges when you left the party.” He sank onto the couch. “All me plans got screwed up. How would you feel?” Glancing toward the doorway, he saw no sign of Hilda or Jolie. “I didn‟t expect your date to announce her dirty laundry to the whole bleedin‟ crowd. But, as long as the other special guest, the reporter, got an earful, that part‟s fine.” “So, what‟s the problem?” He groaned. “Me old buddy, Jonathan was there, somehow. No idea how he came to get an invite. He chatted up said reporter for a long while.” Combing his fingers through his tangled hair, he gritted his teeth. “I suspect he‟s outed me. Me days are numbered.” Mike exhaled loudly. “You‟re not the only one who‟s been outed, my friend.” “What? Not you too?” “Yup. You and me together. And we have my asshole brother to thank.” “Dante? How?” Something clicked in his head. Dante must have told Jolie. Son of a bitch. “He had a cameraman following you. He promised me he wouldn‟t use the footage, though.”

His blood boiled. “And you trust the bastard? You have to get that film, mate. If Jolie gets hold of it, I‟ll end up with nothin‟ out of this marriage. I‟ve put in four long, hard years with the dirty mare. What am I supposed to do with no bloody coins?” Mike laughed. “Find yourself a rich relative.” “Very funny. All me relatives are locked up in the slammer. Wouldn‟t fancy a visit with them, now would I?” “Guess not. I‟ve worn out my welcome at mine. I figure I‟ll be out of here by tomorrow.” “What?” Lane barked. “No! You can‟t leave until you find that film.” Mike cleared his throat but didn‟t say anything. “Look, mate. I need you to do this for me. The only money I‟ve got left is what that reporter is paying me for letting her come to the party. If that tape gets into Jolie‟s hot little hands, I‟m a Christmas goose.” “My brother and I are not exactly on the best of terms right now. Even if we were, he‟d never give me the footage.” Was everyone daft? “Of course he won‟t hand it over to you. Find out where it is. We‟ll steal it, destroy the evidence.” Mike sighed. “I don‟t know.” “Look, mate. If I can get me hands on some of the Brown fortune, I can parlay that into funding for me comeback, maybe have enough left over to get a place to live. And you can always hang out with me, have your own room, eh?” “I‟ll think about it, see what I can do.” “Look, work on it, okay?” His phone signaled another call. “I have to go. You work on gettin‟ back in Dante‟s good graces.” He clicked over to the other call. “Hello?” “Mr. Wood. Vi Cunningham here.” Acid burned in his gut. “Afternoon, Vi. I hope you had a nice time at the party last night.” He crossed his fingers, hoping Jonathan hadn‟t double-crossed him, as he suspected. “I found it most informative.” “Good, good. Will you be givin‟ me cash or a money order then?” He shut his eyes, hoping she‟d just say fine and he‟d be done with her. “About the money, Mr. Wood, I have a proposition for you.” A proposition? Either she wanted more information or she was going back on her word. “Yeah? What?” “I spent some time speaking with…an associate of yours last night.” Please let her not be talking about Jonathan. “Me drummer, Brian?” Bile rose into his throat. He‟d have to start eating a better breakfast than Yummy Ohs. “I was referring to your friend Jonathan Coleman. He had lots to share about you.” Shit. After all he‟d done for that faggot. “What is it you want?” “A fair trade. We wipe the slate clean and I don‟t make you front page news.” He pointed his middle finger at the phone. “In other words, you pocket the money your boss gave you to pay for me information.” He knew he shouldn‟t have trusted her. “More or less.” When had his luck turned? “What guarantee do I have that you‟ll keep the information under your hat?” “I suppose you‟ll have to trust me.” “Trust you?” he balked. “Why that‟s like trustin…”

He tried to think of someone notorious for their dishonesty. “You?” Bitch. He had to get that film from Dante. A good divorce settlement was his last chance. He couldn‟t let that bastard brother of Mike‟s blow it for him. **** The minute Jolie returned from a visit with her grandfather at the hospital the next morning, she had Hilda gather plastic totes, suitcases and bags. “Let‟s start with the bedroom. I want everything of Lane‟s out of here.” Hilda beamed. “I happy to help.” After they‟d cleared his belongings from the closet and dresser, they dragged it all into the hallway. Lane marched out of the guest room and stared at his possessions. “What are you two old cows up to?” Jolie clenched her jaw. “Thank you, Hilda.” The housekeeper took the hint and descended the stairs. Jolie planted her fists on her hips. How could she have ever loved him? “I told you last night. I want you out. Today.” He frowned. “Kitten, that was just a little spat. All couples have „em.” Could he really be that dense? “I know all about you, Lane. I want a divorce. Step one is for you to get out of my house.” “Can‟t we try counseling, love? I‟m willing to give us another shot if you are.” The sickly sweet expression on his face made her gag. “Lane, you‟re gay. Which explains a lot about our sex life. I want you out. Now.” “That‟s hittin‟ below the belt, kitten. I‟m not a bleedin‟ fairy.” He winked. “I give you a good shaggin‟ every time you back your snatch up to me.” A wave of nausea nearly knocked her over. Should she call the police to get him out? The media would love that, particularly after Emmanuelle‟s revelation, which would probably reach the airwaves and newsstands by tomorrow. First thing in the morning, she‟d call Melvin, and see what he could do to make Lane leave. “You‟re a pig.” He folded his arms and thrust his chin out. “That may be. But I ain‟t leavin,‟ love. Unless you make it worth me while, that is.” Did he really think she‟d lower herself to pay him off? Her chest heaved. “You‟re contemptible. I won‟t give you a dime.” He blew her a kiss. “Love you too, kitten.” He marched down the stairs. A minute later, the bleeps and buzzes of video games drifted to her ears. She wanted to cry, but she wouldn‟t give him the satisfaction. He didn‟t deserve a single tear. No. She‟d find a way to get rid of him, once and for all.

Chapter Seventeen “I need to speak to Mary-Margaret,” Jolie told the receptionist at Salon Twenty-One. She tapped her foot on the tile floor as the girl looked at her computer screen. “She‟s with a client, Miss Brown. Would you like me to make an appointment for you?” Biting her bottom lip, Jolie checked her watch. “No, no. I‟ll wait. I only need a minute of her time.” She paced the waiting area, hoping to make the minutes pass more quickly. Why couldn‟t anything be simple? Mary-Margaret was her only link to Emmanuelle. The idea of having any contact with her mother sent chills up her spine, but she had to get some answers about her father, why he‟d killed himself and what Emmanuelle had to do with it. Not that she could trust her mother to be honest, but she had to try. She was so tired of people walking all over her, Emmanuelle, Lane, Ellis. People who, in normal circles, should love her. Love was the last thing on Lane‟s mind. The son-of-a-bitch was only interested in her money. After her lawyer told her she had no legal basis to throw him out, she almost broke the phone. The notion that Lane could stay for weeks, possibly months devastated her. If she left, he could accuse her of desertion, a bad idea according to Melvin. “Miss Brown?” a middle-aged bottle-blonde with heavy black eyeliner said. Jolie forced a smile. “Yes. Are you Mary-Margaret?” The woman nodded. “What can I do for you?” “I need your help. I must speak to my mother, Emmanuelle Bonchant. It‟s very important. Only I don‟t have her address.” Mary-Margaret pursed whore-red lips and folded her arms over obviously fake double Ds. “Gee, Miss Brown. I don‟t know. She might not appreciate me giving it out.” Her lifted brow told Jolie she could be easily convinced. Jolie reached into her purse and discreetly pulled out a fifty-dollar bill, palming it just slowly enough for the woman to see. “I‟m sure she won‟t mind.” She tried for a light-hearted chuckle. “I‟m her daughter, after all.” Mary-Margaret‟s scowl confirmed she knew of the rift between mother and daughter. Eying Jolie‟s closed fist, she bit her upper lip. “I‟ll go get it.” She disappeared behind the reception desk. Jolie let out the breath she‟d been holding. This was her last hope of finding Emmanuelle so she could ask her the questions that wouldn‟t stop needling her brain. She‟d driven to what used to be her mother‟s Beverly Hills home an hour ago only to find a stranger there. “I‟m sorry. She doesn‟t live here anymore,” the woman said. “We‟ve been here three years now. Bought it at a foreclosure sale.” Foreclosure? Apparently Emmanuelle had blown though all Jolie‟s money. Old anger tightened her muscles. “Do you have a forwarding address?” “Sorry, no.” The woman shut the door, leaving Jolie at a dead end. Until she remembered the salon connection. “Here it is,” Mary-Margaret said, holding a slip of paper tightly in her grasp. Her gaze dropped to Jolie‟s hand. She pushed the money into the woman‟s palm in exchange for the address. “I‟ll tell my mother you said hello,” she said, with a wink.

When she parked in front of a small apartment building a little while later, she had second thoughts. She couldn‟t trust Emmanuelle to be straight with her about anything. Why bother trying to get answers? She held her hand over her pounding heart and took a deep breath. What was the worst that could happen? My mother could try to kill me. She rolled her eyes at the thought, but realized it wasn‟t so far fetched. No, she couldn‟t do this alone. But there was one person who would gladly go with her. **** “You‟ve certainly picked quite a train wreck,” Wendy told Dante as they watched an editor work on the footage from Henry Brown‟s birthday party. Struck by the irony of that statement, Dante frowned. Yes, Jolie‟s life was a mess, but her sphere of characters were the ones who kept trying to derail her. She herself had strength and character. She reminded him of a beautiful flower poking through a pile of trash. Somehow, she‟d managed to bloom amidst the muck of those around her. And, he was in love with her. Emmanuelle‟s face appeared on the side-by-side computer screens, different angles on the same disaster. One of the shots panned to a close-up of Jolie, a study in misery and shock. He had to look away. “This is great stuff,” Wendy said. He flinched at the enthusiasm in her tone. “You‟re watching people‟s lives being torn apart.” “Isn‟t that what will make the show a success?” The truth stung. He knew he had a hit. All the sordid, painful moments they‟d captured on film would make for great ratings. Only it would devastate Jolie, and in the process, him too. The ringing phone was a welcome diversion. He smiled when he saw Jolie‟s name on the display. “I need your help,” she said as soon as he answered. He‟d do anything for her, anything to be near her. “What do you need?” Thirty-five minutes later, he parked beside her at an apartment building in Beverly Hills. The moment he climbed into her car, he knew he‟d done the right thing in coming. With Emmanuelle so unstable, the likelihood of her lashing out physically at Jolie was not out of the realm of possibility. “I don‟t know how to thank you for coming with me.” Her warm smile alone made the trip worth his time. “I told you, whatever you need, whatever I can do.” She dropped her head. “I‟ve been thinking about my father and why he killed himself. I always had my suspicions, but I could never be sure.” She met his gaze. “No one would ever talk about it with me. The subject always upset Grampy, so I stopped asking.” She wrung her hands and stared out the windshield. “The idea that he‟d choose to leave me…” She wiped tears from her cheeks. “That never made sense. He was so devoted to me. Considering my mother‟s…announcement at the party, I wonder if his reasons had to do with Emmanuelle and Grampy‟s affair.”

Dante tried to recall the background information he‟d read before they started the show. He vaguely remembered a mention of Robert Brown suffering from depression. “You might never know the reason, Jolie. Could it be possible he was just depressed?” Nodding, she sighed. “I can remember him withdrawing every now and then. But I can‟t shake this feeling that my mother had something to do with his death. She only thinks about herself and doesn‟t care who she hurts in the process.” He wondered if discovering her father‟s motive would ease her pain after all these years. The answer might cause Jolie more harm than good. “Is that what you‟re going to ask? If she knows why he did it?” “She may not tell me.” “She may not know.” He took her hand. “This might be painful for you. Are you sure the answers are worth the anguish?” “No. I‟m not. But I‟m obsessed with trying to find out why.” She let out a deep breath as she opened her door and got out of the car. “My grandfather assured me she was lying about him being my father. And I believe him.” They walked to the front door and pressed a button next to the name, “Bonchant.” Dante stared into her eyes, silently assuring her it was okay to turn back. “I have to do this.” “Yes? Who is there?” Emmanuelle‟s muffled voice asked. “It‟s Jolie. I need to speak with you.” Silence. “I won‟t take much of your time.” They waited. After about a minute, she shook her head and they started to leave. Then the door buzzed. Dante ran for it and pulled it open. He followed Jolie inside. Checking the numbers on the doors, he said, “Must be upstairs.” When they arrived at apartment 2-D, she hesitated a few seconds before knocking. Emmanuelle cracked the door, gave them both a once-over. “Who is he?” she asked, tipping her chin toward Dante. “This is Dante Ebersol, a friend of mine.” After the door opened all the way, Emmanuelle gestured for them to enter. She showed them to a couch and they all sat stiffly. “Are you related to Charles Ebersol?” she asked Dante. “My father.” “He passed over me for a television show years ago. That role could have changed my life.” She glared at him, as if he‟d been the one who wronged her. Turning her gaze to Jolie, she flattened her lips. “Is Henry dead?” Jolie swallowed, but her pained look quickly turned to one of contempt. “He‟s doing quite well. Thank you for your concern.” Emmanuelle lit a cigarette and blew the smoke toward them. “So?” Jolie‟s nostrils flared. “I have a question about my father, about Robert.” “Why not ask Henry, your real father?” Dante marveled at Jolie‟s poise. She showed way more restraint than he would in her position. She took a deep breath, let it out slowly. “I want to know why he killed himself. I think you have the answer.”

Emmanuelle flew off the couch as if she‟d just sat on hot coals. “He was depressed. Sometimes depressed people commit suicide.” “You burned his note, then made me bury the ashes in the yard so no one would ever know there‟d been a note in the first place. I remember.” Her eyes glistened. “What did it say?” Sparks flashed from Emmanuelle‟s eyes. “You‟re confused. You must have dreamt that. You were a little girl.” Emmanuelle‟s reaction convinced Dante there was nothing wrong with Jolie‟s memory. He wondered what was so damning in that note that she‟d make her daughter bury the ashes. “Tell me the truth. You owe me that after all you‟ve done to destroy my life.” “And have you ever considered how you‟ve ruined my life?” Emmanuelle shot back. “I had a promising future as an actress before I became pregnant. I lost the role of a lifetime because of you. Those days mixing the races was taboo, even in Hollywood.” Dante couldn‟t believe what he was hearing. Was Emmanuelle actually blaming her daughter for everything that went wrong in her life because she got pregnant? “You stole all my money. Everything I earned,” Jolie charged. “All those years of my childhood I missed.” “I was entitled. It should have been me. I was the better actress.” Though her hands were fisted in her lap, Jolie looked at her mother calmly. “We‟re getting off the subject. Tell me what the note said.” Dante saw pure evil in Emmanuelle‟s eyes. He wanted to wrap himself around Jolie, protect her. Emmanuelle snuffed out her cigarette. “I told Robert the truth. That you were Henry‟s child. He couldn‟t handle it.” Jolie hung her head. Dante took her arm to pull her up. “We‟re going.” When they were almost to the door, she turned to face her mother. “My grandfather was sterile when you slept with him. My father died because of your lie. You‟re a horrible, horrible woman and I‟m ashamed you‟re my mother.” Emmanuelle raced toward them to spit at Jolie, catching the side of her face. Dante moved between them, leaned down to get in the witch‟s face. “I‟ve never hit a woman, but so help me, God, if you ever come near her again, I‟ll put you down.” The next sound he heard was the slam of a door. He wrapped his arm around Jolie‟s shoulder, escorted her out of the building and settled her into his BMW. “I‟m taking you home; I‟ll have someone pick up your car later.” She was way too shaken to drive. Thankfully, she didn‟t protest. After driving a few minutes in silence, he looked at her. On the surface she appeared so small and fragile, yet strength shone through. “I can‟t go home,” she finally said. “Lane‟s there. I don‟t have the energy to deal with him. Not now.” “Why is he still there? You said—” She held up her hand and cut him off. “I tried to get him out. He refused to leave. According to my lawyer, I can‟t make him.” She narrowed her gaze. “Can I ask you a question?” “Of course.” “Are you and your team trying to make me look like a mess? Is that the point of the show?”

He would have swallowed except his mouth went dry as the Sahara. If he told her the truth, she‟d never want to see him again. If he lied, he‟d never be able to forgive himself. “The point of the show is to get a peek inside your life, nothing more.” The half-truth left a bitter taste. Change the subject. “How do you feel about what your mother told you?” She looked away. Rather than press her, he drove without saying a word. A full five minutes went by before she spoke. “My mother was at least partly to blame for my father‟s suicide. She drove him to it.” He yearned to comfort her, but sensed he should keep quiet and let her talk. “We were so close, my dad and I. When he died, I felt like crawling into his grave after him.” She sniffled. “My mother made me go back to work two weeks later. She said he‟d have wanted that.” She shook her head. “What she wanted was her meal ticket.” Dante thought about his father, realized he had no room to complain. Sure, he was a lousy dad, but at least he was there. And his mother made up for the love his father denied him. Who showered Jolie with love and praise after Robert Brown was gone? “How old were you?” “Nine.” She wiped her cheeks, looked out the side window. “Where are we going?” Apparently she was through talking about her father. “Do you trust me?” he asked, hoping she‟d say yes. She didn‟t answer. “Can you try?” “Yeah.” Driving toward the coast, he hoped to put as much distance as possible between Jolie and all the people stressing her out. Might do him some good to get away from his father and Mike, at least for a few hours. “How do you feel about seafood?” She smiled and his world brightened. “Love it.” They arrived at a restaurant overlooking the ocean as the sun descended into the Pacific. The craggy shore was bathed in a golden-orange glow. Soft jazz filled the air and the sweet aroma of lobster drifted to his nose. “This is lovely, Dante. Guess I need it,” she said after they ordered. “Can I ask you a personal question?” Her laugh set her chestnut eyes on fire. “Considering what you just witnessed, I‟d say you‟re entitled.” He took her hand across the table. When she pulled it away, his heart sank. “What are you going to do about Lane? I hate that he‟s still living with you.” Her smile disappeared. “He‟s not living with me. I sent him to the guest room Saturday night. Believe me, if I could make him leave this instant, I would.” “And what about me?” He sounded like a lovesick schoolboy and he realized he didn‟t care. “What about you?” Could she be that oblivious? Was it possible she didn‟t comprehend the depth of his feelings? The way her hair captured red droplets from the sun and the reflection of the ocean in her eyes. The curve of her mouth, the sway of her hips when she walked, the music in her voice; everything about her captured his soul. Vulnerability was a new emotion for him, but he was too far gone to rein in his feelings. And for an actress, no less. Something compelled him to lay his cards on the table. He drew a deep breath for courage. “I love you, Jolie.” Her brow lifted. “I…I don‟t know what to say.” Say you love me, please.

Her shoulders slumped. “I‟m not in any position to begin a new relationship.” “You just said your marriage is over, if you could make Lane leave you would.” He did sound like a lovesick teenager. “Do you have any feelings for me?” She flattened her lips and nodded. “But I don‟t know if I‟ll ever be able to trust another man.” A glimmer of hope danced over his skin. “I‟m not like Lane or your mother or your first husband. I won‟t deceive or hurt you.” Her eyes glistened. “My life is so complicated right now.” She twisted the linen napkin into a pretzel. “With the show, Lane, my grandfather in the hospital.” He put his hands over hers to still her fidgeting. When she didn‟t take them away, something inside him unraveled. “I want to help you, however I can. We‟ll find you the best divorce lawyer in LA. Whatever you need.” The waitress arrived with their dinners. He let her hands go. Although his stomach growled with hunger, he mourned the loss of her touch, wished the service was slower. When they were alone, he captured Jolie‟s gaze. “Tell me you‟ll give me a chance and I‟ll wait as long as it takes.” “I‟m not sure I can handle another relationship. Perhaps in time.” She sipped her wine. “Lane said if I had proof of his…liaisons, he‟d be persuaded to leave my house. I might have to hire a private detective and have him followed.” Dante swallowed hard. He had all the proof she needed. If he told her, she‟d hate him for keeping it from her. He couldn‟t take the chance on destroying what little trust she had in him. Then, there was Mike and his father to consider. Any chance they had of repairing their relationship would go down the toilet if the tape was uncovered. No, he had to keep the footage to himself. Too many lives depended on it remaining locked away. Knowing he had the power to force Lane out of Jolie‟s house, but couldn‟t use it, turned his stomach. He mulled over his options as he watched Jolie eat her shrimp. What would Lane do if Dante went to him directly and threatened to make the footage of him and Mike public? He wondered how much influence his brother wielded over Lane. Would Mike be able to convince him to walk away from the marriage? Sadly, over the last few days, Mike had become more a stranger than a brother. Rather than go straight home after leaving the restaurant, they opted to take a walk on the beach. A brilliant, full moon lit their path along the craggy shore. He took Jolie‟s hand to steady her along the rocks. Her skin felt like ice. “You‟re cold.” “I‟m okay.” She stopped to face the water. “There‟s something humbling about the ocean. Makes you feel small and insignificant.” “I prefer to see it as part of a larger plan.” He breathed in the unique scent of salt and sand, let the roar of the crashing waves relax him. “Reminds me how short life is. You have to seize the moment, grab your happiness where you can find it.” The wind whipped her hair around her face. “I‟m afraid to put my heart out there again where it can be stomped. Most everyone I‟ve ever loved ended up betraying me.” How could he convince her he was different? Crouching down, he found a clamshell sticking out of the sand. He picked it up and showed it to her. Then he stood and tossed it as far as he could into the water. “I wonder where it‟ll end up. Maybe in Hawaii or Japan. Might be carried north to Alaska. The possibilities are endless.” “Why do I get the feeling you‟re trying to tell me something?”

He grasped her shoulders and pulled her close. “That shell wasn‟t going anywhere stuck on the shore, was it? Now it has a million chances to go someplace wonderful.” “Or somewhere terrible and painful.” “I wanted to give it a chance to ride the waves, take a journey.” She leaned against him. “I‟m scared.” He smoothed her hair away from her face, held the silky strands in his fingers. Staring into her eyes, he marveled at the intense desire she stirred deep within him. No other woman had ever affected him this way. He understood her trepidation, he felt it too. But she was afraid to be with him. He dreaded being without her. “Trust me.” Her lips parted as her gaze fell to his mouth. The pounding of his heart drowned out the thunder of the ocean. Grazing a finger along her jaw, he felt her shudder, sensed her desire along with the will to deny it. He brushed his lips along her forehead, her cheek. “You‟re the most beautiful, fascinating woman I‟ve ever known.” She whimpered like a kitten, melted against him, like they were two long-separated puzzle pieces. Opening her mouth to his, she ran her hands up and down his back, leaving him hungry for more. He longed to lose himself inside her, to make love to her, morning, afternoon and night. Their tongues danced in perfect harmony, as if they‟d been doing it forever. Her warm mouth was inviting and sweet. He wanted to kiss her for the rest of his life. His head spun, his body vibrated with overpowering desire and he knew as sure as he knew his name, no other woman would ever do. When she pulled away, her chest heaved. Her lips were red and swollen with yearning. “I have to get back.” He nodded. “You‟ll have to give me a minute. I can‟t walk at the moment.” She glanced down and grinned. “Is that a gun in your pants—” she said a la Mae West. “I‟m happy to see you,” he said and smiled. They walked arm-in-arm to the car. When he stopped in front of her house an hour later, dread niggled at him. “Will you be here with the crew tomorrow?” she asked, making no move to get out of the car. How could he be around her all day with Lane there? Hopefully Lane would pull one of his notorious disappearing acts. “Um…yeah. I‟ll be here.” He leaned across the seat toward her, but she shrunk away from his reach. “Not here. Not now.” She hurried out of the car and into her house. He stayed there for a few minutes, staring at the spot she‟d vacated in his car. Running a hand over the back of the seat, he felt her warmth, smelled her distinctive scent. White ginger and fresh cut grass. Tomorrow he would be near her. Close enough to touch her, to breathe her in. Thoughts of work broke through his daydream. Somehow he had to put a different spin on the show. She was far from the mess he‟d planned to make her appear. She‟d become the most important person in his world. And he wouldn‟t let her down. He wondered if that meant letting his father and his staff down.

Chapter Eighteen “Where‟s all the bloody food?” Lane groused. “I haven‟t had any lunch and it‟s nearly time for supper.” He scanned the contents of Dante‟s huge refrigerator once more. Milk, butter, a few tomatoes, beer. No yummy plastic-wrapped goodies, like before. “Tell your bastard brother toget off his duff and get cookin‟.” Mike opened the freezer and took out a frozen pizza. “This‟ll have to do. Dante hasn‟t been home much. When he is, he hides in his room.” He opened the carton and shook his head. “I had no idea he‟d get so pissed about me going to the party. Or that it would bother me so much.” Lane gave the fridge door a hard shove. “Bugger that. He‟s got everything you don‟t and needs to be put in his place every now and again.” He thought about seeing Dante talking to Jolie as she pulled weeds this morning by the pool, cameras rolling, of course. Something was afoot between the two. Not that he wanted Jolie—far from it. But as long as she had Dante around talking sweet to her, making her feel all lovey-dovey, she had no use for him. “I think your perfect gentleman of a brother is shaggin‟ me wife.” Mike loaded the pizza into the oven. “He probably wants to, but he‟s always steered clear of married women. As of a few weeks ago, he‟s sworn off actresses.” Lane smirked. “Then he‟s makin‟ an exception. Mark me words, he‟s givin‟ Jolie the bone.” He eyed Mike, assessing how far the man would go for him. “I need you to do something for me.” Mike lifted an eyebrow. “What‟s that?” “Make nice to Dante. Get him to trust you. Then find out where that bloody tape is of you and me.” Mike‟s Adam‟s apple slid up and down, his brow furrowed. “I‟ll take care of the rest, mate.” Mike fidgeted and Lane knew he was considering the consequences. “Look, you want to make up with him anyway, right?” Mike nodded. “That‟s basically all I‟m askin‟ of you.” “I‟ll try,” Mike finally said. Lane grinned. Once Mike had the information on the whereabouts of the recording, he‟d go along with helping to steal it. With a bit of convincing. **** “The stroke wasn‟t as bad as they first suspected,” Jolie told Caroline over lunch. “He‟s walking on his own now. They‟re releasing him tomorrow, thank heavens. He swears Carmela is threatening to make his house a boot camp. All the liquor is gone and Grampy‟s downright furious.” “He‟s lucky to have her.” How true Caroline‟s statement was. Would anyone be there for her when she was old and tired? Dante had made it clear he wanted more than a casual fling. Could she trust that he‟d be

there? Maybe if they took it slow her heart might open to him. “Did you happen to notice the producer of my reality series at the party? Tall, brown hair, amazing dimples.” Caroline‟s eyes widened. “Oh, my God. Did I ever. I thought he was an actor at first. What a hottie.” She swiped another grape. “He went after you when you ran out of the party, didn‟t he?” Heat rose to Jolie‟s cheeks as she recalled the humiliation of her mother‟s pronouncement. “Um, yes, as a matter of fact. I think he did.” Caroline quirked an eyebrow. “Is there‟s something between you two? He stared at you all night at the party.” “No. Nothing really.” “Mm hmm.” Caroline folded her arms over her chest. “You are so busted. I gotta tell you, though, you have excellent taste.” Jolie grinned. “It‟s nothing really. I mean, I can hardly think about getting involved with someone else with Lane still at the house.” “Except you‟ve filed for divorce.” A big smile slowly lit up her face. “Jolie has a boyfriend, Jolie has a boyfriend,” she sang quietly. Jolie slapped her hand. “Shush. The walls have ears and eyes.” “Speaking of ears and eyes, where‟s the film crew today?” She fluffed her hair. “I got all spiffed up, thinking I‟d be on TV.” “They‟re doing an evening shoot.” She checked her watch. “In fact, I should be going. They‟re scheduled to arrive at the house within the hour.” Butterflies flitted around her stomach. Soon she‟d be seeing Dante. I’m being silly. I was just with him yesterday. She swallowed hard when the realization came that she was falling for him. Maybe her heart could mend, after all. **** “I want to see everything you‟ve got for your show,” Charles Ebersol said, cornering Dante at the office coffee maker. “We need to discuss a name for it, too. The entertainment channel wants to begin airing promos.” Fear and doubt replaced the confidence Dante had felt during the staff meeting only hours ago. Was the show good enough? “We have the title narrowed down to a few choices.” Charles poured himself a cup of coffee. “Yeah? Like what?” Dante pointed to his father‟s mug. “You‟re not supposed to have that stuff anymore. Mom would skin you alive.” The old man‟s thick brows pulled together forming one long, white caterpillar. “Your mother‟s not the boss here. I am,” he boomed. “Now, tell me the titles.” Dante gritted his teeth. “We were mulling over „Split,‟ since our subjects have broken up.” He studied his father‟s stony face. Obviously, that didn‟t hit the mark. “Another we tossed around is „House Divided.‟ What do you think?” “I don‟t like either one.” Charles took a step toward his door. “Let‟s go into my office and brainstorm.” “Actually, Dad, I‟m on my way out. We have a late shoot.” Charles frowned. “I want you in my office first thing tomorrow morning. Is that clear?” He waggled a finger at him. “And I want a screening of the pilot. It‟s set to air in January. This

whole damn industry shuts down between Christmas and New Years. We‟re running out of time.” He marched away, slamming the door behind him. Dante blew out the breath he didn‟t know he‟d been holding and shook his head. Why did he try so hard to please the old man? His father would never be content with anything he did. When he arrived at Jolie‟s a little while later, the crew was already there. The moment he caught her eye, she gave him a smile that erased all his doubts. “Hilda,” Lane shouted from another room. “Bring me a lager, you lazy cow.” Jolie‟s expression turned to one of pure misery. She marched into the family room, followed by Fred and the others. “You will not speak to her that way.” “Blow off, you dirty mare.” He held his middle finger in the air for a brief moment, before returning his hand to the video game controller. “You don‟t tell me what to do anymore.” Dante wanted to drag him off the couch and throw him through the picture window, but he stayed where he was. Jolie rubbed the bridge of her nose before stomping from the room. She met Hilda in the foyer. “Do not, I repeat, do not do a thing for Lane. Comprende? I don‟t care what he asks for. You work for me and you don‟t have to lift a finger for him.” She started to walk away, then stopped, turned back to Hilda. “In fact, I want you to leave his room and bathroom alone. Don‟t clean them. We‟ll have them sandblasted after he‟s gone.” “Yes, Miss Jolie.” Huge grin on her weathered face, Hilda left the room. “Cut,” Kim said. Fred shut off the camera, Omar cut the lights and Elaine lowered the microphone pole. “Let‟s give her a few minutes to regroup, folks,” Kim told them. “Take fifteen.” Dante followed Jolie out to the pool deck. “I hate watching you suffer like this,” he said, once they were alone. “I can‟t get you off my mind.” The crease of her brow smoothed out when she smiled. “I‟ve been thinking about you, too.” He ached to hold her, but he had to keep his distance. “Can I take you out tomorrow evening?” The furrow returned. “There‟s nothing I‟d like more. Only it wouldn‟t look right. Not with Lane still here.” Every fiber of his being yearned to see Lane Wood strung up on Hollywood Boulevard, dangling from an unforgiving noose. Sighing, he combed his fingers through his hair. “What about a drive. No one will see us.” He glanced toward the house, making sure they weren‟t being watched. “I need to hold you, just to be with you, alone.” She lowered her voice to barely above a whisper. “I have an appointment to meet with a Private Investigator Monday morning. I‟m hoping he can get photos or something of Lane with a man, so I can make him leave. Kim asked if they could come along.” A glimmer of hope broke through his frustration. “And what did you tell her?” She stuck out her chin. “I said sure, as long as you guys promise not to air that until after Lane‟s long gone.” “Deal.” A little while later they wrapped up shooting for the day and Dante reluctantly left for home. Seeing Mike‟s car still parked in front of the house, his gut tightened. Wasn‟t it enough he‟d had to deal with his father, and Lane, today? Once inside, he grabbed the mail from the counter and started toward his bedroom. When he approached the staircase, he stopped in his tracks. “Can‟t avoid me forever,” Mike said, sitting on the bottom step holding a beer bottle. “I figured either door you came in, you‟d have to use the stairs to get to your hideout.”

Dante nodded and considered leaving. But why? He‟d have to face him sooner or later. “What do you want?” “I want to apologize for not being honest with you a long time ago.” He took a pull on his beer. “You want one?” he asked, holding the bottle higher. “Nope. I have a job I have to be at early. Ever heard of one of those?” He exhaled loudly, regretting his lack of control. “Sorry.” “No problem. I‟ve been sponging off you for too long. I have to stand on my own two feet.” Dante studied his brother‟s face, wondered if he was on the level. “Yeah?” “Yeah.” Bogart rubbed against Dante‟s shins. He bent to pick up the cat. “You hungry, buddy?” The feline meowed loudly. “Starved,” Mike answered. “There‟s no food here.” Dante chuckled. “I was speaking to the cat. And there‟s always something in the fridge I can work with.” “Cool. Let‟s eat.” Mike stood and patted him on the back. “Glad I can be straight with you now, man.” He pointed to Bogart. “I already fed that little scammer.” Dante set the cat down and followed his brother to the kitchen. He opened the refrigerator and studied the few items inside. “I told you. Even you can‟t make a meal from those slim pickings.” Mike grabbed another beer and sat at the counter. “Want to bet?” Mike snickered. “Yeah. Loser has to do the laundry.” “Like I‟d trust you not to ruin all my clothes. Anyway, the cleaning lady does them.” He got to work. Taking a pack of English muffins out of the freezer, he smirked. “Piece of cake.” He turned on the broiler. “Can I ask you a question?” Mike‟s voice was suddenly deeper, more serious. Dante stopped what he was doing and gave his brother his full attention. “Shoot.” “Will you keep quiet about this…about me to Mom and Dad? I‟m not ready to deal with all that.” “I had no plans to say anything.” He climbed onto a stool. “I‟ve got no desire to cause trouble. Quite the contrary. I‟ve always wanted the best for you.” He thought about their last conversation. “Sorry you always felt like I was trying to outdo you. All I wanted to do was keep Dad happy.” Mike nodded. “I can relate.” “Why do we bother? There‟s never been any pleasing him. Nothing could ever measure up.” Shaking his head, he stood then opened the English muffins and spread them on a plate. “Nuke these for thirty seconds, would you?” Mike took the plate to the microwave while Dante washed tomatoes. “How is Henry Brown doing?” Dante shrugged. “I heard Jolie say he‟ll be released from the hospital tomorrow.” “Good.” He took the plate out of the microwave and set it on the counter. “Now what?” “I‟ll take it from here.” Dante split the muffins in two and dropped four halves into the toaster. The he cut the tomatoes into thin slices. He cleared his throat. “Um…what did you do with the film? Of me and Lane?” Dante looked at his brother. Was Mike purposely avoiding his stare by flipping through the pages of a magazine? Could he trust him? Or was he playing him,

again? Of course he’s concerned. Anyone would be in his shoes. But there was no sense in revealing his entire hand. “It‟s locked away.” Mike knit his brow, like he was concentrating on something he read. “That the only copy?” Quentin still had the footage. As much as he longed to, he couldn‟t completely trust Mike. That would take time. “Yeah. That‟s it.” He took out a chunk of Gorgonzola and began slicing it. Mike turned a page, took a swallow of beer. “Glad to hear that. I hope it‟s safe.” Dante couldn‟t quell the doubts that kept popping into his brain. Set a trap, his mind coaxed. “The DVD is locked up tight in my desk at the office. No one even knows it‟s there. I‟m sure it‟s totally safe.” “Good deal.” Dante arranged the toasted muffins on a baking sheet and topped each half with a slice of tomato and several strips of cheese. Then he loaded the pan into the broiler. He‟d have to get up early tomorrow if he wanted to set his trap. Would he catch Lane, Mike or both? He sincerely hoped the bait remained undisturbed. Watching his brother, he wondered if Mike meant what he said. Did he plan to look for a job, start earning a living? Or were his promises only smoke and mirrors, like so much else in his life. Checking the clock, he shut off the oven and took out his creation. “Damn, that looks good. I‟ve missed your cooking. What is it?” “Basically, it‟s pizza.” He lifted his beer. “And I won the bet. Now you owe me.” “I thought you didn‟t want me to do your laundry. Afraid I‟d ruin it.” Mike bit into a muffin. “Mm. This is awesome.” “I don‟t. You can just owe me. Maybe I‟ll call in the favor soon.” Mike looked at him and shrugged. “Whatever you say.”

Chapter Nineteen “In you go,” Jolie‟s personal trainer pointed at the pool. “Give me thirty laps. And no turn around before you get to the edge.” She rolled her eyes and grinned. “I never do that.” “Bull. Make it thirty-five.” Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Dante watching her from the deck. Turning her back to him, her heart fluttered as she felt his stare caress her body right down to her toes. She dove into the deep end and thought about their kiss on the beach last night. The most wonderful, sensuous kiss ever. His lips had been so warm and inviting, particularly after years of Lane‟s cold pucker. She completed her first lap, then touched the side of the pool, well aware of the trainer‟s scrutiny. Slicing through the water, she imagined Dante, swimming alongside her, naked and free. No Lane, no film crew, no trainer. Only the two of them and the rest of their lives to explore each other. She‟d put her faith in so many people, all had let her down. How could she be sure Dante wasn‟t like the rest? Something inside her insisted he was different. He’s for real. The one. She‟d thought Ellis was the one. Everyone loved him, Caroline, Grampy. And Emmanuelle. She‟d loved him way too much. Panting, she stopped at the edge of the pool and searched for Neil. She saw him talking to Kim, chest puffed out, head high. He pushed a stray curl away from Kim‟s face as she giggled. That horny hard body wasn‟t even counting her laps. “That was thirty-five,” she called to him, although she hadn‟t even done thirty. He hurried to the pool and sank his hands onto his waist. “You sure?” Pointing at Fred, he said, “Shall we check the tape?” “Go ahead,” she returned, knowing he wouldn‟t call her bluff. She ventured a glance at Dante. His expression said he‟d keep her secret. She pulled herself out of the water, tucking in her tummy, more for Dante‟s benefit than the camera‟s. “Cut,” Kim shouted. “Lunchtime, kids.” She followed Neil to the yard and helped him pack his equipment. Dante brought Jolie a towel, wrapped it around her shoulders. “You looked great out there. Maybe I can join you sometime. We can do those seven laps you‟re missing.” She winked at him. Sniffing in his cologne, she swooned, recovered before he‟d had a chance to notice. “I‟d like that.” She flashed on her daydream of swimming nude with him and her cheeks flushed. “Unfortunately I have to go run an errand. I‟m not sure if I‟ll make it back here today.” She schooled her disappointment behind a smile. “Okay. Will I see you tomorrow?” Or tonight? He waggled his eyebrows and folded his arms across his chest. “Do you want to see me tomorrow?” She pulled her towel snugly around her and shrugged. “Maybe. Gets lonely sometimes.” She bit her lower lip and gave him as seductive a glance as she dared with the crew still in the vicinity. “Maybe I should get a pet. A rabbit or a bird or something that would keep me company.”

“Do you like kittens?” She reflected on the cat she‟d had when she was a little girl. Boots ran away shortly before her father‟s… Wincing, she forced her thoughts back to the present. “I love them, but Lane‟s allergic. So was Ellis.” Dante‟s eyes sparkled and a wicked grin lifted a corner of his sensuous mouth. “Lane will be gone soon, right?” “God knows when.” Like air escaping a balloon, her mood deflated. If only she could find a way to hasten his departure. “Mind if I come by this evening?” She stifled an excited smile. “That‟s fine. I‟ll be here.” “What about Lane? Will he be around?” “He rarely is at night. Heaven forbid he misses a round of clubbing.” His absences, which used to bother her, now thrilled her. “Tonight then.” She watched him go, all long legs, tight butt and muscular shoulders. Heat bloomed in her belly and spread lower. How long would she be able to resist him? Striding along the pool deck, she spotted a few weeds between her Christmas cacti and bent to pluck the pesky things out of the soil. She frowned at the cactus. The lovely coral bloom that had been there yesterday was gone. Checking the others, she found the same thing. Nearby on the deck, a small pile of flowers had been smashed almost flat, a sneaker tread still stamped in the center like a calling card. Lane. She added the mutilation to his long list of transgressions for the week: shouting insults at Hilda, purposely spilling drinks on the carpet and couch, scratching the paint on her car and the surface of her antique table. She fisted her hands, marched inside and climbed the stairs headed for the guest room. Pulling open the door, the pungent stench of sweat mixed with mildew nearly knocked her over. Dirty socks and underwear were strewn over the floor. Wet towels lay in a pile several high in the corner. She considered taking a scissors to his clothes, but would he even care? He was just as content, if not more, in jeans and T-shirts as he was in designer clothing. What good would it do to lash out at him? He‟d only take revenge on her garden, her house or worse. She dared not start something she knew he‟d retaliate for. Hours later, after a long, hot shower, she sat at her desk, staring at a blank sheet of paper. She racked her brain trying to come up with any ideas to hurry his permanent departure, but she kept drawing a blank. When the doorbell rang, she sucked in a breath, hoping to find Dante there. Hilda‟s footfalls crossed the foyer. Jolie waited, listened. “Good evening, Hilda,” she heard Dante say. An excited shiver rolled over her skin. Smoothing her hair, she glanced toward the doorway, but didn‟t see him. She shoved away from the desk, stood and cleared her throat to let him know where she was. Nothing.

She took a few tentative steps toward the foyer. Dante stood near the door with his back to her. “Hi,” she ventured, puzzled by his behavior. “What are you doing?” He glanced over his shoulder at her and smiled. “Hey.” His eyes swept over her body. “You look gorgeous.” Craning her neck, she tried to peek around him, but he shifted to keep his back to her. “What‟s going on?” “I have a surprise for you.” He chuckled. “Don‟t you like surprises?” “Not lately I don‟t.” She crossed her arms. “I‟ve had way too many recently.” “Well this is a nice one. I‟m sure it won‟t upset you.” A tiny white paw appeared on his shoulder. Then a barely audible mew drifted to her ears. Jolie held her hand over her heart. Moisture filled her eyes. Racing around Dante, she squealed when she got a glimpse of the cream-colored ball of fluff in his arms. “Oh, my gosh. It‟s precious.” She held out her arms and he passed her the kitten. A red and green plaid bow around its neck was almost as big as the cat‟s body. The animal‟s warmth, as it snuggled into the crook of her neck, reminded her of the few wonderful things about her childhood. “Merry Christmas.” She shut her eyes and listened to the animal‟s soft purring. Dante kissed the top of her head. “I figured you needed a friend who could be with you all the times I can‟t.” Suddenly she remembered Lane‟s allergy. Her eyes shot wide. “Oh, no. I can‟t. Lane…” Then she saw Dante‟s grin. The same one she‟d seen earlier and his motive came into clearer focus. “You are absolutely wicked.” She giggled. “I love it.” With Dante leading the way, she carried the kitten into the family room. Set it on the couch where Lane spent most of his mornings playing games on the television. “Tell Hilda not to vacuum for as long as possible,” Dante said. “What gave you this idea?” He shrugged, but didn‟t answer. Next, they headed upstairs to the guest room. Before she entered, she faced him. “I have to warn you. This isn‟t a pretty sight. Or smell. I‟ve instructed Hilda not to clean up after him, so he‟s been left to his own devices.” He nodded sternly. “I‟m sure I can handle it.” Pushing open the door, she held her breath, hoping to minimize her exposure to the foul stink. “I hate to do this to you, sweetheart.” She set the kitten on the unmade bed and they watched it playfully romp over the sheets, pillows and covers. “I bought a litter box. It‟s in my car.” He fanned the air and coughed. “Maybe the kitten can use this room to do her business, though. Probably wouldn‟t affect the stench any.” She rolled her eyes. “I just hope the fumigation I‟ll give it after he leaves will work.” Jolie crossed the room to the window and checked the street for signs of Lane. Thankfully, he‟d probably stay out late, as usual. “What are you going to name her?” She stared at the cat and her heart squeezed. “Can I really keep her?” “Don‟t you see the bow? Christmas is only a few days away. She‟s your gift.” She smiled at him, wondering why she‟d put up with Lane for so long. “Thank you. What do you think of the name Noel?” He watched the kitten play. “How about Lauren?” “Lauren?” She tilted her head. “Why Lauren?”

Meeting her gaze, he grinned. “Mine is Bogart, as in Humphrey.” Her eyes misted. “Lauren as in Bacall?” “They were good together.” “Absolutely. A classic Hollywood love story.” She gathered the kitten in her arms and gestured for Dante to follow. Back in the family room, Jolie found a piece of string and played with her new cat on the couch. “How will I explain her?” Jolie said, pointing to Lauren. He shrugged. “Who says you have to tell him? You could keep her in your room until he decides to move out. Or, she can stay at my place.” She stared at him and smirked. “What?” he said. “I had no idea you were so devious.” Lifting her chin with a finger, he searched her face. “And I had no idea you would be so completely captivating.” Their lips met in a kiss, as electrifying as the first. She shuddered with longing, felt her toes curl. His tongue glided across her teeth, pulled her deeper. She yearned for his touch, to feel his skin on hers. Melting into him, she gave herself permission to let go. She ran her fingers through his thick hair and moaned her desire. He backed away, gave her a heated grin. “As much as I‟d kill to make love to you right here and now, we can‟t. Lane could walk in and… Well, that would be a bad scene, wouldn‟t it?” She could hardly deny that. She picked up the cat. “You‟re right.” “Do you want to keep her here?” Lifting Lauren to her face, she nodded. “I‟m already too attached to let her leave. I‟ll put her in my bedroom.” Dante fished his keys from his pocket. “Let me get her things and I‟ll be right back.” They set up the litter pan in Jolie‟s bathroom and the bowls and toys in her bedroom. “Your room is very nice. Cozy,” He darted his eyes around. She couldn‟t help but enjoy the twinge of naughty in her belly. The thought of having him in her bedroom only made her libido spike higher. “You‟ve been in here before.” He winked and flashed those sexy dimples. “But I‟ve never been this close to your bed.” The temperature rose about a hundred degrees. Forcing her gaze away, she cleared her throat. “We ought to go downstairs. I don‟t need Lane finding you here again.” She hated for him to leave. But another confrontation with Lane was more than she could stand. He gave her a quick nod. “You‟re right.” She led him to the foyer. “I don‟t know how to thank you for Lauren. She‟s the sweetest gift anyone ever gave me.” He drew her into his arms. “Hopefully, Lane will get good and catted. And then he‟ll move out and let us get on with our lives, together.” “If it works, I can cancel my appointment with the private detective. Wouldn‟t that be great?” She snickered. “A low tech solution.” “Did I tell you today that I love you?” She could hardly deny her feelings for him, which had transcended her doubt and fear in the past couple of days. “I…I think I love you too.” “I‟m glad to hear that.” After one more scorching kiss, he left.

She locked the door, went into the family room and surveyed the video gaming systems, the massive stereo and television, all Lane‟s toys. Hopefully, they‟d all be gone soon. Please let this work. Her happiness depended on it. **** Mike fumbled with the lock on the back door at the Ebersol Productions office while Lane trained a flashlight on the spot as he glanced around the deserted parking lot. “Hurry it up, mate.” Mike growled, jiggling the key. “Maybe this is a bad copy. The guy at the hardware store didn‟t seem to know what he was doing.” Lane rolled his eyes. Did he have to do everything himself? Pushing Mike aside, he grabbed the key away. “Let me see it.” He carefully slid it into the lock, turned and heard it click. Shaking his head, he pulled open the door. “Sorry. Guess I‟m too nervous.” Mike entered first. “Down this hallway.” A short walk took them past a central reception station to a door with Dante‟s name on it. Lane pushed past Mike and went inside. He made a beeline for the desk and tried the middle drawer. It wouldn‟t budge. “I told you, he said he had it locked.” “Bloody hell. What now? I‟m a musician, not a safecracker.” Mike shoved him aside. “The key to his desk was on the same ring I… borrowed.” He smiled smugly as he held up a small key. Inserting it into the lock, he said, “Voila.” “Forgive me for doubtin‟ you, mate.” He shined the beam into the drawer and saw it, sitting right on top. A DVD in a paper envelope marked, “L & M.” Lane and Mike. He smiled. He‟d have the last laugh, rather than that bastard, Dante Ebersol. Picking it up, he kissed the wrapper. “Come to daddy.” He removed the disk from its case and replaced it with a blank one. Mike sighed. “I wish I didn‟t feel so crappy about this.” “Look. No one will know you had anything to do with this.” Lane shook his head. “Your brother and his damn film crew invaded me privacy. Our privacy.” He held up the disk. “I have every right to this.” He shoved it into his jacket pocket and pushed the drawer shut. “Let‟s get out of here.” Back in Mike‟s car, Lane pulled off his black knit cap and shook out his hair. “Stay off the busy roads,” he instructed. “I don‟t want anybody to see us together.” “I know the drill. You don‟t have to speak to me like I‟m some kind of idiot.” Lane stared across the seat at him. He was awfully cheeky all of a sudden. “Didn‟t mean nothin‟ by it. Lighten up.” Reaching into the trash pile Mike called a backseat, he retrieved a portable DVD player and switched it on. He loaded the disc and hit play. A black and white image appeared on the screen. Two men who looked familiar. Only it wasn‟t him and Mike. A middle-aged man with a thick tuft of dark frizzy hair rubbed the balding top of his head. Another with a bowl cut was speaking. “What‟s the matter with you? Are you an idiot? An imbecile? A moron? What are you laughing at?” Lane slammed the machine shut. “Bloody hell.”

“What is it?” Mike asked. “Your brother is a bastard who‟s on to you.” He clenched his fists, rage boiling inside. “Blast it all. It‟s the bloody Three Stooges. L and M. Larry and Moe. Not Lane and Mike.” He punched the dashboard. Mike‟s snicker pushed his anger up a notch. “I don‟t find this a bit funny.” “You have to admit, he‟s a step ahead of us. If he‟d wanted to, he could have done worse, had us arrested. “I‟ll get that jackass for this.” “Maybe we should leave it alone. He said he won‟t use the footage.” Lane scoffed. “You‟re a fool to believe him. He‟ll use it when it suits his purpose. Mark me words. He can‟t be trusted.” Mike turned into the parking lot where they‟d left Lane‟s car and stopped beside the Corvette. He cut the headlights and looked at Lane. “What now?” Lane scratched his head as he considered his options. “I can have a friend follow me wife and your brother. Catch „em shaggin‟. Beat „em at their own game.” Mike shook his head. “I think you‟d be wasting your time. I know Dante. As long as she‟s married to you, he won‟t touch her.” “Maybe you‟re right.” He scrubbed his hands over his face. “I should stick to me original plan. Win her back. Kill her with me devastating charm.” Mike laughed. “Good luck.” Lane shot him a bird. “I‟ll have you know the ladies love me.” “Not that lady.” “I can win her heart back if I try. She‟ll be eating out of me hand in no time. You just wait.” Self-doubt tore at his confidence but he quickly pushed it aside. He‟d won her heart once. He could do it again. **** Jolie woke to Lane‟s loud sneeze. She sat up in bed and shook off sleep‟s cloudy haze. Another sneeze sliced through the silence as he passed outside her door. Yawning, she snuggled under the blanket with the sleeping kitten and shut her eyes. Moments later, her bedroom door slowly opened. She pulled her covers against her chin and gasped. Thankfully, the sleeping kitten didn‟t stir under the blanket. Lane came inside and sat on her vanity stool. “What are you doing in here?” Her heart thudded furiously. He slumped his shoulders and shook his head. “I‟m miserable without you, love. Me whole world is topsy-turvy.” He sniffled loudly and swiped his finger under his nose. She wanted to scream at him to get out, but feared she‟d provoke his anger. With Hilda out of earshot, what would she do if he attacked her? “It‟s the middle of the night, Lane. We can talk in the morning.” She had no intention of listening to anything he had to say. From now on, she‟d sleep with her bedroom locked up tight. He stood and shuffled toward the door. “That glimmer of hope lit up me night.” The second he cleared the door, she ran to it and engaged the bolt. Why would Lane want to make up with her? He probably just wanted to stay in her house. Didn‟t matter. She was through with him.

Several more loud sneezes shook the walls. Hopefully the hostile environment would convince him to leave. The rest of the night she lay in her bed listening to Lane‟s disgusting noises down the hall. It sounded like a foghorn blowing. At sunrise, she finally gave up on the notion of getting any sleep and went out for a walk. Lane met her at the door upon her return. “Up early, hmm?” She searched his face and secretly delighted at his red nose and swollen eyes. “Couldn‟t sleep. Too much noise coming from the guest room.” She poured herself a glass of orange juice, stifling a grin. “Do you have a cold?” He threw his hands in the air. “Feels like me allergies, but who knows? Maybe it is a bloody cold.” He sniffed and wiped his nose. “I was hoping we could have a chat. About our marriage.” She sank onto a barstool. “Are you ready to leave?” “I‟ve made a terrible mistake, love.” He hung his head. “But I‟m ready to repent. Ready to be the husband you deserve. If only you‟ll give me one last change.” She rolled her eyes and groaned. “Oh, for heaven‟s sake, Lane. Haven‟t we been through this enough? I‟m not interested in staying married to you. You‟ve burned too many bridges, and so have I. We both need to move on.” Sinking to his knees on the kitchen floor, he started to cry. “Jolie, I realize now how much I love you, what an awful jackass I‟ve been.” His slobbering grew louder. “But I swear to you, I‟m a changed man. Please, let me prove meself to you. Give me a chance to make this right.” She had to give him points for dramatics. “I‟m sorry, Lane. It‟s over.” A great sneeze shook his whole body. “Bloody hell.” He pulled himself up, took a napkin from the breakfast bar and blew his nose. “Just give it a few days. Think about it, would you?” If that meant he‟d stop pestering her, she‟d say anything. “Fine. I‟ll let you know after the weekend.” If she played along, maybe he‟d agree to get out with less of a fight. **** Dante chewed his fingers to bits as he sat beside his father in the screening room watching the pilot episode of A House Divided. Eying the old man, he yearned for some sign of approval, a glimmer of interest. But the man‟s stony expression didn‟t change. The screen went black and Dante stood, turned on the lights and swallowed hard. “What do you think?” He braced himself for the answer. Charles sat very still, a fist against his mouth. Finally, he drew a heavy sigh. “It‟s not enough. There‟s no real hook. You promised me a train wreck. I want to see the craziness, but all I get is this disgustingly sweet picture of Jolie with those kids and having lunch with that other actress and snippets of her husband acting like an ass.” Dante paced the room, racking his brain for a counter argument. A bead of sweat trickled down the side of his face, although the room was over-air conditioned. “It‟s her world that‟s in shambles, not her. The maid, the husband, the friend. They‟re the nutty ones, the folks that make her life interesting.” Charles pushed himself out of his chair. “Then why the hell isn‟t the show about them instead of her? This isn‟t what you sold me.” He stormed toward the door. “Go back to the drawing board and pick up all the scenes you‟ve cut. Find the ones that make her appear foolish and desperate. That‟s what catches ratings. Until you‟ve got it perfected, this thing is on hold.”

Desperation crawled under his skin. “But Dad, I have to keep going. Don‟t cut me off at the knees. The show‟s about their split. I‟ve got to be there to film their interaction while Wood is still living there.” Charles stared into Dante‟s eyes. “You‟ve got a week to fix this. I don‟t see a damn hot pilot for the series by then, I‟ll throw the whole thing in the dumper. And you with it.” The room went cold. How could the old man not see all the beauty Jolie brought to the small screen? Her endearing qualities set her above all the muck around her. That was what the series should focus on, not her foibles and unfortunate mistakes. He considered using the footage of Lane with Mike. As much as he‟d love to jam Lane, he couldn‟t do it to Mike. Their father would probably have another heart attack if he saw the scene. Charles would never allow that to become part of the show. Destroying a person‟s reputation wouldn‟t faze the old man, unless it reflected badly upon him. Someone knocked on the door. “Yeah?” Dante said. Wendy poked her head inside. “How‟d it go?” He shut his eyes and punched a fist into his hand. “That well, huh? What can I do?” “Kill my father.” He chuckled and realized it wouldn‟t be such a terrible thing. Chiding himself for the thought, he hung his head. “It‟s tempting sometimes.” “What do we do now?” He raked his fingers through his hair. “Re-cut the thing to make Jolie look like an idiot, I guess.” But he knew he couldn‟t do that. How would he face her? She counted on him to be the one who never let her down. Reworking the show to make her life look like a total mess would devastate her. Yet if he didn‟t, everything he‟d worked for his entire life would go up in flames. “Did you hear me?” Wendy asked. He stared blankly at her. “No. What‟d you say?” “We should get going soon. We have to be in Van Nuys by six-thirty.” Jolie‟s junior acting workshop. “Right. Let‟s go.” They arrived at the community center as Jolie was pulling into the parking lot. She got out of her car carrying two large shopping bags. Dante left Wendy and raced over to help Jolie. He relieved her of the heavy sacks and was rewarded with a beautiful smile and a “Thank you.” “My pleasure,” he said as they walked. His chest tightened when he thought about re-editing the series premiere. “What‟s all this?” He lifted the bags. She shrugged. “Some small gifts for the holidays. For the kids.” Small gifts that weighed a ton. Once inside the center, he followed her to the room where she held her class. His crew was already there, setting up light and sound equipment. Jolie unpacked her bags and set several brightly colored gift-wrapped packages on the tables. When the children started trickling in, they hugged Jolie and each vied for her attention. She gave each child some undivided moments before starting the class. “Today I‟ve brought special treats for each of you.” She pointed to the table in the back of the room where she‟d set the gifts. The kids hopped, squealed and acted like jumping beans. Gesturing for them to sit with her, she held a finger to her lips. The room went unnaturally silent. “But first, we have some work to do.” She pointed to one of the boys. “Tyrell, have you been practicing the puppet show you want to perform?”

He stuck out his lower lip and motioned toward the cardboard puppet stage. “I can‟t. Somebody stealed all the puppets. Remember?” “Stole,” she corrected. “You may go to the table and get the big green box with your name on it.” She pointed to the table and the child‟s eyes lit up as he ran to get it. He returned to the group carrying the box and wasted no time ripping it open. One by one, he pulled out exquisitely painted puppets. Four in all. Giving Jolie a big hug, he said, “I love you, Miss Jolie.” She wiped a tear from her cheek and directed him toward the stage. When he‟d finished his puppet show, he took a bow and returned to the circle. Dante marveled as Jolie handed out gifts to several of the children. She seemed to understand exactly what each child needed. After most of the kids had opened their gifts, a single present wrapped in pink paper and tied with pink curly ribbons sat alone on the table. Jolie winked at Sophie. “Come and get it,” she told the girl with the mop of blonde curls. When Sophie tore open her box, she stared inside reverently. Slowly, she took out a crystaltipped scepter, a jewel-encrusted crown and a long, pink cape trimmed in fur. Clutching pink satin in her arms, she ran to Jolie and buried her head against Jolie‟s chest. “I‟m the princess.” “Princess of the world,” Jolie corrected. Suddenly the child‟s demeanor changed dramatically. Her shoulders slumped, her smile faded and the happiness seemed to evaporate into thin air. Dante followed the child‟s gaze to a woman standing in the doorway. Track marks scarred her arms and dark circles hung beneath her eyes. “Time to go, Sophie,” the woman said. “I don‟t have all night.” Gathering her gifts, Sophie started toward her mother. Jolie stood and took the child‟s hand, pulling her back. “We‟re not quite done with our holiday party. If you‟d like, you can join us, have some gingerbread cookies.” The woman ignored Jolie‟s offer and instead continued frowning at her daughter. “Come to me now, Sophie.” “I don‟t mind bringing her home,” Jolie implored with desperation in her voice. “She‟s having such a good time.” “We don‟t need your charity, miss actress, miss TV star. Nobody asked you to come here and slum with us poor folks.” The woman took Sophie‟s hand roughly. “Give the lady back her gifts.” Sophie‟s eyes filled with tears. “But I‟m the princess, Mama. Miss Jolie gave them to me.” “What are you the princess of?” the woman asked. “Princess of the trailer park? Princess of the welfare folks? You ain‟t the princess of nothing.” She pointed at Jolie. “Only folks like her get to be princesses.” Jolie looked like she was about to cry. “Please let her keep the gifts. It would mean so much to me.” The woman rolled her eyes. “Fine. But I best not find them on the floor. You understand, Sophie?” The girl nodded. Jolie helped her stuff the items back into the box, then watched her leave. Turning to the rest of the kids, she pasted on a smile and went on with the party. When all the kids had been picked up, Dante walked Jolie to her car. “Do you think Sophie will come back in January?” She exhaled loudly. “I sure hope so. At least she can call me.” They arrived at her car. “Do you give the kids your phone number?”

“Not usually. But Sophie‟s gift had a special surprise on the bottom of the box. And I know she saw it.” He studied her face for meaning. “What was that?” She stuck out her chin defiantly. “A prepaid cell phone with my number programmed in.” His mouth dropped open. “Seriously?” She shrugged. “I try to give them what they need. Sophie needs to know she has a safety net. I gave her one I pray she‟ll never have use for.” He shook his head, unable to find the words to convey how he felt about her. She was unlike anyone he‟d ever met. “Lane begged my forgiveness this morning.” She unlocked her car door. “Asked me to give the marriage another chance.” Panic rushed through his veins. Would she consider taking Lane back? “Don‟t worry. I played along and told him I‟d think about it. If I‟m nice, maybe he‟ll do the same and move out when I turn him down.” Relief replaced the panic. “You scared me for a second.” “You have to know I‟d never take him back. For goodness sakes, after all he‟s put me through and everything I now know about him? Give me some credit, would you?” “Sorry.” He leaned against her car. “How is Operation Allergy coming along?” Her laugh was music to his ears. “Making him miserable and me sleep deprived. He makes so much noise sneezing and blowing his nose. I can hear him from the guest room.” He waved to his staff as they closed the van doors and climbed inside. “See you all tomorrow.” Returning his attention to Jolie, he considered her predicament. “I hadn‟t thought about him keeping you awake. Maybe we need a plan B.” “We?” She slid inside her car. How could he convince her he could be trusted? That he had a stake in all this? “Yes, we. I have as much of an interest in getting Lane out of your life as you do.” “I told you, I‟m not ready for another relationship. Not yet.” She started the motor. He quirked an eyebrow. “You seem ready every time I kiss you.” The dashboard lights illuminated her rosy blush. “Well… I should be going.” He nodded, then shut her door and watched her taillights recede. He had to help her get rid of her asshole husband. Then it hit him. He didn‟t have to tell her about the tape of Lane and Mike. Lane already knew about it. He and Mike had tried to steal it last night. With the help of an inexpensive security camera Dante had planted in his office, his brother had demonstrated that he couldn‟t be trusted. Why should Dante feel obligated to destroy the footage? He could go directly to Lane and threaten to release it if he didn‟t vacate Jolie‟s house. But what if she discovered he‟d been holding out on her? That he possessed the very proof she needed all along and didn‟t share it with her? Would she take that as a betrayal? She wouldn‟t find out. Lane would never tell her, he‟d be too ashamed. Yes, that was it. Once he dealt with Lane, he‟d think of a way to save the show without compromising Jolie‟s integrity. He had to. He couldn‟t bear to lose her.

Chapter Twenty Jolie tore open a tall box in her grandfather‟s living room on Christmas morning. When she pushed aside the tissue paper, she found a gold Oscar statue. Bewildered, she looked at him. “Is this yours, Grampy?” She glanced at the mantle where the statue once resided and blinked at the now vacant spot. “He‟s spent too many years collecting dust here. It‟s time for him to settle into your home.” “You can‟t just give him away. He‟s a part of you.” “I‟m not giving him away. I‟m passing him down.” He adjusted the blanket over his legs. “Don‟t argue with me or I‟ll donate him to some stuffy old museum.” Did he suspect he might not be around much longer? That would be the only reason he‟d be giving away one of his most prized possessions. Maybe he needed to know his legacy would live on. The bittersweet gesture unnerved her. She hugged the statue to her chest. “I‟ll cherish him forever, Grampy.” “Open that one.” She pointed to the box to his right. The tension eased as he and Carmela gushed over the silk paisley robe Jolie had given him. “What‟s Lane doing today?” Carmela asked. “I don‟t know and don‟t care.” She drew a deep breath and let it out slowly. “He‟s no longer my problem.” “Well that alone makes my day,” Grampy said. “My doctor asked why my pressure leveled off a few days ago. I attributed the drop to your announcement that you were leaving that musician.” Jolie giggled. “Glad I could help.” On her way home a while later, she checked her voicemail and found a message from Dante. “Phone me as soon as you get this. I want to give you your gift right away.” Gift? She hadn‟t even thought about buying one for him. She dialed his number. “I was sitting here waiting for your call,” he said. Desire warmed her insides at the sound of his voice. “Merry Christmas.” “Same to you. Can we meet?” She wanted nothing more than to be with him, but she didn‟t trust herself to hold back, at least until she was sure about him. “I…I don‟t know.” “Please, Jolie. I‟ve been dying to see you all day.” She stopped at a red light, waiting to turn left. “Where?” “Anywhere. Just make it soon, please.” Looking around, she spotted an open diner. “Do you know The Skillet Diner on Ventura?” “I‟m on my way.” Fifteen minutes later, as she sipped her second cup of coffee, Dante strode in. His sparkling eyes and warm smile set off fireworks in her soul. “That was quick.” He slid into the both beside her and planted a sweet kiss on the top of her head. “I broke every traffic law on the way over.” “Bad boy.” She waggled a finger at him, but couldn‟t hide her smile. “What‟s so important you couldn‟t wait?” He handed her a small velvet box. Her heart jumped. Jewelry? “It‟s too soon for—”

“Just open it.” Inside she found a gold necklace. The charm was engraved with four Japanese letters. She questioned him with her eyes. “Shinrai,” he explained. “Japanese for trust.” He took the box from her, removed the chain and fastened it around her neck. “It means I‟ll never hurt you.” Fingering the pendant, she nodded, unable to speak. He always seemed to know exactly what she needed. “I have an idea,” he said after a long silence. “A way to get Lane out of your house and your life.” She squeezed his hand. “What is it?” A waitress appeared with a coffee cup for Dante. He glanced up at her. “Thanks.” When she left, he took Jolie‟s hand. “Do you trust me?” Her heart desperately wanted to, but her brain kept flashing a caution sign. “I‟m trying.” He shook his head. “Not good enough.” Clenching her fists, she slowly nodded. “Yes. I can do it. I can trust you.” He pulled her into a hug and kissed her neck. “That‟s my girl. I need for you to not ask questions. Just know he‟ll be out soon.” Her heart thundered against her chest and her stomach roiled. Tamping down her apprehension, she forced a smile and touched the necklace. “Shinrai,” she chanted. “Shinrai.” **** Dante followed Lane to a Hollywood nightclub two days later. He watched from across the room while Lane chatted up men Dante recognized as other has-beens from the rock and roll scene. When one of Lane‟s drinking buddies walked away, Dante made his move. Sidling up to the bar, he set a fifty down and immediately had a bartender‟s attention. “What can I get you, sir?” Dante pointed to the near empty bottle in front of Lane then held up two fingers. “Fosters?” Dante nodded. Lane turned around the moment another beer was placed before him. He met Dante‟s glare and his lip curled into a snarl. “What the hell you doin‟ here, Ebersol? I figured you‟d be at me house shaggin‟ me wife by now.” He grinned. “I‟m buying you a beer.” He pointed to the fresh bottle. “Drink up.” “How do I know you didn‟t dump in some arsenic while I had me back to you?” Dante laughed. “Shinrai.” “What?” Lane shook his head. “That fancy talk don‟t impress nobody, you know.” “You‟re right. You know what does impress people these days?” Lane sipped his beer and shrugged. “Video, for one thing.” He winked at him. “There are cameras everywhere these days. And you know what?” The disdain on the jackass‟s face turned to fear. Dante tapped his bottle against Lane‟s. “No one stores their footage on DVD anymore.” He unclipped the phone from his belt. “Folks in the know store it on their computer or on a flash drive.” He pushed a button and the phone‟s screen showed a picture of the rear end of Lane‟s Corvette, then Lane getting out of his car. “Even on their cell phones. Technology‟s something else, isn‟t it?”

Lane pointed to the phone. “What do you plan to do with that?” He shrugged, turned off the video. “Technology allows me to broadcast a clip all over the world with the few key strokes. Isn‟t that amazing?” Lane downed the remainder of his drink and set the empty bottle on the bar. “What do you want, Ebersol?” “You out of Jolie‟s house. Yesterday.” He smiled. “Then I want you to sign divorce papers. You go out with what you put in. Nothing.” He took a long pull on his beer and winced. “I hate this British stuff.” Lane grimaced. “How do I know you‟ll keep your word?” “You‟ll just have to trust me.” He turned and left. When he arrived in his neighborhood, he parked his car around the corner from his house and used a remote device to turn on the recording gadgets he‟d had Elaine set up at his house. Then he reclined his seat and shut his eyes. He had a long night ahead. **** “He told me he‟d get rid of it,” Mike said over the phone. “And I told you not to trust the bloody bastard.” Lane shook his head. How naïve was Mike to trust a bastard like Dante? “He‟s my brother. I took him at his word.” He rolled his eyes. “His word? It‟s not worth the dog shit on the bottom of me shoes.” Silence. “You there, mate?” “You know what? I‟m done with this. He knows we broke into his office. He could have sent us both to jail, but he didn‟t. He could have handed the damned DVD to my father or your wife, but he didn‟t do that either. Give the guy a little credit.” “We can‟t be sure he hasn‟t showed them already.” Mike snickered. “Of course we can. If Jolie knew she‟d have kicked you out on your ass when you told her to prove her accusations. And trust me, if my dad saw it, he‟d have found me and ripped me a new one.” He had a point. Thinking about his encounter with Dante earlier in the evening, his blood boiled. “Look, are you going to help me get even with him or not?” He crossed his fingers. Mike was the only way he could get to Dante, his only chance at revenge. “Sorry.” A long pause. “Can‟t help you. It‟s high time I buried the hatchet. Our father‟s the real problem, not Dante.” Shit. “This‟ll ruin me career, me marriage. Everything.” “Like he said, you‟ll just have to trust him.” The line went dead. Lane pulled the phone away from his ear and stared at it. Had Mike actually hung up on him? Dumped him? No one dumped Lane Wood. That was in the past. You’re a has-been, a loser. No. He refused to accept that. He made a u-turn and headed toward Encino. Fifteen minutes later he showed up at Jonathan‟s apartment. “Lemme in, mate,” he whispered through the door. “I forgive you.” Jonathan came into the hallway, rubbing his eyes. “It‟s after midnight. What are you doing here?” “Can I come in? I think we should have a chat, eh?”

Pursing his lips, Jonathan sighed. “Look, Lane. I‟ve moved on. It was fun while it lasted, but it‟s over now.” “Can‟t we discuss it?” Lane touched his cheek. “For old time‟s sake?” “I have company. Someone who stays the night.” He went back inside without another word. Bastard. Jonathan should have been on his knees begging his forgiveness but instead, he was shagging someone else. Christ, where could he go? Dropping his shoulders, he returned to his car and drove around for a long while. He found a deserted park and scouted out a bench. Something poked into his side. Lane opened his eyes and found himself staring at a cop. “No loitering,” the officer said. “There‟s a shelter down the road if you need a place to crash.” “What?” Lane said, sitting up. “You think I‟m a bleedin‟ vagrant?” The officer looked him over. “I don‟t care what you are, buddy. But when you sleep in a public park, you become a nuisance. Move along.” This can’t be happening. I’m a guitar god. A legend. You’re a failure. He climbed into his Corvette and wondered where he‟d go, what he‟d do. Perhaps the time had come to go home. **** “Sorry „bout the flowers.” Jolie shielded her eyes from the sun as she turned her head to look at Lane, who stood behind her with his head bowed. If she didn‟t know better, she‟d have thought him repentant. She stood and planted her hands on her hips. “I wish you wouldn‟t take out your anger on my garden.” “Yeah, well…I‟ll be out of your hair soon.” He shuffled his feet. “I‟m leavin‟ for England tomorrow. At least, that‟s the plan. Think you can spot me the plane fare?” A huge burden lifted from her shoulders, but she tried to contain her elation. “I can do that.” “I‟ll grant you a divorce, like your boyfriend wants. I‟ll get his word in writing first that he‟s destroyed the tape he has of me and his brother.” She froze. Dante had a tape of his brother and Lane? She nodded, hoping he‟d elaborate. “The tape, yes. Of his brother and you.” “Bastard played dirty, havin‟ me followed.” He held up his palms. “I know, I know, we signed the bloody contract giving them free access.” He huffed out a raspy breath. “Lucky it was his brother I was shaggin‟ or it would surely have been all over the airwaves a month ago, eh?” He dragged his feet as he moved toward the house. “I‟ll be packin‟ me things now.” A month ago. The words rang in her head over and over. Dante had proof of Lane‟s affair a month ago and didn‟t tell her. Nor did he offer to share that tidbit when she‟d been so desperate to find a way out of the marriage. Irritation and hurt churned in her gut. How could he? Her first instinct was to call him, demand an explanation, but the more she mulled that over, she realized she should let it sit for a while. After all, it was Lane‟s word she was taking for truth and his track record in that area was less than sterling. Yet, somehow she knew he was speaking the truth. He had nothing more to lose by lying. The headache that lurked beneath the surface finally grabbed hold.

Anger built to a raging fury. How could Dante have made her trust him, swore he‟d never deceive her, then lied to her face? She fingered the Shinrai necklace he‟d given her. “Trust, my ass.” She ripped it off and threw it across the yard. No man could be trusted. Ellis lied, Lane lied, Dante lied. Hell, even her grandfather hadn‟t been completely straight with her. Him, she could forgive. The others, well, she was through trying for that happily ever after. Happily ever after wasn‟t in the cards for her. She went upstairs and when sleep wouldn‟t come, she clicked on the TV and watched Inside Entertainment News. Her eyelids grew heavy and finally, she dozed off. When she awoke, she glanced at the clock. She‟d only been out for half an hour and thankfully, the headache was gone. She was about to shut off the television when her picture flashed on the screen. “Coming to the Entertainment Channel in two weeks,” the polished voice of a trained announcer said over short scenes of her arguing with Hilda, yelling at Lane, and running out of her grandfather‟s party played over the screen. “And you thought your life was a mess?” the announcer continued. “Wait until you see Jolie Brown, the drama queen of the small screen in A House Divided.” Dante promised they wouldn‟t make her look foolish, yet it was obvious they‟d picked out her worst moments to portray her as a raving lunatic. The hurt was unbearable. She thought she could trust him, thought he cared about her. How could she have been so stupid to fall for another man‟s lies? All anyone wanted from her was to slice off a sliver of her star and use for their own purposes. Once again, her heart was smashed to bits—just like the last time—and the time before that. She had no one to blame but herself. **** Dante sat in the editing room, reworking the pilot episode. Nothing was working. He scratched his head, got up and paced the floor. The knock on the door was so soft, he wasn‟t sure he‟d heard it. “Come in,” he said, just in case. Wendy entered the room, head down, hands behind her back. Had someone died? “What‟s wrong?” Joe, the editing tech, stopped what he was doing and turned toward her. “Can I talk to Dante in private, Joe?” “Smoke break.” Joe stood, grabbed a pack of cigarettes from the counter and left. It was his father, he knew it. He‟d had another heart attack. He braced himself for the news, glanced down at his cell phone. Why hadn‟t his mother called? “Your dad‟s pulled a fast one on you,” she said. “I‟m sorry.” “What?” He wished she‟d just spill it, rather than keep him in suspense. “What did he do?” “He must have gotten hold of all the footage, had someone edit it into what he wanted for the pilot.” She huffed out a breath, started wringing her hands. “The promos started airing today. It‟s not what you wanted.” “Son of a bitch.” His headache roared. “Where is he?” “I think he‟s already left. Maybe at home.” He noticed she had a DVD in her hand. He gestured toward it. “Is that the promo?” She handed it to him. “I‟m really sorry about this. None of us had any idea.”

He sucked in a breath, tried to keep himself calm, but his palms were already clammy with sweat. He slipped the DVD into a television and hit Play. As he watched, a jackhammer worked inside his head. The old bastard had no right. Jolie would be livid when she saw it. He started for the door. “Don‟t tell anyone about this until you hear from me.” He tried calling Jolie from the car, but her voicemail picked up. This wasn‟t the sort of message he could leave on an answering machine. Arriving at his parents‟ house in record time, he raced to the door, pounded angrily on it as he imagined his father‟s smug face. His mother pulled it open. “What a nice sur—” He stepped around her. “Where is he?” “He‟s resting. What‟s wrong?” She ran behind him. “Dante, what is it?” He found the old man parked in his easy chair in front of the TV. He grinned when Dante burst into the room, as if he‟d been expecting him. “Let me guess,” he said. “You saw the teaser.” “How could you do it?” He slammed a fist into the wall and sent a framed photo to the floor. Glass exploded in every direction. “Dante,” his mother shouted. “He has a heart condition. Don‟t upset him any more than you already have.” He spun around to meet her taut face. “Don‟t upset him? Did he tell you what he‟s done to me?” She looked from one man to the other. “I‟m sure whatever it is, we can work it out. We‟re family.” He shot daggers at his father. “Do family members stab each other in the back? Make promises, then break them? Hurt the people they love?” He shook his head. “You‟re a bastard.” His father‟s obvious amusement raised his ire even more. Charles pointed a finger at him. “You weren‟t getting the job done, son. I had to step in and do it for you. How do you think that made me feel?” “Smug, no doubt.” He shook his head. “Not at all. I got the ball rolling in the right direction for you. Lucky I‟m feeling so benevolent. I‟m not canning you. But the rest of the episodes will have to fall in line with the formula I‟ve established in the pilot or I will give you the axe.” “Bullshit!” “Watch your mouth,” his mother admonished. “Show a little respect for your father.” “Respect? Wouldn‟t that be a two-way street? Doesn‟t respect imply that he‟d have enough for me not to hijack my project without having the decency to tell me ahead of time?” He shook his head. “Respect is something I reserve for those worthy of it.” Charles sat up straighter in his chair. “Keep this up and you‟ll find yourself out on your ass.” Dante looked at the man he‟d spent his entire life trying to please. He‟d tried everything to make him sit up and take notice, give him a pat on the back or a word of encouragement. Why had he bothered? Then it hit him. Charles didn‟t respect him, didn‟t love him, not really. Never had. He was banging his head against the wall, hoping to knock it down. Only it wouldn‟t budge. It would never move. The old man was never going to feel it, never going to say it. The time had come to give it up and walk away.

“It‟s her, isn‟t it? You‟ve fallen for a piece of ass.” The old man gave his head a heavy shake. “She isn‟t worth your career, son.” His heart locked out all the disappointment, all the yearning to please. How had his mother put up with the jackass all these years? “Don‟t ever call Jolie a piece of ass again. I‟d lay down my life for her.” He took a step toward his mother and kissed the top of her head. “I love you, Mom.” He started to leave. “See you in the morning, son,” his father called after him. “You don‟t have the balls to walk away from the company.” It felt as if he‟d been set free after years of captivity. “Watch me.” “You‟re nuts if you leave this job,” Charles bellowed. “I‟ve given you an opportunity most people would kill for. You can‟t—” Dante stepped outside, closed the door on the rest of his father‟s rant. Screw him. Now what am I going to do? Didn‟t matter. If he had to, he‟d put his house on the market, buy a cheaper car, but he couldn‟t live with himself if he continued to sell out on a daily basis. He climbed into his car and headed toward Encino, praying he‟d reach Jolie before she heard about the promo for the **** Dante‟s voice drifted to Jolie‟s ears from the foyer. “I need to see her, Hilda.” Sitting at the breakfast bar, she listened as the two argued. “She say no, Mr. Dante. No is no.” “It‟s really important. Please tell me where she is.” Silence. Then Hilda said, in an unnaturally loud voice, “I have work to do. You let yourself out. She say no visitors.” Jolie rolled her eyes. Had he paid her off? Promised her some luxury? Dante‟s footsteps neared the kitchen. Before he got there, she raced out the garage door, got into her car, and sped away. Maybe he‟d get the message that she didn‟t want to see him. When her phone rang a minute later, she ignored it. Checking the caller ID and seeing her own name, she answered. Maybe Hilda was going to apologize. “Miss Jolie,” a child said, her voice soft and trembling. “Mama‟s sick.” Sophie. The phone she‟d given her for emergencies. Her heart caught in her throat. “Where are you, honey?” “My apartment. Mama won‟t get up. Can you help her?” She pulled to the curb, found a business card and a pen in her purse. “Do you know your address?” Fifteen minutes later, she arrived at the apartment complex. The paramedics she‟d called were already there. A uniformed woman was walking toward a van with Sophie. Jolie flew out of her car and raced across the parking lot toward them. “Where are you taking her?” “Miss Jolie,” Sophie cried and threw her arms around Jolie‟s waist, burying her head against her chest. “Mama‟s really sick. They couldn‟t make her wake up.” She sliced a glance at the woman, who shook her head. “Drugs?” Jolie mouthed and the woman nodded solemnly.

“Can I go home with you?” Sophie asked, staring at Jolie with tear-filled eyes. “We have a nice place for you to stay tonight,” the officer told her. “Can I take her, just for tonight?” Jolie asked. “Sorry. Department policy.” Jolie‟s eyes watered as she watched the woman put Sophie into the van. She waved, tried to smile for the child‟s sake. As Sophie waved, Jolie said, “Call me.” On the way home, her phone rang again. She checked the display and saw her grandfather‟s name. Guilt stabbed at her. She‟d not spoken to him for almost a week. “Hi, Grampy,” she answered. “It‟s Carmela, sweetheart. Something terrible has happened.”

Chapter Twenty-One Dante sat in the back of the funeral home, surveying the old Hollywood elite seated in the pews in front of him. Henry Brown‟s funeral was better attended than his eightieth birthday party. Jolie sat in the front row, flanked by Carmela and Hilda. The three women, all in black, held hands. When the service was over, Jolie took her post on the reception line. Dante made sure he was the very last person in line. When he approached her, the sadness in her eyes broke his heart. He took her hands and a rush of emotion knocked him off balance. “I‟m so sorry, Jolie.” Did she have any inkling he meant more than only for her loss? “Thank you,” she said with a shaky voice. “I miss him so much already.” He gestured toward the garden beyond the building. “May we talk for a minute?” Silently, she stepped outside. He followed. “I hope you don‟t mind that I came,” he ventured. “I wanted to pay my respects. And to see you.” She nodded, but refused to meet his gaze as they walked. He cleared his throat, hoping his voice wouldn‟t falter. “I don‟t know what to say about the show. But you should know that I‟ve quit.” She stopped walking and looked up at him. “Making me appear like a total idiot get old?” The bitterness of her words stung, but he couldn‟t blame her. “My father didn‟t like my version so he snagged the project from me. He took all the footage and made it exactly what I‟d hoped to avoid.” He rubbed his temples. The mere mention of his father always seemed to bring with it a headache. She started walking again. “Where does that leave you?” He laughed mirthlessly. “Unemployed and soon to be homeless.” “Homeless?” “I put my house on the market. Looks like I‟ll be downsizing. At least until I get another job.” “I‟m sorry, Dante.” He shrugged. “I‟m not. I thought it was the be-all, end-all for me, only it turned out to be pretty brutal. The worst part of the whole thing was losing you.” He stopped, took her arm and spun her around her to face him. “I can‟t stand this. I miss you so much.” Her eyes were dark and shadowed with sadness. “I‟ve consulted a lawyer but there‟s nothing I can do to stop my father from airing the show. I‟d do anything to undo it. I‟d do anything for you, Jolie.” Anger flashed on her face. “Like not tell me you had proof of Lane‟s infidelity? Right when I needed that proof, you could have told me. You‟d have saved me so much pain.” Damn Lane Wood. “I was trying to spare you pain. And my family.” He drew a deep breath. “We had no idea Mike was gay. My parents still don‟t know.” “You should have told me about it.” “I realize that now, but you have to believe I had your best interests at heart.” He noticed the necklace he‟d given her wasn‟t around her neck. “The easiest thing for me to do would have been to hand you the footage, speed up the breakup. But I knew how devastating it would be and I figured you‟d find out soon enough anyway.”

She squeezed her eyes shut. “I nearly had a heart attack when Jonathan accosted me in the park. You could have saved me from all that by telling me.” The knowledge that he‟d caused her any anguish tightened his gut. “Where can we go from here?” She looked away. “I need time.” Did that mean she‟d eventually give him a chance? “I can‟t live without you.” “I‟m not sure I can live with you.” Her words cut him to the core. He had to convince her, had to make her see how right they were together. But if she needed time, he‟d give it to her. “Will you let me prove myself? No matter how long it takes, I‟ll never stop trying.” She met his gaze, but said nothing. A yes, a nod, some acknowledgement would have made him feel a little better. He walked her to the limousine, helped her inside. “Call me if there‟s anything at all I can do.” She nodded as he shut the door. He had to hang onto the hope that she‟d forgive him, someday. **** The limousine driver dropped Jolie and Hilda at the house. Hilda headed to the kitchen without a word. The dreary day made the house dark and cold. Jolie hugged her arms around her body and stood perfectly still in the foyer. Her soul had never felt so empty. She‟d always had her grandfather to look out for her, to lean on. What was she going to do without him? The tears she‟d willed back all morning welled up in a flood. She leaned against the wall, afraid her legs would fail her. Hunger gripped her, but the thought of eating anything turned her stomach. She gathered her strength, went to the family room and pulled her only photo album down from the bookcase. She sat on the couch and flipped through pages. The years in pictures passed like new flowers growing, then withering away to seed. Grampy‟s handsome face stared at her from a photo taken nearly forty years ago. Her father at his side, held her in his arms. She‟d somehow managed to go on after her father‟s death and she had to find that strength once more. Grampy wouldn‟t want me to roll over and play dead. Dante‟s words from after the funeral drifted into her brain. Where can we go from here? She shut the album and returned it to the shelf. She prayed that in time she‟d be able to forgive Dante and move on with her life. **** “Hey, Bro,” Mike said as Dante entered the kitchen. Mike‟s presence had finally become a comfort, rather than an annoyance, as it had been for the last month. “How was the funeral?” He‟d seen Jolie; that made it worth everything. “As they go, not too bad.” Mike went to the fridge, pulled out a beer and handed it to Dante. “You look like you could use this.”

He‟d noticed Mike was drinking more lately. Soon, he‟d be having beer with his breakfast. “Kind of early for that, don‟t you think?” Dante took the bottle and returned it to the fridge. “I‟m hungry. How about a snack?” “If you‟re cooking, I‟m eating.” He sat on a stool and leaned his elbows on the breakfast bar. Dante took off his jacket, hung it by the door, loosened his tie and rolled up his sleeves. He took a can of chickpeas out of the pantry and set it on the counter next to the food processor. “How‟s the job search coming along?” He felt Mike‟s demeanor cool the second he mentioned the J word. “Been looking at the help wanted ads online and in the paper. Nothing so far.” Dante dumped the beans into the food processor then peeled fresh garlic cloves and stuck them in a garlic press. “I hate to be a wet rag, but with me out of work, I‟m going to need some help with the bills if you plan to stay. And you might think about stopping by the AA meeting at the church up the road tonight.” He glanced at Mike‟s stony expression. “I checked the schedule on the Internet.” “The only problem I have with alcohol is where to get my next beer.” Mike stood. “I appreciate that you think you‟re doing me some great favor by pointing out my weakness for the bottle, but that‟s all it is.” “Sit, sit. We don‟t have to talk about this now.” He turned on the food processor and contemplated what tack he‟d take next to convince Mike he had a problem. “I‟m thinking about renting an apartment after the house sells. Maybe in the Encino area.” Mike took a seat and snickered. “Want to be near Jolie, huh?” He shrugged. “Maybe I just like the area.” “Uh huh. Sure you do.” Dante set a bowl of hummus and a plate of pita bread on the counter between them. “I have to ask you a question.” Mike drained the beer, then spread the pita chip with a layer of hummus. “Shoot.” “What in the world did you see in Lane Wood? Far as I can tell, the guy‟s an asshole.” Discussing his brother‟s personal life was still uncharted territory, but they had to start somewhere. “I don‟t know.” He cracked open another bottle. “We go back a long way. He was different years ago. Less…tainted by the business. We had lots of similar experiences growing up.” He couldn‟t imagine any parallels in their upbringing. “Like?” “Our fathers were both MIA. Dad was always working. Lane‟s father was in and out of jail. We both felt like outcasts, like we had to hide who we really are.” “I guess some of that was my fault, huh?” Dante shoved a sliver of bread into his mouth and savored the bite of the garlic, the nutty flavor of the tahini. “We‟ve all made mistakes.” His Adam‟s apple bobbed up and down. “I‟m sorry about stealing the DVD.” Mike met his brother‟s stare. “Can you forgive me?” The hurt remained, but he understood where Mike was coming from. He‟d have done the same for Jolie. “I already have. But I still think you ought to go to a meeting.” “Damn, this hummus is great.” He prayed Mike would get help. “Don‟t change the subject.” “Will you shut up about it if I do?” “Yeah.” He playfully punched his brother‟s shoulder. “At least about that.” “Fine. I‟ll go.”

He kept his expression even, but inside, relief coursed through him. He wanted to throw his arms around Mike and hug him. “Cool. Now, tell me. Is that the best hummus in the whole world or what?” **** Jolie stretched her arm behind her head, trying to achieve the perfect reverse warrior yoga pose. “I thought this was supposed to feel good,” Caroline whispered next to her. “I think I‟ve strained an internal organ or something.” “You‟ll get used to it. For your first time, you‟re doing way better than I did.” “Now is the time for concentration,” the instructor admonished. “Talk later.” Giggling, Caroline followed Jolie‟s lead for the next few poses. When the class finished, they walked arm in arm to the locker room. “She‟s so serious,” she said, gesturing toward the instructor. “I don‟t know if I could stand that twice a week.” “She‟d dedicated,” Jolie told her. “Give it a chance. Relaxation might help you conceive.” Caroline dropped onto a bench and hung her head. “We‟re giving up.” Jolie‟s heart fell. “Oh, honey. I‟m so sorry.” “We‟re going to investigate adoption. Seems like the next best thing.” “Of course it is. You and Ben will make wonderful parents.” She rubbed her friend‟s back and thought about Sophie. She‟d visited the girl at her foster home nearly every day. “Remember the little girl I told you about from my class? The one whose mother recently ODed?” Caroline drew her brows together. “Poor thing. How‟s she doing?” “She misses her mom.” She flattened her lips. “Even though the woman wasn‟t very nice to her, she was still her mother. Now she‟s in a home with about twenty other kids. They come and go.” She wiped a tear off her cheek. “Have you ever considered adopting an older child?” Caroline sighed. “I don‟t know how Ben would feel about that. We‟ve never discussed anything but a baby.” Jolie hugged her tightly. “I have an idea.” Caroline tossed her a skeptical glance. “I don‟t know if I like the sound of that.” For the first time in the two weeks since her grandfather‟s death, Jolie laughed. “I‟m going to visit Sophie when I leave here.” She took her friend‟s hands. “Come with me, Caroline. I‟m taking her to the park. You have to see what a wonderful kid she is.” “Why aren‟t you adopting her? You obviously love her.” Jolie stiffened. “Yes, I do. But she deserves two parents and I‟m only one person. Who knows when or if Dante and I will ever work things out?” His absence had sliced a major hole in her heart; she wondered if it would ever heal. “I hope y‟all find a way to work it out. I saw him staring at you at the funeral. It‟s so obvious he‟s mad about you.” She didn‟t want to talk about Dante anymore. The pain ran too deep. At least she no longer had to think about Lane ever again. Her trip to the Dominican Republic for the quickie divorce had been the best money she‟d ever spent. “What do you say? Will you come with me to see Sophie?” Caroline folded her arms, stared off into space for a minute. “What the heck?”

After they dropped Sophie back at the foster home an hour and a half later, Jolie launched a barrage of questions at Caroline. “What do you think of her? Isn‟t she great? Can‟t you see Ben with her? He‟ll love her? When are you going to talk to him?” Caroline held up her hand. “Slow down. I love her to death. I‟m not sure how Ben will feel about a six-year-old instead of a baby.” She pulled her cell phone out of her purse. “I can‟t wait to tell him about her, though.” Excitement and promise danced in Jolie‟s heart. Even though her own life was in a state of limbo, she prayed Sophie‟s world would soon be set right. **** “Sorry, Mr. Ebersol,” a young, blonde receptionist said as he stood at her desk in the corporate offices of Burnside Productions. “Mr. Burnside had something come up. He won‟t be able to speak with you today.” Dante gritted his teeth. His father must have gotten to Burnside just like had with each of the six production companies where Dante had applied for a staff producer job. “Let me guess. He‟ll call me to reschedule.” She gave him a blank stare. “Why, yes. That‟s exactly what he said.” Walking to his car, he shook his head. He had to hand it to his old man, when he screwed you, sure as hell you knew who was doing it. It wasn‟t time to panic. He hadn‟t needed to dip into his savings—yet. He drove around for hours, trying to think of a strategy to get his life back on track. Nothing came to him. Nothing would ever be right again until Jolie was back in his life. On impulse, he headed toward Encino, stopping on the way to pick up two bouquets of flowers from a roadside vendor. His phone rang as he parked his car in front of Jolie‟s house. “Good news, Mr. Ebersol,” Charlene, his realtor said. “I‟m holding an offer on your house that just came through the fax. I think you‟ll be very pleased.” **** “Ben wants to meet her,” Caroline told Jolie over the phone. Jolie squeezed her eyes shut and silently cheered. Maybe Sophie would have a shot at a good life after all. “That‟s wonderful. So he‟s open to the idea of adopting an older child?” “Well, he said it depends on the child. I‟ve been telling him what a little angel Sophie is. When do you think we can meet with her?” “I‟ll call her foster parents. Maybe tomorrow.” Caroline yipped. “I won‟t get any sleep tonight, you know.” “Let‟s see if tomorrow is good first.” “Okay. I‟ll try not to get my panties in a bunch just yet.” She crossed her fingers, praying the match would take. “I have a really good feeling about this, Caroline.” “Some news about your mother, by the way, huh? I couldn‟t believe it when I read today‟s Variety.” Jolie crinkled her brow, anticipating the headache that always accompanied news of Emmanuelle. “What are you talking about?” “You didn‟t know? I thought… Sorry, honey.”

She gritted her teeth, forced herself to ask. “What?” “She‟s going to be in an upcoming reality show, Over the Hill. Hang on a sec, I‟ll get the article.” Jolie blew out an exasperated breath as she waited. “Here it is. „Charles Ebersol, CEO of Ebersol Productions announces the company‟s fall lineup of reality programming, starting with Over the Hill, a competitive reality series that pits a group of aging female B-list celebs against one another for the hand of eighty-year-old billionaire Roger Wilhelm of Wilhelm Petroleum.‟ Apparently they compete to marry this old geezer before he kicks the bucket.” Jolie shook her head. “Right up my mother‟s alley. If she wins, I hope he lives another thirty years.” “That would teach her.” Pushing all thoughts of her mother from her head, she tried to focus on positives. “So I‟ll call the foster parents about Sophie. Keep the good vibrations coming.” Fifteen minutes later everything was set. Jolie would accompany Caroline and Ben tomorrow to meet Sophie. “You‟re a sight for sore eyes,” Dante said. She spun around and thought the very same thing. Hilda poked her head out from behind him looking like the cat that swallowed the canary. “Sorry, Miss Jolie. I not able to stop him from coming into kitchen.” Jolie didn‟t believe that for a moment. “Thank you, Hilda. It‟s fine.” After Hilda disappeared into another room, Jolie led Dante outside to the patio and sat beside the pool. “Did you browbeat her into letting you in?” “All it took was some flowers.” He presented her with a bouquet of red roses he had hidden behind his back. “Are those mine or hers?” “Hers are yellow. I wanted to bring something for the kitten but they were out of cattails.” “Very funny.” She stuck her nose into the blooms. “They‟re heavenly. Thank you.” She took them into the kitchen, set them in a vase, then returned to the patio. God, she‟d missed seeing him every day. As if reading her thoughts, Dante took her hand. “I‟ve missed you so much. I know it‟s only been a little over a week, but I can‟t stand this. You have to forgive me.” He moved to the ground, on his knees. “I swear, I‟ll never lie to you, never hurt you. All I want is to make you happy.” The lump in her throat prevented her from speaking. She nodded, blinked back tears. “Will you try to trust me?” “Yeah,” she managed. “I‟ll do my very best for you. I love you and I want to do right by you more than anything.” She bought her hand to her heart, touched by his sincerity. Did he mean that? No man had ever expressed a sentiment nearer or dearer to her heart. “I love you too, Dante.” He glided his thumb along her jaw line, her chin, her lower lip. She kissed his finger, held his hand against her cheek. They stood together. Jolie‟s heart swelled with yearning as his gaze burned into hers. She glanced around, searching for Hilda, but didn‟t see her. “Will you come upstairs with me?” “I thought you‟d never ask.” Taking her hand, he started inside, stopped to kiss her.

They walked another few feet into the kitchen and he pinned her against the wall, running his hands over her sides, setting her on fire wherever he touched. They stopped again on the stairs, hands roaming over each other‟s body, lips, tongues, skin touching skin. Breaking apart long enough to get up the stairs and inside the bedroom, they stumbled across the room, fell on the bed together. Dante pushed his fingers through her hair. “You have no idea how long I‟ve waited to do this. I couldn‟t think of anything but making love to you.” His mouth landed on hers, his tongue demanding and firm, exploring her mouth, gliding across her teeth. She pulled his shirt free from his pants, moved her hands underneath, feeling his skin, his muscles quivering at her touch. He unbuttoned it and she worked it off his shoulders—divine shoulders, rippling deltoids and triceps. How had she managed to keep herself from attacking him months ago? She unbuckled his belt, opened his pants and was pleased to see he was a commando man. He got off the bed, kicked off his shoes and stepped out of his pants. Jolie couldn‟t help herself. She stared at his naked perfection, awed by the strength and beauty of his form—the long, lean legs roped with muscle, the broad shoulders and thick upper arms that would soon hold her, the six-pack abs and tan, hairless chest. He was perfection and he wanted her. She knew instinctively that making love with him was going to be unlike anything she‟d experienced before. He approached her, his eyes smoky and hungry. Hungry for her. A jolt of excitement shot through her, so powerful she shuddered. “Let‟s get you out of those clothes” His voice was low and seductive. She moved off the bed, stood before him, barely able to breathe. Slowly, he reached for her blouse, opened the top button and kissed the skin underneath. She rolled her head back, closed her eyes and let herself feel his warm breath on her skin. A shudder of longing rolled across her skin. He repeated the process for each button until the silk top hung open, exposing her black lace bra. He slipped the shirt over her shoulders, touching his lips to her flesh, sending tremors through her upper body. Her nipples tingled, desperate for his touch. Getting on his knees, he unzipped her pants, moved them painfully slowly down her legs, lifting each foot out as if she were made of fine china. When he‟d worked off her pants, he looked up at her, his eyes caressing every inch of her. He pulled her stomach to him and she automatically tightened her muscles. “You don‟t have to be anything but yourself with me.” The notion blanketed her in confidence. Heat coursed through her, electrified every cell with desire. He ran his tongue along her belly, down to the elastic of her panties, then back up to the bottom of her bra. She‟d self-destruct if he didn‟t touch her soon. Pulling his head to her breasts, she said, “Please.” He reached behind her and unfastened the hook. “Patience.” He freed her of her bra, stared at her for several seconds before cupping one breast, licking his tongue gently over the other. She gasped, amazed at the depth of her longing. Aching for him to suckle her, she offered him one pebbled nipple, held it close to his mouth. Gratefully accepting, he laved it, sending tingling sensations all the way to her toes.

Moisture pooled between her legs. Her heated center begged for release. She took his hand, pulled him to his feet and led him to the bed. She sat down, staring up at him, waiting for what she‟d craved for so long. She circled her arms around his back, luxuriating in his velvet skin. Sliding her hands down, she felt his buttocks contract under her touch. His impressive erection grew larger still. She bit her lip, yearning to feel him inside her, scratching the itch that hadn‟t been reached in…forever. He climbed on top of her, guiding her down. Skin to skin, chest to chest, the intensity zapped the air from the room, stunned her. He trailed demanding kisses over her cheek, down her neck, between her breasts, along the plane of her stomach. He teased a finger under her panties, veering dangerously close to her nub. “You‟re the most beautiful woman I‟ve ever seen,” he whispered. His breath on her thigh sent gooseflesh sprawling over her skin. He rolled her panties down, slipped them over her feet and flung them across the room. Skipping his fingers lightly over her entrance, he tantalized and teased until her universe shrunk to the spot where they lay, naked and hungry for each other. A powerful earthquake shook her, rolled her to ecstasy, blooming into a million tiny rockets inside her. Her ebbing pleasure left her numb. Dante stared into her eyes, watched her ecstasy reflected, smiling, nodding at her delight. His fingers began moving again, touching her in a way she‟d never been touched before, bringing her to the precipice yet again. Her body shook with incredible bliss, yet yearned to feel his perfect erection inside her. She wrapped her hand around his shaft and it hardened more. Reveling in his moans, she directed his penis closer to her entrance. “Not yet,” he said, backing away. “You‟re killing me,” she cried. “I can‟t take it.” He silenced her with a kiss. Moving out from under him, she pushed him onto his back. He reached to the floor for his pants, dug in a pocket until his hand emerged with a foil packet. A second after he tore it open, Jolie sat on his thighs, took the condom from him and slid it over his penis. Waiting another moment was out of the question. She mounted him, slowly rocked against him as his shaft foraged deeper and deeper. Dante thrust into her, filling her with his need, satisfying her. She drank him in, like a thirsty desert nomad at a lush oasis. She‟d been parched way too long. The urgency of his pace increased and he pumped faster and faster, lifting her, setting her on fire until she climaxed again. Her frantic cries filled the air, refused to be quieted until she was spent. As her pleasure calmed, Dante exploded inside her. The wonder in his eyes sent shivers across her skin. He‟d been just as blown away by the experience as she. She collapsed against his damp chest and listened to his pounding heart.

Chapter Twenty-Two Dante lay beside Jolie, watching her sleep, her head nestled in the crook of his arm. How had he gone his entire life and never had a woman rock his world the way she just had? Lord knew, he‟d had plenty of women, but she was totally different. It wasn‟t about being more acrobatic in bed, or doing it in wild places or strange positions. With her, it had simply knocked his socks off. Her lashes fluttered and she sighed contentedly. He lightly kissed her eyelids, the tip of her nose, her soft lips. “Mm,” she murmured, waking with a big smile on her face. “I dreamed I was in heaven. With you.” He pulled her closer. “That was no dream, love.” She snuggled against him, making the sweetest purring sound. “What time is it?” He glanced at his watch. “Eight-fifteen.” “Morning or night?” He laughed. “You must have slept pretty hard. It‟s evening.” “Hilda will think I‟m a wanton woman, disappearing into my bedroom in the middle of the afternoon and not emerging until past dinnertime.” “Hilda will understand.” He lifted the covers, feasted on the view of her beautiful caramel colored body. “We don‟t have to leave this room anytime soon. In fact, I don‟t have a thing on my agenda until I meet with my real estate agent at noon tomorrow.” He dipped beneath the sheets and nibbled on her stomach and breasts until she squirmed. “I want to take a long, hot soak.” She slipped out of the bed, leaving him feeling as if he‟d lost a limb. “Can I join you?” She pulled a long pink robe around her, covering her exquisite body. “That would be nice.” He followed her to the bathroom and waited as she filled the tub. Then he eased himself in. She sat with her back to him, cradled against his chest. The room was a hundred percent Jolie with a definite feminine flair. A collection of ornate perfume atomizers decorated the windowsill, ruffled curtains surrounded the window and the air was scented with her perfume. He laid his head back against the edge of the tub. “Tell me about your day.” “Well, I made love with the most wonderful man.” “That part I know. What about before that?” “I introduced Sophie to Caroline this morning,” she said. “Caroline thinks she‟s wonderful. We‟re taking her husband to meet her tomorrow. I‟m hoping they‟ll consider adopting her.” He wondered why Jolie had never had children. “What about you?” „I‟m not ready for that. Too much going on in my life right now.” “Can I ask a personal question?” She laughed and handed him a bath sponge. “We got about as personal as it gets a little while ago. Why not?” He sluiced liquid soap over her back, scrubbed gently. “Why didn‟t you ever have children with Lane or Ellis?” She stiffened. “Sorry. Maybe that was too personal.” “No, it‟s fine. Ellis and I were planning to have children, until he…strayed.” “I‟m sorry.”

“Lane never wanted kids and frankly, the idea of him in a father role was downright frightening.” She laid her head back on his shoulder. “I think I might want to adopt an older child someday. What about you?” He‟d never had any great desire to be a father. Maybe he‟d have to revisit that. “With the right woman, maybe.” He circled his arms around her waist. He felt her relax, lean into him. “I‟m looking forward to the future for the first time in a very long time.” Joy spread through him like a tonic. “I love you, Jolie.” **** Jolie sat on the same park bench she had the previous day and watched Caroline and her husband Ben play with Sophie. Tears kept burning behind her eyes for some reason. She picked up a newspaper from the ground beside the bench and started to throw it into the trashcan when she noticed a small publicity photo of Lane on the front page. Bringing it closer, she read. Tattletale News Exclusive! LONDON: Cracked Mirror lead singer Lane Wood arrested and charged with shoplifting in a gay sex toy shop on Carnaby Street. She didn‟t need to read any more. Guilt stabbed at her for the grin she could hardly stifle. Shaking her head, she tossed the rag into the garbage can. Caroline came over and joined her, winded from trying to keep up with the girl. “What was that?” She gestured toward the can. “Just some trash.” She gave Jolie a cursory nod. “Thought I‟d give Ben a few minutes alone with Sophie.” “Looks like she‟s charmed him already.” Caroline smiled. “They‟ve charmed each other.” She stared at Jolie. “What?” “How do you do it?” She drew her eyebrows together. “Do what?” “Work with these kids week after week and not kidnap every one of them.” She thought about her group. “They‟re wonderful, resilient kids and all of them have parents, except Sophie. All I can do is hope they‟re well taken care of. I know I can‟t save the world.” “I think we‟re going to try to adopt her.” Jolie stopped fighting her tears and let them come. No, she couldn‟t save the world, but she might have just saved one very special little girl. On her way home, she passed her favorite bookstore and her heart squeezed when she saw the For Rent sign in the window. The place seemed to draw her to it, telling her to go in and investigate. She turned into the lot and walked to the front of the store. Peeking into the window, she saw a man inside. When he spotted her, he came to the door and opened it a few inches. “Can I help you?” “So she‟s really gone, hmm?” “Yup. Hated to see her go.” “Mind if I take a look inside? For old time‟s sake?” She had no idea why she had to see it again, but it felt like a force was guiding her. He shrugged and held the door open wide. The place smelled musty and stale. A thin layer of dust coated everything. Most of the bookshelves had been removed but the stage in the old children‟s section remained. She stepped

onto it and walked across, touching the colorful curtain that separated the main stage from a narrow backstage area. “How much is the rent?” “Twenty-eight hundred, although what I‟d prefer is to sell the place.” She studied the high ceilings with track lights, the real wood paneling on the walls and the parquet floor. No doubt that the place had some serious flaws, but it showed loads of character and potential for…for what? “I know it needs a new roof, but I‟d be willing to knock the price down if you wanted to buy it. Say to four hundred fifty.” She thought about the money she‟d inherited from her grandfather. “Go for it,” his voice said in her head. Then it came to her. “I‟m thinking about opening a children‟s theater.” Thanks to the money Grampy had left her, she now had enough to buy it, refurbish and run it until it started to at least break even. She didn‟t care if it never made money as long as it served the needs of kids. “We sure could use one around here. I‟d bring my grandsons.” On impulse, she took out her checkbook. “Would you hold it if I give you a deposit?” His face lit up. “To rent or buy?” “Buy.” **** “Where are we going?” Dante asked while Jolie drove. “It‟s a surprise.” She giggled like a kid on Christmas morning. “You‟ll love it.” What was she up to? Didn‟t matter. He‟d follow her anywhere. After their third straight night of marathon sex, she had him eating out of her hand. His cell phone‟s shrill ring brought him back to earth. He checked the display, but didn‟t recognize the number. “Excuse me,” hetold Jolie as he answered. “Ebersol.” “Hey, bro. I‟ve got news.” The tone of Mike‟s voice told him it was something good. “What‟s up?” “I met someone, at my AA meeting.” “Oh?” Was Mike going to share details of his love life now? “Not what you‟re thinking.” Mike chuckled. Did his brother really know him well enough to pick up on his suspicions? Apparently so. “How the hell do you know what I‟m thinking?” “Come on. It‟s me.” “Okay. So what‟s your news?” “I met the drummer for Sugar Carson‟s band. You know, that teenager who plays a rock star on her show and does concerts as both herself and her TV persona.” “Mm hmm.” Who in this town hadn‟t heard of her? Kid would be a billionaire by her eighteenth birthday. “The guy said they were looking for roadies for a concert tour. Gave me a number and guess what? I got it. Three months of touring, sixty grand. Sweet, huh?” Worry prickled Dante‟s skin. “What about your commitment to your sobriety?” “That‟s the best thing. Rick, the drummer, goes to AA meetings on the road. I can go with him.” Dante prayed it would all work out for Mike. “That‟s great. I‟m proud of you.” He cleared his throat. “Have you told Mom yet?”

“This morning.” He didn‟t want to ask about their father. Didn‟t care, not really. “She told me Dad shit-canned your show after the pilot. By time he‟d edited the thing to death, he decided it wouldn‟t sell. Plus, with no chance of re-signing Jolie, it was kind of a lame duck project.” Dante smiled, pleased that Jolie‟s life wouldn‟t be splashed all over the small screen. “Anyway, I‟m going home to pack. I‟ll be out of your hair in a couple of days. But I want to try to stay in touch better than I have in the past.” Dante swallowed the lump in his throat. “That‟d be nice, Mike. I love you, bro.” “Aw, don‟t start with that shit. But me, too. See you later.” Dante hung up and looked over at Jolie. He smiled, still amazed that she was his. “Sounds like things are falling into place for your brother.” “I‟m happy to say they are.” They parked next to a building with a weathered sign that read, “SoCal Book Shop. A bookstore?” She playfully slapped his knee. “You‟ll see.” The contact shot a blast of excitement through him. When would he get over that? Never, he hoped. She led him to the door. The place looked dirty and abandoned. When she slid a key into the lock, his curiosity was piqued. “Do you own this building?” he asked, following her in. He hoped not. The place was rough and more than a little dusty. “Not yet.” “Not yet? Does that mean you‟re buying it? I had no idea you had an interest in opening a bookstore.” “Not a bookstore. A children‟s theater.” She hopped up and down, clenching her fists. “I‟m so excited, Dante. A children‟s theater.” He walked the length of the room, looked at the small stage, the battered walls and the torn curtain. “It needs a lot of work.” She waved his skepticism away. “That‟s not a problem. I‟ll handle the creative end. What I need is someone with some business sense. An understanding of the production end of things. Do you know anyone who‟s available?” Was she trying to tell him something? She strode across the floor. “Here‟s what I‟m thinking. Interactive theater part of the time, regular productions, free acting classes to those who can‟t afford to pay.” She folded her arms over her chest, obviously proud of herself. “We‟ll extend the stage out to the middle of the room, to give us more flexibility and a bigger backstage area.” “We? Us?” His heart was beating faster. Was she offering him a job? “Yes, us, you and me.” She stopped walking, batted her lashes at him. “Understand you won‟t be able to draw a very big salary at first. Maybe never. It would be a labor of love. And frankly, a tough job. If you‟re not game, I understand.” “Of course I‟m game.” Grinning from ear to ear, he marched over to her and lifted her off the floor, swinging her around. “It sounds like a dream come true. I get to work with you and run a brand new theater company.” He kissed her, set her on her feet. “I love you, Jolie. I have the feeling life with you will be wonderfully unpredictable.” “You can count on one thing.” He kissed the top of her head. “What‟s that?”

“My love for you.” Her smile spread warmth through his entire body. “Same here. But I‟ll only take the job with one very important stipulation. He reached into his pocket and pulled out the pink diamond ring he‟d bought the day before. “You have to at least agree to be my fiancée. She wrapped her arms around his neck and stared into his eyes. “You drive a hard bargain, mister.” “I‟ll show you hard as soon as we get home.” He stepped out of her reach and got on one knee. “Hand, please.” Tears running down her face, Jolie gave him her hand and let him slide the ring on her finger. “You‟re hired.”