Camera Shy (28 page)

Simone shook her head in disbelief. "You don't have a clue, Carolyn."

"What? About how
stressed
you've been? About how miserable you are in your
mansion
?" She gave Simone a look of mock sympathy before rolling her eyes. "Give it a rest, Simone. I suppose you curl up at night with your Oscar on a bed of hundred dollar bills and cry, don't you?"

"Just because you pissed away your chance at this life doesn't mean I didn't earn my way to where I am," Simone said. "And there are some things in life that money and a goddamned trophy won't fix."

"And cavorting around with a different man every weekend will?" Simone flinched. "I'm done with that." By then, a thick crowd was gathering, and Simone winced at the sound of a camera shutter.

Carolyn glared at her. "You're done with it, except on your little trips to Canada."

"That isn't the same."

Carolyn laughed. "Isn't it? From what I saw in the news, it sure looks the same." She paused and smirked. "Excellent taste this time, though. I must commend you. I'd have done the same if a man like that had thrown himself at my feet."

"He didn't throw himself at my feet," Simone spoke through clenched teeth. "He doesn't even know who I really am." Her veins turned to ice.
Unless he's read the paper, oh
God, please tell me hasn't read it!
She glared at her sister with renewed fury. "You've gone too far this time, Carolyn. When you grow up and decide it's not your life's mission to make sure everyone else is as miserable as you, look me up." Her tone softened from one of anger to one of deep sadness and regret. "I wanted us to be close again. I really did. I told you about him because that's the kind of things sisters tell each other about." She shrugged and turned to walk away. "In the future, I'll try not to be so optimistic." Carolyn screamed something at her from behind, but Simone ignored her. She concentrated on putting one foot in front of the other, avoiding the eyes of the people who'd gathered as they parted to let her past. The snapping shutters made her skin crawl, but she kept walking.

Once she was safely in her car, she checked her phone, praying for a call from Jason, but the only missed calls were from Anne-Marie. She cringed; she'd been avoiding her agent's calls, but sooner or later, she would have to face that music. She glanced at her watch. Her flight left in four hours. Time to head to the airport. She just hoped she could get to Tofino before the tabloids did.

Chapter Fifty-One

"Jason, it's Allyson, I need to talk to you. Please call me back."

"It's me again. I'm on my way up there. I really need to talk to you. Call me. Please."

"I'm getting on a plane right now. I'll probably be in around nine. Please call me, Jason; I need to talk to you as soon as possible."

Jason rubbed the bridge of his nose as the last of her voice messages wrapped up. He replayed them. Again. Then again. Her voice shook. She sounded on the verge of tears. With each message, the urgency in her voice intensified, and each time he replayed them, the knot in his gut tightened.

He glanced at the clock. Seven thirty. She had long since landed and was on the highway. By now, she was well out of cell phone range, so there was no point in calling her back. With a heavy sigh, he leaned back in his chair.

His eyes went to the photos on his desk and he wondered what she needed to say to him. As far as he could tell, there was nothing left to say.

"A picture says a thousand words, doesn't it,
Simone
?"

* * * * *

It was a quarter past nine when she pulled into his driveway. Her heart pounded as she saw him through the rain sliding down the windshield. The warm glow inside

the house lit his silhouette on the front steps. She got out of the car, her heart in her throat, and started across the muddy driveway.

He sat on the third step, oblivious to the icy rain that slicked his hair back and dripped down his expressionless face. The soggy magazine rolled up in his hand told her she was too late.
Much
too late.

"It's not often this town makes the news." The cold fury in his voice sent a chill straight to her core. "Everyone in town made sure I got a copy."

"Jason, I can explain—"

"What is there to explain?" He unfurled the wet magazine. "Another fling?

Another notch in the bedpost? The latest in the adulterous, out-of-control star's downward spiral?" He snorted bitterly and glared at her. "I should have known you were married."

"I'm divorced, Jason. I'm not married, I swear."

"Obviously when you
were
married, it didn't stop you from having a fling with—

" He paused, glancing at the wet tabloid. "Well, whatever his name is."

"They have it all wrong, Jason."

"Do they?" He looked at the tabloid again. "Which part,
Simone
?" His voice was venomous with fury as he said her name, sending her heart into her feet. "The part where you cheated on your husband before he was, as you claim he is, your exhusband? Or maybe the part where you've got a
daughter
you didn't bother mentioning?

Tell me,
Simone
, are they wrong about the part where you're using me just like you used the last dozen 'boy toys'?"

"Those were their words, not mine."

"Then what
are
your words?" But he put up a hand. "No, forget it. I don't want to know."

"Jason, please, just hear me out."

"No." His eyes narrowed. "No, you've had plenty of time to say it. Plenty of chances to do something other than lie to me."

"Jason—"

"It's a damned good thing we used condoms, isn't it?" he growled. Stung, she dropped her gaze.

"I thought you were different. I thought I could take a chance with you, but you're no better than her." He pursed his lips as if the words left a bitter taste in his mouth.

She didn't need to ask to know who 'her' was. "I wanted to tell you. Jason, please—"

He shook his head. "No. Time is up, sweetheart. You had more than enough opportunity. I didn't pry, and I knew you had something more to tell me, but this . . . . Not
this.
" He glanced at the paper again. "You couldn't even tell me your real
name
." His voice was acrid with disgust.

"I was going to tell you."

"When?"

"Not soon enough. I know."

He stood. "Look, if you wanted this to just be about sex, you could have just said so. I would have been fine just fucking you like everyone else in the world apparently has."

Simone could neither speak nor meet his eyes.

He went on, his voice unsteady, more hurt than angry this time, "But you knew I had feelings for you. I was in love with you, Allyson. Simone. Whatever the hell your name really is. I was
in love with you
."

She faced him, forcing back the tears that threatened. "I'm sorry, Jason, please. I can never be sorry enough."

He tossed the wet magazine at her feet. "You're right. You can't." He walked into the house, leaving her standing in the rain. The door slammed behind him.

Chapter Fifty-Two

Simone keyed herself into the cold, sparse room of the rundown motel and threw her overnight bag on the decrepit yellow-upholstered armchair. Clutching a brown paper bag for dear life, she sank onto the hard bed.

The bag in her hand held only a couple bottles of Smirnoff. No sense bothering with the orange juice or even a cheap paper cup this time.

* * * * *

Icy rain poured down Jason's face and cascaded down the back of his neck. Water ran off his arms as he dug his fingers into the deck's railing. His teeth would have chattered from the cold, but his jaw was clenched against a deeper chill. He stared up at the dark sky. The stars, which usually gave him a sense of calm, were hidden behind the thick blanket of clouds, but he barely noticed. Even if he could see them, he doubted they would bring him much peace tonight.

More than once, he wondered if he'd been too cold and cruel to her when she came to apologize. He'd been angry, and justifiably so, but had she really deserved everything he'd thrown at her?

Then he thought of the pictures all over the tabloids. All the looks people had given him when he'd gone into town, the way they'd done that behind-the-hand whispering that only happened in small towns. The phone calls from his brother, his parents, and God only knew who else before he'd finally shut off the ringer. For all of that, she'd earned every drop of venom that had been in his voice. He picked his glass up off the railing and drained it, grimacing more out of habit than anything as he swallowed. He was too distracted to taste how much the rain had watered down the Jack Daniels, too numb to feel the half-hearted burn as it went down his throat.

He should have known.

* * * * *

She should have known this would happen. She should have just been honest with everyone from day one. Better yet, she should have tossed Jason's number out the window while she still had some sanity left in her idiot brain. She should have just focused on fixing all the bullshit in her life, not adding something else to the mix. She knew this would bite her in the ass. She knew from the beginning. Now her career was toast. She'd been warned. The director and producer took her on with the understanding that she wouldn't bring any bad press on herself and, with it, the film.

She'd promised Gregory she would be a responsible parent to Cecily. She'd promised Anne-Marie she'd get her head out of her ass.

And she'd taken Jason's love, trust, and patience for granted just a
little
bit too long.

All that was left was damage control, but it was really too little too late.

* * * * *

He relived their earlier conversation over and over in his mind. Of
course
she was just about to tell him the truth. Of
course
this wasn't what she wanted to happen. And the tears in her eyes were a nice touch. They probably helped her win that fucking Oscar.

"Good show, Simone," he said through his teeth, flinching at the sound of her real name.

He'd wondered if their relationship—their
fling
—would end badly, but he never saw
this
coming. Now she'd come all this way to talk to him, to grovel and apologize, but how could he believe a word of it after everything she'd lied to him about all along?

Then again, he told himself, she
had
come all this way. Maybe she was sincere. After all, she'd
only
cheated on her ex-husband and her past
several
boyfriends. Clearly she'd turned over a new leaf.

He rolled his eyes and muttered a string of profanity into the night. Simone wasn't here to apologize to him. She only wanted to do damage control and minimize the destruction of her damned career. Never mind what this could do to
his
career. The consumers of her work were more than accustomed to actors making asses of themselves. His clientele was not quite so forgiving of this kind of scandal. While he would still be able to sell his work, this was going to follow him for a long, long time.
Maybe I should start signing my work, ‘
Jason Connor, that guy who fucked Simone Farrell on a beach'.

"Right," he said into his glass. "That would narrow it down to about ten people." He finished his drink, realizing then that it was nothing but rainwater. He went back inside to find something a bit stronger.

* * * * *

She pulled one of the bottles out of the bag and held it for a while, just staring at the crystalline liquid inside. This wasn't going to help with damage control. No matter. Damage control would come tomorrow. Tonight, she just didn't want to feel. She unscrewed the bottle cap and took a long drink. Then more.

It had been months since she'd touched more than a few glasses of wine—the few sweet glasses of wine she'd shared with Jason, god damn it why did she
do
this to herself?—and her stomach wasn't ready for the vodka. She barely made it to the bathroom—bottle still in hand—before it all came back up. But that didn't stop her; she kept right on drinking. The numbness she needed was deep in that bottle, or maybe the second one, and she needed to get there
fast
.

* * * * *

Jason wandered from room to room, cursing in between swallows of Jack Daniels. He couldn't find a moment's peace in the house. Every room reeked of

Allyson's—no,
Simone's
—memory. All the times he couldn't wait to get her into bed and took her right there on the couch. Or the table. Out on the deck. Out in the goddamned driveway, for crying out loud.

Even his office wasn't safe. All he could think of was that afternoon when she'd mercilessly teased him in the chair while he was on the phone with Sean. And there was the damned computer that was full of photos of her out on the island—his island, his
refuge
from the rest of the world, his sacred place that now graced the cover of
every
fucking tabloid on the planet.

He threw the empty glass at the wall. Leaning against the doorway, he rubbed the bridge of his nose as his shoulders slumped. "Fuck," he whispered, the sound of his own voice startling him more than the shattering glass had a second ago. He wasn't going to find any peace from her memory, not tonight. Not without some serious help from his good friend, Jack, at least. Running his hand through his still wet hair, he headed back into the kitchen to find that bottle.

* * * * *

She took another swig while she slumped on the floor between the water-stained wallpaper and the toilet with the crack in the lid. By the time she'd drunk enough to know it wasn't coming back up, her legs weren't about to hold her upright, so she just stayed where she was.

* * * * *

He rested his elbow on the couch armrest and closed his eyes as he pressed the bottle against his forehead. His mind was hazy and the room spun around him, but his eyes still stung more than his throat burned, so he hadn't had nearly enough to drink.

"Take me away, Jack," he said, raising the bottle to his lips again. "Get me the fuck out of here." He took another long swallow and kept drinking until he couldn't remember why.