Chapter 11

“I’m so sorry, Gretchen,” Audrey said in a tight voice, shifting her weight even as Daphne slid against her. “She showed up earlier today and I couldn’t leave her alone.”

“It’s okay,” Gretchen said, moving forward to take Daphne’s arm. “Hey, Daph. How’s it going?”

“Greaaat,” Daphne said cheerfully, and her breath reeked of booze. She transferred her weight from Audrey to Gretchen, and Gretchen noticed how slight her troubled sister was. Audrey—sensible, sturdy Audrey—was rounded thanks to her desk job. Daphne was skin and bones, and she seemed unnaturally twitchy. She put a finger to her lips and then grinned. “I’m avoiding my manager. He’s trying to take my money again.”

“You mean put you on an allowance?” Gretchen said mildly, turning to look back at Eldon. “Can we add another seat to the party?”

“Are you sure you want to do that?” Eldon gave Gretchen an unhappy look.

She wasn’t sure at all, but she didn’t have much of a choice.

“’Course she does,” Daphne said, and blinked rapidly. Gretchen noticed her pupils were huge and dilated. “I’m the entertainment. Don’t you know who I am?”

“He doesn’t care who you are, and you’re not the entertainment,” Gretchen told her.

“I’m really sorry,” Audrey said, hurrying behind her. “I didn’t know what else to do. Should we leave her in a room somewhere to let her sleep it off?”

“Can we trust her not to steal the silver?”

“Um, no.”

“Then no, we can’t. This is Hunter’s house.” Gretchen sighed. “Come on. Let’s introduce my junkie sister to my boyfriend and my new editor. This’ll be fun.”

They returned to the dining room and the soft, casual voices of conversation died at the sight of Daphne’s skinny, listing form.

“Hi, everyone. This is my sister Audrey and her twin, Daphne.” Gretchen winced, waiting for the explosions. The gasps. The whispers. Something always happened when Daphne entered a room.

It didn’t take long. Kat was the first to arrive at her side. “Oh, my God. Is that . . .” Her gaze went to Gretchen. “You’re Daphne Petty’s sister? The Daphne Petty?”

“Daphne! I am such a big fan.” The editorial assistant arrived at Daphne’s side, gushing with clear excitement. “I loved your first album. I even saw you on tour in 2010 with the Lipstick Project.”

“Yeah, that was me,” Daphne said, brightening to the subject. She put an arm around the editorial assistant’s shoulders and leaned in way too close. “They sucked, didn’t they? That fucking tour was a nightmare. Hated every moment of it. Couldn’t wait to get backstage and get loaded every night, just to get through the goddamn day. The drugs were the only thing that made it worth it. Shit, they had some fine ass drugs.” She peered at her new friend’s face. “You don’t have any drugs on you, do you?”

“Um.” The editorial assistant’s eyes widened and she looked to Gretchen for help.

“Daph,” Gretchen said in a warning voice.

“Oooh, wine,” Daphne said, heading for the table.

“No wine!” Audrey said, hurrying after her sister.

“I can’t believe you didn’t tell me that Daphne Petty was your sister,” Kat hissed at her. “She is a gold mine of Hollywood gossip. Do you think she’d let us do an autobiography? We could sell it. We’re talking millions.”

“No, Kat,” Gretchen said, turning her agent away from Daphne and Audrey. “She’s not interested and neither am I. Her life is private.”

“Not that private,” Kat pointed out. “She’s in the tabloids every week. Is it true that her manager has her on a strict allowance? Is it true that she slept with Thomas Steele and aborted his baby? That her label assigns her handlers?”

Gretchen gave Kat a stern look. “I’m serious. Drop it. Daphne’s off the table.”

Kat raised a hand, indicating that she was backing off. “I’m just saying. You know where to go if she ever needs an influx of cash. Which, according to Star Trax magazine, is any day now.”

Ugh. Gretchen rubbed her forehead, stress returning. Count on Daphne to mess things up tonight. She’d been hoping to have a low-key dinner to excite the publishing house, not try and put her sister up for auction to a group of vultures.

Brontë stepped in, smiling apologetically. “I hate to break in to the conversation, ladies, but dinner’s going to be served in a few minutes. Gretchen, where do you want to seat Daphne?”

Gretchen hesitated. Daphne’s high-pitched giggle cut through the air, grating on Gretchen’s nerves. “Put her on the far end of the table. Let’s make sure nothing but water gets close to Daphne.”

Brontë nodded and moved to Daphne’s side. As a former waitress, Brontë had experience in dealing with loud, obnoxious patrons, so Gretchen was assured that Brontë could handle her.

“Is everything all right?” Hunter was at Gretchen’s side in the next moment, his arm moving protectively around her shoulders. “You look unhappy.”

“Just surprised,” she told him softly. “Though I shouldn’t be. Daphne just brings trouble wherever she goes.”

“Do you want me to have her escorted off the premises?”

“No.” Gretchen shook her head. “Let’s just try and ignore her through dinner. I think Brontë has her handled.”

Indeed, Brontë was chatting cheerfully with Daphne and escorting her to the far end of the table, away from the wine and her new editor. Reese and Jonathan were watching Daphne with an amused expression, but the look on Cade’s face was sad. She knew how he felt—she wanted to cry every time she saw Daphne. She was a shadow of her former self.

“Wait,” Daphne slurred. “Where’s my sister?” She scanned the room, and then her gaze moved to Gretchen.

And then stopped on Hunter, still protectively looming over Gretchen’s side.

“Oh, my God,” Daphne said. She leaned over to Brontë and whispered loudly, “That dude is fucking hideous.”

The room grew immediately silent.

Ah, hell. Gretchen put her arm around Hunter’s waist and smiled, even though she wanted to punch her sister in the mouth. She knew Hunter had to be humiliated. “Daphne, this is my . . . boyfriend, Hunter.” Were they boyfriend and girlfriend? He’d confessed love, so she felt comfortable saying that. She hoped he didn’t mind.

Daphne just stared, blinking her stoned eyes. “He’s like a bad acid trip.”

“Daph! Stop it! You’re embarrassing me.”

Daphne giggled. “Me? What about Quasimodo at your side there?”

“That’s enough,” Gretchen said through gritted teeth. She strode forward, pushing Brontë aside and grabbing Daphne by the arm. “I don’t care if you’re my sister. If you can’t be polite, you’re out of here. I’m going to call your manager and rat you out.”

“Daphne, please just be quiet,” Audrey said in a low, unhappy voice. “Please.”

Daphne ignored her twin, wrenching her arm out of Gretchen’s grip. “Why are your panties in such a wad, Gretchen? So you’re dating an ugly dude. So what.” Her eyes widened. “Oh, I get it. He’s rich, isn’t he?”

Horror burned Gretchen’s cheeks. Oh, God. That wasn’t it at all, but everyone at this party was going to think that of her, weren’t they? “You are leaving, Daphne. Right now.” She grabbed her sister’s thin, veiny arm. Audrey grabbed the other side. “Tell everyone you’re sorry and I won’t call your manager.”

“Gee, I’m sorry everyone,” Daphne slurred as they dragged her out of the room. “Sorry my sister is being such a lame piece of shit. Gretchen was always the fun, slutty one. Guess Audrey made her boring.”

Gretchen inwardly groaned at the shocked chuckles in the room. Great. Just fucking great. Now she was a slut and a gold digger in their eyes.

Eldon escorted them down the hall, moving valuable objects out of Daphne’s writhing grasp. It took the two sisters a few minutes to drag their protesting sister to the front door, but when she was finally there, Daphne seemed to calm down. “All right, all right. I’m going.” She looked at Gretchen with a pitying smile. “If you needed money, sis, all you had to do was ask. No need to whore yourself out to fugly guys.”

“Get. Out.”

“Can I be of assistance?” Cade arrived, glancing at Audrey before moving toward Daphne.

Daphne’s drunken expression softened. “Cade. You remembered me.” She held out her arms for a hug, and he moved into them.

“It’s going to be okay, Daphne,” Cade said in a soothing voice, stroking the thick tangle of Daphne’s hair. “I’ll take care of you.” He nodded at Gretchen and headed out the door, Daphne huddled against him.

Audrey followed them, a stricken look on her face.

Gretchen waited until she was sure they were gone, then turned from the door, feeling as if she wanted to vomit. God, Daphne was ruining everything.

In the hallway, Eldon stood there, staring at her. A look of hatred was on his face. “I never liked you much, Ms. Petty, but I never thought you were deliberately cruel. I see I was wrong.”

“You’re still wrong,” Gretchen told him, but it was clear her words weren’t getting through. “I’m not dating Hunter because he’s rich.”

Eldon ignored her, clearly choosing to believe otherwise. “I am returning to the party to serve dinner,” he told her a moment later, then left without bothering to see if she followed.

This was going to be a long, long evening.

***

Gretchen paced the halls of Buchanan Manor, trying to compose herself. What a mess. She’d have to go in and apologize to everyone. She’d wanted a nice, quiet party among friends, perhaps impress her editor a little. She’d gotten a nightmare instead, and the urge to run away and not return was overwhelming. Hunter had to be miserable.

It was the thought of his misery that prompted her to return to the party. Gretchen headed back to the dining room.

Before she could open the door, though, Kat stepped out. She looked relieved at the sight of Gretchen. “Hey, kiddo. Can we talk?”

“Right now?” Gretchen bit her lip and gestured down the hall. “Let’s go to the kitchen, then. I need to make sure the desserts are ready to serve.”

They walked down the halls in silence. Once they pushed into the kitchen, Kat whistled, gazing at the enormous room. “This is impressive.”

“There’s three of them in the manor, actually.” Pride for Hunter made her offer the tidbit. “The entire house is lovely, isn’t it?”

“I imagine.” Kat gave her a knowing look and picked one of the slivered almonds off a delicately frosted cupcake and popped it into her mouth. “So is that why?”

Gretchen sighed at her friend. If Kat was going to pick at her creations, she’d have to fix them. She turned and headed for the large walk-in pantry. “Why what?”

“Why you’re with you know who. Scarface.”

She jerked open the door to the pantry and stepped inside, shoving aside cans, searching for the bag of slivered almonds. Irritation flared through Gretchen. Did everyone have to call Hunter names? She didn’t even notice his scars anymore. They gave him character, nothing more. Why was everyone fixated on them tonight? And where the hell were the damn slivered almonds?

She pushed aside a bag of chocolate chips with force. “I don’t know where you’re going with this, Kat.”

“I just wonder if you and him is about money more than lust. I mean, I get it. I like money, too, but jeez. He’s a lot to take in.”

“You know me,” Gretchen said sarcastically, “I’ll do anything for a paycheck.” If her agent believed that about her, they clearly weren’t as good friends as she thought. Still, Kat did seem to see the world in terms of money. She couldn’t grasp the concept of dating a man simply because she was fascinated by him. Annoyed, she continued to search the pantry. “I can’t believe you even had to ask me that.”

“I just have concerns for you. Do you need money that bad?”

Where were the damn slivered almonds? She shoved aside a tin of baking powder and spotted the bag. Finally. Gretchen grabbed it. “Honey, I always need money. But—”

She turned.

Hunter stood in the doorway of the kitchen and had listened to every word they’d said. His face was mottled red, the scars a livid white against his angry flush.

Kat was still seated, picking at a cupcake. As Gretchen’s voice died, she turned around and sucked in a breath.

“People are asking about you,” Hunter said, his voice cold enough to freeze the Arctic. “I thought I’d come and check on things.”

“We’re coming back,” Gretchen said brightly. “We were just making sure dessert was ready.” She bustled to the doorway and moved to give Hunter a quick kiss.

He sidestepped her embrace, avoiding her.

Hurt spiraled through Gretchen, but she ignored it, keeping a smile on her face. “Shall we get back to our dinner guests?”

“If we must,” Hunter said, his voice still ice cold.

With a sick feeling, Gretchen suspected he’d heard far more than he cared to. She needed a chance to explain.

She wondered if she’d even get that chance.

***

Dinner was an excruciating affair. Her food was praised, but Hunter was silent to all parties, and everyone seemed incredibly awkward and uncomfortable. Kat drank glass of wine after glass of wine, and Brontë kept casting Gretchen concerned looks from the far end of the table. Determined to make the best, Gretchen was a little bit loud, a little bit brash, and kept the conversation going even when it died an awkward death time after time.

Soon enough, dessert was served and demolished, and guests began to slowly trickle out. Brontë and Logan were two of the first to go, and Brontë promised to call her in the morning, no doubt to offer support or simply to get details out of her. Hunter’s other friends quickly followed, until there was no one left but her new editor, Preston Stewart.

As Gretchen walked him to the door, she chatted on and on about the letters and the history of Buchanan Manor.

“It sounds like a fascinating project,” he said. “I can’t wait to see the finished manuscript. When do you think you’ll be done?”

Gretchen kept her too-fake smile pinned to her face. “I wanted to ask you about that. I’ve had a bit of a setback and need a few more weeks to hit my deadline. Is that going to be a problem?”

He frowned slightly, then shrugged. “I’ll run it past our boss and see what he says.”

Gretchen paused, surprised. He wasn’t making sense. “Our? What do you mean?”

The editor grinned. “I’m sure you can wrangle an extension out of him.” He gave her a lewd wink. “Just do what you do best.”

She took a step backward, appalled. “What are you talking about?”

“Hunter? It’s obvious you’re sleeping with him.”

“What does that have to do with anything?”

For the first time, her editor looked puzzled. “Hunter’s the owner of Bellefleur Publishing. It was his idea for this project, and he insisted you work on it.”

Her jaw dropped. “I . . .” She paused, flabbergasted. She didn’t know what to say to that.

This new publisher that had requested her specifically . . . was set up by Hunter? Bellefleur? The floral name should have tipped her off, since he loved roses so much. The contract offered specifically to her with no logic behind it.

But why? It didn’t make sense.

She needed to talk to Hunter right away. Giving the editor a tight smile, she excused herself, wished him a good night, and then hurried back to the formal dining room, where she’d last seen Hunter.

He wasn’t there.

Heavy with dread, Gretchen calmly walked to the north wing and headed for Hunter’s rooms. She headed for his office and turned the doorknob.

It was locked.

He didn’t want her in there. Well, damn it, she wanted to talk to him. Gretchen knocked, hating how embarrassingly awkward it felt to wait for him to deign to let her in. All the while, she kept thinking about what the editor had said.

I’m sure you can wrangle an extension out of him.

She felt dirty at the thought. She knocked on the door, ignoring the twist in her gut.

A long, interminable moment passed before the door opened. Hunter glanced at her, his face rigid, and then turned away, walking back to the large desk in the center of his office. He hadn’t spoken a word to her.

Gretchen followed him in, unsure of how to begin the conversation. Apologize for Daphne’s behavior? Explain the sarcastic conversation he’d overheard between her and Kat that made her look bad?

But she kept coming back to something else, instead. “Why does my editor think that if I ask you for an extension, I’ll get one?”

Hunter looked up from his computer screen, then flicked his gaze away again as if she were unimportant. He began to type once more. “He has a big mouth. It seems to be a trend with our dinner guests.”

“Daphne’s not herself.” Gretchen moved toward his desk, wishing that he’d stop typing for just a minute and look at her, really look at her. “She’s under a conservatorship because she can’t seem to stay out of drugs and alcohol. Audrey’s spent half her life cleaning up Daphne’s messes.”

“I don’t give a shit about your sister,” Hunter said coldly. “Is that what you came in here to talk about? I’m busy.”

She flinched. “You overheard me talking to Kat, didn’t you? You can’t possibly think all that is true.”

“What part’s not true? You weren’t exactly refuting her claims.”

“I would never sleep with you just to get to your wallet. I’m a little hurt that you think I would.”

“What am I supposed to think, Gretchen? Your sister proclaims to our dinner party that you enjoy the company of men. Quite a few men, it seems.”

“So I was a little loose in my teenage years. So what?”

“And that you’re sleeping with an ugly man for money. And you don’t deny it.” He stopped typing and gave her an icy look. “And I find you having the exact same conversation with your agent, and again, you don’t deny it. Exactly what am I supposed to think?”

“Well, for starters, you can trust me,” Gretchen snapped.

His jaw flexed, as if he were trying hard to keep his temper in check. He said nothing.

“You really think I’m sleeping with you because you’re rich?” She was incredulous.

“I’m trying to think of another reason why you would,” Hunter said, his voice crisp. “After all, it is acknowledged that I’m quite ugly. And looking back, you came on to me. So yes, it’s looking rather suspicious in my mind.”

“Your feelings are hurt,” she said, shaking her head. “And you’re taking it out on me.”

He shook his head. “You’re not the person I thought you were. That much is clear.”

“And who did you think I was? I’ve never lied about my family or my finances. You never asked. Why do you think I work all the time at a job that makes me miserable?” She snorted. “It’s not my stunning work ethic.”

He said nothing.

“And for the record, I came on to you because I wanted you. Because I was drawn to you. You seemed lonely and ached to have someone touch you. And I guess I’m stupid, because I wanted to touch you and rock your world. I guess that was a bad call on my part.”

“I guess it was.”

She bit her lip, thinking. This conversation was going nowhere. Worse, it was making her confused. She’d come in here to apologize to him for her sister’s behavior, and now she was having to apologize for her own? For the grave crime of falling for a man who didn’t trust her? It was laughable.

No, it was heartbreaking.

Gretchen crossed her arms over her chest. “I’m sorry if my friends hurt your feelings—”

“They didn’t hurt my feelings. They simply showed me the truth of who you are. I should have known you were too good to be true. All those words you said, just words.”

She flinched again. “What words?”

“Your talk of not caring what a man looked like as long as he made you happy. It turns out that you don’t care what a man looks like as long as he has a full wallet.”

“That’s a lie and you know it. And what are you talking about? When did I ever say anything about men and their looks?” Where on earth was this coming from? She couldn’t recall having a conversation with him where they discussed what she looked for in a man. Strange.

“Ask Brontë. Remember? You told her that rich men thought they were the heroes of the fairy tale but they were truly the villains.”

Huh? She stared at him, trying to piece together the whirlwind of accusations. The last long conversation she’d had with Brontë was when they were picking up books on Audrey’s request. They’d talked about men then, but they’d been alone in the empty house. Unless . . .

“You were spying on me,” she said slowly. “That day at the house.”

He gave her a cutting look and turned away, but not before she saw the hint of red rising in his cheeks.

“It’s true, isn’t it? You saw me that day. How? And what does that have to do with anything?”

He was silent.

Her mind raced. She vaguely recalled her conversation with Brontë in the empty house, but only because she’d tried to give her friend relationship advice. Not that she was a great expert on relationships herself. “I don’t understand what that has to do with anything. We didn’t know each other then. I didn’t meet you until I moved into this house.”

This house.

Something clicked. Her publishing contract specified that she had to live in the house that Hunter Buchanan owned. Hunter, who’d been spying on her before she knew he existed. She gasped. “And you own a new publisher that contacted my agent out of the blue and offered a big paycheck as long as I lived on location. At your house. You set this all up, didn’t you?”

He stared at her, silent, his jaw clenched. But he wasn’t denying it.

Suddenly, things clicked into place. The weird contract. The editor’s odd comments. The fact that Hunter didn’t seem to know a thing about what kind of books she wrote. Eldon’s dismissive dislike of her. Her mysterious bestsellerdom.

She gasped again. “I didn’t become a bestseller, did I? Not really? Did you buy all those books?”

“I wanted to do something nice for you. It seems I am a fool.”

Horror crashed through her. “You set this all up to bring me here. There’s no new publisher. The letters . . . are those fakes?” When he continued to be silent, her stomach churned. She felt sick. “No wonder the details never matched the house. It’s not this house, is it? None of it’s real. You basically paid me to come and live at your house for a month so I’d be around you and fall in love with you?”

His mouth twisted, the scar at the corner of his lip livid. “Don’t try and throw love into this now, Gretchen. We’re both not fools enough to believe you’re really in love with me.”

Revulsion hit her. She did love him, and he was a monster. “I can’t believe you did this,” she said brokenly. “I can’t believe you went to such levels just to try and get me to sleep with you.”

“It’s not like that,” he snarled.

“Isn’t it? Isn’t that what you did?” Gretchen waved an arm, furiously gesturing at her surroundings. She was angry, but more than that, she was hurt. Betrayed to her core. “Isn’t all this and me being here because you wanted to fuck me? Don’t you care that you’re ruining my life? You can’t just play with people’s livelihoods because you’re bored and lonely, Hunter Buchanan. Reality doesn’t work that way.”

“Doesn’t it? You certainly came running the moment you heard the dollar amount.”

She reeled as if struck. “You really do think that of me. After all we’ve been through.”

“What am I supposed to believe, Gretchen? That you saw my face and thought you needed to have a man like me? You’ll forgive me if I don’t quite fall for that again.”

She wanted to vomit. She had been excited about the money and the adventure. Now she wanted nothing to do with it. She just wanted to get away from here. Away from him and his awful, cold accusations. “Well, thank you for making me feel like a whore,” she told him in a light voice, though it trembled with control. “It’s good to know where I really stand with you. I thought I cared for you and that you cared for me, but I guess I was mistaken in that, wasn’t I?” She laughed bitterly. “I guess we’re both in love with a person who didn’t exist.”

He said nothing. After a long, pregnant pause, he began to type again.

The conversation was done. She shook her head sadly and left the room, closing the door behind her. As soon as the door closed, the tears began to flow. Hot and painful, Gretchen swiped at them but they seemed to keep coming no matter what she did.

You certainly came running the moment you heard the dollar amount.

The walk back to her lonely room seemed endless. The halls were silent and dark, Buchanan Manor as austere and forbidding and unfriendly as ever. When she opened the door, Igor looked up from his position on the foot of the bed and mewed a greeting.

She closed the door behind her and leaned against it, her limbs feeling heavy and lethargic. “We’re going home tomorrow, Igor,” she said softly. “We’re done here.”

The cat simply flicked an ear at her, and then lowered his head again.

It seemed no one was impressed with her lately. Figured. She headed to the bed and moved to stroke his ears. “I wonder if it was even you that knocked over that glass of water, Igor. I’m starting to think Hunter tramples on anyone just to get what he wants. No wonder he’s alone.”

But even as she said the words, she ached inside. Why was it that the man was slowly and methodically destroying her life and she wanted to comfort him? She must be crazy.

What was even sadder? Her accidental declaration of love hadn’t been a lie—she did love him.

She loved him, but she couldn’t be in a relationship with a man who claimed to love her but didn’t respect her and treated her like a pawn.

With a heavy sigh, Gretchen picked up her suitcase from under the bed and laid it flat. Time to pack.

Date: 2015-02-03; view: 604