Lucky Star: A Hollywood Love Story (21 page)

When your best friend and your mom both told you to stop acting like an asshole and apologize to your girlfriend for behaving so poorly, that was usually when a smart man would heed their advice and beg for forgiveness. No one ever said I was all that smart. I’d tried to forgive Sarah for what I still believed was a major betrayal, but every time I felt my resolve softening, one of us would say or do something that snapped me right back to Bitter Land, population one. The worst was when she looked at me with such disappointment in her eyes, as if the situation had been my doing. Sure, it was all in service to my career, but she’d been if not the architect of this farce, then at least its lead engineer. I hoped with time I’d be able to look at her and not feel my anger rise, but I wasn’t there yet. In the meantime, I kept myself away from her and as busy as possible by throwing myself into work.

When I’d agreed to the revised plan and escalated timeline for mine and Jillian’s “romance” I hadn’t understood how all encompassing it would be. I’d only thought about the few hours a week I’d have to go on fake dates with her and pretend not to see the paparazzi who were only ten feet away from us. What I hadn’t counted on was having to act like I was in love with her all the goddamn time. Since there were people coming and going from the set at all hours of the day who could rat us out if they suspected our relationship had been fabricated, I’d taken to hiding in my trailer. A week ago, Jillian had been photographed “sneaking” in and now she spent more time in mine than her own. Frankly I thought she was a little too invested in our fake relationship, but with Murray in London I figured maybe she was just lonely. When I knew Sarah was going to be on set, I toned it down, but if she wasn’t, I played my role to perfection.

I’d never been a huge flirt so when it came time to turn on the charm, I channeled Mike, borrowing certain phrases, lines and banter I knew he employed when he was trying to get a girl to go home with him. Jillian would laugh hysterically when I’d jokingly try one out on her and those were the times the paps loved the most – me smiling down at her while her head was thrown back in a throaty laugh, her hand resting on my forearm or bicep. We looked very comfortable with one another, very tactile. Soon gossip spread beyond the set that I couldn’t take my eyes off her or keep my hands to myself. I never once touched her inappropriately or crossed a line I wouldn’t be able to come back from, but that didn’t stop people from seeing what they wanted to. After a few weeks of this, blogs and magazines had started sharing “eyewitness accounts” from “on-set sources” that corroborated what the photos showed. Of course, these sources always wished to remain anonymous. If I’d known who it was, I might have cornered them and told them to keep their trap shut, but all I could do was grin and bear it.

The other day I inadvertently overheard two costume assistants talking to each other about mine and Jillian’s romance. One of them told the other that one of the sources feeding information to a particular blogger that always seemed to get the scoop first was none other than Broderick’s assistant. The second those words settled, my gut clenched and I felt like throwing up. Instead I retreated to the on-set gym and knocked around the punching bag until I thought my arms would fall off.

It wasn’t enough that Sarah had pushed me into this, but now she was acting the part of gossip pimp as well? Sometimes I wondered if I’d ever be able to forgive her. And the more that thought echoed in my head, the easier it became to distance myself from her until our relationship had dwindled into one of polite indifference. At the few meals we shared, I’d listen to her talk about her day and I’d share snippets of my own, all the while wondering how I could have been so wrong about us. It wasn’t that I didn’t love her anymore. That would have been easy, a definitive respite. The gut churning reality was despite those nagging thoughts on trust and betrayal, I still loved her to distraction. And so she continued wearing my ring.

***

Jillian and I clocked a group of paparazzi on our tail minutes after leaving the studio. Since we were on our way to one of our scheduled “dates” anyhow, we didn’t try to lose them. Shrugging her shoulders as if to ask “why not?” she put the top down on her convertible, and we pasted smiles on our faces and let them take as many pictures as they liked as we drove out of Los Angeles toward Malibu.

Before we’d left for the night, a member of Aerin’s PR team had taken us aside to tell us we needed to shift tactics with our public outings because some of the press was starting to question why we spent so much time at locations notorious for being paparazzi friendly. The latest addendum to the plan was to make it seem like we were avoiding the paparazzi by picking small, quiet, out of the way places. Meanwhile, Aerin would reach out to some photographers who were on her payroll to make sure these “dates” didn’t go completely unnoticed. After all, the studio only wanted the
appearance
of privacy, not for us to actually be left alone.

That’s how we’d come to be sitting at a small table in front of the oversized front window at Maya, a Yucatan style Mexican restaurant in Topanga Canyon. It being one of Sarah’s favorite hole-in-the-wall restaurants, I never would have suggested it for our fake date, but it turned out The restaurant we were heading to now was one Jillian had been going to for years. She knew the owners so it ended up being the perfect place for our fake dates. This was the third time we’d been back since that initial meal a couple of weeks prior. One blogger had taken to calling it our “secret hideaway in the hills.”

Jillian took a sip of her beer. Smiling for the cameras we knew were hidden just out of sight, she said, “Murray asked me to ask you to be a little less hands on during these dates.”

I legitimately laughed out loud because her hand currently rested atop my open palm, while her fingers rubbed small circles over the pulse point of my wrist. Taking a drink of my own beer, I responded, also smiling, “Pot meet kettle.”

She dragged her hand away and raised her arms to wrap her hair in a messy bun. She used the movement as an excuse to scan the parking lot to see if we were still being watched. “Only two left,” she remarked, arching her back and tossing her arms out in a wide stretch. “That little exchange should make for some lovely photos.”

“Yeah, photos that are going to make the sainted Murray want to break my fingers or shoot off my kneecaps.”

She waved her hand away. “Don’t even worry about it. He wouldn’t know how to shoot a gun even if you put it in his hands and gave him instruction.”

“I notice you don’t say anything about my fingers.” I shoved a tortilla chip topped with scallop ceviche into my mouth.

“That’s just Murray. He’s actually okay with all this. I just think he’d feel guilty if he didn’t say
something
about how often you’re photographed touching me.”

“The man has impeccable knife skills. Since I’d prefer not to test your theory that he’s okay with it, I’ll try to be a little less handsy.”

Jillian cast a shrewd look my way. “Speaking of significant others …”

I liked Jillian well enough and barring anything dramatic, we’d probably stay friends once the series wrapped, but as a rule I didn’t talk much about my private life with people I didn’t know. Even though we’d spent practically all our waking hours together the last couple of months, we were still feeling each other out. I didn’t know if I was ready to admit to her that things weren’t too hot between Sarah and me at the moment.

“Yeah?” I shoved another chip in my mouth. If I was chewing, I figured, I wouldn’t have to speak.

She raised an eyebrow, totally catching on to my stalling tactic. “Well, spit it out. How
is
she?”

“Sarah’s …” I exhaled scratched at my abs, uncomfortable with the direction the conversation was heading. “Let’s just say things are tense right now.”

Jillian took another sip. “I wondered. She
seems
tense.”

Her stare was guileless but I didn’t know if I could trust her. When she didn’t continue, I realized she was waiting for me to fill her in on why Sarah was so stressed out. Instead I employed evasive maneuvers. “She’s pretty busy, working a ton of hours. I think Broderick had her driving all over the three different counties on Wednesday. She said she didn’t get home until after midnight.”

Jillian’s eyebrows twitched and she notched her head to the side, scrutinizing me. That’s when I realized what I’d inadvertently revealed. Shit.

“And she had to tell you this because …?”

I blew out a breath and chugged half my beer before answering. “Like I said, things are tense.”

Setting her bottle on the table, she leaned back in her chair and crossed her arms over her chest. “I’m just going to say it and if that pisses you off, then so be it.”

I looked out the window, hoping she would just drop it. “I’d prefer you didn’t.”

“That’s obvious, but is also why it needs to be said.”

I dragged my eyes back to her. “Fine, out with it.”

“Am I to assume the reason Sarah had to tell you she didn’t get home until after midnight is because you weren’t home when she got in?”

Mimicking her body language, I crossed my arms as well. My eyes hard and my jaw clenched, I nodded. 

“And this was on Wednesday?”

Another nod.

“I know for a fact you were done by 10 p.m. on Wednesday. I know this because that was the night we walked the press line for the opening of that photography exhibit and at ten-oh-five you told me you were heading home. Now, it might not be any of my business where you went afterward, but that means you lied to me and it sounds like you’ve been lying to Sarah too. Personally, I couldn’t care less if you tell me tall tales from now until the end of time, but I like Sarah – she’s a sweet girl who’s getting a raw deal – and if you’re fucking around on her, you need to stop.”

We engaged in a challenge-filled staring contest for a few heartbeats before her eyes softened and she reached across the table, entreating me to listen. “She loves you Cameron. If you’ve found someone else or are having second thoughts about asking her to marry you, you have to tell her.” Her eyes took on a momentary, faraway look before zeroing in on me again. Dragging her hand back to her side of the table, her voice assumed a frosty air. “Trust me, if you’re cheating on her while she’s planning on marrying you, you’ll destroy her.”

I gave her a few seconds to settle her emotions and then asked, “Murray?” I wondered if that’s why after five years together they still hadn’t gotten married. Then again, I’d asked Sarah to marry me after less than seventy-two hours together so what did I know about what the correct amount of time was to date before you popped the question?

“God, no!” When she laughed her eyes cleared. “Actually … Murray’s best friend. Well, former best friend.”

“Sounds like an interesting story,” I remarked hoping to focus the conversation on her love life instead of mine.

“It is,” she answered, “and I’ll share it with you some time but right now we’re talking about you.”

Shit. So we were.

“It’s nothing like that,” I admitted. Draining the rest of my beer, I added, “The fact is it’s all this.” I gestured between us. “The only people I can talk about this with are my parents and my best friend, Mike.” I dragged my hand through my hair and, letting it drop to the table in front of me, looked out the window. “About Sarah orchestrating this whole charade.”