Page 24

chapter

twenty-three

Stella

“ I ’m getting the popcorn,” I called over my shoulder, laughing as I headed into the kitchen.

“Don’t forget the beer!” Dad sounded good today, despite the raspiness in his voice.

“I’ll get right on that.” As it was, I just snorted. There was no beer. Dad had apparently gotten a friend to drop some off, then Mom found it during her shift, and she made a show of pouring it out. That had to have been fun.

Dad called me after she left to try and get me to replace it. I wasn’t really willing to do that, but I did come over and let his afternoon nurse go home early. He’d been grumpy until I pointed out one of his favorite actors had a new movie that just hit streaming and we could watch it.

Smothering a yawn, I pulled out the microwavable popcorn with the extra movie butter and tossed it in for three minutes. As the machine fired up, I opened the fridge to examine our drink options.

The doorbell rang and I tilted my head back with a yawn. Shutting the fridge, I headed for the front door with a half-smothered yawn. I’d spent most of the night on a stakeout at the house being used by the latest Married with Benefits season that moved a dozen couples into the same place to see what would happen when they had to play musical beds every other day.

Fuckery was what happened. Fuckery and drama, and the public ate it up if the ratings were to be believed.

“Shutterbug,” Dad coughed as he called.

“I got it,” I called back. “You stay put.” Dad had been pushing it lately, at least that was what all the nurses said, and Mom had complained about. He wanted to do more on his own, but he was a fall risk.

Stubborn man.

Whoever was at the door rang the bell a second time before I got there. The sound of the popcorn going in the kitchen and the scent followed me. Almost immediately, my stomach growled. I’d have to see if we had any Raisinets or Milk Duds hidden in the kitchen.

Opening the door, I blinked stupidly at the last person I expected to see standing on the stoop of the little A-frame in Burbank. Seven Harrison glared at me from behind the dark sunglasses—I didn’t have to see his eyes to feel the icy heat.

“Not interested,” I told him as I pushed the door closed again.

He landed a palm against it to stop me. “You know Slick , you might want to make sure I’m my asshole twin’s brother before you shut the door in my face.”

I snorted. “Don’t call me that,” I ordered. “You are no more Gem than I am.”

That had his eyebrows raising.

“Are you for fucking real? Is your head so far up your own ass that you think I’d mistake you for him? I like him.” I let the rest of it dangle there, and if he got the impression I didn’t like him, well, served him right. “So you can just fuck right off.”

Not that I could close the door, because he was still holding it open. The microwave timer beeped to say it was done, not that I couldn’t tell from the rich, buttery scent of popcorn in the air.

Blowing out a breath, Seven kept his hand firm on the door while he pulled off his sunglasses. “Do you mind if I come in?”

“Yes,” I said flatly. “I absolutely do mind. Go. A. Way.”

Despite the vain hope the rejection would send him away, he offered me no such reward.

“Look, I can stand out here and we can hash this out on your porch, or you can let me in and we can figure this out like adults.”

“Ooooorrrr,” I said, elongating the word, “we could go for that radical third option of you going the hell away. I dunno, I’m just spitballing.”

“You must be radically good at sucking dick for Gem to be so far gone on you.”

“Well, don’t worry, you’ll never find out,” I fired back.

“Trust me, I have all my shots and I’m still not interested.”

What a dick.

“Now, the paps could be anywhere, you know. They do like to follow me. As you are well aware. So, by all means, let’s stand here and chat.”

“I hate you,” I muttered, then pulled the door wider.

“I hate you more, Stray,” he muttered as he passed me. Closing my eyes, I shut the door and steeled myself with a deep breath. He and his brother were night and day. Gem was sweet, sexy, and fun.

Seven was an asshole.

“Hey, Shutterbug,” Dad said, and I whirled to find him leaning heavily on his cane with one hand on the doorframe to the living room, where we’d moved his hospital bed. He stared at Seven Harrison with narrowed eyes. “We have company?”

“No one you need to worry about, Dad,” I said, hurrying around Seven to intercept Dad before he fell. “And you aren’t supposed to get up on your own. We’ve had this argument.”

“Yes, we have,” he said in an easy tone as I got an arm around him and he settled his arm on my shoulder. “We know it only frustrates you when I do what I want, so let’s just pretend we had the fight already and you can introduce me to the actor standing in our foyer.”

“Harrison,” Seven said, following me over and offering his hand to my father. “Seven Harrison, Mr. Charles.”

Dad studied him for a moment, the sharpness in his gaze and the fixed attention he focused on Seven belied any weakness. With care, he propped his cane against his leg before he accepted Seven’s handshake.

“Interesting. What can we do for you, Mr. Harrison?” Dad’s tone carried a warning, and Seven spared me a look.

“Actually, it’s what I can do for Stella—and I’m guessing you from the looks of things.”

Seven shoved his sunglasses into the pocket of his denim jacket. An odd choice for a man who was far more often photographed in suits and slacks or button-downs unless he was filming. The casual look was way more Gem. Then again, that made sense; he was probably trying to avoid notice.

“What can you do for my shutterbug?” A continued warning threaded through Dad’s question. Yeah, this was not something I needed Dad worrying about.

“Dad, why don’t we get you tucked back in and I’ll grab the popcorn? Once I get rid of Mr. Harrison, we can watch our movie.”

“What movie are we watching?” Seven asked as he stripped off his jacket. “I can get the popcorn for you if you want.”

This was rapidly cycling out of hand.

“Grab me a cold beer from the fridge while you’re at it, Mr. Harrison, and I won’t even complain if you take a couple of minutes of our time.”

“We don’t have any beer in the fridge,” I said, shooting the demon spawn a warning look. “And Mr. Harrison doesn’t need to stay here at all.”

“I don’t mind—Stella,” Seven countered, and I swore I heard the unspoken Stray at the end of the sentence even as he smiled. “I think this is an excellent time for me to get to know your dad. I bet he’ll even have some thoughts on our predicament.”

Not waiting for me to respond, he headed for the kitchen despite me glaring after him. I could hardly drop Dad and rush after Seven to get rid of him.

Dammit.

“Come on, Dad,” I said. “Back in bed.”

Dad let me walk him over. He was slow to slide into the bed and didn’t hide his grimace too well. I got him tucked in before I grabbed his cane and returned it to by the bed

“Shutterbug.” He didn’t raise his voice or glare, yet Dad seemed to encapsulate everything he wanted to know in those three syllables.

“I’ll get rid of him.” The deflection wouldn’t work. Dad’s dark green eyes were so much like mine, I could read the rejection in them clear as day.

“Are you in trouble?” Now he was worried. I was going to kill Seven Harrison.

“No, sir,” Seven said from the doorway as he returned with a red bucket full of popcorn and some sparkling waters as well as two bottles of iced tea. “I didn’t see any beer in the fridge, but there were these teas. If that won’t work, I can see about getting some delivered.”

“No,” I snapped before Dad could respond. “Dad doesn’t drink even when he wants to.” The last I punctuated with my own glare at Dad.

“Hmm” was Dad’s only response. “Fine, I’ll settle for tea for now.”

“So what movie were we going to watch?” Seven wanted to know.

“Was going to show Shutterbug one of my favorites from back in the day,” Dad said, motioning Seven toward the chair I usually sat in next to his bed. That hadn’t been the plan, but I was fine with changing it entirely. “Have a seat. You can join us, but no spoilers if you know them.”

“My lips are sealed,” Seven said with the easiest smile on his face that I’d ever seen him wear. He set the popcorn down and set Dad’s drink up before he glanced around the room, then at me. “Need me to grab you another chair, Stel?”

“I’ll be fine,” I said through gritted teeth. I had a folding chair I could grab and it would put me on the far side from him. “There’s really no need for you to stay.”

“But I want to.” The dick made a great show of taking a seat. The pair both gave me the same look of expectation.

I had no idea how this happened, really. Any of it. But this was how I found myself watching Ladyhawke with Dad and Seven. Weirdly, Seven knew the movie—or maybe not so weirdly.

I’d heard of it but never watched it. As much as I tried to enjoy it, I kept finding my gaze tracking to Seven. There had to be an easy way to get him out of here. No doubt existed within me that his appearance here had everything to do with the asinine demand to see me about damage control thanks to Donnie selling those images.

The popcorn turned to ash, and after the one time my hand collided with Seven’s in the bowl, I just skipped having any more. I finished an entire bottle of sparkling water and I’d never wished for it to be alcohol so much in my life.

The lightest of snores escaped Dad’s mouth as the movie came to the end. The triumph of the star-crossed lovers had left tears in my eyes. After blinking them back, I swiped a hand over my face before glancing at Dad.

He was sound asleep. With care, I eased the popcorn bowl off the side of the bed where he’d braced it. Seven rescued it from me and took Dad’s empty drink bottle as I pulled Dad’s cover up. Once I changed the station to one that ran marathons of Dad’s favorite shows, I nudged the volume down.

It only took me a couple of minutes to get everything set for Dad, so I could leave him to doze while I dealt with Seven. To my surprise, Seven didn’t say a word until he followed me into the kitchen.

“What happened?” The quiet question came out far kinder than anything else Seven had ever said.

“He got hurt, took a couple of blows to the head, and it revealed a glioblastoma we didn’t know was there.”

It was hard to escape the kind of terror that hit that day. Even now, well after Dad survived some of the worst parts…

I cleared my throat. “As it turned out, it was a lucky discovery. They could do something about it, but treatment has been intense and it took a lot out of him.”

“Probably expensive too,” Seven mused, and I turned from the sink, half-ready to lash back at him but there was no cunning or guile in his eyes. He looked more thoughtful than anything. “Does he have a good prognosis?”

I swallowed around the lump in my throat. “So far,” I said, keeping it as vague as the doctors seemed to do. “Options are good.”

“Yeah,” Seven said slowly. “I would imagine they are.”

After rinsing out the popcorn bowl, I shifted it over to the rack to dry. I wiped my hands with the dish towel as I faced him. “Thank you for not bringing up the earlier discussion in front of Dad.”

“How did you put it? I’m a hard-ass, not a complete dick.”

“I believe I said I was a photographer, not a pervert.”

One corner of his mouth kicked a little higher. Uh-oh, was Seven Harrison showing some humanity? Breaking news.

“True.” He glanced over his shoulder, but I’d pulled the door to the living room mostly closed. When he looked at me again, he said, “I would like to sit down and work out a deal with you to help with the damage control.”

“I have no damage to control,” I reminded him. Was it kind of annoying to be in the images? Yes. That said, it didn’t interfere with my job so much as serve as a reminder to be careful.

“No,” Seven said slowly, pushing the word out between his teeth. “I’m sure you don’t. At least until word gets to the media with your name and occupation.”

Was that a real threat? Or was he bluffing? Folding my arms, I leaned back against the counter. “Oh no, whatever will I do? My reputation will be… Oh, that’s right, I don’t care what people think of me.”

I wasn’t sure if it was the statement or my deadpan recitation, but Seven actually huffed a laugh.

“True, but I think you do care about Gem’s.”

I frowned. “What does Gem have to do with this?” Besides the obvious that he’s in the photos.

“Except that he is in the images?” Seven echoed my unspoken words. “Well, Jerry only had two ideas for dealing with this fallout and salvaging the negotiations with Carriage Pictures. The first is we date—it puts us in front of the story and in charge of the narrative. We let people know that Clara Belle and I broke up weeks ago, and I was just letting her set the tone. Then the photos broke, so as much as I wanted to let her make the decisions, I don’t want there to be any mistruths out there about you. I was very single when we met, and it was passion at first sight.”

I snorted. “Hate is a passion, I suppose.”

“Truly.” He gave me a faint smile as he shook his head. “Regardless, now that we’re in the open, we’re in the open. Then it’s a romance and not cheating. I’m a dashing hero who was trying to protect your anonymity, but now I will step in front of it to keep you safe.”

“You’re really spreading that on a little thick,” I said dryly. “Don’t you think?”

“It’s a story, Stray, and this is Hollywood after all. That’s all I’m asking for here. Help me sell the story . It’ll be a few nights of your life and it’ll get your dirty little boots in doors you’d probably never be welcomed through otherwise.”

For all the smoothness he’d shown in describing the conditions of our “fake dating,” he’d shifted to a far more patronizing note.

“A few nights is hours and hours of time that I’d have to spend with you, right?” Because that was already a turnoff. “In addition, I wouldn't be able to work which is lost money.”

“I already offered to compensate you,” he said, adopting a far more mollifying tone. “I even sent you a deposit to get you to show up to talk to Jerry with me.”

“I told you I wasn’t for sale.”

“You still kept the money,” he reminded me.

Arms still folded, I lifted my shoulders. “What you do with your money is none of my business. You dropping it into my bank doesn’t win you anything.”

“So it would seem,” he responded. “While we could continue to argue and debate that, I really am here hat in hand…”

When I glanced at his empty hands and then back up, he gave me an impatient look. Oh, there it was—real irritation in blue eyes even as his nostrils flared. Maybe there was something cracked inside of me because I much preferred this to his attempts to “play nice.”

He wasn’t nice and I wasn’t a fan; he didn’t need to play a part.

“With my metaphorical hat in hand,” he added smoothly. “If you need to be compensated for your time away, then I am more than willing to meet your demands. You negotiated fifty for the NDA and twenty for an appointment you didn’t bother to show up for.”

I could dispute that point, but I wasn’t going to repeat myself.

“Therefore, I would imagine that any evening requiring more than an hour will require commensurate compensation. Let’s say twenty-five thousand per instance.”

I raised my brows. “More than an hour can mean anything from an hour and five minutes to two days.”

“Accepted,” he said far too agreeably. “Let’s say more than one hour, less than four hours, twenty-five thousand. Additional hours can incur a penalty of one thousand per hour.”

“Twenty-five thousand for three hours is eight-thousand three hundred and thirty-three dollars. One thousand per hour is chump change.”

Lips pursed, he narrowed his eyes. “Five thousand per additional hour over three, with a proviso to add an additional five thousand if it exceeds three extra hours.”

“So if it’s an evening that ends up at least six hours, I make thirty thousand atop of the twenty-five thousand?”

A muscle jumped in his cheek. "Additional twenty thousand. I meant only an extra five thousand, not five thousand extra per hour.”

“Oh, damn. That’s a deal-breaker. No dice. Have a good evening.”

Seven exhaled a hard breath. “Fine, but it will only be three thousand extra per hour. So slightly less than the first three hours, but only a thousand less if it is a full extra three hours. If it’s two hours and fifty-nine minutes, no deal.”

The speed at which he caved to the requests said he really wanted to close this deal.

“You said that the made-up we’re dating story was only one of two solutions. What’s the other one?”

Dipping his chin, Seven studied me for a long moment. The sobriety in his expression stilled any smart-ass remark I’d been considering. Whatever the other choice was, he really hated it.

“The other one is Gem steps forward, debunks the stories, and tells everyone it was him and not me. He’ll have to do a round of interviews, probably a couple of appearances. One of the late shows, I’d imagine, and maybe a couple of radio shows or podcasts.”

I frowned. That seemed overkill to clean up a story about Seven dating me. Then again, killing a blind item or piece of celebrity gossip with the truth was never easy. People preferred the salacious to the sainted.

“It’ll put Gem back in the headlines, and it will probably stir up a lot of interest in our previous work, particularly when he was onscreen, and the demands will start to roll in again.”

As disinterested in having that attention on Gem as Seven appeared to be, it didn’t sound like jealousy or envy. No…

“Gem doesn’t want that.” It was and wasn’t a guess. Gem being aggrieved because people always mistook him for Seven, and being genuinely stunned when I recognized him also spoke volumes.

“No,” Seven said. “He doesn’t. If I can’t convince you, then…I’ll eat the damage to my reputation and the deal. I won’t like it and I’ll probably curse your name, but I’ll do it.”

I didn’t care about him cursing my name so much. The fact he was willing to give up something that seemed to mean a fuck-ton to him for his brother ?

That mattered.

“So three thousand extra per hour in addition to the initial five thousand for each hour after the first three, to be a total of twenty-four thousand. If it’s under three hours, then you also prorate by the hour, so it’s more for the extra forty-five minutes than twenty minutes.”

He frowned but nodded. “However, we will round down to the quarters rather than round up unless it’s so close it might as well be.”

Dickish but acceptable. “If it exceeds six hours?”

“Stray, if it exceeds six hours we are stuck together, trust me, I’ll make it worth both of our whiles.”

Somehow that didn’t comfort me.

“For how long?”

He winced, running a hand over the back of his neck. “Not going to lie, at least through the next premiere and all the press tours coming up.” He paused. “Possibly longer.”

“It’ll keep the attention on the project and your new relationship instead of Clara Belle?” At his nod, I snorted. “Probably earn you some latitude if the film sucks if they like the salacious side better.”

His scowl was almost funny. “It doesn’t suck.”

Too easy to bait. “Uh-huh, so you say. And I have to go to the premiere?”

“Yes,” he said, with about as much enthusiasm as I felt. “We don’t have to like it. We just have to go.”

I snapped my fingers, smirking. “Ah, so it does suck. Got it. This all sounds like I need new clothes.”

“I’ll take care of all wardrobe costs. I can give you a couple of shops where you can get everything you need, and they’ll send me the bill.”

Rolling my eyes, I huffed. “They can also leak to the tabloids that you’re dressing up your girlfriend.” I knew how controlling the story played out.

“Hate the game,” he reminded me. “Do we have a deal?”

Did we? It sort of sounded like we did. For Gem if nothing else. “Are you putting all of this in writing?”

Seven grimaced. “I would prefer not to, if it’s all the same to you, but if you insist, then we’ll make it happen.”

“Hmm…I want a deposit. A good faith one. For three dates. So essentially three appearances. I’ll put the money in a savings account and not touch it. If everything works out, I'll refund it for whatever the last date is and you only pay me for exactly how many we have. That way if you do something that messes this up, I have the money to help offset some bills.”

Dad’s electricity was paid and so was his water and garbage. My electric, however, needed a good infusion and I was really not ready to give up that apartment.

“I’ll pay you for a full week. We’ll call it seven days. You keep it as long as you don’t screw this up and throw the story or the narrative. We’ll call it a bonus for good behavior.”

“Fine. Seven days.” I wasn’t going to turn down the extra cash. I stuck my hand out and he gripped it. “Deal.”

“Good.” He pulled out his phone, and a few minutes later mine pinged. I was probably going to end up answering questions about all the money at some point.

My accountant, if no one else, got bitchy about unexplained funds.

He didn’t waste any time grabbing his jacket and heading to the front door. “You’ll need to stop seeing Gem and Ollie both. Clean break. No phone calls, no dates. Nothing. This relationship between us needs to be beyond reproach.”

“Nope, hard pass,” I said, pulling open the door for him. “That’s not a part of the deal we just negotiated.” His jaw dropped. As much as I wanted to enjoy the expression, I gave him a not-so-gentle nudge and he took a step. “Text me when and where I need to show up, and I’ll let you know if I can make it.”

I didn’t wait for him to agree, just closed the door and leaned back against it. All of my calm fled as my heart raced. I’d just agreed to sell my time for a fuck-load of money to put on a show for the media.

It was official—I’d lost my mind.