Hollywood Hype: A Sexy Billionaire Romance (The Director's Assistant Book 3) (2 page)

I pulled up with a
screech at the Guard Gate, flashing my ID and then accelerating into the parking lot. It was a Saturday, and whilst shooting schedules often dictated weekend activity, today it was almost empty.

Now I knew what had happened—for the most part, at least. I didn’t know exactly who the spy was, but I did know that if I could get Archer alone, somewhere off reservation, I would be able to tell him about it, and we could come up with a plan.

Because I knew, to the very core of my being, that there was no way that I was going to give Janus that tape. They deserved to burn for what they’d done, and I was going to be the one who lit the match.

Just the thought that Archer would be by my side gave me strength. Somehow, I felt safer when he was around. As though, when we were together, we could take anything the world threw at us and spit it right back. Alone, I couldn’t fight this.
But with him?
Janus didn’t stand a chance.

That slime McNamara must have foreseen the way I’d fall for Archer, or how I’d lose my nerve when the time came to deliver. I imagined him sitting in his office, like a spider in the middle of a web. Spinning and spinning, thinking of every possible outcome and the trap he could set against each one.

I’d fallen straight into one of those traps, and taken Archer with me. I had to get through to him. I had to make Archer understand I hadn’t set him up, that I was as much a victim as he was. It was the idea that he would think I’d betrayed him that hurt me the most.

I almost collided with Christian as I entered the building. “Josie, are you okay?”

“Christian, thank goodness.”

Christian took in my tight, drawn face. “Josie, what’s wrong?”

He was a good kid, but I didn’t want to drag him into this mess too. I pushed past him. “Something bad has happened. I need to fix it.”

“The newspaper article?”

My head whipped round. “How did you know that?” I asked, stopping short.

He looked at me strangely. “It was in the newspaper. I do read, you know.
Everyone does
. I wonder who the mystery woman is?”

I cleared my throat. “I’m sure whoever it is, she had good reason to do what she was doing.”

“Sure—and I can tell you the reason right now.” He waggled his eyebrows. “Several million reasons, if you know what I mean.”

I slumped. If this was what Christian thought, what must Archer be thinking? “I’ve got to see Archer. You’re… you’re right; I think someone is trying to blackmail him, Christian. I think I know who it is, too.”

Christian opened his mouth, but I held up my hand. “No, I can’t tell you. It’s not safe—better if you don’t know anything about it.”

“Do you think he’ll give them what they want?”

I shook my head. “Not if I can help it.” I drew a breath. “Look, I shouldn’t even be talking to you about this. Is Archer in his office?”

Christian hesitated. “No.”

“Do you know where he is?”

He looked down at his feet. “Josie… you’re not going to like this.”

That stopped me short. “What?”

“He… doesn’t want to speak to you right now.”

“What? Why!”

“I don’t know. All I know is, he flew out of his office this morning in a rage, saying he didn’t ever want to speak to you again. He… um, he said some really mean stuff, Josie.”

I looked down. “I can imagine. We… well, we had a misunderstanding. But I’m sure he’ll come round when I tell him the truth.”

He shook his head. “I don’t think so. He told me, very specifically, to pass on a message when I next saw you. He said…” Christian looked upwards, trying to remember. “He said, ‘tell her to take the tape and give it to them,’ whatever that means. Then he said ‘We’re over,’ and not to call or text. He said he just wanted to get on with the rest of his life.”

He looked at me, and spread his hands. “I’m really sorry. I didn’t want to be the one to tell you that. Do you think he was talking about the sex tapes, Josie? But why would you have them?”

I shook my head, the bottom falling out of my world. “I don’t Christian,” I said, fighting back tears. “Thank you for the message.” Then I turned round, and ran from the building before Christian could see the tears suddenly streaming down my face.

I didn’t come in to
work on Monday. As far as I knew, I didn’t have a job to go to. That didn’t mean I’d given up, though. Not without first seeing Archer. I needed to look him in the eyes, tell him it wasn’t me. After that, if he truly wanted me to give the tape over, I would. But not before.
I wouldn’t let Janus win that easily.

At midday, I found myself in my car, driving toward the studio once more.
Toward
it, but not
to
it. I blew the bangs out of my eyes. I’d considered getting dolled up for the occasion—pulling my hair back, putting on more than just token lip gloss—but then decided against it. I was trying to convince Archer of my innocence, not seduce him. And though I knew for some guys there might not be much of a difference, the thing I liked about Archer was that there was.

I couldn’t call him—not when I didn’t know who was listening on the other end of the phone, or even if our phones were tapped.
But I’d been his personal assistant
. I knew Archer had a lunch appointment at 12:30 at a restaurant outside the studio. It was marked personal, which meant that no studio staff would be there, and I figured if I could catch him, I could tell him the truth.

At the restaurant I took a table near the back, facing the door. I was early, so I picked up a magazine and ordered a diet soda and salad, though I hardly felt like eating. The place wasn’t big, so there was little chance of anyone witnessing our encounter. It would be good for Archer too, now that he was being scrutinized over that ugly headline.

Oh, no
. What if he didn’t want to show his face here because of the rumors? What if he was in hiding? If that had happened, then Janus had already won. I waited, fingers tapping, for longer than I cared to admit, my salad appearing then disappearing from my table. I hadn’t touched it.

Finally, I stood up. This was a waste of time; he wasn’t coming, and it was likely my fault.
Much like everything else
.

I was gathering my things when I heard a loud engine squeal to a stop outside the restaurant windows. A top-of-the-line Aston Martin had pulled up at the curb—the type that oozed sex and money. My heart skipped a beat when I saw the door open, and its driver emerge.
Archer
.

The pit of my stomach fell away, a million butterflies suddenly tumbling about inside me. I fought back the urge to run out to him.
It was going to be alright.
I’d tell Archer about Janus, and it was going to be alright.

But then I frowned. He was laughing, and talking to someone.
He didn’t look broken hearted
. In fact, he looked quite the opposite.

I realized why when the car’s other occupant emerged.
Chrystal Holmes
, darling of the young Hollywood scene, beloved of critics and fans alike, and according to Mom’s gossip magazines, Archer’s ex-girlfriend.

Or perhaps, not-so-ex. Archer extended his elbow. She took it as they walked toward the restaurant. The butterflies in my stomach grew cold and stiff, faltering in their flight as an icy chill ran through me. Archer said something cute to Chrystal, and she turned and laughed, a hand touching his shoulder playfully. The butterflies inside me fell and shattered against the lead now in my stomach, their wings turned to ice. 

They were dating?
But he was mine! He’d made love to
me
in the rainforest. He’d made love to
me
at the Mad Hatter’s Tea Party. I was the one who had helped him distribute food. I was the one he had shared his secret spot to.

But he wasn’t mine
. I’d lost every chance of being with him, thanks to those videos.

I opened a magazine—ironically, one with a picture of Chrystal on the cover and held it in front of my face, so only my eyes peered over the top. She was as beautiful off set as on—tall and blonde with a body that in another life, I would have killed for. She flicked her hair, the whole thing happening in slow motion, and a guy across the street walked into a pole.
She made a tee shirt and jeans look fabulous.

I’d never be that girl, not if I lived to be a hundred. I’d told Archer once that I wasn’t in his league. This was the kind of woman who was. Just… couldn’t he have waited a little longer to move on? What did it say about how much I meant if he’d rebounded so quickly?

Then another thought occurred to me.
This appointment had been set long before news of the video hit
. A shiver ran down my spine. It was clear I was the only person living in torment. Heck, by now he probably didn’t even care about the true story behind the supposed video. If you have enough money, you can bounce back. It wouldn’t take him long to recover.
He was already well on his way.

I waited until they were seated, their heads in their menus, before I slipped away from my table and hurried out the door. He wouldn’t notice me—next to a woman like Chrystal, why would he?

No matter how old I
was, there was always one person that I could run to whenever things were bad. I climbed back into my small, crappy car and drove bleary eyed toward Mom’s house.

I couldn’t tell Mom the whole truth, obviously—about the blackmail, and the debt I owed, and that she might have to move out soon. I couldn’t even tell her about Archer being a skeeving, womanizing so-and-so—she was infatuated with the man.

I frowned, ruminating on that last thought. All the good things he’d done. All the wonderful gestures—the flowers, booking out that cinema for Mom, the tape sitting right this very minute in my handbag.

And then I’d told him that we shouldn’t see each other, and he hadn’t called once, in all the hours since?

True, I couldn’t have told him anything more—someone close to him was selling us out, and I couldn’t tip them off that I knew about them—but that didn’t mean he shouldn’t at least
try
and call me. That didn’t mean he had to tell Christian he never wanted to see me again. That didn’t mean he had to go and reconnect with the ex-girlfriend
half a day later
.

And what was with telling Christian that he didn’t want to see me, anyway? Why hadn’t he had the guts to tell me himself? It was like, ever since last night, Archer was an entirely different man. Not the strong, honest, considerate man I’d known previously, but someone else.

Something was going on.
Archer had changed, and I knew I should care about that.
But I just didn’t have the strength to deal with it anymore
. It would be so much easier to give Janus the tape. It would be so much easier to just get on with the rest of my life. Archer wouldn’t care—he obviously had other things on his mind. Why should I?

Let him have his little romantic lunch date—he was doing what was best for him, it was time I did the same for Mom and me. I would give the tape to Janus, first thing on Monday morning.

Mom didn’t ask questions when she saw me walk in with red, blotchy eyes, and a rash reaching above the neck of my blouse. She just patted me on the hand, told me where the egg noodles were, and then went to select a movie to put on the DVR.

God bless Mom—I loved her so much
.

I walked into the kitchen to fix myself a bowl of buttered noodles—my favorite childhood treat. By the time they were cooked, a full stick of creamy butter soaking slowly through them, my eyes were a little less red.

I flopped down onto the sofa; Mom looked at me with concern. At least
she
still pictured Archer on a pedestal.
She
thought he farted rainbows. He was all she’d talked about, last night, giddy as a schoolgirl whenever his name came up in conversation. I guess that’s what a super considerate private screening of your favorite movie at Grauman's Chinese Theatre bought you. One might almost call it sweet.

“…Josie?”

“Huh? Oh, so sorry Mom, what were you saying?”

“I said, you’re in a fine mood today. Feel like talking?”

“Can we just watch a movie, please?”

Mom raised an eyebrow, but acquiesced. An old black and white Warner Bros. logo appeared on the TV to the sound of trumpets, then the opening titles of our movie faded in over a map of Africa.
Casablanca.
How appropriate—a romance about secret documents that ultimately drove two lovers apart. I settled back to watch.

The movie centered around Rick, the owner of an American nightclub in Casablanca, coming into possession of letters which would allow passage for two people through Nazi occupied Europe. The buyers of the documents were an old flame of his… and her new husband.

By the end of the movie, tears were streaming down my cheeks—Rick loved Ilsa so much that he was willing to put her on a plane with her husband, instead of himself.
‘If you don't get in that plane you'll regret it. Maybe not today, maybe not tomorrow, but soon and for the rest of your life.’

‘But what about us?’

‘We'll always have Paris…’

‘... I said I would never leave you.’

‘And you never will.  But I've got a job to do, too.  Where I'm going, you can't follow… Now—here's looking at you kid.’

Mom sighed as the closing credits rolled. “What a man. He gave up everything for her. Gives you hope in humanity, don’t you think—true love?”

“Life’s not always like the movies, Mom,” I said softly.

She was silent for a while, then pushed herself heavily off the couch and moved to sit beside me. Her joints popped softly as she sat back down, hand patting me on the knee. “Is everything okay with you and Archer?”

I shifted uncomfortably. “What makes you think we’d have a problem? He’s my boss, Mom. That’s it.”

Her eyes narrowed, her lips pursed. “It doesn’t take Basil Rathbone to see there’s something between you two. I noticed the way he looked at you the other night. And I also noticed the way you came bouncing in here the last time I saw you, hair all askew and a huge grin on your face; a nun escaped the convent.”

“Mom!”

“Hush child—listen to me. Whatever’s going on, know these two things.” She held up a finger. “First, I’ll always be here for you. You don’t have to talk to an old woman, but you do have to know you can, if you want to.”

I nodded, tears springing suddenly to my eyes. She took a deep breath, and then held up a second finger. “Second. True love exists, but it ain’t easy. You’ve got to fight for it.”

“Mom-”

She cut me off. “No.
I said listen to me
. Sit there and be quiet for once,” she said fondly. “Hollywood makes it all seem so simple. The truth is, it’s a lot more complicated than two hours of celluloid can ever be.
But it does exist
.” She smiled. “You and Archer—don’t give up so quickly on him, okay?”

Tears were flowing down my cheeks. “Why not Mom? It’s over. Over even before it began.”

She shook her head. “It isn’t, and you know why? I’ve seen that look in his eyes before.” She reached out, gently, to squeeze my cheek.

I took her hand. “What look Mom? Where have you seen it?”

She smiled as tears began to roll down her cheeks, too. “Before he passed, your father used to look at me just the same way.”

* * *

I closed the door softly as I exited. Mom had fallen asleep on the couch during the third movie, and I’d left here there, snoring gently, a knitted blanket tucked up around her shoulders. It was funny the way mothers and daughters switched places as they got older. Now I was the one tucking her into bed and she was the small, frail one.

There was nothing wrong with her mind, however. She’d known something was wrong, and she’d known what it was about, too.
Sharp as a tack
, my mother, though perhaps showing up red eyed to gorge on buttered noodles might be considered, as an action, less than covert.

Did she have a point, though, about Archer? Surely it couldn’t be as simple as Mom made it sound—she’d seen something in his eyes, and knew,
just knew
that we were meant to be together.

Before last night, I might have been inclined to believe her. But Archer hadn’t called, and he’d even gone so far as to say he didn’t want to see me again. That had to mean it was over, didn’t it? It had to mean I could give Janus the tape.

Because if Archer didn’t love me, there was no reason I should keep it. What did
I
care if Janus won, in the long run? What did
I
care if Archer’s documentary failed, and his evidence was destroyed? He’d even said I could do it! As long as I protected myself, right? That was the main thing.

Rick hadn’t thought that way, in Casablanca
. He’d started off like that, at the beginning of the movie. But in the end, he’d chosen a different path—decided that his love for Ilsa meant more to him than saving his own skin. He’d decided to look after her, instead of himself.
Here's looking at you kid.

In that movie, true love took a different form. It wasn’t about whether the love was reciprocated. It was about the pure, unadulterated act of loving someone, in and of itself. Ilsa flew away with someone else, and Rick was happier for it, because he knew it made her happy.

Wasn’t that, in a way, what Archer had done for me when he’d given me the tape? I knew the tape meant a lot to him—it was the star witness in his case, so important that he’d made backups, and carried the original on him at all times.

Yet, he’d given it all up instantly, because he knew it would make me happy—without a thought, and without a worry, he’d pushed the original into my hands.
‘You’re more important than a hundred audio recordings. I want you to have it, if it makes you happy.’

In that moment, he’d been Rick, and I’d been Ilsa. And with his actions, he’d proven everything I should ever need him to prove. Should I really be upset that after he thought I’d betrayed him he would want to move on—be happy with someone else? I’m sure if the movie kept rolling after the credits had ended, Rick would
no
t have stayed single for the rest of his life, either.

If I gave that tape to Janus, I probably would get my debt wiped. I was small fry, in the scheme of things. Janus would want to get me out of the picture.

But somehow, I think I’d always known that the same wouldn’t be true of Archer. He’d tried to take Janus down, and they wouldn’t like that, not at all. To my way of thinking, giving Janus the tape might solve my problems, but it would only make Archer’s worse. He’d have lost any leverage he ever had over the evil company, and they’d still be around and operating, able to make his life hell.

It was like Rick, deciding whether to keep the letters or give them to the Nazis—I had a choice too. I could decide that Archer meant nothing to me, and look after myself. Or I could decide that even if he didn’t feel the same, I could honor the feelings I did have.

And suddenly, I realized that I’d never really had a choice at all. Not when it came to Archer. If I didn’t follow my heart, I’d regret it.
Maybe not today, maybe not tomorrow, but soon and for the rest of my life.

I might mean nothing to Archer, but Archer meant the world to me. The only question left was, what to do about it?