Perfectly Scripted (21 page)

Six came way too early the next morning. I shut my alarm off and dragged my tired ass to the shower. The hot water spiked my skin like painful needless, but the tension in my neck and my shoulders started to uncoil. I’d convinced Holliday that three weeks would fly by, but I was missing her already.

God, I sound like a sappy, lovesick fool.

My head ducked under the shower, the sound of rushing water pounding in my ears. Despite my best efforts to persuade her to join me at the New York premiere event, she stood firm in her decision. Her argument was that nothing should overshadow the movie. She didn’t want to take a chance for unnecessary drama or negativity.

Like I didn’t want to be a trigger source for her flashbacks and nightmares, we were both looking out for each other. Protecting one another.

I’d nearly forgotten what it was like for someone to have my back without expecting some kind of gain or reward. It was honest, a rare and beautiful thing.

After my shower, in an attempt to not disturb a still-sleeping Holliday, I dressed quickly and quietly packed my carry-on.

With my luggage in tow, I made my way downstairs to brew some coffee and check my e-mail. Updates to my first week’s press schedule were waiting for me. Darcy sent me a text message with a reminder that Gina, our tour stylist, was bringing my wardrobe for the tour. Thankfully, Darcy would be coming along on this presser. With my career growing, I needed to start thinking about hiring a personal assistant. For the last few years, Darcy, Ben, and I have been able to handle most of my affairs. With the Van Wyk picture on the line and other projects coming my way, Darcy believed I was going to want the help.

I continued checking my email, while prepping the coffee. A message from Dean appeared on my screen saying he’d be here in less than thirty minutes, and he had some information regarding Saunders. After he took the meeting this afternoon, he’d be meeting up with me in Europe.

“Hey, handsome,” Holliday greeted me in her raspy “morning voice,” Her eyes were bright and shiny, as they always were in the morning. She was a morning person who loved being up first thing on most days to work out.

I was kind of a morning person; some days were better than others.

“Good morning,” I replied, erasing my message from Dean before pressing start on the coffee maker.

She padded towards me wearing a dark-blue satin robe, effortlessly seducing me with her stare. Her hair was pinned up in a messy bun on top of her head.

“Were you going to leave without saying goodbye?”

“Not a chance,” I said, catching her by the waist when she stood in front of me.

Do you
have
to go?” she pretended to whine, moving her hands to the back of my neck.

“You know that I do, but does it help to tell you that I don’t want to?” I asked, slipping my hands under the fabric of her robe, needing to touch her skin.

Then her robe fell open to reveal a very naked Holliday.

“Ronan,” she moaned softly.

She smelled like peppermint candy, the scent of her favorite lotion. I took her nipple into my mouth, and her body bowed towards me. She gasped, and her body jolted at the pleasurable contact. Her hands twisted my curls urging me on, driving me wild. Instinctively, my fingers drifted to her lovely cunt.

Shit!
She was remarkably wet. Any blood left in my brain took a direct route to my cock.

“What will I do without you for three weeks? I mean, this is the longest we will have ever been apart. And I think, it will be odd not having you here in this house. I’ve never done this before. Honestly, how will I survive without you?”

“I know you are saying something of importance, but it’s really hard for me to concentrate when you’re standing here wet and naked for me.”

She laughed and shoved at my shoulder. “You’re incorrigible.”

She closed her robe, and I took her face in my hands. My gaze slid over hers, and she smiled. She exhaled, and the stream of tears cascaded down her cheeks.

“Holliday, please don’t cry,” I murmured, wiping the tears from her reddened cheeks.

In an effort to help silence her sobs, I pulled her close, kissing her long and slow. Showing her how much I loved her and hoping to comfort the fact that we would be separated for a little while.

I hated seeing her sad, but eventually, she would be all right. Hell, the next time I had to leave for a lengthy time, she’d probably be itching for me to get the fuck out.

The timer on the coffee maker buzzed. My fingers tugged at her chin, forcing her to look at me.

“Will you have a cup of coffee with me before I go?”

She managed a smile. “I’d love nothing more.”

Holliday

Saturday evening ushered in a torrential downpour of rain and bone-chilling wind. Blake dropped me off promptly at six forty-five. The lobby was empty—only the sounds of my Jimmy Choos clicking across the marble floors were heard. Behind the concierge’s desk, an older man greeted me with a smile.

“Good evening and welcome to The Cromwell.”

“Good evening. I’m here to see Maggie Mills,” I replied, handing him my invitation.

He scanned the computer for my name. Then he confirmed that I was on the list and rang Maggie’s number.

Sliding the receiver back in the cradle, he said, “Right this way, Miss Prescott.”

We rounded the corner to the bank of elevators, where he placed the keycard in the slot for the penthouse.

“Have a nice evening.” He stepped back, and the doors closed.

I checked my reflection in the mirror on the elevator. The invite said cocktail attire, and Charlotte had urged me to wear one her design creations, a sleeveless, red dress with a deep-v neckline and a leather-belted waist. I put my hair up into a sleek ponytail and slicked my lips with a glossy, nude color. My jewels consisted of a pair of diamond earrings and the ring Ronan had given me.

The doors opened to Maggie’s private foyer, where I was greeted by a server and offered a glass of champagne. The Cromwell used to be one of the city’s most prestigious hotels. In the late seventies it was renovated into an impressive residential building. Maggie’s home occupied the thirtieth and thirty-first floors, plus the hotel’s former grand ballroom, and it had the most incredible view of Central Park.

As I made my way through the small crowd gathered in the parlor, I recognized a few familiar faces from the Manhattan elite social circles. The ivory-lacquered doors that opened to the living room were closed, which was odd. Usually, the entire main floor was open for cocktail parties.

“Holliday Prescott!” A sweet Southern-accented voice swept over me, followed by a tight hug. “Oh my God, girl. You look fabulous.”

“Tinley, hi!” I hugged her back, gracefully managing to not spill my drink all over the sexy, black, single-shoulder dress she was wearing. Her blonde hair was swept up into a classic chignon, and her shimmery, bronze eyeshadow was a stunning touch for her soft features.

Tinley Atkinson was Maggie’s one and only niece, but she also happened to be one of the few people I called a close friend. Maggie had introduced us a few months after I’d moved to the city.

“What’s with the Southern drawl?” I asked with a laugh.

She waved her hand and replied, “Oh, darlin’, that should pass in a few weeks. I spent the last few months in Dallas working at my Uncle Carter’s oil company. It was an absolute thrill. You cannot believe the advancements in technology for safer drilling practices.”

“I’ll bet.” I pretended to yawn. “Last time we spoke, you were in Vail. Still dating that ski instructor, or was it the hotel magnate?”

“Ski instructor and that went downhill fast,” she replied, looping her arm with mine. “Speaking of drilling practices, the men in Texas—wow.” She fanned herself. “Things really are bigger there.”

I nearly choked on my champagne. “You don’t say,” I said with a laugh. “So, does that mean you roped yourself a real Texas cowboy?”

“Sadly, no. My taste for barbeque and bourbon retreated quicker than an eight-second bull ride.” She elbowed me. “But it sure was fun getting bucked around.”

“Shameless slut,” I murmured, before taking a taste of my drink.

She turned on her heel to face me. “Look who’s talking. Miss I’m Dating A-List Movie Star Ronan Connolly.” Her blue eyes went wild, and she gripped my arm. “You have
got
to give me the details. Tell me about the handsome Irishman you’re shacking up with over there at The Addison.”

That was the thing I loved most about Tinley. No matter how long it had been since we had seen one another or spoken, it was as if no time had passed at all.

“He’s wonderful,” I confessed. I told her all about how Ronan and I’d met and our fabulous vacation in Cabo. What more could I tell her except that I was head over heels for him?

“Are you in love with him?”

My breath caught in my throat for a moment. Then I exhaled in a rush and said, “Yes.”

“As if I even needed to ask. My friend, you are most definitely in L-O-V-E love.”

I laughed at her theatrical spelling of the word.

“So, what’s the reason for tonight’s event?” I asked, motioning to the lovely floral decorations that surrounded the bar and sat atop the cocktail tables.

“You’ll see. Be patient.”

A server whizzed by us, and Tinley picked up two more champagne flutes.

Clinking her glass to mine, she professed, “Here’s to a night to remember.”

I nodded, and then checked the time. It was nearly seven thirty, and there was still no sign of Maggie anywhere. Her absence reminded me that I hadn’t heard from Ronan since early that morning. He’d texted me on his way to the Moscow photo call.

My ears perked at the sounds of “Water Music” by Handel piping through the sound system, and the doors to the living room finally opened. Tinley grabbed my hand, ushering me into the grand space. My eyes lit up at the ivory chairs arranged in neat rows, adorned with silver satin ribbon. Arrangements of white dendrobium orchids in tall glasses vases were scattered throughout candlelit room. Everything looked simple and elegant.

Chatter erupted loudly as we strolled down the center aisle.

“Oh my God, is Maggie getting married?” I asked, squeezing Tinley’s hand.

“Yes,” she said, squeezing my hand back.

The idea of a secret surprise wedding was incredibly romantic. I’d had no idea Maggie was seeing anyone. Let alone in a serious relationship where she was thinking about marriage. No wonder she had been so coy about her love life the other day.

We took our seats up front, and I gazed at the program. I didn’t recognize the groom’s name—Harrison Ranford—but I wondered if he was related to the Ranford family who owned the technologies company.

Tinley tapped my arm and pointed towards the front of the room. The minister, along with a tall man with hair as white as snow, wearing a sleek, grey, custom tailored suit, walked out from the hallway.

Harrison Ranford, I presume
.

He was probably in his early sixties, near the same age as Maggie. He was also quite handsome with his bright-blue eyes, his square jaw, and his mischievous lopsided grin.

As we stood to face the closed wooden doors at the sound of “Trumpet Voluntary,” a hush fell over the crowd. The rustling of papers and a few coughs lingered. I couldn’t wait to see Maggie.