Reservation (Preservation Series) (13 page)

As we drifted off to sleep sometime around midnight, my work-related stress was forgotten, all the drama that awaited me back in Seattle washed away in the time I spent with Kate.

She was good like that.

The time for my flight home came way too soon, though, and before I knew it, the weekend was over and it was time to head back to the reality TV train wreck that had taken over my life since I signed the book deal.

Nothing more had come from the brunette who claimed to be carrying my child, but Danny kept reassuring me that the scare was a mere drop in the bucket compared to what would soon be headed my way. Apparently, the more popular my name became, the more haters I earned. Seemed pretty backwards to me, but hey, what the hell did I know?

Now it was Monday evening, and I was being rushed off in a limo to Henson’s launch party. It was being held at his private home, right at sunset, when the views of Washington’s landscape were at their utmost best. The sweeping sunset danced over the mountainous horizon, and the city light below was vibrant and just beginning to sparkle as the darkness slowly descended upon it. The home’s walls were almost entirely made of glass. One glance at the building’s astonishing construction made it clear that the chosen event time was strategically planned. This Henson guy was apparently a prolific science fiction writer who had at least three of his bestselling novels translated into films, but I’d never read any of them. In fact, I didn’t realize he was such a well-known household name.

Guess I’d have to leave out those little details tonight.

The limo was a little overkill in my opinion, but Danny and Neda knew all, so I just rolled with it.

“Ryan, please smile, here, Ryan!”

“How do you feel about being the latest sensation to sweep the literary world, Ryan?”

“Any word on the film? Who would you like to see cast?”

“Is it true you’re engaged to another writer—a student of yours?”

“Do you deny reports of fathering the child of a Miss Anders?”

Questions continued to pummel me from the left and right as I stepped from the limo. The relentless camera flashes caused me to lose my footing as I strolled forward, and I struggled to regain my composure, stuffing my hands deep in my pockets. As directed, I declined to comment on each and every question and instead allowed Danny to lead the way. Rather than ushering me down the walkway toward the entrance, though, he pulled me to the left of the curb, where another limo pulled in directly behind us.

“Here we go, Ryan,” he said, with a big, fake grin plastered across his face. He spoke to me but smiled to the cameras as if the flashes were for him. His red hair was wet with some kind of gel, his usual goatee trimmed to perfection, and he was dressed to impress, with a sharp black Armani suit and dress shoes probably worth a month’s salary. “Meet Melanie.” He smiled to a big burly chauffer who positioned himself next to the limo door, watching with that gaudy smile as the chauffer opened it for the passenger.

Out came two long, tan legs, and a billowy ice blue gown, with a slit so high it would give most men with a pulse a minor heart attack. The chauffer offered the statuesque woman a hand, and she greeted him sweetly, a similar phony smile bedecking her chiseled face. Her lips were dark pink and pouty, her bleach blonde hair piled high on her head in some fancy bun. A diamond-studded headpiece rested around the hairstyle, and for a minute, I had to restrain my knee-jerk reaction to laugh. Who was this woman, royalty? A crown at a book launch event? This was a formal event, but...a crown? Seriously?

Someone clearly thought very highly of herself.

Before I could ask Danny why I needed to meet this Melanie woman, he greeted her and led her to my side. She smiled brightly with too-bleached teeth and slipped an arm around my waist.

I froze, a total deer in headlights.

“Melanie, this is Ryan Campbell,” Danny said, guiding us closer together. Melanie giggled and batted her eyelashes, quickly turning to pose for the cameras. “Ryan, meet your date, Melanie. Work your magic. See you inside, kids.”

Danny darted off, and the last thing I’m sure he saw was my livid, accusatory glare.

6. RUMORS

“Come on, I won’t bite,” Melanie whispered through her beauty queen smile. She craned her neck to speak close to my ear. It was hard to hear her over the shouting crowd. “You might just have fun.”

“Can you tell me what’s going on?”

“I’m your date.” She straightened and thrust her chest forward, accentuating her obvious breast implants, and nudged me to the left to encourage me to walk.

“I don’t have a date.”

“You do now.”

As if she knew exactly when to stop and pose, Melanie paused every few feet to appease the photographers. She probably
did
know exactly when and how to pose. With looks like that, the woman had to be a supermodel. She probably did this shit for a living. I gritted my teeth and forced an icy smile as she pushed us into a drifting pattern down the sectioned-off walkway, my mind on overdrive as I considered what the hell was happening. Why had Danny shoved this woman under my arm without so much as a warning? And why would he take off like that without another word? My anger spiked and my cheeks burned when the only possible answer stalled and stared me in the face.

He had this planned, and he knew I’d be pissed.

After posing for the umpteenth picture, we finally made it through the entrance doorway and to the elevator, where Danny and a group of people I didn’t recognize stood waiting for us. As soon as we entered, I stepped away from Melanie, stuffing my hands back in my pockets. Danny eyed me cautiously, waiting until the doors closed to speak.

“Don’t look at me like that, Ryan. We’ll discuss this upstairs when we can speak privately.”

“No, we’ll discuss this right now. What part of ‘don’t ever bullshit me’ didn’t you understand? What’s going on?” I spoke quietly, sweeping my gaze from side to side and behind us. The others seemed oblivious to our conversation, chatting amongst themselves. Even Melanie had taken up instant conversation with one of the men in the group.

“I decided you needed a date after all. It was a last-minute thing, so just go with it, please. It’s only one evening, and your company could be a lot worse.” His gaze dropped to the left, landing on Melanie’s legs.

I swallowed the lump in my throat, growing more and more infuriated by the second.
He
decided? Without even thinking to ask if I’d be okay with this?

“What about all the ‘we can’t do anything without your permission’ crap? What about consent and always having a choice? Guess that was all bullshit, too?”

“Ryan, come on, I’m hardly swindling you, here. Nothing I’m asking you to do tonight is damaging to your image, and you do have a choice. You can walk out that door right now if you want. We’re not holding you hostage. You’re dating Melanie Carpenter for the evening. I guarantee you you’ll be envied by 95 percent of the guests this evening. Show a little gratitude, ay?”

“I don’t give a shit who envies me, Danny. I’m engaged, and I won’t be seen with anyone else.”

For the first time since I’d met Danny, his easy, amused facade seemed to crack, giving way to a hint of irritation. Good. He should be irritated. “This is where you trust my judgment, remember? The media needs something to pounce on since the brunette’s pregnancy claim fizzled out. At first, keeping you dateless so you appeared free and available was ideal, but it was brought to my attention that we needed something else to maintain interest. With Melanie on your arm, you not only generate interest, but you still play the part. The public needs to see you dating, but not in a relationship. I never promised not to bullshit you—I promised not to bullshit you when it came to looking out for your image. I promised I would do my job and keep the public interested in you and your work, and that I’d never coddle you. Well, consider this me keeping my promise. You need a date tonight. People need to see you as the desirable, bachelor playboy you were not long ago at that university of yours, so they’ll forget all about Little Miss Anders and her non-existent child. The quicker they forget her face and see you with someone else, the sooner we can shape the impression they have of you. It’s called damage control. They want to swoon over you right now, not hate you for being a scumbag who uses women and ditches them after you knock them up.”

“I never knocked anyone up, for fuck’s sake!”

“Whatever. There will come a time when having the public hate you will be beneficial to you. But now is not that time. So just suck it up for the evening and enjoy the view, will you?” He gestured to Melanie’s cleavage, which was pouring over the plunging neckline of her dress.

The elevator doors slid open and we were greeted by a slew of party attendants, event planners, and guests, then quickly ushered out into the crowd. Melanie slipped her arm through mine and maintained a vice-like grip as we strolled forward, as if she knew I was ready to cut and run. This woman was gorgeous, no doubt about it, but I didn’t want her hanging on me.

I leaned in to speak to her. “Will you excuse me? I have to look for some friends of mine.”

“You can’t leave my side yet, Mr. Campbell.” She tilted her chin to peer at me, a smug grin on her lips. “I intend to show you off this evening. Like your many admirers, I find you quite enthralling.”

“That’s very flattering, Miss Carpenter, but—”

“Please, call me Melanie.”

“Melanie. But I’m engaged and I’m not interested. So, if you’ll excuse me, I need to—”

A small cluster of women cast Melanie catty eyes and hushed whispers, causing her to tighten her grip around my bicep. “Your relationship status is of little significance tonight, Ryan. I’d love nothing more than to show you a good time. We should...get to know one another, since we’ll be seeing much more of each other.” She sneered at the women as we passed by, making an effort to turn her chest into me as we moved. Cameras flashed from across the room, calling my attention to the photographers ogling us like they’d just hit the jackpot.

I forcefully removed her arm from mine. “My relationship status is always significant. Excuse me.” See more of each other? Yeah, not happening.

I glared at the photographers as I crossed the crowded room, smoothing out my suit jacket as I moved. Next order of business was finding Carter, Dean, Sam, and Jess, although the temptation to find and corner Danny was pretty great.

I still had some passionate words for that fucker.

Scanning the perimeter, I trusted Carter and Dean to stand out like sore thumbs. Just as I suspected, when I spotted them, they were loud enough to stop traffic. From afar, they almost looked dignified, sharp in their tailored black tuxes, with the exception of some truly comical top hats.

But they weren’t fooling me.

Passersby eyed them fondly, albeit a few curious glances thrown in their direction. Excusing myself as I worked my way through the crowd, I politely dodged conversation and carried myself past the buffet tables until I reached them. Upon a closer look, I smiled. The top hats were nothing compared to their bowties. Dean’s was bright red, covered in god-awful white polka dots, and Carter’s donned a pattern that looked as if the British flag had puked all over it.

And oh dear God, Dean had a cane. I blinked, trying to make sense of the sight before me.

Then I laughed.

Sense? Yeah, there was none of that when these guys were in the room.

“Thanks for coming, guys,” I said, “I see you’re both shooting for the ‘best dressed’ award.” I smiled with amusement and cheerfully jabbed Dean with my elbow. “Dean, sorry I couldn’t get Crystal on the guest list. I tried, man. I guess I pushed my luck, inviting five people.”

Dean grinned, raising his cane and taking a bow. “Not to worry, ol’chap. I must say, you look smashing!”

“Indeed, I concur.” Carter patted my shoulder, mimicking the same cringe-worthy British accent as Dean. He cheerfully tugged at the edges of his tie and tilted the brim of his top hat. “You clean up jolly good, Sir.”

“Why thank you, gentlemen. Now I do believe I need a drink before I do something really stupid and pummel my publicist in front of all these cameras.” I grabbed something fizzy and pinkish looking from a tray as it passed by, the server staring at me indiscreetly as I downed it in one gulp.

“Why would you pummel him?” Carter asked.

“Ah, let’s just say he pulled a stunt that officially landed him on my shitlist.”

“Care to share?”

“He was adamant that I couldn’t bring Kate to this party tonight. Not that I had the option, anyway. But the second I step out of the limo, he shoves me with some blonde supermodel and expects me to wear her on my arm all evening like one of those poodles people carry around like accessories.”

“You poor, poor man. Such a cruel world you live in.” Carter placed his hand over his chest, feigning sympathy.

“Smartass,” I mumbled, turning to the nearest table to grab another drink.

“I believe we need to meet this supermodel,” Dean said, craning his neck to survey the room.

“I second that.”

“Don’t bother. She’s fake as they come—physically and otherwise.”