It was a little-known fact to the millions of followers on social media that Darcy McGregor, in possession of an award, was more smug than most. She enjoyed the victory over her fellow celebrities, the victory over other shows, the victory over those in the media who tried blackening her good name, and that her name looked good on expensive chunks of gold.
“Darcy, you’re wonderful,” Marshall oozed, swanning over and kissing her on the cheek. They both turned to the camera, beamed, and snuggled close.
“I know.” She shoved him away and headed to the side. Had he really threatened to fire Susannah? Could one fire a family member? Be forced to resign as a daughter? She held up the award for Susannah to see. “What do you think?”
“That a load of money went into that, and all it’ll do is sit on the shelf.” Susannah shrugged, her sleek brown hair around her slender shoulders, dress tight at the waist and flowing over her hips. She looked delightful when dressed correctly. “Probably enough to pay for someone’s retirement.”
“They can pay for their own retirement.” She pursed her lips. Marshall was approaching again.
“Darcy, you’re a busy thing, aren’t you?” He smiled at her and tapped her on the buttock. He was good stock. Well-known, well-established acting dynasty. His frame was elegant, his jaw broad, and he did look right on camera. “You haven’t had time for me.”
Susannah glared up at him. “She’s a woman, not a piece of meat. Hands off.”
Darcy laughed. She shouldn’t encourage her, but it was endearing.
Marshall looked Susannah up and down. “Why don’t you run off and get me a glass of champagne?”
“Get your own champagne,” Susannah snapped back. “You could do with the exercise.”
Marshall narrowed his eyes at her. “If you don’t want to lose your job, girl, get me a champagne.” He clicked his fingers. “Now.”
“Stay where you are,” Darcy said, her tone icy to her ears as she moved in front of Susannah. He must know Susannah was her daughter. Who didn’t know how wonderful she was as a mother? Shimmer Magazine had voted her Best Mother five years on the roll. “Marshall, she has more column space than you, darling. At least be a good sport about it?”
Marshall sucked in his chin. “Column space? Who would want to write about a nobody like her?”
“Susannah is my baby girl.” She yanked Susannah to her, giving her the best motherly squeeze she could. Another camera—she placed a kiss on her forehead and beamed at the lens—trying not to let the odd curl of anger in her stomach show.
“And a photo opportunity,” Susannah muttered and folded her arms. “Whoever you are, you’re a sleaze.”
Marshall narrowed his eyes. “I’m an award-winning actor, girl.”
“So? Why does that make you clever?” Susannah’s eyes glinted like his tone hurt. “Why does that give you the right to talk to people that way?”
The anger bubbled. Susannah was right. But the key was to keep cool. Cameras were watching.
“The fact I have more money,” Marshall hissed, towering over her. Something odd rumbled up at his tone, icy and fiery all at once. “And I’m worth more than a little dy—”
Darcy slammed her fist into his jaw.
He dropped to the floor with a yelp.
Susannah stared at her with complete awe. “Nice shot, Mum.”
Her hand was swelling. She would have puffy fingers for days. What would the skin care sponsor say? They didn’t pay her to advertise puffy fingers, did they?
“Bitch.” Marshall clambered to his feet and brushed himself off, his chin sporting a gash. “We’ll talk about this through my agent.”
“Not unless you want me to accuse you of…” Think. What would an ignoramus like him worry about?
“Assault, harassment, discrimination…” Susannah stood beside her and lifted her swelling hand into the air. “My mum knows what to do with jerks.”
The snapping press cheered—no doubt they hated Marshall because he was richer, handsomer than them, and he had dated her. Perfect reason to dislike him.
Susannah kept hold of her hand and dragged her out of the doors to the limo, then shoved her inside. “I can’t believe you just stuck up for me,” she said once the door was closed behind them.
“I’m your mother. It’s my job.” She placed the award on the seat. Good thing she hadn’t clocked him with the award, or she’d have needed to sell it for the bail.
“You don’t normally let that bother you.” Susannah took her hand and pulled off the rings. She shoved her hand into the ice bucket, yanked the cloth off the champagne bottle, and put the ice in it. “I mean, you belted him one.”
“What do you mean I don’t let it bother me?” She took the ice wrap and placed it on her knuckles. “Do men talk to you like that normally?”
“Everyone talks to me like that.” Her frown was deep like the bad-tempered child who whined about wearing dresses and gave the dolls man-cuts just to irritate her. “You talk to me like that.”
“When have I ever talked to you like that?” She tied the ice wrap tight, grabbed for the champagne bottle, and popped it open. Forget the glass. Pain management needed.
“When you tell me I have to straighten my hair to go out with you, or wear a dress, or wax.” Susannah snatched the bottle off her. “Or you tell me no one will look at me if I don’t wear make-up.”
“I heckle. I’m your mother, it’s my job.” She took the bottle back. “Heckling is allowed.”
“Yet you just belted the bloke who talked to me the same way?” Susannah splayed her fingers over her chest. “Double standards from the star herself.”
Darcy downed a fair few gulps, not sure if she was wobbling or if they were in motion. “Why are you angry with me when I just hit him?”
“I’m not angry. I’m shocked. I’d be in awe if I thought you actually meant it.” She shook her head and stared out of the window. “Nothing you do is genuine.”
That stung. Stung more than her throbbing knuckles. Must be the champers. More needed. “I am completely genuine.”
“No, you’re more of a fake than the rip-offs on the stalls.” Susannah sighed and tucked her hair behind her oversized ears—from her father’s side, of course. “But I can hope.”
The stinging seeped into her chest and knotted her stomach. It was the same thing she’d told her father before he left. He was a fake. In fairness to her, he’d had another family, and her mother had never known. “I stick around. I don’t abandon you.”
“Don’t you?” Susannah met her eyes, tear filled, and her mascara was definitely not waterproof. “I’m only around when I’m needed for promo.”
Swigging more champers didn’t help. The pain was squeezing her stomach in two. “You don’t even like me.” There, there it was. Why would Susannah want to be around her? She hated clothes, she hated fashion, she never shut up about equality and all that angsty teenage rubbish. But she didn’t have to put money in the bank now, did she?
“No, but I’d like to. I only wish you’d bother to like me.” Mascara lines blotted her now-ruddy cheeks, and she looked a fright. Hopefully there were no cameras outside the house.
“Fine. You can come to the set. I’ll even get you a job. But don’t whine when I am talking about important matters.” She nodded and poked herself in the eye with the bottle. Ow. “Body shape is the cause of so many fashion crimes.”
Susannah rolled her eyes but then let through the sweetest smile. “You know, I’d actually like that.”
“Good.” She leaned over and rubbed the mascara off Susannah’s cheeks, then held up the bottle, still squinting. Ow, ow. “Marshall had to go. Skinny trousers are not flattering. I don’t care what the designers say.”
“We agree on something, then,” Susannah said with a sniff, and that smile grew.
“You don’t find skinny trousers flattering?” Could this be a breakthrough?
“Not that. I don’t care what the designers say.” Susannah chuckled and tapped her on her good hand, then swiped the bottle from her. “And champagne gives you a hangover.”
Darcy sighed. So close.