Superstar Read online

  “Eight more weeks, then we return to the States.”

  Eight weeks. Camryn put on a smile even if it pained her to think of not seeing Max again until sometime after that. Two months seemed liked centuries.

  “Anyway, I shouldn’t keep Nolan waiting. Thanks again for everything, Max. I had a great time and it was fun breaking the Internet with all those photos I took of you.”

  He smiled then raked a hand back through his hair. The forelock brushed across his forehead again moments later. “You’re welcome. I’ve got your number now, so I’ll give you a call when we get back. Let me know if anything else happens with those threats, all right?”

  “I will.” Camryn followed Max with her eyes when he stepped into her personal space. She breathed him in, studying the handsome lines of his face. When he palmed the side of her throat, she tilted her head enough to nuzzle her cheek against his hand.

  “Things are going to get pretty hectic here starting tomorrow, but I’ll be in touch when I can. Have a safe flight, Camryn.” He bent his head, seeking her mouth.

  Camryn gave him what he wanted. What she wanted, too. The kiss was much less lusty than ones that had come before it, and the poignancy made her wonder if this was the last kiss they would ever share.

  “Goodbye, Maximo,” she whispered against his lips. Then she stepped past, setting a brisk pace for the foyer. Nolan waited there to escort her to the airport.

  Somehow she succeeded in not looking back when she left.

  Maximo suffered conflicting emotions while he watched Camryn walk away. Part of him felt like he should cement something with her, but he wasn’t sure what. They were about to spend the next two months apart, which was one reason he’d avoided other serious commitments the past several years. The separation would be hard on a relationship, and he’d never been fond of the idea of long-distance romance. There were too many variables, too many unknowns.

  He liked her enough, however, that watching her go was a little bit painful. Something kept his feet rooted to the floor as the front door closed and the sound of the truck outside roared to life. There were only seconds left to change his mind and make something more of what they had.

  Yet . . . he hesitated. He wasn’t sure why. Not exactly. No, he didn’t like the thought of long-distance relationships and, no, he wasn’t quite ready to be tied to one particular woman. It wasn’t the sordid scandals surrounding them that held him in place, but a deeper understanding that what he felt for Camryn was different than anything he’d felt for any other woman. He had the strange idea that if he allowed himself to fall too far, there would never be any going back. His life as he knew it would be altered forever.

  The truck’s rumbling engine faded the farther it got from the chalet, until there was nothing but the silence of the surrounding Alps and the palpable vacancy Camryn left behind.

  Twenty-Four

  Camryn went on the warpath less than a week after her return from Switzerland. She tackled the problem of the explicit pictures, roundly denouncing them as herself while waging a countercampaign any politician would have been proud of. Although she had not gone into great detail, she’d forewarned her parents and grandmother, taking any shock out of the equation. Thankfully, their lack of interest in most things technical meant they hadn’t viewed the nefarious photos in person. Massively jet-lagged and cranky, subsisting on coffee and butterscotch candies, she posted a carefully constructed article slamming the underhanded tactics of others in her industry. Specifically, the entity responsible for photoshopping lewd pictures that were supposed to be her. The front page of Integrity carried the story:

  ENTERTAINMENT JOURNALISM SINKS TO NEW LOW by Camryn Castillo.

  I don’t know who the people in these pictures are, but I can tell you one thing: the woman is not me. My boobs have never been that big and my waist has never been that small. We won’t discuss the endlessly long, shapely legs. I’m 5’4—need I say more? Also, I’ve never dated a man with a mullet. Ever.

  When competitors have to stoop to blatant lies and subterfuge to sell papers, or to try and run their competition out of business, it sets a bad precedent for the rest of us. Rocket and its editors should be ashamed for even running this nonstory. Then again, shoddy reporting and ultra-sexsationalism was why I left the tabloid in the first place. Perhaps that’s why I’m being targeted, rather than my affiliation and friendship with Maximo Payne.

  Let me give entertainment journalists a piece of advice: try taking the moral high road for once. You can get exceptional stories out of today’s celebrities without stalking them into the ground or, as my colleagues have shown, sinking into a cesspool of deception.

  Last but not least, a message to Rocket and its editors.

  The next time you attempt to blackmail me and Integrity into silence, you won’t receive a public rebuttal but a visit from my lawyers instead.

  By six o’clock that evening, every major and minor tabloid in the US was carrying the story. Snippets of the article showed up on entertainment television shows while the main line for Integrity rang endlessly. Camryn spent thirty minutes giving quick interviews over the phone, but declined in-person segments.

  Exhausted and irritable, she made herself a margarita and escaped to her bedroom. This was the time she wished she had a large private backyard with a swimming pool and hot tub. She couldn’t go out on her patio thanks to sneaky paparazzi who had undoubtedly found a way past security, cameras in hand, ready to snap away the moment they saw her.

  She was sure she would next be branded an alcoholic should the pictures depict her with a drink in hand.

  Lark appeared in the doorway with a bottle of cold beer clutched between her fingers. The woman’s tattoos stood stark against the skin of her shoulders and arms. She wore a sleeveless tank top and dark green khakis, spiked hair clipped back away from her face.

  “Cheers, Cam. You’ve gone totally rogue,” Lark said, lifting her beer as if in salute.

  Still grumpy, all Camryn did was lift her drink to return the salute then guzzled the margarita.

  “I don’t blame you for being annoyed. You gave them the comeuppance they deserved. It might extend the flame war, and I bet we haven’t heard the last of it, but I’m proud of you for standing up for yourself. But that’s not why you’re so cranky, is it?”

  “That’s all it is.” Camryn stared across the room at her closet rather than at Lark. As usual, the woman was right. Although the tension over the slander didn’t sit well, she was secretly lamenting the loss of Maximo in her life. A giant hole existed where none had been before.

  “You miss Maximo,” Lark stated. “You’re totally smitten with a superstar.”

  “I’m not.”

  “I don’t know why you bother to deny it. We both know what’s going on. And I have a feeling I haven’t heard all there is to know about Switzerland.”

  Camryn had another drink. In fact, she downed the margarita until it was gone. The brain freeze that happened right after caused one eye to twitch and half her mouth to quirk. “I haven’t heard a thing from him. Not so much as a text. I’m not sure why I thought I would, but I did. It’s not like I can’t handle having a brief affair—it’s not the first time—I just . . .”

  “You’re falling for him, that’s what,” Lark said. “You probably hoped he would call and text, and because he hasn’t, it’s throwing everything you thought you knew into question. You’re wondering if you imagined how hot things were or how close you thought you were getting. Am I right?”

  Camryn pinched her eyes closed then looked at Lark. She said nothing.

  “So, yes, I’m right. I’ve been there before; I think most of womankind has to one extent or another. Remember, though, you’ve only been back five days, and he’s trying to film a movie. Maybe he just hasn’t gotten around to it yet,” Lark said.

  “He gets breaks. There’s an hour before he goes to sleep and an hour when he wakes up. What about that? There is always time to shoot off a quick
message.”

  “Have you messaged him?”

  “No.”

  “Why not? The phone works both ways,” Lark said. “You can’t really be disappointed if you haven’t given the same consideration in return.”

  “Actually, I can. I just had a weird feeling when I left the chalet, like he wasn’t sure what to do. And he specifically said things like ‘when I get back’ and ‘I’ll be in touch when I can,’ which makes me hesitate to contact him first. Kind of like he was giving me hints that he’d make the first move. You know what I mean?” Camryn glanced at Lark.

  “Yeah, yeah. I get it. Still, one small message wouldn’t hurt.” Lark pointed at Cam then departed the room.

  Camryn reached over to pluck her cell phone off her nightstand and turned it on. Hoping for some kind of word from Max.

  Nothing.

  The radio silence continued.

  Twenty-Five

  For the next eight weeks, Camryn immersed herself in work. Interviews from A-list celebrities poured in by the dozens, creating a hectic schedule she could hardly keep up with. Integrity was flying high, ranking in the top ten online entertainment sites with more subscribers every day.

  Max and Raquel’s story had kept the Internet busy for weeks, as had the rampant speculation that Max’s Second Secret Mistress was his mistress no longer. Camryn ducked paparazzi at every turn but eventually their interest shifted elsewhere. There was a scandal born every second in Hollywood, which kept the paparazzi on the run.

  Much to Camryn’s surprise and relief, Rocket let the gossip over the naked photographs drop. They never did defend themselves, which painted them guilty in Camryn’s mind. It solidified her belief that Denny had been behind the threats, though he hadn’t lost his job as far as she knew.

  On a blistering, late August day, Camryn pulled into her apartment complex and parked beneath the shade of her carport. She let the engine idle and aimed the cold air rushing from the vents right at her face. For a change, there wasn’t one photographer in sight.

  Staring off at the side of a building, her thoughts turned to Max. Sometimes memories surfaced when she least expected it. Memories of his hands on her body, his lips on her skin. She missed his laughter, his banter, his company. As time wore on, the persistent longing had shifted into maudlin acceptance: their fling was just a fling, nothing more and nothing less. There had been no contact between them since she’d departed Switzerland, not one message or phone call.

  She finally decided it was for the best, even if her heart balked at the thought. There were other men, other dates, other memories to be made.

  After turning off the engine, she pulled the keys from the ignition and dragged her briefcase from the passenger’s seat, along with her purse. She had hours and hours of work left to do, and it wouldn’t get done pining over things she could not change.

  Just as she exited the car, a shadow loomed to her left and a hand caught her shoulder, spinning her back against the vehicle. Camryn dropped her briefcase, purse, and keys in surprise, and lashed out with her other fist. All she could think in the moment was: I’m about to get carjacked. Her knuckles connected with a cheek, for what little good it did her.

  “Knock it off, Camryn.”

  Camryn got her first good look at Denny Harrison. His long face was a mask of anger, lips pulled back from his teeth. Dark eyes glittered with malcontent.

  “Denny! What do you think you’re doing?” Camryn shoved hard at his chest, shocked at his manhandling. They’d once been friendly acquaintances, though she’d never considered him anything closer than that. Now, with the recent debacle barely cold in its grave, she wanted nothing whatsoever to do with him. He was a thief, a liar, and someone not worthy of her time or attention.

  Besides that, he stunk.

  “I wanted you to hear firsthand what your actions have wrought. There are always consequences, Cam, you know that, and you’re about to face yours,” Denny said.

  “You smell like you’ve been sleeping in a sewer,” she said, one hand still braced against his chest. His clothes were wrinkled and slightly stained. “And really, Denny, I don’t think you have a leg to stand on when it comes to actions and consequences. You got everything you deserved.”

  Who did this bastard think he was, confronting her after he stole pictures off her computer? He might be taller, broader, and stronger, but she refused to back down.

  “I got fired and lost my apartment a week ago. Feel superior now? I’ve been living in my car thanks to you.”

  “I wish I had on my pointed witchy stilettos. I’d kick you right in the nuts for blaming me over your failures. You’re a liar, Denny, and a thief.” Camryn didn’t think she could take another second of Denny’s stench. She had half a mind to kick him anyway, just to make him let go. He stood too close, however, giving her little wiggle room.

  “I didn’t steal anything. The truth has been staring at you right in the face the whole time. You’ve just been too busy with your superstar boyfriend to notice,” Denny said.

  “What? I have no idea what you’re talking about. Let go of my shoulder and back off, or I swear I’ll start screaming. Let’s see how much you’ll enjoy spending a night in jail.” Camryn pushed against Denny’s chest, but only succeeded in forcing him backward one step.

  “She gave them to me, Camryn, since I apparently need to spell everything out for you. Lark and I have been working together for months. And before you start howling about how she would never do such a thing, and how you’re such great friends, then explain to me how I know about the recorder. More importantly, what’s on the recorder,” Denny said.

  Camryn felt as if she’d been kicked in the gut. Her knee-jerk reaction was to deny Denny out of hand. Lark would never plot against her. They’d known each other for years, and had been roommates since leaving Rocket. Lark would rather eat dirt than turn on her.

  Yet how did Denny, of all people, know about the recorder and its scandalous contents? She couldn’t imagine how he knew those intimate details unless either Lark or Maximo told him. The idea that he somehow had the recording in his possession made her physically sick to her stomach.

  “Now you’re thinking about it. I can see the debate raging behind your eyes,” Denny said. “It was Lark’s idea in the first place to start discrediting you and throw Integrity’s reliability into question. That’s because we’ve set up our own site, sweetheart, and plan to give Integrity a run for its money. All you have to do to confirm what I’m saying is get on the Internet and look up Locked N Loaded. There isn’t much there yet, but we’re slowly building the site. And if you think for a second Lark will confess to the plot, you’re dead wrong.”

  “Get off of me right now!” Camryn had heard enough. She brought up her knee and jabbed Denny close enough to the groin to make him lurch backward.

  “You okay there, lady?” a man exiting the apartment complex asked. He paused at the edge of the sidewalk, frowning in their direction.

  “No, can you help me, please?” Camryn pleaded to the man, who switched directions and jogged closer.

  “Mark my words, Cam,” Denny said, staggering back and away. He limped toward a beat-up Lincoln parked in someone else’s spot.

  “You need me to call the cops?” the stranger said, staring after Denny then giving Camryn all his attention.

  “No, no. That’s okay. He’s leaving, thanks to you.” Camryn smiled at the stranger to show her gratitude, picked up her purse, briefcase, and keys from the ground, and locked up her car.

  “All right. You have a good day, then.” The stranger stood guard until the Lincoln rumbled to life and departed the lot.

  “You, too.” Camryn hurried to the gate and inside the protective barrier of the complex. Thank goodness for helpful citizens.

  As she walked toward the apartment, everything Denny said played over and over in her mind. She didn’t want to believe a word he said, but there was a tiny fissure of unease lingering under her skin. He had to be lying.
Lark would never go behind her back like that.

  Would she?

  It was no secret that Lark had been constantly pushing to sell more scandal. Perhaps the money Integrity made just wasn’t enough. Maybe the site felt a little too pure for the pierced, inked-up ruffian.

  Camryn decided to confront Lark the second she got in the door. Better to put these demons to rest before the whole thing exploded in her face.

  “Lark! Hey. You here?” Camryn called, nudging the door shut with her foot. She set her belongings on the table then headed to Lark’s bedroom.

  Empty.

  Back in the kitchen, she fished her phone out of her purse to see if Lark had left her a message. Camryn usually turned the cell completely off during interviews so she wouldn’t be interrupted. A total of seven messages popped up, all from her roommate.

  “You need to check your voice mail between clients, woman! I’ve left tons of messages today. Anyway, I booked you an interview at seven this evening with the lead singer of a band from Norway. Apparently they want to expand their international reach and want to use Integrity to do it. The meet up is in Holmby Hills near Bel Air. Must be a successful band to be renting a mansion out there. If you can’t make it, you’re supposed to call their manager.”

  Camryn forwent her reservations about Lark and scribbled down the address along with the manager’s number. No matter what else, she couldn’t ignore work, especially since an interview had already been booked. It was her fault for not checking her messages between earlier clients.

  She glanced at the clock: 5:20. If she hurried, and if traffic cooperated, she would easily make it on time.

  After gathering up her things, she exited the apartment, temporarily leaving her troubles behind.

  At eight minutes to six, Camryn pulled up to a closed gate in front of a property nestled among other multimillion-dollar mansions. Trees clustered behind a nine-foot wall, obscuring the current house from view. She had no doubt it would be as luxurious as all the rest in the neighborhood.