Hollywood Nights (19 page)

“But she’s so famous. She’s everywhere.”

“She doesn’t rule Hollywood. She’s on a reality show, and she’s a failed model. The biggest thing she ever did before she got that show was a Super Bowl commercial for Pepsi.” He frowned again, as if cataloguing all of Lana’s faults. “I’m tired of this woman. I’ve moved on—to you. I don’t plan on going backward.”

“I wish you could have heard what they were talking about,” I said, halfway under my breath. “They had this tone. Something was definitely up.”

“I don’t need to hear what they said to know what they’re like. And that’s all in the past.”

“Okay, if you say so.” I swallowed hard and shook my head at him. “I’ll stop thinking about her.”

I
woke up sweating, and twisted covers snaked around my body. In my dream, I’d screamed and fallen, but whatever came after was all a fog of blurred thoughts. Why? What had gone wrong? My eyes focused on the ceiling and then on her.

Brynn. The one good, solid, smart part of my day.

She hadn’t woken. She hadn’t stirred. I listened to her steady breaths as I tried to figure out what bothered me, but goddamn it, I couldn’t get through it. I couldn’t shake the uneasiness that pricked my skin and tightened my chest. After a while, I rolled over and pulled her closer to me. She molded herself to my body, but she still didn’t wake.

I was lucky. Damn lucky. And I knew it. She’d been in my life for less than two months, but some things didn’t need a lot of time. Some things fell together, sticking like magnets. Our relationship was one of those, and as I held onto her in the darkness, I knew I didn’t want anyone else and I never would. Brynn Price wasn’t the best thing that had happened to my month or my year.

She was the best thing that had happened to my life.

Christ, I was such a goner. Slayed. Destroyed. And all because of one night in a parking lot.

Around two thirty, Brynn moved against my chest and finally woke. She mumbled something against my shoulder, and I decided to seize the moment. Who cared about sleep? Around her, I didn’t need much of it.

“Wake up, sleepyhead,” I whispered in her ear. She shivered at the sound of my voice.

I rolled her over on the bed, and moved down her naked body, taking the sheets with me. I kissed her stomach and found the apex of her thighs. She moaned when I kissed her pussy, and the sound made me harden with desire. I licked and sucked the soft folds of her deepest place, relishing the moment as I built her excitement. My tongue worked over her body, and before long she was slick and ready for me.

“You like when I tease you?” I said against the soft folds of her skin.

“Don’t stop,” she murmured. “Please, don’t stop, Tanner.”

I decided I wouldn’t make her wait. I took a condom from my stash, put it on, and then plunged inside of her. The force shook her and she cried out, and then begged for more. I kissed her lips as I moved, taking our bodies to new heights. As the bed creaked, we moved to a new place, and when we couldn’t stand it any longer, we came together before the darkest hour of the night.

It was raw. Real. True. Lying in the bed with her, I was naked and exposed. I loved every moment of it.

I might have even loved her.

Holy fuck.

“H
ave a seat right there, darling.” Kenneth motioned to the yellow rattan chair in the rented garden cottage on at the Chateau Marmont. I followed his lead and took a seat, my heart still pounding from the shoot we’d completed by the hotel’s famous pool. “I love what they did with you. So gorgeous.”

“Thanks.”

I looked down at the bathrobe, a large kimono-style one with red silk flowers. Underneath, I wore a black one-piece swimsuit with lace strings up and down the sides. Tall wedges with cork heels, red lipstick, waterproof mascara, and wet hair completed the old-glamour-meets-new vibe the stylist had called a “glam slam.” The photographer hired by
Rockchick Mag
had seemed pleased. He’d insisted on taking extra shots of me because he liked the way the sunlight reflected off my hair and the pool.

“You’re not nervous, are you? Need a Valium? Some vodka?” Kenneth patted his messenger bag as he sat down on the couch next to my chair. “I have both.”

I shook my head. “I’m glad you came. Don’t think I’ve had a chance to tell you.”

“You might not say so when you get my bill.” He winked. “Now, remember what we talked about. All you have to do is be engaging and inviting. An every-girl-can-make-it-in-LA type. Easy, honey.”

“I’ve got this. I promise.”

“This won’t take longer than a half hour or so.” Kenneth looked at his oversized wristwatch. “These things never do.”

I took a cold-pressed orange juice off the coffee table and drank some of it. A moment later, one of the writers for
Rockchick
swept into the room. Red and blue chalky streaks offset her black hair, and she pushed her thin tortoiseshell glasses up her nose.

“So great of you to meet us for this interview, Brynn,” she said as she shook my hand and took a seat in the open yellow chair. “I’m Dylanne James, and I’m a writer for
Rockchick
. I’ve been there for about seven years.”

The small -talk extended for the next few minutes. Nothing special. She made a few jokes, I laughed when appropriate; she asked about my background, growing up in Griffin, and how I came to LA. I gave a few standard answers I was sure most people would have said. Then she turned the conversation to Tanner.

“You all seem so happy,” she said, opening up the manila file folder she’d taken out of her tote bag at the beginning of our interview. “Tell me what it is you like about your relationship.”

“We get along great.” I sipped some more of the juice. “It’s so natural. Everything fits. It’s like we’ve always been friends.”

“Tanner doesn’t have many friends.”

“What?” I frowned at Dylanne. “What do you mean?”

“He just has a reputation in this town.” She shifted in her seat, then uncrossed and crossed her legs. “Lots of people know him, but no one
knows
him.”

“I think I do. He’s a good man. Probably the best thing that has happened to me since I moved to LA.”

Dylanne scribbled a few phrases into her notebook. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Kenneth lift his chin in approval. I was nailing this interview. Killing it. Well on the way to the title of America’s Favorite New Girlfriend.

“This can be a tough town,” Dylanne said. “But I’m surprised to hear you say something like so
complimentary
about a player like Tanner Vance.”

“I wouldn’t call him a player,” I said, thinking about the person I’d gotten to know over the previous weeks. “More like misunderstood. Not many people see the real him.”

She snorted. “An interesting way to put it.”

“What do you mean interesting?” I looked over at Kenneth. Did he have any clue what she meant?

She leaned over her folder. “Well, I mean an interesting statement, given all that has developed with Lana in the last few hours.”

“Lana?” I turned my head. Perhaps I hadn’t heard her correctly. “What’s Lana got to do with anything?”

“Oh, this is rich.” Dylanne moved to the edge of the chair and licked her lips. She was enjoying this. “I was hoping you would’ve had an answer like that.”

Kenneth had gone pale; his eyes had widened. He moved to the edge of the couch. “This topic isn’t up for discussion,” he said through gritted teeth. “Your editors promised. I have it in writing.
In writing
.”

She shrugged. “Silly me.”

“I’ll sue your magazine for breach of contract,” Kenneth said. “This isn’t what we agreed to talk about, and you know it. My firm has an attorney on retainer who’d love to hear about this.”

“Idle threats,” Dylanne said, meeting Kenneth’s hard glare. “You don’t have a case, and you know it. This is a free press and I can ask any questions I want. Besides, I never signed the agreement, so I don’t know what you’re talking about. They sent me over here to do the interview, and I thought everything would naturally be on the table.”

“What’s on the table?” I said, my voice verging on the edge of a yell. “Tell me right now. What are you hiding?”

Dylanne turned to me. “What a shame. You sound like you really don’t know.”

“I don’t.” I glanced back and forth between the two of them. “So tell me. Now.”

Silence hung in the air.

“I hate to be the one to break it to you,” Dylanne said, “but Lana’s pregnant.” A pause. “And she says the child is Tanner’s. It’s all over the Internet. She broke the news on Instagram last night. Posted a sonogram photo and tagged Tanner’s account. It’s the biggest story in Hollywood right now.”

“B
rynn, stop! You don’t—let me explain!” Kenneth said, scrambling after me as I gathered my things from the suite. “You have to—”

“What?” I said as I opened the door of the room. “I’m leaving. This interview is over.”

“Please, take a moment to be reasonable.”

I turned back as Kenneth reached out to me, but then his hand fell limp at his side. Behind him, Dylanne still sat in her chair, scribbling God-knew-what into her notebook. This confrontation would likely find its way into the article for
Rockchick
. Not that I cared.

“I can’t believe you know about this and didn’t say anything to me,” I said, as I hoisted my purse onto my shoulder. “You left a huge landmine out there for me to step right on it.”

“We had an agreement. She violated it.”

“Tanner said you’re one person he trusts out here,” I said. “He said you’re good at your job.” I laughed without humor. “You’re horrible at it.”

Kenneth shoved his hand through his thick hair. “I didn’t say anything to you because it’s not confirmed. We don’t know Lana is pregnant for sure. All we have is a goddamn Instagram post.”

I jerked my head in Dylanne’s direction. She stared at the both of us, taking in every word we said. “Good enough for her.”

“The pic showed the baby bump,” Dylanne said. “Looked pretty legit to me.”

Kenneth raised a hand to shut her up. “Thanks. That’s enough right now, okay? You’ve done enough damage for the day.”