Page 2

Zoe

I see you made the front page of The Post . Again.”

People and Us Weekly, too. Thank you very much.

Not that reminding my dad of that fact is going to help the situation. Without a doubt, his new wife, his assistant, and his lawyer have all beat me to the big reveal.

“Good to see you, too.” I can’t keep the sarcasm from my tongue. Especially when he can’t even be bothered to more than glance my way. He’s looking out over the field, his arms crossed and narrow shoulders stiff beneath a tailored suit. His scowl is the stuff of legend, at least among the Peebles women. And I think even my mom would be impressed with this one.

The starched fabric of his jacket twitches at his collar, but he still doesn’t condescend to look over his shoulder again.

Heaven forbid he actually greet his daughter with an embrace. Even one as frigid as a Rocky Mountain winter would be better than his cold shoulder.

Then again, I’ve clearly embarrassed him. And our family name. And if he tries hard enough, I bet he could blame last week’s loss to the Bills on me. Even if I was on a film set in South Africa, still blissfully clueless about my future in the tabloids.

Truth be told, I’d rather be anywhere other than this suite—a full-on tribute to leather and luxury. But I didn’t have much of a choice. If I had ignored my dad’s summons, he would have sent his driver over to hassle Nan until I showed up.

No way am I going to make life harder for Agatha Peebles, the only person who bothered to reach out to me after that video went viral. The only person kind enough to offer me a place to stay after my director dismissed me from set. The only member of my family not interested in what I can do for them.

So, here I stand, shifting from one high heel to the other. Waiting. For who knows how long. I have no idea what for. His assistant texted me only one line.

Your father will see you before the game today.

Very paternal, Dad. Thanks.

I shouldn’t be surprised. I’m not, really.

But just because he lives up to my expectations doesn’t lessen the sting. It’s right in the middle of my chest, straight over my heart and beneath the buttons of my blue Oxford. It squeezes like a fist, and I pinch my eyes closed against it, forcing myself to stand perfectly still.

He wants me to react. To defend myself or start an argument that he will insist on winning.

He can wait for that.

Silence hangs heavy in the air—save for the fifty thousand screaming fans filling the stadium. As the team runs out of the tunnel through a haze of smoke and fireworks, the volume surges until the windows rattle. Dad’s scowl eases for a brief moment. It’s nowhere near a smile. But it’s a little less severe.

Until it’s not.

“This is getting ridiculous, Zoe.”

Why, yes, Dad. I couldn’t agree more.

I too think it’s ridiculous that Marissa Kellyn thought it was okay to come up to me in the middle of a restaurant, slap my face, and accuse me of trying to break up her marriage.

For the record, I did not know she was married. Or more accurately, I did not know she existed until the dessert course that night. And I sure didn’t know that Joe Kellyn was married. He failed to tell me that any one of the three million times he asked me out before I decided to give him a chance.

My cheeks flush hot as I feel the imprint of Marissa’s hand on my face all over again, tears stinging my eyes just like they did five days ago.

I also think it’s ridiculous that the director of Battlefield North took Joe’s side, said they needed his name on the marquee to make the movie a success. That the director decided I was somehow expendable but also singularly at fault for bringing bad drama to the set. He’s had no problem telling reporters and producers that I’m the reason the shoot has been delayed and the film’s budget will go up.

There’s enough ridiculous to coat Pikes Peak. But arguing my side won’t help. Not with my dad and not with the media.

Even if I didn’t know. Even if I had no intention of getting in the middle of anyone’s marriage. I made a choice—a mistake—the worst one of my life.

And this is the fallout.

Well, it’s some of the fallout anyway. There’s also the scathing headlines and the canceled contract from the producer of the next film I was scheduled to be part of. Was being the operative word. I’m no longer needed on his film. Any of them. Ever.

Of course, there was also the call from my agent Cyndi. “It’s probably a good idea to lay low for a while, doll. You’re not exactly a good bet at the moment.”

Translation: No one wants to take a chance that I might cause a scandal on their set as well. Or that I would have to be replaced. And that the studio would have to come up with the money for reshoots with a new actress.

I can’t help but wonder who they’ll get to play opposite Joe in the movie I was three weeks into filming.

Before I can think of someone who might be available to step into the role I spent months preparing for, the crowd goes wild. Kick off.

My dad’s neck turns slightly, and he gives the ball a pleased nod. More than he can manage for his elder daughter.

As the Fourteeners’ offense lines up on the field below, I clear my throat to remind him that I’m still here.

“Why did you come here?”

“Because Alita texted me you wanted to see me.”

Finally, he turns to really look at me, eyes narrowed. “You know what I mean. You being this close to the facility is guaranteed to bring media attention to the team.”

“Don’t you want the team in the news?” I offer a shrug and a fake grin.

He swears under his breath, and I cringe, my smile falling. But I refuse to let my face show any hint of fear as he turns on me, pointing his finger at the center of my chest. “You know that you take drama with you wherever you go. You always have.”

That’s not fair.

It hasn’t always been this way.

“You’re just like your mother,” he sighs. “Dragging my name through the mud and then pretending you’re the wounded party.” He leaves no doubt in my mind that he wishes he could have divorced me as easily as he did my mom.

“Dad, I—”

He drops his hands to his hips in a stance that has cowed many a general manager over the seasons. “I don’t want your excuses. I want you to clean up this situation that has you in the tabloids.”

“I can’t control that.” I fight a tightness in my throat that threatens emotions my dad doesn’t deserve.

“Yes, you can. Make a statement. Apologize for your misdeeds, and then disappear for six months. Far from here.”

Something inside me snaps. “And what misdeeds would those be?”

His glare turns to ice, his eyes almost black.

Call me a glutton for punishment, but I want him to say it. I want him to speak the crimes I’m accused of. Because he’s actually guilty of them—and a lot worse toward my mom. And his second wife. And his third.

And I’m absolutely certain he never considered any one of his affairs a misdeed. Or worried that his actions would reflect poorly on his precious Fourteeners.

“Don’t pretend with me, kid. You know what you’ve done.”

“And where would you have me go, dear Father?”

“Isn’t your sister in Europe? Go hide on a boat in France or something.”

Yeah, no. Not going to happen.

Wrapping my arms around my middle, I sigh. “How about this—I’ll stay away from you and your stadium, and you don’t have to even know where I am. I’m not your concern.”

“Zoe.” The single word comes out like a curse. “Until you change your name, you’ll always be my concern.”

That tracks. My dad has always—only—been concerned with the precious Peebles name. I should have registered with SAG under another name, but back when I got my card for my first television commercial, I couldn’t even dream of lead billing on a film, let alone that a tabloid would care about my love life.

“I guess we’re stuck with each other then.”

He squints at me, then turns his back, effectively dismissing me.

With a quick breath, I square my shoulders and stride toward the door. As I grab the handle, my dad growls one more warning. “Stay away from my locker room.”

As if I’d give any guy a second look right now. Let alone one of the guys on the team.

“I’m serious. If I find out you’re messing around with one of my players and screwing up the dynamic in the facility and our chance at the playoffs, I’ll have to get involved. And neither of us want—”

The door closes behind me with a soft click, cutting off his last word. Sagging against the wall of the hallway to the private boxes, I close my eyes and cover my face with my hands.

Nothing like a pep talk from my dad to cheer me up when my personal life and professional life feel like they’re crashing around me.

“Miss Peebles!”

I drop my hands and paste a practiced smile into place.

Gabriela Sinclair rushes toward me, clutching a black leather folder to her chest. Her heels don’t make a sound on the gray industrial carpet, her steps quick and even. “Alita said you were going to be here, and I . . .” She flashes a bright grin that wrinkles the corners of her eyes behind round gold-rimmed glasses. Her dyed-blond hair is tied back in the same loose chignon she’s worn for the last fifteen years.

My red-carpet-ready smile quickly shifts into a genuine one, and I step into her open arms. Her hug is warm and firm, swallowing me with her sweetness. It’s the opposite of all the limp arms and fake cheek kisses I’ve received since last week.

Maybe an inch or two taller than I am, she’s soft and gentle. She smells of sunshine and cinnamon—just like the mints I used to steal from the jar on the corner of her desk when I was kid.

They say that behind every successful man is a good woman. My dad has three: his executive assistant Alita, his lawyer Riley, and Gabriela. She told me once that her job was to make sure that everything in my dad’s life runs smoothly. And she is a master at that.

When Gabriela finally pulls back, she cups her satiny hand against my cheek and looks right into my gaze. “I am so sorry, sweetie.”

I don’t know if she’s saying that because of the headlines or because I just walked out of my dad’s office. She has to know what went down in there. Either way, tears flood my eyes as my bottom lip begins to tremble.

Kindness has such incredible power—especially when it’s in short supply.

“Lydia loved your last movie. She keeps asking if we can watch it again.” Then, with a wink she adds, “I liked it too.”

“Than—” My voice cracks, and I clear my throat before trying again. “Thank you.” Her teenage daughter has been a fan for years, and they even visited me on the set of Fantastic Four .

“I hope—” I’m not quite sure how to finish that. I hope she’ll stay a fan. I hope she won’t believe everything she reads. I hope she’ll make better choices than I did. I hope she won’t fall for the lies of a man only looking for his own pleasure.

I finally give up and merely shrug.

I’m so thankful that Joe and I didn’t get to the point of no return—that at least I know that the stories in the tabloids aren’t completely true. I never had an affair with my co-star. I never tried to steal him from his wife. I never let it get past stolen kisses in dark corners of the set.

And I never would have done even that if Joe Kellyn had stopped chasing me long enough to tell me he was married.

Gabriela gives me a soft smile and a pat on the cheek before dropping her hand. “She knows. I do too. They’re going to try to tear you down, but you’re stronger than they think—maybe stronger than you know. You’ll make it through this. The truth will win. Keep your eyes open and your chin up.”

Dragging a finger under my eye, I’m sure I smear my mascara, but I don’t even care.