Playing the Part (12 page)

Chapter Fifteen

Piper knew the minute she saw Chris at the baggage claim in La Guardia airport that something was seriously wrong.

His face was ashen, tight, and he looked like he wanted to kill someone.

She sped up, weaving through the crowd of arrivals, the fatigue of the long flight from LA dissipating with the surge of adrenaline in her system. Was something wrong with her parents? Or with Chris or Paul? She pushed past a couple kissing hello and jogged the last few steps to get to Chris. Up close, she saw his eyes, and in that spilt second, every residual feeling of peace and contentment from being with Mick dissipated like vapor. He was freaked out over whatever it was.

“What happened?” Her voice was ragged in her own ears.

“Stay with me. Put these on, keep your head down, and ignore them,” Chris whispered urgently in her ear as he shoved a pair of sunglasses in her hands, leaned in, and covered her shoulders with his arm. He settled his bulk around her, like a living shield.

“Ignore who?”

And then she saw them. Hoards of photographers, reporters, and news crews all waiting in a line that barricaded the exit from her view. Piper was frozen in place, the icy dread running along her skin keeping her from moving forward. She didn’t want to go. She wanted to turn around, get back on the plane, and go back to Mick and his Hawaiian paradise.

“C’mon, sweetheart. I’ve got you,” Chris urged as he started moving them forward.

Their first step was the signal for the mob to mobilize, and they surged forward as one, yelling questions at her. Camera flashes blinded her even behind the dark lenses. She couldn’t make out what they were shouting, the buzz of adrenaline in her ears was so deafening. She simply followed Chris, the walk long and slow as they battled the crowd who stood back the distance required by law but still blocked any quick forward movement.

Finally, they stepped through the airport terminal exit. A limo sat parked at the curb, and a man in a dark suit swung open the limo door. A haven. The only place where she could hide from whatever was crashing down around her.

Chris pushed her forward into the vehicle, jumping in after her and slamming the door shut. She could still see the flashes going off through the tinted windows, but the yelling had finally muffled to a low roar. The driver climbed in and roared the engine to life, then pulled away from the curb as the partition between the compartments went up, giving them privacy.

“Chris.” She bit back the quiver in her lower lip, trying to remain calm, but his expression was scaring her. “Tell me what’s going on.”

He opened and closed his mouth several times, trying to form words that wouldn’t come. Finally, shaking his head, he pushed a bunch of newspapers into her hands, his eyes full of pain and apology. “You need to see these.”

Piper adjusted her glasses, reaching for the first paper. It was one of those tabloid entertainment rags at the checkout counters at the grocery store—the kind that frequently ran stories about alien babies. But today’s headline wasn’t about babies, alien or otherwise.

The headline read:
Piper James and Mick Blackwell’s Hawaiian Tryst
.

The skin on her neck prickled with heat from the mixture of nerves and anxiety coursing through her system.

She looked at the pictures and wanted to be sick.

A full spread on the front cover and even more photos two pages inside the magazine showed the two of them at Mick’s home in Hawaii. The tamer ones featured them lounging, swimming, and hanging out in the nude, their private parts pixilated for decency. But there were full-color, graphic photographs of them making love on the beach. Every position, every sex act, every intimate, private detail of their time together in a two-page spread. They were clear and sharp and obviously taken by a professional.

With shaky hands, she grabbed the next paper on the pile. The same photos—the ones of them making love were front and center—were heralded by a headline which read:
Mick Blackwell and his latest fling. Does Piper James think she’s the only one? Does Mick know what he’s in for?
To emphasize the question, photos of Mick with other women graced the page, some dated within the past few weeks. The article quoted a source from Mick’s camp as saying, “Mick and Piper hooked up almost right away. No one on set was surprised, because that’s how Mick Blackwell rolls.”

Several other articles reached into the past and had resurrected photos of Piper with Antonio Rojas and also ones with his wife. The banner across the tops of those articles were almost identical:
Piper James and her Obsession with Playboys
,
Will She Ever Learn?
and
Headed for a Heartache (again).

Her skin crawled, her stomach heaved, and she fought to keep her dinner down. She pawed through the remaining papers, growing sicker with each flash of the intimate photos of the two of them. Finally she got to the bottom of the pile and sat there, trying to organize her thoughts into something reasonably coherent. She was cold, numb, but underneath it all, a layer of rage was building, and she had no idea when it would thaw her out and explode.

Piper looked up at Chris, clearing her throat. “Who… How…did they get the pictures?”

“We don’t know yet. I’ve got your attorney looking into it and preparing legal papers for an injunction, a suit for invasion of privacy, intentional infliction—”

She cut him off. “His place was private. No one could get there without him knowing. Besides, no one besides a few select people even knew we were there together.”

He reached out and grasped her hand in his own. “I’ve got a call into Mick’s people, and we’ll figure out who leaked it to the press.” He paused, pain and worry clouding his features even more. “Your publisher wants to know what happened.”

She winced. The executives at her publishing house didn’t believe in the old saying that any publicity was good publicity.

“What have they said? Is it bad?”

“Not much. And yes, it’s bad.” His phone vibrated, and he glanced at the screen, then sent the call to voice mail. “They hope this won’t be a repeat of the last time.”

Of course they did. The last time she’d cost them money, had missed a book deadline. Gained unwanted notoriety with her antics. Not good at all for the company’s bottom line. Fuck.

Chris broke into her thoughts, the regret at asking her the question written all over his face. “Piper, I’ve got to ask. You don’t think Mick had anything to do with this, do you?”

Oh, please God, no.

“No. He wouldn’t do that.” But even she heard the hesitation in her voice.

“He’s a publicity whore. He lives and breathes being the front-page story, and he was thrilled to take you along for the ride because it gave him a boost. Are you
sure
he didn’t do this?”

“Of course I’m sure. What could he gain from this type of publicity?” She motioned to the papers on her lap. “This is sordid.”

“And very newsworthy. Don’t fool yourself on that point.”

Piper fumbled in her purse for her phone, noticing Mick had called at least a dozen times. The phone buzzed in her hand, startling her, and she dropped it onto the floor. Chris leaned down to retrieve the phone and hand it to her.

Mick. She thumbed the screen to accept the call.

His voice was loud in her ear. She could hear voices in the background, most of them belligerent and angry.

“Piper, baby, are you okay?” he asked.

“No. I’m not.” She tried to rein in the urge to cry; she wasn’t going to fall apart. She had to keep it together, but her voice wobbled anyway. “Mick, you promised me your estate was private. How did this happen?”

“Oh fuck. Hang on. I’m going in the other room.”

She waited on the phone, listening to the sounds of him moving, his muffled comments to whoever else was there, and then the transition to a place where only silence surrounded him.

“Piper—”

“Mick, how the hell did a photographer get on your property?” She made no effort to curb the anxiety in her tone.

“I don’t know,” Mick said, his voice low and soothing. “I’m in the dark on this, just like you. But I’ve got people on it. We’ll figure it out.”

“I can’t believe this is happening.” She squeezed her eyes shut, hating what she needed to ask and dreading the answer because if he was lying to her, she’d know. “Mick, you didn’t have anything to do with this, did you?”

Silence fell, and the distance between them doubled. She didn’t know whether she wished he was here with her or not. They were too new for him to be that person for her, even if she might want him to be. Did she want him to be?

“No. Piper, how could you—” Mick cleared his throat, the timbre of his voice telling her he was more hurt than angry, and she instantly felt bad about doubting him. “I’d never do this to you.”

“I’m sorry. I just…” She didn’t know what to say. Her worst nightmare had shown up in glorious color on several two-page spreads, and all she could think was that this would have never happened if she’d stuck to the ground rules. No matter what all “his people” and “her people” turned up, she’d done this to herself. The only one to blame for this was Piper James.

In spite of her efforts to keep cool, the anger bubbled to the top and she lashed out. “Fuck it. I can’t do this right now.”

“What does that mean?” Mick demanded into the phone.

“I’ve got to go.” Piper’s breath caught in her throat and burned, threatening to release the scream she was holding back. She needed to get off the phone and get some time to think, figure out what she was going to do next. Did she release a statement? Ignore all of it? She glanced at the photos and the bile rose in her throat. “Oh my God, my
mom
is going to see those pictures.”

“I know. I’m so sorry. I’ll find the asshole and make him hurt. I swear it.”

She ignored him. All the ass-kicking wasn’t going to turn back time and make this all go away. But she didn’t have to keep perpetuating her mistakes. This thing with Mick was bound to end sooner or later, and if it happened now, then damage control on her life could start now.

“I can’t do this again.”

“Whoa, baby. Slow down. We’ll fix this.
I’ll
fix this. I’ll—”

“I’ve got to go.”

Piper ended the call and turned off her phone, sinking back against the seat of the limo. She closed her eyes, squeezing them tighter when the wet trail of one tear slid down her cheek. She wiped it away angrily, refusing to fall apart now. She still had to run the line of reporters undoubtedly camping out at her apartment, and she’d be damned if she let them see her cry.

“Piper?” Chris asked.

“Yes.”

“Did you just break up with Mick?”

“Yes. No. We weren’t together anyway, so there’s nothing to break up.” She sat up, scooting over to open the bar. Whiskey. That would work. Pouring herself a generous amount, she took a big gulp and swallowed. It was like fire going down but the moment it hit her belly, the ice in her limbs started to ease up. She wondered how much she’d have to drink to not give a shit anymore. “He was doing the whole ‘I’ll fix everything’ bit. I need a little space to get drunk off my ass and forget about the whole damn thing for a while.”

“While I understand your sentiment, the hangover you’ll have tomorrow is going to hurt like hell.”

“It can’t be any worse than I feel right now.” Damn, she was hurting, the pain a dull ache that made her whole body hurt. Everything was so mashed up she couldn’t tell if was due to the pictures or Mick. In spite of what she’d said on the phone, she wasn’t sure she could walk away from him no matter what trouble he brought along.

But even though her hands had a death grip on her glass of liquid oblivion, all she really wanted was to pick up her phone, call him back, and tell him to get on his private jet and get to her as fast as he could. She wanted him. She needed him.

She was in love with him.

Holy shit.

There wasn’t enough alcohol to make this any better. She’d screwed up this time and walked into it with her eyes wide open. Chris was right—she wasn’t equipped to resist a guy like Mick Blackwell.

She leaned forward to rest her head in her hands. “I’m
such
an idiot.”

“How do you figure?” Chris asked, his tone skeptical. “You didn’t tell someone to follow you, invade your privacy, and sell those photos to a tabloid rag.”

“No, that isn’t it.” She sat up, laughing bitterly, and then took another swig of whiskey. “I let Mick talk me into changing the rules. And he didn’t have to work that hard to get me to do it. A couple of amazing orgasms and I fell in love with a man almost guaranteed to break my heart.”

“You love him?”

“Of
course
I do.” Piper poked Chris in the chest, the alcohol making her feel a little woozy. She missed the mark, hitting his arm instead. “You’ve seen him, right? He is absolutely the type of guy I fall for every single fucking time. Bad boy. Untamable. It was inevitable.”

“Oh, Piper…”

“Don’t.” Piper held a hand up to Chris. She didn’t need his pity right now.

She took another sip of her drink and glanced out the window at her approaching apartment building, groaning at the group of photographers on the sidewalk. The limo pulled up to the curb, and they surged for the car, shouting and taking pictures. It looked a little bit like a shark tank at feeding time, and she apparently was the chum.

Four weeks ago she’d had her career, her friends, and an occasional lover when the vibrator lost its appeal. Now she had a three-ring circus in front of her building, a serious possibility her career was over—at least with her current publisher—and she was in love with a man whose track record for sticking around made stray cats look positively domestic.

Good times.

Chapter Sixteen

“Can someone
please
explain to me how a fucking photographer got on my property and took those pictures?”

In the private limo he’d hired at La Guardia, Mick looked at the screen on his tablet, balanced on his knee, the conference room at the office of his lawyer/agent Jack Mullins in clear view. Jack was seated at the table, flanked by Lincoln and Lewis. Even on the small screen, Mick could tell none of them looked happy. Good. He was furious, and it was nice to have some company.

The past forty-eight hours had been a living hell, a true test of his patience, and he was quickly getting to the point where he was going to lose his shit. He’d been up almost around the clock and made damn sure everyone else was up as well—nobody was going to rest until they found out what happened. Usually he tried to maintain a high degree of professionalism, always making sure people remembered he wasn’t the kid who grew up on their TV every Tuesday at eight thirty, but the tantrum was coming. He could feel it.

It wasn’t like he hadn’t dealt with this kind of stuff before. His security team was always uncovering people who would pay lots of money for access to his person and private life—even illegal access. But every hour that ticked by was one more where Piper wouldn’t talk to him, and that was killing him. Even his call to Chris had hit a large NFL-sized brick wall.

He wasn’t even sure if he’d been dumped. What the hell did “I can’t do this again” mean?

He’d canceled a couple of promo events in LA and had taken off early for New York. He was due to fly to London the day after tomorrow, but he couldn’t go until he’d set things straight with Piper.

Goddamn, he’d made her promises, and someone had made him break his word. He wanted answers
yesterday
.

“Mick. These things take time. You’ve got to be patient.” Lewis’s oily platitude made his fingers itch to hit something. Preferably Lewis.

“Don’t give me that line again.” Mick shifted the tablet in his hand and turned his attention to Jack, his lawyer’s calm demeanor bringing his own temperature down a notch. “Jack, give me something.”

Jack shifted, tapping keys on his laptop, which sent a photograph of a man up on Mick’s screen. Early twenties, Asian, and apparently used to breaking the law, since the bottom half of the picture was covered by a number assigned by the Honolulu Police Department.

“This is the guy who gave the photographer the passcode to your gate,” Jack said. “From what our private investigator found out, this guy was paid twenty thousand dollars to get access.” Jack’s voice was one big ball of sarcasm. “Your stock must be going up. The last time we had something like this happen, it was only ten thousand.”

“Way to look at the bright side, buddy,” Mick remarked, looking up from the computer tablet to see the limo driver maneuver onto the freeway from the airport into New York City. “I don’t have a clue who he is. How did he get the passcode?”

“He’s the son of your housekeeper. He stole it from her.”

Mick was shocked, the impact of the words making his brain fry a little. Mrs. Kim was a wonderful, trustworthy person who’d taken care of his Hawaii property for the last ten years. She had to be beating herself up over this.

“She wants to resign,” Jack said as his face popped back up on the screen. He held a hand up when Mick started to interrupt. “But I knew you would say bullshit to that, so I refused it and asked her stay on.”

“And you changed the passcode?”

“Yes. Our guys are doing an entire security audit and will make the changes you need.”

Mick nodded. “Okay, so the young Mr. Kim is going back to jail, but who paid him twenty large to let the guy in?”

Lewis jumped in, his eagerness to be included in this conversation almost palpable. “That’s what we still have to find out.”

“Well, do it, and then sue the shit out of them. I want whatever I can get, and don’t even talk to me about settling,” Mick stated. He was still angry, but knowing this was in Jack’s hands meant he could focus on Piper and get them back on track. “You guys can reach me on my phone.”

“But you need to be in London in two days for the Dark premiere,” Lewis sputtered. “And we still need to talk about the deal with the studio.”

“Don’t worry, I’ll be at the premiere. And honestly, I don’t know what else we need to talk about with the studio.” Mick paused, thinking of how long the studio had jerked his chain over this issue. “They have two weeks to give me an answer or I turn down the rest of the Dark movies.”

“But…” Lewis paled so much under his spray-on tan it was clear even across the 4G connection.

“No buts, Lewis. I want a two-option deal for the project of my choice for a lock on two more Dark films, and executive producer status on all of them. I get it or I walk.”

“And do what?” Lewis was starting to get really agitated now, his hands flailing a little as he spoke. “You’ll flush your career down the toilet.”

Mick laughed harshly. “Lewis, I’m Mick
Fucking
Blackwell.” He let that sink in, knowing how arrogant it sounded, but the truth was the truth. He’d been in this business a long time, and he understood something very clearly—money talked—and he was six feet two inches of walking money store when it came to bringing people to a theater. “The other studios will be all over me once I’m on the market.”

Both Lincoln and Jack snickered while Lewis wheezed like he’d sprung a leak.

“And now I’m going to be Mick Blackwell and barge my way into Piper’s apartment to make sure she’s okay with all this.” He moved to end the session, but Jack motioned for him to wait.

“Mick, Lincoln and I wanted to talk to you about the funding for his new album. Can you give us a second?”

What the hell? Mick wasn’t giving Linc any money—he was rolling in it. Oh, wait. They just wanted to get Lewis out of the picture.

“Sure. Lewis, I’ll call you later.”

“Okay.” Lewis was pissed off and glaring, but he rose from the table and moved off the screen.

Mick waited until he heard the door close and saw Jack give him a nod before asking, “What’s going on?”

“I think Lewis might have had something to do with those pictures,” Jack answered.

“What? Why?” Lewis was a snake, but he was the snake on
his
payroll. A very nice payroll.

“He’s been blocking this investigation all the way. Stalling on making calls and following up on details,” Jack said.

Lincoln added his two cents. “I saw Scott Crews, and he said that he was hearing more stuff about Lewis dealing with the wrong sort of people.”

“If that’s true…” Mick didn’t need to finish the sentence. Lewis was his man. He’d given Lewis carte blanche to do what it took to keep his name as high profile as he could get it. If Lewis had done this, then whatever fallout hit Piper’s life was his fault. She would kill him, and he’d deserve it.

“Look, we don’t know anything right now. We just wanted you to be aware in case other people start talking.” Jack’s voice was calm as usual, but his tone suggested he knew what the end result was going to be.

“Fine. But, I want to know as soon as you know.”

The guys signed off just as Mick pulled up in front of Piper’s building. He tipped the driver, muscling his way out of the limo with his suitcase and the boxful of bribe he’d brought with him in full view of the assembled paparazzi. She was going to hate his showing up this way and giving the press more fodder, but he wasn’t going to London without clearing a few things up. Ignoring the calls from the reporters for him to give them a sound bite and the flash of their cameras, he pulled out his phone, then dialed her number.

He’d told Lewis he was Mick Blackwell—like that was the key to getting whatever he wanted. In Hollywood, that was the absolute truth.

He only hoped it worked in New York.