Let's Misbehave (5 page)

She grinned. “Not yet, but we all think it’s imminent.”

“And you, Imogen?”

“Me?” She blinked blankly. “What about me?”

“I worry about you. You don’t have any friends.”

“That’s not true at all. I have my sisters and Luca.”

Her mother watched her with an uncomfortable focus. “And outside of our family?”

She’d never had the inclination to make friends with other actors. There was always an edge of competition with the women and an awkward attraction from the men. And outside of Hollywood … Well, she never had time. She preferred to work.

Now, to reassure her mother, she smiled confidently. “There’s no reason to worry. I know lots of people, Mum.”

“Yes, but knowing people is different than connecting with them.” Jacqueline smiled sadly. “I’m just trying to prevent you from waking up one day and realizing that no one around you genuinely loves you.”

Gigi raised her brow. “That sounds like personal experience.”

“Which is precisely why I don’t wish it on you.” Her mother squeezed her hand. “Enjoy your evening, Imogen.”

She watched Jacqueline glide across the floor, the epitome of solitary grace. Gigi didn’t know whether she should feel bad for her mother or worry about herself.

The sound of footfall made her look up. Luca strolled toward her, dressed in dark pants, a deep burgundy velvet jacket, and a black shirt open at the collar. He had a white handkerchief in his pocket, his hair was stylishly mussed, and his usual bright smile lit his face.

“
Cara
,” he exclaimed, his arms open. He embraced her and kissed her cheeks with all his Italian enthusiasm.

“You look smashing.” She appreciated that he’d dressed conservatively—at least, for him.

“I always do.” He winked at her.

She hadn’t been sure how it’d look to have a notorious European playboy on her arm, but Rosalind had pointed out that it was better to look wanted than desperate. Plus, Luca was trustworthy.

He looked at her from head to toe and whistled. “You, also,
cara
, are dressed to kill tonight. Who’s our victim?”

“Come. I’ll show you.” She slipped her arm in his. “I appreciate you doing this for me. Although I know it’s not me you’re doing this for.”

His face suddenly became blank. “I don’t understand what you mean.”

“I’m sure you don’t,” she said dryly. There wasn’t a doubt in her mind that he’d come to love all her sisters since he’d met them, but it was Bea who held his heart in the palm of her hand. It was unfortunate for Luca that Bea was likely to eat it and wipe her hand clean on her designer dress.

The galleries were crowded with glittery people. Smoothing her dress, she stood tall and declared, “I’m ready.”

Luca lifted her knuckles to his lips. “You are stunning, almost as stunning as me. We will find this man and bring him to his knees, yes?”

“Yes.” She grinned at him and surveyed the room. There were people she recognized. A lot of actors and industry people, of course, and other notable public figures.

She didn’t see Sherman, so she slipped her arm through Luca’s. “Let’s mingle, shall we?”

“I’m yours to command.”

Knowing people were watching them, she smiled sweetly at him and played the part. But because no one could hear them, she jokingly said, “Now you’re just talking dirty to me.”

He returned her smile, just as sweetly, and replied, “
Cara
, you’re lucky I’m as good an actor as you. Come. Let’s find this foolish man and make him beg for you.”

Laughing, she turned to lead him into the fray and caught a dark-haired man staring at her. Everything faded out, as though a camera zoomed in on them. It played out like a movie in her head.

INT. TATE MODERN – NIGHT

Imogen sees A MYSTERIOUS MAN. He wears his power as easily as his tuxedo. He watches her, and she wonders if she knows him.

He walks toward her. She feels compelled to meet him halfway. He takes her hand.

MAN

Can I get you a drink?

IMOGEN

Is that what you really wanted to ask me? Or were you wondering, your room or mine?

But this wasn’t a movie. This was real life, and she was behaving. So she concentrated on her future instead of her libido and turned her back on tall, dark, and tempting to search for Russell Sherman.

“Do you see this director you look for?” Luca asked, craning his neck.

“Let’s try the bar.” She nodded to the left. “Would you care for a drink?”

He gestured expansively. “Lead the way.”

She made her way across the room, aware of the heads turning to stare. Sheer force of will kept her from blushing as she imagined what they were probably saying. Most of these people had seen her in an intimate moment, and she hated that.

She didn’t care. She lifted her head and focused on finding her director.

Russell Sherman was exactly where she’d have expected him to be: next to the bar. He leaned one elbow on the counter and had a brunette with barracuda teeth clinging to his other side.

The barracuda in question was Delilah Jones.

Gigi slowed down, hope bleeding out of her as though Delilah had taken a bite from her and left her for dead—which was entirely possible. The other actress was ruthless. Nothing came between her and the role she wanted. Gigi knew that from experience.

Of course, back when they’d had their first skirmish, Gigi had won the role, and Delilah hadn’t had the clout to discredit her, as hard as she’d tried. Delilah had never forgiven her, but Gigi had managed to steer clear of the woman since.

Until now, apparently, because the way Delilah was pressing her breasts into Sherman’s arm, whispering in his ear, Gigi knew that their paths were about to collide again. The look the woman gave her as she approached told her that Delilah hadn’t learned to be a gracious loser, either.

Luca pursed his lips. “In movies, she appears very sweet.”

“Movies aren’t real, darling,” Gigi said, focusing on Sherman. She pasted a smile on her lips and glided up to him and Delilah, forcing them apart. “Russell Sherman. What an honor to meet you. I’m—”

“Imogen Summerhill, of course.” He smiled and shook her hand. To his credit, he didn’t leer at her, and that bolstered her spirits.

She turned to acknowledge her apparent rival with a friendly smile. “Delilah, it’s been an age.”

The woman’s smile was cool and edged with steel. “Yes, well, I heard you’ve been hiding, to lick your wounds.”

Luca stepped forward.

But Gigi soothed him before letting go of his arm and taking Sherman’s. “Russell, do you have a moment? Delilah won’t mind if I borrow you.”

Not giving anyone a chance to deny her, she led him away. When they were far enough away, she said, “I don’t want to take too much of your time—”

“I can’t hire you, Imogen.” He put his hand on hers, apologetic. “Assuming that’s what you wanted to discuss.”

“Yes.” She shook her head. “But I don’t understand.”

He sighed. “I’d love to work with you. You’re a bright, intelligent actress despite how the media is painting you.” He made a face and then said, grudgingly, “Between you and me, you’re just the sort of actor I’d love to work with, but my backers have my balls in a vice. The lead we hired for our last movie had a meltdown during filming. The moneymen believed I should have realized she was unstable based on the stories about her, but I wanted her and ignored the rumors. She almost ruined that film. I shudder thinking of the fortune she cost us in added expenses.”

“But you won best picture, at Cannes and also the Golden Globes,” Gigi pointed out. “Most importantly, I’m not her.”

“You look like her on paper. The wild sex. The videos. The pictures. The scandal. My moneymen will never agree to hire you.”

She frowned. “Surely you can’t know that for certain until you propose me for the part?”

“I am certain.” He winced. “I’m sorry, Imogen, but I know my backers. They want someone solid, like Delilah.”

They both looked over at the woman, who watched them with barely veiled animosity.

“Between you and me, all my money is tied up in this movie,” Sherman continued softly. “If I don’t make it happen I’m sunk. I can’t piss off my backers, because I’ll not only lose this project, but I’ll lose my home. I can’t afford to take a chance on you, Imogen. You’re not a good risk.”

“That’s a rather harsh reality,” she murmured, looking away. It hurt to hear him say it.

But she didn’t get to where she was by being ruled by her hurt feelings, so she took a deep breath and tried again. “I plan on proving that I’m a good girl.”

Sherman looked skeptical. “How do you plan on doing that?”

“No bad press, no shenanigans. The only time I’m in the papers, they’ll sing my praises. When I do that, let me audition for the part.”

“Most actors of your stature would never audition.”

She nodded. “But I want this part, and I’m willing to do whatever I need to make that happen. What do you say? I keep out of trouble and you give me a chance.”

Sherman pursed his lips. “I don’t know.”

She had him. She went in for the kill. “I have the credentials. I have acclaim. You know I’ll be dependable and draw people to the box office. I’ll stay clean and you’ll give me a chance to show them I’m a better choice than any other actress. Three weeks. Give me three weeks to prove I can keep it together.”

“Three weeks.” He nodded, holding his hand out. “It’s a deal.”

Three weeks of keeping out of a scandal. She could do that. She took his hand and, because Delilah was watching, she pulled him down to kiss the air on either side of his cheeks. “See you in three weeks.”

Delilah swooped in then, Luca on her heels. “Russ, sweetie, there’s someone I’d like you to meet,” she cooed, drawing him away as she shot Gigi a glare.

Joining her, Luca watched the other woman lead Sherman away. Leaning, he softly said, “I see from your face you’ve slain your victim. Champagne is in order, no?”

“Champagne is always in order.” She laughed, the flush of victory even if it were premature.

“You stand and look like a goddess.” Luca kissed her cheek. “I will return.”

“Thank you.” She smiled, turning to let a photographer capture her happy smile. For the next three weeks, butter wasn’t going to melt in her mouth.

She just had to make sure the universe cooperated with her good intentions.

Chapter Five

Lawrence Howell walked across the gallery and out the entrance, toward the escalators.

Merrick glanced at Valerie, who was chatting with the bartender fulfilling her order. He’d be back before she noticed he’d ever been gone. Turning, he followed Howell to intercept him.

Until he saw the woman in white.

He stopped, the sight of her knocking the breath out of him.

She stood alone, and all the illumination from the overhead lights seemed to gather on her. She looked familiar, but he had no idea where he might have seen her. He’d have remembered her. Definitely.

Purity and sin in one package, her dress flaunted miles of flawless skin, the sort women paid a fortune to achieve. Her blonde hair trailed in luxurious waves over her shoulders and down her back. She was tall yet she still wore towering heels. Discreet diamonds glittered on her ears and wrist.

But it was her eyes that caught his imagination. They held a gleam that warned him she was trouble.

He liked trouble, much more than was wise for a reformed musician.

Merrick’s tiger growled.
I want
.

He shook his head. It didn’t matter what he wanted—he couldn’t have her.

However, Howell was his. Merrick turned and looked at the hall, by the escalator, and on the first floor landing, but the man was gone.

Damn it.

“Here you go.” Valerie handed him a glass.

He sniffed the contents. Whiskey. “Where’s my club soda?”

“What club soda?” she asked with exaggerated innocence, sipping her own drink.

Shaking his head, he swirled the ice in the glass. “Valerie, I asked you to come along to help me.”

“You asked me to come along to keep up the appearances that you’re in a stable relationship.” She slipped her arm through his and batted her lashes at him. Then she rolled her eyes. “Really, Ricky, can’t we enjoy ourselves a little? This is a party.”

“Please stop calling me Ricky, and this isn’t a party. It’s work. We’re here to meet Lawrence Howell.”

She glanced at him. “Work doesn’t have to be dull.”

“It’s not dull.”

She sighed wistfully. “Remember that time I convinced you to break into Elton John’s bedroom? You climbed up the trellis and onto his balcony before his security stopped us. And then Elton yelled at us, but I could only laugh because he wore those horrid pyjamas with lions on them.”

Merrick smiled faintly. “We hummed ‘Circle of Life’ and it annoyed the hell out of him.”

Valerie laughed. “Those were the good old days.”

“No they weren’t. We lost days at a time because we were so pissed.”

“And it was lovely,” Val said wistfully.

It was no use arguing with her. Instead, he slid an arm around her and kissed her cheek. “If you help me track down Lawrence Howell, I’ll take you out for a proper drink.”

“What good would it be if you don’t join me?” But she sighed and surveyed the room. “Let me guess what he looks like? Another dull bloke in a dark suit and dark tie?”

“So you’ve met him before,” Merrick joked.

A laugh caught his attention. He glanced over at the source—the woman in white. He’d known it was her instinctively, the same way he instinctively knew it wasn’t genuine.

Valerie elbowed his side. “Are you staring at Imogen Summerhill?”

“You know her?”

“Everyone knows her, Ricky.”

He frowned. “What does that mean?”

“That’s
Imogen Summerhill
.” At his blank look, Valerie gaped at him. “Surely you aren’t so dull you’ve stopped looking at the entertainment section of the paper?”

Imogen Summerhill—of course. He glanced at her again. No wonder she looked familiar. She was spread—quite literally—across the media with the nude pictures and infamous sex video. Even in person she looked like walking debauchery.