A Feast of You (30 page)

Next was a screenshot of a surfer website with an image of Jace doing an aerial on a wave. I’d taken that shot. And next was a clip from TMZ. I’d never seen it air, but the headline screamed, “Surfer Killed in Car Accident with Wife behind the Wheel,” and another one “Jace Ryder Dead. Wife Responsible?” The video was of flashing lights and a scene of an accident.

Somewhere a glass shattered, and I realized it was my water glass. I’d let go of it, my fingers going slack.

“Oh my God.” I swayed, but William was right there to steady me.

“What the fuck is this?” he barked at Beckett.

“I don’t know,” Beckett said, looking around frantically. “This isn’t supposed to be happening.”

I couldn’t look away. Another headline flashed on the screen—“Wife Drinking, Pro Surfer Jace Ryder Dead.”

“No,” I whispered. I’d told William about Jace and the accident and about the reaction from Jace’s fans. But I’d never told him about all the negative online stuff or about Jace’s angry groupies. I thought Jeremy was the biggest secret I’d kept from William, but apparently I was wrong. This was.

Someone had put a lot of work into making this video. Fake blood splashed on the screen next, and there was a shot of me and Jace on a beach in Santa Cruz. I looked so young, standing with the water at my back and Jace at my side. We were grinning at the camera. As I watched, blood ran down, obscuring our faces.

“Where’s the AV system?” Hutch asked. “I’m shutting this down.”

Beckett gestured vaguely, and Hutch took off across the room.

I shook violently, my teeth chattering. Sweat dampened my back until my dress stuck to it. All the Cat Ryder mistakes I thought I’d left behind in Santa Cruz were splashed on the screen for everyone to see. William’s family and friends, people he did business with—they all had a front-row seat to the biggest tragedy of my life. And I feared William, the man I loved with all my heart, would never look at me the same way after this.

Ever since that day in January when I’d met William I’d worried that my past, my baggage, would ruin us. I was a liability for a public person like William, and I hadn’t wanted my mistakes to hurt his reputation.

A light flashed, shocking me out of my thoughts. More than a few people in the crowd of party guests were holding up their cell phones, snapping pictures or taking videos of me. No one looked away when I met their eyes, or lowered their phones. The embarrassment I would inevitably cause my prominent boyfriend was just seconds away from exploding across the Twitter-sphere and Instagram.

“We’re getting out of here.” William grabbed my arm and tugged me. I stumbled, my gaze still fixed on the images on the screen.

Jace. My poor dead Jace.

He didn’t deserve to have his memory treated like this.

And then it was all gone. William was on one side of me and Asa was on the other, and they pulled me down the steps of The Webster and into a waiting car. I cowered in the corner of the SUV, my body still shaking. William sat beside me, ranting and cursing into his phone.

I closed my eyes and willed it all to go away.

* * *

I
didn’t remember arriving back at the penthouse. I must have stepped out of the car, walked through the lobby, gotten on the elevator. I didn’t remember any of it. I finally came out of my trance when William pushed a glass of cold water into my hand.

I sipped the water, grateful to have something to do. We were in the living room. I sat on the couch, while William paced back and forth, glanced at the photo I’d taken of the surfer in Santa Cruz. I finally knew why it had always bothered me that William had it. I hadn’t wanted Cat Ryder’s past and Catherine Kelly’s present to mix.

Too late for that now.

Suddenly, William hurled his glass across the room. It shattered in the fireplace, spraying water all over the floor. I peered up at him, the stony look on his face, the stormy eyes. He looked haunted and...broken.

He pulled his cell from his pocket, ignoring the glass on the floor. “Why the fuck hasn’t he called me back?”

“Who?”

He stood and paced again. “I’m so fucking frustrated.” He raked a hand through his hair. “I’m the one who’s causing all of this.”

“You? I don’t understand.”

“While I was away in Japan, there wasn’t a single incident. Asa told me they didn’t see anything or anyone suspicious. Now I’m back, and this happens. It’s me. I’m the one causing this, and I. Can’t. Fucking. Stop. It.”

“William.” I rose and grabbed his hands. “This isn’t your fault. You’re doing all you can.”

“It’s not enough, Catherine. It’s not enough.”

I sank down on the couch. He was right. It wasn’t enough, and I couldn’t take this anymore. I wanted to escape him, my past, the humiliation of the video. I wanted to be alone, to wallow, but I couldn’t even have that. I couldn’t go to my own house because home wasn’t safe.

All I’d ever wanted with William was a normal relationship. We’d tried and tried, but it was time I realized it wasn’t ever going to happen. I kept waiting for us to get past all of the fucked up shit, but every time I turned around our lives became more fucked up.

“I’m sorry,” I said. “I’m so sorry.”

He was by my side in an instant. “There’s nothing to be sorry for.” As if reading my negative, wallowing thoughts, he pulled me into his arms and stroked my hair. “This wasn’t aimed at you. It’s me he wants, and he gets to me through you. You didn’t do anything wrong.”

“This is my worst nightmare. They all saw. Everyone knows about me now. I never wanted this for you.”

“Shh.” He moved his hand down to stroke my back. “Do you think I care about that? I love you, Catherine. No one can do anything to change that. I love you.” He pulled me tighter against him and just like that, being in his arms, I felt the knot of guilt and fear in my chest start to slip.

“D
o you want to blow or do you want me to?” Beckett asked.

I giggled and took another sip of champagne. “You do it. You’re so good at blowing.”

Beckett toasted me, clinking his champagne flute against mine. “That’s right. Watch and learn, Cat. It’s all in the lips.” He puckered, and we dissolved into laughter again.

When I could catch my breath, I sighed. The studio William had booked was outstanding, a state-of-the-art space with the best equipment. The techs William had hired to assist me probably thought I was an idiot right about now, but I didn’t care. Beckett had been able to swing this Monday afternoon off, and I’d jumped at the opportunity to have him work with me on the WML Champagne shoot. It was just like old times.

Except we’d never worked in a space like this.

I didn’t think I could have pulled off such a complicated shoot without this perfect studio. I’d rigged a tarp over the camera and around the champagne bottle. The lens of the camera was protected by a clear glass panel. Beckett and I suspended the cork above the lip of the bottle with fishing line, which would look invisible on film—and which was easy to tinker with postproduction. We’d put the techs to work drilling a hole in the bottom of the champagne bottle—that was where the glasses of champagne had come from; we couldn’t allow all that good champagne to go to waste—and installed PVC tubes. Beckett blew compressed air through the pipe to set off an explosion of golden liquid.

I put the laser timer I’d bought to good use coordinating the spray and the click of the camera. The set-up was time consuming, so each shot was crucial, and while the first few shots looked good, there’d been something missing.

Then it hit me: Vapor. We needed a little vapor in the shot. Beckett sent one of the techs to find a can of Dust-Off. The tech sprayed a shot of that into the bottle lip, Beckett released the compressed air, and I snapped the shot. The last few stills looked
amazing
, so we started celebrating.

As always, Beckett and I were a fabulous team. Why shouldn’t we toast to another successful photo shoot?

I’d had so much fun working with Beckett in Chicago. After Jace’s death, I hadn’t known where to go or what to do, and Beckett had given me a new career and a new purpose.

He’d given me a new life.

“I have to say we have definitely
blown
this
job
,” Beckett quipped.

I almost fell out of my chair laughing. It was the champagne. Beckett and I had...
sampled
several glasses of William’s excellent vintage. It was mostly in the name of research, though I also hadn’t passed up the opportunity to self-medicate a little bit. I’d skipped lunch, so I was more than a little tipsy. Beckett was too. But who cared? The shots I’d taken so far were great, and Beckett and I were having fun. Plus, it helped me forget for a little while the complete fucking mess my life had become.

This was how my life in Chicago used to be.

Fun
.

Before the security guards, the threats, the entrails on my dinner plate...

Before William.

Before my ancient history became a Google news item and before I became infamous, again. Since the party at The Webster on Saturday night, I’d received countless emails and texts from “old friends” forwarding me pictures of myself from that night asking, “Is that you?”

Yes, it was me. Now leave me alone
.

I swallowed the contents of my champagne flute and sobered.

“Uh-oh.” Beckett raised his brows in concern. “I know that look. What’s wrong now? You want to do the blow job this time?”

My lips quirked ruefully.

“No, you do it.” I lifted the tarp. “Come on. One more shot for the win.”

“You got it.
Garçon
!” Beckett flicked his finger at the tech with the Dust-Off. The poor tech came running.

We set up for the shot again. I knelt under the tarp and looked through the lens, focusing the image of the neck of the bottle and the cork.

Behind me, I heard the door open and someone speak, but I ignored it. I concentrated on what I was doing. I wanted one last perfect shot.
The
shot.

“Places,” I said without moving away from the camera.

“Start the timer,” Beckett said.

In my peripheral vision, I could see the blinking numbers.
3-2-1
.

Click, click, click.

I let out a whoop. “One of those had to be it. I can feel it!”

“Cat—”

I held up a finger and went to the monitor to view the shot. “Hold on, Beckett. Just let me...”

“Cat, William is here.”

“William is going to,” I swung around, “love this. William?”

He stood by the studio door, George at his side. The techs stared at him as though he were Ryan Gosling. What was William doing here? Checking up on me? Wasn’t it enough that Asa had been outside the whole time?

“Catherine, I’m sorry to interrupt.”

Of course, he had every right to interrupt and to stop by. I had to remember he was the client on this shoot, not the overprotective boyfriend I loved with all my heart but who just couldn’t let me into his life the way I wanted. William had been pretending that everything was fine between us, but we hadn’t spoken much since the party—since the video—and I could tell he was bothered more than he was letting on. He’d spent most of yesterday in his study with the door closed, presumably on the phone. I’d heard raised voices a few times, but when he’d emerged, he was tightlipped and told me nothing. He’d gone to bed early and offered me just a chaste kiss before rolling over and going to sleep.

“You’re not interrupting,” I said. “It’s your studio. If you step over to the monitor, I’ll shhhow...” I stumbled. Maybe I’d had a little more champagne than I realized. I tried to pull myself together. “I mean, I’ll
show
you the shots.”

Beckett applauded. “Way to recover, Cat.”

“Fuck you,” I shot back.

“Sorry, you’re not my type.”

It was an old joke and shouldn’t have been funny to either of us, except we’d been drinking, so Beckett dissolved into giggles. I glanced at William and motioned to Beckett to stop. William looked stone-faced and not amused in the least.

Beckett immediately straightened. “Sorry.”

William put an arm around me. “It’s fine. Catherine, I need you to come with me.”

“Let me show you some of the shots first,
Mr.
Lambourne,” I said. “I promise we really were working.”

William squeezed me. “I’ll look later. Right now I need you to come with me.”

I squinted up at him. I’d taken his tight-lipped expression as disapproval at my antics with Beckett. The strain around his eyes indicated more than disapproval. He was upset and concerned.

“What’s wrong?”

“I’ll tell you when we get there.” He gave a pointed look toward the techs who pretended to rearrange equipment that didn’t need rearranging. They hadn’t been drinking and had probably noticed his tension long before I had.

“Okay, but I’m in the middle of this.” I gestured to the tarp and the champagne bottle that Beckett and I had spent hours rigging at exactly the right angle. It had taken us forever to form an airtight seal on the hole in the bottom of the bottle. “I’ll just finish up and meet you—”

“No. I need you to come
now
.”

I didn’t like to be summoned. My face must have shown my annoyance because William’s expression softened.

“Catherine, this is important. Please. Leave everything and come with me now.”

My heart thudded hard in my chest. I’d rarely heard William use that tone of voice before. It freaked me out, and a pallor beneath his gorgeous face scared me. I nodded and then fumbled, not sure what to leave and what to grab.

“Leave everything,” William said. His hand fit perfectly on the small of my back, and he ushered me toward the door. I glanced at Beckett over my shoulder. My friend was wide-eyed and slack-jawed. Belatedly, he handed me my purse.

“Here, Cat. Call me later, okay?”

“Thanks. Beckett...” I gestured to the studio.

He understood without me saying a word. “I got it, Cat.”

And then William whisked me into the SUV, and Anthony hit the gas before George had even closed his door.