Unscripted (3 page)

My curiosity for Mr. Ronan Connolly was growing more intense by the minute with every article and pseudo fact I read. It was like an itch that I just kept scratching. I needed to know more about this handsome man. I had fallen down the proverbial rabbit hole.

I happened upon, accidently of course, some of his modeling photographs. Campaigns, runway shows and sexy fashion editorials were splashed all over the World Wide Web. Specifically, I was drawn to his underwear modeling with Velocity. The man was chiseled and perfect in ways that seemed unattainable. I began having mind-blowing thoughts of running my tongue up and down his defined rock-hard abs and prayed to God that his manhood showcased in the tight undies was just as deliciously bulging in real life.
Please don’t let this be a camera trick.
My sweater suddenly felt too warm for my body and the lower part of stomach was fluttering madly.
Focus Holliday.
Lowering my gaze, I noticed the time on my laptop read five after six. I was stunned that my snooping had allowed time to go by so swiftly. I quickly packed up my stuff and headed up to my room to get ready for my dinner with Ronan Connolly.
Oh My God! I’m having dinner with Ronan Connolly.

I arrived in my room to find a rather large Burberry gift box lying on the bed. I popped off the lid and discovered a handwritten note signed by Ronan. The note read: I HOPE YOU WILL WEAR THIS DRESS FOR OUR DINNER TONIGHT. I LOOK FORWARD TO SEEING YOU. CHEERS, RC

I pushed back the white and silver tissue paper to find the most beautiful emerald green, silk chiffon, sleeveless dress with ruffles cascading off the hips and a sexy plunging neckline. My mouth gaped at the sight of this straight-off-the runway gorgeous dress. The soft sheer fabric felt heavenly between my fingers. I quickly hung it up on one of the silk padded hangers and feverishly rummaged through my shoes. I’d only brought my black pumps with me this time and they were totally wrong for this dress. This dress needed pair of strappy heels. Looking at the clock I realized I didn’t have any time to run to a boutique or department store. I wondered if I had time to trek a few blocks to my sister’s penthouse and grab the pair of black Jimmy Choo sandals out of my closet I knew would be perfect. No, that would not be possible. I didn’t even have the right jewelry or undergarments.
No! This was all wrong, completely and totally wrong.

My heart began to pound wildly in my chest. I started breathing heavily and tears flowed down my cheeks. I couldn’t catch my breath. The panic was coming on rapidly. My chest was tight, and my throat went dry. It was painful. I walked into the bathroom, eyeing my reflection in the mirror. My eyes burned. I felt like my sweater was choking me. The rest of my outfit felt like fire on my skin, and I couldn’t get my clothes off fast enough to calm the heat my body was feeling.

Remember what Dr. Goodwin said, deep breaths and count to ten
.

Desperately trying to hold myself up, I placed my palms flat on top of the marble vanity.

In and out. One. In and out. Two.

My knees buckled and I couldn’t seem to regain control of my loose limbs or my breathing. I had to start over from one. When I got to seven, my arms stopped shaking. When I got to nine, the tears had stopped, and when I reached ten I was able to clutch a glass and turn on the water. I opened the bottle sitting to my right and popped a Xanax.
I hadn’t endured a panic attack in weeks. The last one was brought on by my niece when she’d accidently dropped a rocks glass on the floor and it shattered into a million tiny pieces around her. The blood-curdling screams she cried out had sent chills up my spine, reminding me of that nightmare ten hours I’d spent fearing for my life.

My thoughts drifted to my friend, Maggie, short for Margaret, as I turned on the hot water. Maggie Mills, the former playwright turned Upper East Side Socialite. We met in our rape crisis group when I moved to New York. She was the first person I’d talked to who truly understood the terrifying trauma I had gone through because, unfortunately, Maggie had been raped, too. The best advice I ever received was from Maggie, “Holliday, I see the strength you have inside you. You’re a tough cookie, a lot like this broad. You stay strong. The rape took away your control you must fight to bring it back.” And that is what I have done, every single day since Maggie Mills demanded it of me.

Standing in the shower, I inhaled deeply and let the scent of peppermint soothe my senses and relax my body. The foamy suds slid down my neck, over my breasts, down my arms, my legs and over my ever-present scars. I ran my finger over the one on my hip and shuddered. I pushed the ugly memory out of my mind. The warm water rushed over my still tense shoulders, slowly bringing me to a calmer state of mind.

Stepping out of the shower, I wrapped myself in one of the plush white Egyptian cotton towels. I decided to wear my black pencil skirt and a cream silk blouse. I would have to explain that I simply did not have the right accessories for the dress. I hoped that Ronan would understand and not be offended. I straightened my hair and touched up my makeup before I slipped on my favorite silver necklace. One last glance in the mirror and I was ready.

Hearing a knock at the door, I glossed my lips with a slick creamy nude color and then scooped up my clutch. I opened the door to find Dean standing there, giving me a wide-eyed look with his golden brown eyes.

“
Ready for your evening, Miss Prescott?”

“
I am. Hello Dean and thank you for escorting me.”

He smiled, giving me a head nod, and I followed him to the elevators. The hallway smelled of fresh flowers and I noticed two large vases containing red and white poinsettias on the console in the hallway. The doors to the elevator opened to an empty car. Dean placed his keycard in the Park Avenue Penthouse slit and pressed the button.
Suite my ass! I was going to the penthouse.

The shiny chrome doors parted revealing a private foyer with an elegant chandelier hanging from the ceiling. When the white lacquered door to the penthouse opened I felt like all the air had been sucked out from my lungs. I thought I might have stumbled onto a movie set. Candles lit up the entire room and jazz music poured through the speakers. I noticed a large black grand piano in the corner of the room, along with a stunning floor to ceiling marble slab fireplace. The drapes were pulled back from the giant picture window in the living room, revealing the illuminated Manhattan skyline as snow poured down from the sky. Everything in the room was beige and white with accents of gold and silver. I couldn’t have dreamed of a more romantic setting.

Candles? Music? Champagne? Was Ronan Connolly trying to seduce me?

He stood near the bar and popped the cork on the champagne. The noise caught me off-guard and made me jump. Ronan was dressed in a sleek navy blue suit with a white collared shirt— the first few buttons were undone.
He is too hot for his own good. He is too hot for my own good. I could be easily seduced by this sexy man in the blue suit.
Careful to remain calm I did not show any starry-eyed emotion, only coolness.

He glanced at me as I entered the room, frowning slightly. Ronan approached me, taking slow short strides, moving effortlessly across the penthouse. I swallowed hard. Watching him move towards me so gracefully was a little unnerving. I locked my gaze on Ronan’s piercing jade eyes. They were like lasers slicing through my soul.

“
Holliday welcome. Thank you for joining me. Did you not like the dress I had sent to your room?” he asked coolly while handing me a glass of champagne. Another lump crept into my throat. I swallowed, closing my eyes, and then counted to three in my head.

“
Mr. Connolly… err… uhmm… sorry
Ronan
. I loved the dress. It was absolutely gorgeous. However, I didn’t have the right accessories.” I looked for a sign from him, anything that would make me feel at ease in that moment. He smiled at me and then gave me a wink.
That was it.
“
I would love to have worn the dress tonight. You can send it back if you like. I didn’t even try it on,” I said softly.

“
That’s okay, Holliday. You keep the dress. It’s on me,” he said very firmly. Turning on his heel and gently clutching my hand, Ronan led me to the dining room. My eyes quickly took in the elegantly styled rectangular dark espresso colored table with eight beige high-back chairs. A gorgeous centerpiece featuring three red pillar candles was surrounded by a holly wreath and pine cones. Every seat had a place setting complete for a four course meal.

“
Join me won’t you?” he said while gesturing to the chair opposite him that he had set back from the table for me.
Such a gentleman.

I couldn’t help but be mesmerized by everything this man did: the way he held his champagne glass, the way his firm lips parted when he took a drink— it was all so… tempting. His hair, dark and lustrous, could almost have been mistaken for jet black, but the candlelight caught the sultry deep brown edges with every flicker. Dean came into the room and whispered something to Ronan. Even the way he leaned his body back was sexy.
Get a grip Holliday.

Ronan excused himself to take a phone call. I scanned the room, taking a few sips of the bubbly champagne. It was unlike anything I’d ever tasted before. It probably cost a fortune. It
tasted
expensive. Ronan returned and apologized again for stepping away. Our meal arrived just as I had finished my first glass of champagne. The aroma of rich flavors and spices was so tantalizing it made my mouth water. We started with a butternut squash soup which was actually quite yummy. For our main course Ronan ordered beef tenderloin served with roasted carrots and a potato puree.
Bold choice, what if I was a vegetarian?

“
Where are Jade and Leah?” I asked.

“
They’re in one of the guest suites upstairs sleeping. They were still pretty shattered from the flight yesterday.”

“
Shattered?” I asked.

“
Too right, apologies.
Shattered
is Irish slang for one being tired.”

“
Oh I see, and what brought you to New York City?”

“
I had a photo shoot for
One Park Avenue Magazine
. I brought the girls out from California because they wanted to see the giant Christmas tree at Rockefeller Plaza,” he said with a smile.

I love
One Park Avenue Magazine
. I had just been there a few weeks ago, dropping off some of my sister’s designs for a photo shoot.

“
They really love Christmas, huh?” I asked in between bites.

He nodded and then took a drink of his champagne. “Why are you in the city, Holliday?”

“
Oh, me.” I swallowed and lifted the napkin to my lips. “I live here.”

“
You live here, in the hotel?” he inquired, giving me a curious look.

I giggled. “No, sorry. I mean I live here in New York City. I live with my sister Charlotte and her family on Park Avenue. I’m originally from California, Malibu in fact, but I...I’m sorry I’m probably boring you with my life story.”

A couple times a month I leave my sister’s place and check into a hotel, usually The York, to give her and her husband privacy. They insist I don’t need to, but it’s the least I can do since Charlotte and Lucan let me stay with them rent-free. Plus, it’s a good way for me to get some quiet time and try to regain my independence. Dr. Goodwin says being alone a few times a month will help me to overcome my fears. So far it’s worked wonders. I’ve come a long way in two years, although I’m still not ready to get a place of my own. I’m not sure I ever will be able to live alone again. I really want to, but as long as he is out there… as long as they’re out there… I don’t feel safe.

“
Quite the opposite, actually Holliday. I find everything about you to be anything but boring.”

I blushed and felt a warmth rush over my neck. I started to become skeptical. This was all too much.
Why would a movie star be hitting on me?
Unless he did this sort of thing all the time.
We’re not in public. There are no photographers around to take our pictures. Maybe this is why he’s never linked to anyone— there’s no physical evidence. He could secretly be a typical Hollywood manwhore. Ronan probably makes women sign non-disclosure forms so they can never spill the details to the tabloids. My head was spinning as it was busy conjuring up these suspicions. My wild thoughts of Ronan Connolly actually being like his character, Cameron Carlisle wealthy sex-god, were interrupted.