Home Matters (A Ripple Effect Romance Novella, Book 1) (13 page)

“Oh, I showed them a few. But I may have exaggerated their enthusiasm over seeing them.” He gave her a tricky smile as he proceeded to ease the stack of listings from her grip. His gaze glided over each page as he dropped them, one by one, to the desk. “In fact, the homes I’ve shown them since are move-in ready and have all the upgrades they requested from you and Eleanor but unfortunately aren’t getting.” He released the last listing and watched as it floated to the desk. “I showed them the house of their dreams on Friday. And it’s on budget. Looks like I win this round,” he said, so sure of himself. “You’ll need to get used to losing, my dear.”

Olivia’s eyes launched into a second round of rapid blinking. Those times he’d unexpectedly shown up at the house, he hadn’t been looking for her. He’d been spying on the design? All that remained of her dreams of Wi-livia as Hollywood’s next power couple, along with those pretty babies and a Malibu mansion, dissipated completely, a fog burned away by the rising sun.

“Just to clarify,” she asked, though she already knew the answer. “You purposely undermined Eleanor and me by ‘mistakenly’ letting it slip the Calhouns’ had changed their minds, that they wanted modern and loft-style instead of single family?”

William glided his fingertips over Olivia’s bottom lip. “How ’bout we turn that frown upside down?” he soothed. “It’s not as if you and Eleanor didn’t engage in your fair share of spying,” he said, evenly, no-cause-for-concern. “Can I help it if I’m better at the game?” He pressed a hand to his exposed chest. “And don’t worry, Sweetheart. I promise to throw you guys a bone every now and again. It’s good for me to lose, occasionally. Makes my fans root for me all the harder the next time.”

Chagrin gave way to betrayal, anger raising up to mask her pain. “You’re nothing but a manipulative, lying, narcissistic…” she said, and was about to add a colorful expletive when the abrupt swish of water through pipes derailed the track of her disdain. “Is someone else here?”

The answer came in the form a woman’s singsong voice. “William, was that room service?” she called from the next room. “I’m positively famished. I hope they gave me a fresh grapefruit today,” she added as she rounded the corner, rubbing her cascading mane of platinum locks between the ends of a fluffy white towel. Upon spying Olivia, she dropped the towel and proceeded to close her robe over a pair of thin hips. The scant fabric was barely adequate to cover her ample cleavage. “Shame on you, William, you should have told me we were expecting company.”

Olivia turned back to William, a question hanging from her open mouth.

William’s shoulders fell. “Oh, Olivia,” he said, with only a trace of regret.

The room lapsed into a complete silence, three sets of eyes shifting from one awkward gape to another.

After a good five seconds, William spoke. “I’m sorry, where are my manners?” he said, a formality to his words. “Olivia, meet Nicole Henshaw. Nicole, Olivia Pembroke,” he introduced them, though doing so was unnecessary. Even dripping wet and without a stitch of makeup, there was no mistaking a sex symbol like Nicole Henshaw.

A bright smile stretched across Nicole’s luminous face. “It’s so nice to finally meet you,” she said, putting an end to the carpet between them. “I have to admit, I’ve been quite curious about the woman keeping company with my William.” She took Olivia’s hand in a weak grip. “So kind of you to watch out for him while I’m on…” She looked to the ceiling in search of the right word. “A sabbatical, of sorts.”

Sabbatical? As in temporary absence? Olivia jerked her hand away. “I’m sorry, I don’t…” Her quest for further explanation faded as the sight of Pete and her, locked in a heated embrace, popped into her mind again.

Back at the desk, she lifted the laptop for a closer view. The picture had been opened in a photo-finishing program. As she stared at the image, an unsettling feeling descended around her, and tightened, a python slowly squeezing the life from its prey. “Wait a minute,” she choked on the words. “I know what’s going on here.” She pointed her free hand at Nicole. “You never intended to permanently leave the show. You’re coming back, and somehow the two of you are using this picture to make that happen.”

William shook his head. “Olivia, my sweet, naïve Southern belle.” He sighed. “I had a feeling you might react this way. You didn’t really believe you could fill Nicole’s shoes forever, did you?” He
tsked
. “We really weren’t sure how to finesse the transition, but then I saw you and Pete, and the plan just came together. Ms. Hightower assured me you’d be a sport and go along with our little plan. Well, that is
if
you expect to ever work in Hollywood again,” he said. “And why not? Everyone in the industry knows the first rule of being famous is that scandal is your friend.”

Taking the laptop from her hands, he folded it closed and tucked it under his arm. “When the time is right, these pictures will devastate America’s Heartthrob—aka, yours truly—by exposing your philandering ways. Then Nicole will sweep in and heal my broken heart. As expected, you’ll need to keep dating me until then. Viewers will love it. Some will hate you, of course. But then what is it they say about there being a thin line between love and loathing?” As if he’d just bestowed her with a most coveted gift, a spark of delight lit his gaze. “You’ll be infamous.”

For the second time in one morning, Olivia couldn’t believe what was happening to her. Her and William’s dates out on the town, the public, unrestrained kissing, all of it was just a ruse to feed the rumor mill? How could she have been so blind?

The faces of her parents, brothers, and friends, brimming in disapproval, flashed before Olivia’s eyes. Thanks to the tabloids, everyone already thought she was shacking up with this man. Was the world to believe she was a two-timing tramp as well?

“But what if I don’t want to be infamous?” she asserted. She’d been brought up to be a proper lady, and if there was one thing you didn’t want to mess with, it was a Southerner’s hard-earned reputation. And besides, even if she had felt a glimmer of affection for Pete once or twice, he’d only ever seen her as the apparition of his true love, lost forever.

So, what now? Was she expected to sit back and accept a loss on all fronts?

Well, this was one “naïve Southern belle” that wasn’t going down without a fight. Stabbing an outstretched finger into William’s chest, she objected, “There’s nothing going on between Pete and me.” She poked him again.

William gave her a look that said they both knew that wasn’t true. “Isn’t there?”

Flames of injustice bolted from Olivia’s eyes. “I’ll sue,” she threatened.

“Brilliant idea.” William beamed. “A lawsuit will lend an additional spin to the scandal.” He draped an arm over Nicole’s bony shoulder and pulled her close.

Olivia’s fiery gaze oscillated between their smug expressions. Maybe they assumed that just because folks from Tennessee talked slowly, they were dim-witted as well. But what they didn’t know was that she’d been raised on a hearty helping of Southern pride, along with a side order of revenge—a dish best served unexpected.

Turning away before her temper got the best of her, she racked her brain for a way out of this mess. What would they say if they knew Pete had already quit and that she was about to be fired? No, William already assumed he’d won, and thus had mistakenly played all his cards, which meant if she held hers close to the vest, as they say, she could beat him at his own twisted game. Stealing a play from William’s book of deceitful acts, she stealthily slipped her phone from the front pocket of her raincoat.

Opening the camera app, she adjusted the lens for a shelf picture, switched to video, and then held her phone just high enough to glimpse the two of them over her shoulder. Gazing wantonly into each other’s eyes, they were paying no mind to her.

“But why?” Olivia asked, sprinkling on a dash of desperation for effect. “Why would Nicole leave the show only to return a little while later?”

“It’s simple. Money,” Nicole stated like the reason was perfectly clear. “The passion between William and me was heating up so fast. We could hardly keep our hands off each other.” She slipped a hand beneath his robe and kissed his chest. Olivia stifled a gag. “Soon, rumors would begin to fly. With a blatant allegation of infidelity hanging over me, I’d have no chance of retaining my fair share of my husband’s wealth after the divorce,” she said, then rose to her tiptoes and nipped at William’s bottom lip.

Olivia bristled but kept her camera rolling.

Nicole went on. “So you see, I had to leave under the pretense of ‘working on my marriage,’ which over the holiday break, unraveled faster than I could have hoped for.” Her face stretched into a wicked smile. “A few months, and the divorce will be final. The rest?” She shrugged. “Well, you already know.”

Satisfied she had all the dirt she needed, Olivia slipped her phone back into her pocket and turned to face them again. “But you’ve made millions starring on
Home Matters
alone. What’s the use in holding out for more?” she asked, but only to add continuity to her ruse. At this point she couldn’t care less about Nicole’s motives.

Nicole smirked. “Second rule of fame…” She looked to William.

“Enough is
never
enough,” he finished.

“Enough
is
enough!” Olivia grumbled as she dropped her head to the table. A photo of a whimsical Tiffany floor lamp blurred before her eyes. The tacky paper it had been printed on stuck to her forehead. Fanned out over the remainder of the coffeehouse table, her designs, swatches, and more furnishing photos littered the wooden surface. Faced with the impossible task of bringing her designs to fruition, she already had enough to think about without that annoying voice of reason inside her head reminding her, over and over, that even a seasoned designer wouldn’t attempt such a daunting feat alone.

All of a sudden she was tired. Tired of pretending she was a designer, of pretending to revel in her growing fame, sick of pretending to be a constipated dog, or any other such ridiculous role she’d accepted in the past or might in the future. And she certainly didn’t want to pretend to be William Blaine’s lover one day more, much less for the next few months. She’d lived her entire life in pursuit of the spotlight and now she’d finally arrived. Except her overnight rise to fame had had nothing to do with her acting ability and everything to do with the company she’d kept. Would the film industry or her fans ever take her seriously as an actor now? But then, what did any of that matter? After a taste of what it was like to live under the looking glass of public opinion, no amount of money, or unrequited admiration, felt worth the cost.

Peeling her face from the table, she removed the snapshot from her forehead and blew out a long, self-pitying breath. Around her, the coffeehouse bustled with late breakfast customers. Not one table sat unoccupied. Wait-staff moved from table to table, whizzing past her at top foot-speed. Dressed in all black with a green apron tied at the waist, a college-aged waitress hustled Olivia’s way. In one hand she gripped two steaming mugs, in the other she held some sort of gooey breakfast decadence. Which reminded her. Another thing she was both sick and tired of: pretending like she wasn’t hungry all the time.

“Excuse me.” The waitress slowed to a hesitant stop. Pointing at the muffin, Olivia said, “I’ll have one of those, please.” The very notion, mixed with the pleasing aroma of coffee, set off a wave of hunger pangs like none she’d ever before experienced. Her stomach felt like it was trying to eat itself. “Actually, I’ll have
that
one, if it’s not too much trouble.” And since she was in no mood to feign niceties, she added one of those you-
do
-know-who-I-am looks William used whenever he thought there was the slightest chance he might not get what he wanted.

The waitress’s harried expression wavered. “Um, I would, but this is for my customer,” she said, her eyes darting from Olivia to somewhere down the row of tables. Olivia hardened her gaze, pouring all her pent-up frustration into one monster of an intimidating stare. The waitress hesitated another instant before setting the muffin down. “Fine, I’ll just go back, get another one,” she said and rushed off.

Olivia’s mouth opened to capacity. A ferocious growl rolled up from below her ribs as she lifted the muffin and brought it to her lips.

“Is this seat taken?” an apologetic voice interrupted her mid-bite.

Her gaze barely skimming the crest of nuts, chocolate and caramel, she glanced toward the intruder. Dressed in a suit perfectly tailored to his athletic body, the man behind the voice was handsome with brown wavy hair and confident, yet sad eyes.

Their gazes met and held an instant before his face registered a combination of recognition and uncertainty. “Actually, no problem.” He took a step back. “I think I see another open spot.” He pointed over Olivia’s shoulder.

She wanted to be alone with her breakfast and was relieved he’d agreed to move on without her having to ask. But then there was something in his downtrodden gaze that pulled at her heart, whispered for mercy. Besides, misery required company, did it not?