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Christina sighed audibly and shook her head at Bill. He felt as though he were a difficult child being told off by his mother.

“Well, I’m not asking you to step down. You go ahead, Bill. Go where your conscience leads you, if you’ve actually got one. You can keep your half of the blood money.”

“Believe me,” said Bill. “I would. But without you the champagne ad can’t go ahead. The whole point is that it’s you and me. Bill Tarrant and Christina Morgan. The most fabulous couple in Hollywood. Ha ha ha.”

He went back into the house and snatched up his leather jacket from the back of the sofa.

Christina found herself alone on the balcony. She heard Bill slam his way out of the house. She heard the engine of his stupid Hummer roar to life and growl its way down
the PCH toward Santa Monica. They would have to have a talk about more eco-friendly transportation soon, she reminded herself. Such conspicuous consumption of fossil fuels did not look good. When she was sure that he had gone, Christina flipped open her mobile and dialed Rocky Neel. He was sympathetic. “It’s tough for you, sweetheart, but the kids can’t thank you enough for raising the charity’s profile. You look great in the new brochure,” he added. It was exactly what she needed to hear.

Marisa, likewise, promised that she was devoting herself to fire-fighting the whole Randon thing. In fact, less than an hour after Bill stormed out of the house, Marisa was on the phone again.

“They’re in no position to sue,” said Marisa. “They have to prove what the campaign claims is untrue to win and, thank God, they can’t. I’ve just had a long chat with their top lawyer. He says that Domaine Randon is willing to investigate and put right this terrible child labor business, if you continue to promote their champagne and promise that Fast Life’s name will be dropped from the ISACL list.”

“I’ll think about it,” said Christina haughtily, though in that very moment she finally realized just how much the prospect of having to put her own money where her mouth was had rattled her. Thank goodness it looked like they were coming to an amicable solution. Perhaps Bill would stop freaking out.

Marisa had some other good news. Guilty Secrets, the lingerie company, wanted Christina to take part in their annual fashion show. It was a big deal. Guilty Secrets wasn’t La Perla. In fact, their underwear was rather cheap and tacky. But the Guilty Secrets fashion show had taken on a life of its own and become something more than a simple fashion fixture. It was an annual event on a par with the release of the
Sports Illustrated
swimsuit edition or the
Pirelli Calendar. Being chosen to be in the Guilty Secrets show was an acknowledgment that you had one of the best bodies in the business.

“I’ll only do it if I get to be the last girl on the catwalk,” said Christina. The last spot was the most important. The final girl got to wear the showstopper outfit—the jewel-encrusted bikini—and make the picture that would appear on the front pages of just about every newspaper in the world.

“Would I have agreed to anything else for my favorite client?” Marisa asked.

Christina snapped her phone shut with a smile. Forget Bill and his stupid tantrums. Forget that sleazeball Mathieu Randon. Everything was all right in her world.

A
couple of days later, Bill Tarrant flew to Paris to promote his latest movie. He was slightly surprised but very gratified when his agent called to say that Mathieu Randon had requested an opportunity to meet. He was absolutely delighted when Randon suggested dinner. That was a good sign, Bill decided. If Randon just wanted to vent, he would have done so in his office over a bottle of mineral water. Dinner proved Bill was not on the shit list.

Bill met Randon at Eponine—one of the best new restaurants in the sixteenth arrondissement. Bill wasn’t surprised they got a table. The big business guy and the film star. Still, he was excited as he got ready that evening.
Though he was at the top of his game as an actor, giving Brad Pitt a run for his money, lately Bill had been craving a different kind of recognition. He was secretly in awe of guys like Randon who juggled millions of dollars on a daily basis. Bill had only played—quite literally—at being powerful in that very tangible way. But he had ambition. He wanted Randon to recognize that he had the potential too.

Randon was already at the restaurant when Bill arrived. Bill took that as another good sign. Randon wasn’t going to keep Bill waiting. It was a fairly clear indicator of the balance of their relationship.

“My dear friend,” said Randon. He stood up and greeted Bill with a friendly clap on the back.

“Matt. I’m glad we got the chance to meet like this,” said Bill. “Good table,” he commented as he sat down. “Perfect view of the room.”

“And of the lovely young ladies of Paris,” Randon added just as Bill’s attention was drawn to a girl in a very short skirt who was doing her best to climb onto a bar stool without flashing her underwear. She didn’t succeed.

Bill nodded approvingly. Randon laughed. He seemed to be very relaxed. Bill allowed himself to think that everything was going to be fine.

But of course, Christina’s faux pas had to be the first topic on the agenda. Bill brought it up as soon as he could. He thought that pre-empting Randon on the subject might help him control the conversation’s outcome.

“What can I say?” said Bill. “I did my best to convince her that she’s talking rubbish, but she won’t back down. You know what it’s like. The more I argue with her, the more entrenched she gets. She’s a very headstrong woman.”

“I understand,” said Randon. “The world has changed since men could tell their wives what to do.”

“Could they ever?” Bill sighed. “I think in the old days, women were just more sensitive about letting us guys believe we were in charge.”

Randon gave a little snort of amusement. “That’s why I’ve never married. But let’s not allow this little problem to spoil a wonderful evening. I understand that our people have been negotiating a compromise that will suit us all,” Randon said as he summoned the waiter and ordered, of course, a bottle of his own champagne.

And that was it. Bill was astonished at how quickly the subject of Christina’s boycott seemed to have been forgotten. Dealt with in a couple of minutes. Instead, Randon wanted to talk about Hollywood. About Bill’s movie career.

“I saw your new movie,” Randon said. “I had your agent send me a DVD.”

“You did?” said Bill. He was surprised. His agent hadn’t mentioned it.

“Yes. It was quite a revelation. I enjoyed your performance very much. You have great range.”

Bill nodded enthusiastically. He did have great range. Not many people acknowledged that. The critics certainly didn’t understand.

“Very convincing,” Randon continued.

“Thank you. You know,” said Bill, getting braver, “I think it’s important to diversify. Lately I’ve been thinking I want to have a go at directing.”

“Really?” asked Randon.

“It’s the natural step for me to take. When you get to my position as an actor, you’re practically directing yourself anyway. For example, in the movie you just saw—
Do or Die Trying
—about half of that stuff was scripted but the rest was me ad-libbing. Deciding how the character should be on the fly. You know what I mean?”

Randon nodded.

“I helped my co-stars with their character development too. They seemed to appreciate that. And one of my great strengths is that I have a natural eye for the composition of a scene. I’ve always had that eye, but when you’re just starting out as an actor, no one takes any notice if you pipe up and say, ‘Hey guys, don’t you think this scene would look better shot from this angle?’ ”

“That must be difficult,” said Randon.

“It sucks,” said Bill, sensing sympathy. “And when you get to our stage in life, Randon, you don’t want some spotty kid straight out of film school telling you what to do. It really gets my goat. I’m a professional. I know film. I
am
film.”

Bill emphasized his point by waving a forkful of rare steak in the air.

“So what exactly do you want to do?” Randon asked.

“I want to do a western,” Bill announced. “But not like the old-style westerns. This one is going to be real. There’s an appetite out there to know what really happened when the West was won. The historical point of view.”

“And you’d like to star and direct?”

“You got it. I’ve been thinking about it for years. I picked up this book a few months ago by this historian out of Princeton. It’s amazing stuff. And so relevant to the way we live today. The parallels between the Wild West and what goes on in the House of Representatives right now … well, it made my hair stand on end. That’s how I know a good idea when I’ve found one. My hair, quite literally, stands on end.”

“Fascinating. It sounds like a project I could be very interested in.”

Bill put his fork down and looked at Randon intently.
He allowed himself to believe that Randon was serious. Why wouldn’t he be?

“You could?”

“Absolutely. Doesn’t everyone want to get into movies at some point?” said Randon.

“Then come out to the States,” said Bill, leaning back in his chair and throwing his arms out magnanimously. “I’ll fix up some meetings. Matt, let me tell you, I would be more than happy to have a guy like you on board.”

“Thank you,” said Randon. “I would like that.”

“Consider it done.”

“More wine?” Randon topped up Bill’s glass.

Another bottle later and Bill felt truly relaxed in Randon’s company again. He regaled Randon with tales from his life in the limelight. Discretion flew out of the window. He impressed Randon with a long list of sexual conquests that sounded like a roll call of every Academy Award Best Actress nominee since 1985. Then he moved on to the people he
hadn’t
slept with, a short list comprised of two actors well known for defending their heterosexuality.

“That baby? Turkey baster, I’m telling you. He is not interested in girls at all … Unlike my lady wife.”

Randon leaned forward. “Really?”

“Oh yeah. Behind the scenes at some of those catwalk shows. The girls are all over one another. Sodom and Gomorrah. You could make a fortune if you released a video.”

“Quite. That’s very interesting. But it’s getting late, and right now, I’ve got someone I would like you to meet.”

“Oh yes?” Bill asked.

“Oh
yes.
Someone I think you’ll appreciate very much.” Randon flipped open his mobile and sent a text.

An hour later, in a sumptuous suite at the Hotel Crillon, Randon took the petite dark-eyed girl by her shoulders and led her towards Bill as though he were offering the actor her hand in marriage.

“I think you’ll find an evening in Amelie’s company quite relaxing,” he said with a smile.

“Relaxing” wasn’t the word for it.

Like the little wrap of cocaine Bill found in the top drawer of the bedside cabinet, exactly where Randon had said it would be, Amelie’s attentions were complimentary. And absolutely exhilarating.

She had naughty brown eyes and a mouth as red and wide as a British postbox. How could Bill resist? Why should he?

Bill hadn’t had sex in a month. Sometimes it made him want to laugh out loud when he thought of the men who envied his sham of a marriage to Christina Morgan, the supermodel. There were whole websites dedicated to their envy. Some jerk was so worked up about it he even sent Bill death threats. But the truth was, since Bill had put a ring on Christina’s finger just over twelve months earlier, he’d been getting less sex than the average eighth-grade pupil. Not that he even wanted it so much anymore; not with Christina anyway. Who was it that said “Show me a beautiful woman and I’ll show you a man who’s tired of fucking her?” Bill now knew exactly what that guy meant. How quickly he’d become immune to the way Christina looked and started to focus on her uglier aspects.

And jeez, there were plenty of ugly aspects to that woman. Bill should have handed that stalker guy a list. She was bitchy. She put him down the whole time. She was sanctimonious. She was ignorant. She was stupid. Really, really stupid.