“Abby, get your butt out here!”
Abby licked her finger and scrubbed at the black smudges beneath her eyes, ignoring Candy calling her from the kitchen. She checked the results and sighed. No such luck. It wasn’t mascara after all, just the color of her skin. Three double shifts in a row had clearly taken their toll. She applied another layer of concealer and groaned as she caught sight of her uniform.
The uniform of the Hollywood Diner was too everything: too short, too tight, too see-through. And worst of all, too clichéd. But Abby had to face facts. Her acting career was over, and like every other “resting” actor in Los Angeles, she was waiting tables.
Before she’d left England, the waitress uniform had haunted her dreams—though the one in her nightmares was nowhere near as bad as the real thing—but she never imagined that she might be grateful for it. She’d headed out here, full of excitement and expectation, buoyed up by her BAFTA nomination, her British Soap Awards gongs. She couldn’t have foreseen that within weeks she’d have been forced out of her acting career and be hiding from the world.
There was no use feeling sorry for herself though; plenty of people were worse off. This job put food on the table, a roof over her head, and kept the bailiffs from the door. She should be grateful. She was grateful. She just had to remind herself of that fact from time to time.
“Abby!”
Last checks: tighten ponytail, pull down skirt to try and cover another half inch of thigh, paste on Hollywood Diner Smile. Ready for business. Thank God her mum couldn’t see her now, she thought. Abby knew exactly what her mother would think of the sort of girl who wore this to work. It was typical of this city that she couldn’t even serve burgers without giving her customers an eyeful of leg—though thankfully, at just five foot two, she didn’t have too much leg to worry about.
“Abby!”
The kitchen was its usual combination of smoke, steam, heat, and cursing. On her first shift Abby had thought it was hell. She couldn’t imagine what the devil could possibly have down there that was worse than this room. But two years on she could see that this wasn’t chaos. Okay, so maybe that wasn’t strictly true, but it was organized chaos. It had a tempo and a rhythm that was second nature to her now. And when she had really needed somewhere to hide out, this place had been here.
On the surface there was nothing remarkable about the diner. It looked like any other: peeling Formica tables, vinyl-covered benches, and a host of slightly greasy-looking regulars. In fact, the only thing that would mark it out from a hundred others was that it would be the shabbiest of the lot. The first time she’d seen it, it seemed like the perfect place to lie low for a while; all she’d wanted was somewhere quiet and out of the way. Somewhere no one with any profile in the movie business could stumble across her and ask questions. But after a few weeks, she’d realized that she wanted to stay. She couldn’t go back to England—the tabloids and gossip blogs would be all over it, wondering why Britain’s brightest young acting talent was back so soon, with no blockbuster to her name. And a new job or a new city meant more people knowing her face, her name—her legal one—the one she thought she’d said goodbye to the first time she’d seen Abby Richards on her Equity card.
So the likelihood of finding anywhere else that would make her feel as safe as this grungy old place was slim. And the thought of leaving, exposing herself to more people, more questions, kept her here. If any of the Hollywood elite—or, more likely, a D-list wannabe—stepped foot in here, they would be too concerned about the welfare of their Gucci loafers, and distracted by the suspicious-looking stains, to look closely at the waitresses.
“I’m here, what’s the emergency?” Abby said, walking out into the restaurant.
“No emergency.” Candy grinned from where she was standing behind the counter. “I was bored out here on my own, that’s all. It’s quiet today.”
Abby rolled her eyes at her friend and walked over to the booth by the window. She started to clear the empty coffee cups, but was distracted by the sight of a sleek, black Aston Martin pulling up at the curb. Not the sort of car you saw every day—or ever—in this neighborhood. Idiot, she thought. It wouldn’t last ten minutes parked out there before word spread among the neighborhood kids.
She continued watching the car, and her eyes widened as its driver climbed out. It couldn’t be… The resemblance was uncanny. He looked just like Ethan Walker—but there was no way a Hollywood producer would be in this part of town. That was the whole point of being in this part of town. She stared as he walked towards the diner and when he was ten feet away, she was certain it was him. He was all sharp cheekbones, chiseled jaw, and three-day stubble. Abby would recognize that face anywhere, every woman in the city probably would—it featured every week in the online gossip rags and trashy magazines, usually accompanied by some hot new actress. Abby held her breath as he came closer. Surely he wouldn’t be coming in here.
Her cheeks warmed as he looked over and noticed her watching him from the window. Their eyes met, just for a second, and he smiled at her. Her feet were frozen. She had to move; she had to get out of here. And yet, one smile from him, and she couldn’t put one foot in front of the other.
It’s okay, she told herself as the bell rang and he stepped through the door. In here, I’m a waitress. I’m just like every other waitress in the city. What are the chances he watches British soaps anyway? He doesn’t know me. I’m safe.
But he kept moving towards her, and reached out to shake her hand. Still frozen in place, she looked up at him.
“Abby Richards?”
With those two words, Abby wished she had lingered longer in the bathroom. She wished she had run out the back door. She wished that she had never come to this bloody country in the first place.
He knew who she was.
Her feet finally unstuck from the floor. She grabbed his outstretched hand and dragged him out the door, away from the window, and around the corner.
Abby tried to weigh up the damage. The door to the kitchen had swung shut just before Ethan walked in, so she didn’t think Candy had seen him. She didn’t think anyone else in the diner had had time to recognize him either—in jeans and a casual shirt his appearance didn’t scream “millionaire Hollywood movie producer.” But if he didn’t leave, right now, her secret could be blown and the life she’d built for herself here would be over. How had he found her? Why had he found her? And more importantly, how was she going to get rid of him?
He was smiling at her. He had the nerve to stand there and smile at her when any second he was going to ruin her life—or what was left of it anyway.
Even now, though, angry and afraid, she couldn’t help but notice his eyes, so dark they were almost black, twinkling at her from under ever-so-slightly-too-long hair. And the way the angles of his cheekbones and jaw fell with perfect balance and symmetry. It was the sort of anatomical perfection a girl just couldn’t ignore, whatever the circumstances.
His jeans and shirt were understated, but they drew more attention to his body than an Armani tux. The white shirt highlighted his tan, just the right side of golden, and the open collar showed a hint of black hair disappearing below the neckline. The rolled sleeves exposed perfectly toned forearms and Abby’s stomach clenched at the sight of the muscles there.
Ethan Walker leant against the wall in the stinking alley she’d dragged them to and gave her a questioning look.
“Miss Richards, my name is—”
“I know who you are.” When she realized that she was still clenching his hand, she pulled away, though he tried to keep a hold of her. Determined to keep him at a distance, she crossed her arms in front of her body. Between her anger and attraction, she didn’t quite trust herself not to do something with them that she might later regret.
It was painful to admit, even to herself (especially as he could be about to ruin the little of her life she’d managed to salvage), but he was hot. In two years, she hadn’t given a man—any man—a second glance. She hadn’t thought, after what had been done to her, that she would ever feel anything like it again. But something in her, something that had hidden, scared, was making tentative steps out towards the world, towards Ethan. Typical that the first man she’d felt even a spark of attraction for since her assault was not only the city’s most notoriously confirmed bachelor, but also the man whose high profile could do her more harm than just about anyone else on the planet.
Keeping herself out of the limelight was the only way to keep safe. To stop the people who had hurt her once, who held the evidence of that hurt over her like a threat, from publishing those photos and making their cruelty complete.
It wasn’t because she was naked in the pictures that she feared them. A body was just a body, after all, and she was certain that there were others out there far more interesting to look at than hers. It was the fact that they’d been taken without her knowledge; without her consent. She’d shown up for that audition with the hope and excitement she did for all of them. She’d not given the camera in the room a second thought—why would she? But then she’d woken up hours after sipping that bitter cup of coffee with no idea what had happened to her.
Those pictures were more than just a few titillating shots of a naïve young actress, they were evidence of her exploitation by people who wanted nothing but to humiliate her for profit.
Now she was counting on that weakness—the need to profit from her abuse—to save her. She wasn’t their first victim; she’d learned that when she’d planned to go to the police. Others had fallen for the same fake audition, the same bitter cup of coffee, and their claims that they hadn’t consented to the photos had been laughed at in blogs and magazines, by Twitter trolls and Facebook friends.
The one constructive thing Abby had learned was that the photos had only emerged when the women hit the big time. When they’d signed the contract on that summer blockbuster or become the face of a beauty brand. The photos had been squirreled away by their enterprising abusers; saved for when they could do the most damage. Fetch the highest possible price.
“I need to talk to you,” Ethan said. “What are you doing working here, of all places? It’s been almost impossible to find you. Is this some sort of research?”
“No, it’s not bloody research, it’s my life. Did it ever occur to you that there might be a reason why I’m so hard to find? That if I wanted to meet people I’d list a phone number, or an address, or retain an agent?”
Ethan stared at her, no doubt unused to such blatant rudeness, but it wasn’t anger she saw in his eyes, it was something more dangerous. He was looking at her—really looking. Studying her features. Taking in every detail. His eyes had barely left her face since she’d dragged him into the alley, except the one time that they’d dropped to the hem of her skirt, down her legs, and back up again. Blood rushed to her face.
“I’m sorry, but I have nothing to say to you, and I don’t think you could have anything to say that might interest me. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have to get back to work.”
She had turned back towards the street when she heard him speak her name, his voice raised slightly, not in anger, but the tone of a man who is used to getting his own way. When she looked at him, the expression on his face confirmed that he had never had a woman, never mind an actress, walk away from him.
“Miss Richards, I am sorry to bother you at work,” he said, without sounding the least bit sorry, “but I need to talk to you. If there’s a problem with your boss, I can pay him for your time.”
She walked back over to where he was standing and tried to keep her voice low, convinced that anyone passing in the street might be watching them.
“You don’t understand. I can’t talk to you. Not here. Not anywhere. I cannot be seen talking to you. I don’t expect you to understand, but I do expect you to leave.” She was angry at him for showing up here, but she was also terrified. He had to leave—right now. Because Ethan Walker drew publicity like a true A-lister. One innocent snap of a cameraphone could have her picture in the paper by tomorrow, and her gossip-value rising in the eyes of her attackers. But even as she was sending him daggers with her eyes, fighting him off with her body language, she could feel a very small, very rebellious part of her brain willing him to take no notice. Abby wondered if that part of her brain was having a bigger influence on her than she’d thought, because Ethan looked anything but put off. He smiled at her indulgently, his look of supreme confidence not slipping for a moment.
“Well, if you can’t talk here, I’ll send a car for you later. We can talk at my place. If you give me your address, I’ll leave right now.” And if you don’t, I’ll cause a scene. He didn’t have to say it aloud for Abby to hear the threat.
The winning hand. He knows I’ll do anything to get rid of him. Part of her was impressed that he’d read the situation so quickly and calculated how best to get what he wanted. She couldn’t afford to hesitate. She scribbled on her order pad, thrust the piece of paper into his hand, and walked away without looking back. He could send as many cars as he liked, it didn’t mean she had any intention of getting into them. Hopefully then he would get the message.
Safely back inside the diner, she watched him walk to his car and she wished, more than just about anything, that she hadn’t glanced at his backside. Because now she couldn’t look away. Thank God he hadn’t turned back to look at her; she was standing there like some seedy voyeur. It wasn’t until she heard the car turn the corner at the end of the street that she walked back into the kitchen.
“And where did you disappear to? Apparently some guy walked in here and you took off with him?” Candy asked, eager for something to liven up their morning.
Despite her pin-up girl looks—she was taller than Abby by a good six inches, and had been blessed with perfect California-blonde hair and killer curves—Candy showed no interest in the Hollywood movie scene, which was why she was the only person Abby could currently count as a friend. But Abby knew how gossip and rumors could spread almost by accident—a casual remark, a careless comment—and trusting anyone with her secret was too great a risk.
Lying was second nature to her now, and she’d been working on her excuse from the minute she’d recognized Ethan. But just because it came easily to her, it didn’t mean she had to enjoy it. Abby cringed inwardly as she spun Candy another story. “Oh, he’s a friend of a friend back home. My friend told him I was living out here and he promised him that he’d call in and see how I’m doing. I didn’t want to look like I was slacking, talking to a friend at work.” Okay, she and Ethan had both worked in the same business. It wasn’t completely impossible that they had a mutual acquaintance in London. Abby was pretty sure that this could be filed under stretching the truth rather than bare-faced lie.
“So, will you be seeing him again?”
“Oh, I doubt it. He was just doing his friend a favor really, looking in on me.” It was fortunate she was a good actress. The last thing she needed was Candy knowing that, yes, ninety-nine percent of her brain was telling her that she never wanted to see him again, but that irritating one percent was getting louder by the minute. Especially now that the danger of Ethan being recognized had passed.
Anyway, she didn’t think that he’d be that easy to shake. She’d seen the look in his eyes when she said she wouldn’t talk to him. And not only did he look like he wouldn’t be giving up on her, he didn’t think he’d have to. He seemed sure—probably with good reason—that he could make anyone do exactly what he wanted just by asking them.
• • •
Ethan slowed the car to a stop and tried to work out what had just happened. It had taken him weeks to track Abby down to the diner. When he’d found the address and seen what neighborhood it was in, he hadn’t believed it. In fact, he’d gone back and checked the information. Twice. But there she was. Working in a diner in the worst part of the city.
Before today he hadn’t given much thought to why Abby was waiting tables. It wasn’t like it was an unusual situation for an actress new to LA. True, from what he’d seen from her work in England, he hadn’t expected that she would be short of roles. Her starring role in the UK’s biggest soap opera had made her the nation’s sweetheart. Most of the men in the country had fallen in love with her bright blue eyes, messy blonde curls, and innocent expression.
But the business out here could be pretty harsh. A sharp word or two in an audition, the suggestion that an actress might need to lose a little weight, have a little work done, were by no means unusual, and would knock the confidence of even the most seasoned professional.
Not that Abby needed any work, of course. Anyone who suggested it was an idiot. The girl was perfect. He thought back to the time he had first seen her face. Stuck in a hotel in London, flicking through cable channels to pass the time, he had come across reruns of a soap opera. Not the sort of thing that would usually catch his attention, but the screen was filled with this mesmeric face, and he found that he couldn’t change the channel; didn’t want to. The scenes she was in were lit up by her presence. Her talent would have been remarkable even without that face, that petite, elfin body, but all together as a package, she was perfect.
As soon as he’d seen Abby on TV, he’d known that he’d found his lead actress. He couldn’t see anyone else holding a scene, speaking the words, like Abby would. The moment the credits had rolled on screen he’d called his assistant and given the details of the show.
“I want to see this girl before I go back to LA. Find her and set up a meeting.”
When his assistant got back to tell him that he couldn’t find her, he’d been furious, though of course hadn’t shown it. He had personally called Abby Richards’ agent and demanded that he send her for an audition immediately. But Marcus hadn’t seen her for two years, not since she’d left England for LA. Ethan did some more digging—it seemed as if no one had seen her for two years. That was when he’d hired the detective.
Whatever was holding her back, Ethan could overcome it. He had to, because if he couldn’t persuade her to make this movie, his career was as good as over. The script had been in preproduction for years, waiting for the right team to be put together. It had been rewritten endless times, and all the big-name directors had had their name attached to the project at some time or another. He had finally got the script just right; the team just right. Everything but the lead actress. Everyone he had auditioned and screen tested had been okay, some had even been excellent, but no one was perfect and now the financiers were talking about pulling out. If that happened, the movie would never get made, and it would be no one’s fault but his own. Even if rumors about financial problems got out, it was ruined. Any threat of money trouble and people would start pulling out left, right, and center. The considerable financial stake he’d invested would be gone, but more importantly, his reputation would be ruined. He might never get another movie off the ground again.
He needed Abby. She had changed, yes, but the changes were all for the better as far as he was concerned. He doubted that many people would recognize her if they walked into the diner. He wasn’t sure what it was—there was no disguise, no drastic change. It was more an accumulation of subtle changes; her hair slightly fairer, her skin glowing more. Most of all, she looked like the least vulnerable person he’d ever met. There was a fierceness in her eyes that hadn’t been there on screen.
And she was beautiful. That first time he’d seen her on screen he’d been instantly attracted; his whole body had seemed to come alive when he saw her. He’d expected that after weeks of looking at her on screen—watching reruns and showreels—the effect would have weakened. But nothing had prepared him for how he felt when she’d dragged him down that alley. The way his arms had ached to pull her close to him. The spark of heat where she’d held his hand in hers.
Her reaction to him had been unexpected, admittedly. She hadn’t just been uninterested, she’d been furious. Well, that might be a minor stumbling block, but nothing he couldn’t handle. Once she knew what he was offering her, there was no way she could say no.
If he’d thought she was perfect for the role before he met her, he was certain of it now. She was enchanting. Utterly mesmerizing. And he had to have her.