Chapter 1

Merilee

 

If the definition of insanity is doing the same thing over and over again and expecting different results, I was certifiably nuts. Cuckoo for Cocoa Puffs. Batshit crazy.

At least when it came to dating.

I sat at a small round table, with a white tablecloth and expensive place setting. My movie-star date was easily the most handsome man in the room. From the outside looking in, it was the perfect evening, but I couldn’t wait to get out of there.

When Claude asked me out, I’d been flattered. In high school, his posters had covered every square inch of my bedroom walls. Little did I know then, the posters had more personality than the aging actor. After he’d smacked my ass on the way to the table, he’d spent the first ten minutes of our date reliving his glory days.

“…needless to say, I’ve never forgiven that hack, Hudson Stewart, for robbing me of a fourth Oscar.” Claude threw his head back and laughed over-the-top loud.

People turned and stared. Some whispered, others whipped out their phones, but the locals rolled their eyes and went back to their dinners.

San Sera was a small beach town, but its proximity to Los Angeles made it a favorite among the Hollywood elite and the people who worked for them, like me. As a publicist, I dealt with men like Claude on a regular basis, which only made me feel like more of an idiot for going out with him.

He seemed so charming at the party.

“Hudson is a dear friend of mine. We met at his engagement barbeque, remember?” I fought to keep the revulsion from my voice.

“Yes, well…there’s no accounting for taste.” He turned and gave the waitress a once over before settling on her cleavage.

The young woman blushed. “May I start you with a cocktail or are you ready to order?”

“I’m friends with the chef. Tell Natalie that Merilee said to surprise us.” I handed her the menu.

“Actually…We’ll start with the seared scallops—” Claude spoke over me.

My mouth fell as he ordered everything from our appetizers to our desserts.

He sat back looking rather pleased with himself. “What would you like to drink, darling?”

“I’ll have a glass of Penfolds Grange Hermitage.” It would have been petty to order the most expensive vintage on the menu, but I had no intention of letting the jackass pay for my half of the check.

The server clasped her hands behind her back. The move made her breasts sit higher, as if the twenty-something needed the lift. “Would you care for anything, Mr. Dyson?”

“Please, call me Claude.” He flashed his veneered smile. “And you are?”

“Chelsea, Mr. Dys… I mean, Claude.”

“Chelsea. Such a beautiful name for a beautiful woman. And, yes, I’ll have a Macallan Twenty-Five, if this place carries it.” Glancing around, he curled his lips as if disgusted by the Michelin-star restaurant.

Considering one of my best friends was the chef, and her husband owned the restaurant, I was offended for both their sakes.

“I’ll ask.” She pressed her notepad to her chest and hurried away.

“For the record, I prefer to order my own meals.” This time, I didn’t bother to hide my disgust.

Grinning, he wrinkled his nose the way people did at cute babies or puppies. “Forgive me, I forgot you’re Miss Independent.”

Part of me was ready to leave, but the larger part was downright pissed off. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“I offered to send a car for you, but you turned me down.” He waved his hand as if the entire conversation bored him. “Two cars are a needless inconvenience.”

I opened my mouth to ask why, but the server returned with our drinks. She set my wine and the jerk’s scotch on the table. Rather than checking up on her other customers, she lingered.

Ignoring her, or maybe for her benefit, Claude launched into yet another bragging monologue. “The last time I allowed a woman to choose the restaurant was when I went out with Sheila Angeles. You remember her, she won an Oscar for that pathetic performance a few years back…”

Chelsea shot me a you-poor-thing look and went to take care of another table.

“Sheila is one of my clients. Nice woman.” I took a sip of the wine. No amount of alcohol would get me through the evening, but it’d help get through the next five minutes. Or so I thought. The moment the wine hit my stomach, a wave of nausea rolled through me.

“Then there was the air hostess on my flight home last week. Between you and me, she was well stocked, if you get my drift.” He paused, downed his scotch, and snapped his fingers at the server.

I cringed for Chelsea’s sake. No one deserved to be treated like a slave.

“I’m certain if I’d been inclined, she would have banged me right there in the mile-high club, but I like to leave a little mystery to the enigma.” He motioned to himself.

Yep, you’re an enigma all right.

Bored, I glanced around the room. A familiar face caught my eye. Nathan Sullivan, AKA Sully, AKA my oldest and dearest friend, sat at a table near the windows overlooking the ocean. For as long as I could remember, we’d talked at least once a day, but we’d barely spoken since we’d lost our minds and had sex after our friends’ wedding.

Seeing him again hurt and, at the same time, made my horrible evening a little better.

As if he’d felt my gaze, Sully glanced over. His eyes widened, as did his smile. He nodded toward Claude and arched a brow.

I rolled my eyes and shook my head a fraction of an inch.

Sully exaggerated a frown.

“You should wear lighter colors. They would take years off your face.” Claude studied me.

My spine stiffened. “Funny, I was thinking the same thing about your hair. A little gray would soften the lines around your eyes.”

His silver-screen smile tarnished.

“This was a mistake,” I said as politely as possible given the circumstances. “I should go.”

Claude sighed and hung his head. When he glanced up, his expression had softened. “Stay. I apologize. Would you believe I’m nervous?”

I didn’t doubt it. I’d worked with enough aging celebrities to know their egos were fragile. It was possible he’d spent the evening boasting to hide his insecurities, but that didn’t make it any easier to bear.

“Okay but cut the bullshit.” I used my professional voice. “No more insults, and no more talking about your past sexual escapades.”

“You’re right, that was insensitive of me.” He rattled the ice in his otherwise empty glass.

I glanced over to Sully’s table and caught him staring. He winked and turned back to the guy he was having dinner with.

Claude cleared his throat. “Who is he?”

I risked another look in Sully’s direction. He was talking while his buddy seemed to be taking notes.

That’s weird.

“Merilee?” Claude’s voice rose. “Wasn’t he the quarterback for the Raiders?”

“Nathan Sullivan. He’s an old friend. I’ll catch up with him another time.” I forced myself to focus on my date.

Staring at me as if trying to solve a puzzle, Claude said, “I read something about you and Sullivan in the rags a couple years ago. Didn’t you two have an affair while he was still married to Tiffany Beal?”

Being a public relations wizard hadn’t protected me from becoming part of the news cycle during Sully’s divorce. Tiffany, Sully’s ex-wife, had leaked photos of the two of us horsing around in a swimming pool. It’d been completely innocent but, out of context, they looked risqué.

“You of all people should know better than to believe what you read in the tabloids.”

“Normally, I don’t, but the way you were staring…”

“He’s an old friend. Nothing more.” I took another sip of wine to get the bitter taste of the truth out of my mouth. It didn’t work. The normally delicious vintage tasted like vinegar.

“Penfolds Grange Hermitage, huh?”

“I like to treat myself after a tough day or a big win.” I sat back and smiled. “But don’t worry, I intend to pay for my half of the check.”

“Like hell.” He winked. “I’m happy to buy your overpriced wine, so long as it gets you in the mood.”

My brain malfunctioned. Who the hell says things like that?

An egotistical, aging actor with an overinflated sense of self-worth. That’s who.

Chelsea returned to the table. “I apologize that took so long. What may I get you?”

He nodded to the empty glass.

“Of course, sir.” She didn’t quite glare, but her expression made it clear she didn’t care for Mr. Dyson.

“And another glass of wine for the lady,” he said.

“No thank you. I’m fine.”

Chelsea retreated.

Smart girl.

“Don’t be silly. I’m hoping two glasses will get you warmed up enough to skip dinner and go back to my place for dessert.” Claude leaned back in his seat and manspread as though he expected me to straddle him in the middle of the restaurant.

Nope, that’s it. I’m done.

“This isn’t going to work out. I’m going to call it a night.” I grabbed my purse from the back of my chair.

“What? You’re joking, right?” He scoffed.

“I’m afraid not.” I stood to go, but he grabbed my wrist.

“Sit down. You’re causing a scene,” Claude spoke through gritted teeth.

I glanced around the room. The only person staring was Sully. “Let go of me.”

“I said sit down.” This time, he twisted my wrist until my palm faced the ceiling, and he jerked me forward.

Pain shot from my fingertips to my shoulder. “You’re hurting me.”

“That wouldn’t be necessary if you would do as you’re told.” Claude flashed a mean smile and shoved me toward my chair.

Teetering on my heels, I grabbed the table to stay upright—or tried to—my over-sized bag sliding off my shoulder and landing on my place setting. The clatter of porcelain, followed by gasps and whispers filled the room.

Now, we’re causing a scene.

Another quick glance at the other patrons confirmed my fears. Several people, including our server, had whipped out their phones and were filming the argument. My public relations training kicked in. “Careful, Claude. We’re being recorded. You wouldn’t want this to show up on TMZ, would you?”

His grip tightened. “Nor would you. I can’t imagine your clients would be thrilled that their publicist is in the news. Again.”

I felt Sully move beside me before I saw him.

“I suggest you let her go.” His baritone voice had an edge to it I rarely heard. The man was a former NFL quarterback. Physically, he could intimidate most men, but my so-called-date didn’t seem impressed.

Claude’s expression darkened, and his fingers dug deeper into my wrist. “This doesn’t concern you.”

“You assaulting a woman absolutely concerns me.” He straightened to his full six-four height and planted his hands on his hips. Seriously, Superman had nothing on Nathan Sullivan.

I needed to do something to de-escalate the testosterone levels in the room before someone called the police.

Or worse, my best friend decked my so-called-date.

 

 

Chapter 2

Sully

 

Two things in this world I’ve never questioned, my love for my daughter, and the fact that Merilee Cole could stand up for herself. However, that didn’t mean I could sit there and watch some asshat manhandle her in the middle of a restaurant.

“Get your hands off her,” I repeated my previous request, a little louder this time. If the guy didn’t let go of her wrist soon, I’d remove his hand for him.

Meri jerked her arm free, took a step back, and glanced around. Her eyes widened, but she had the wherewithal to dip her chin so that her hair partially covered her face.

Several people had their phones out recording the confrontation. With an upcoming custody hearing, the last thing I needed was my ex-wife to get her hands on video of me assaulting a movie star.

I leaned close enough to Meri to whisper, “Are you okay?”

She said, “I was just leaving.”

“I’ll walk you out.” I glared at Claude Dyson. “Don’t even think about following us.”

The dick glanced around, likely to read the room. He must not have liked what he saw because he went into full damage control mode. Laughing loud enough to be heard in the kitchen, he motioned to me. “You misunderstood what was happening here. That was just a little foreplay. The lady likes it rough.”

“Like hell it was, you misogynistic ass.” Merilee moved as if to lunge for the guy.

Sensing what she was about to do, I took her arm and tucked her behind me.

Claude opened his mouth, likely to spew more shit.

I leaned in and lowered my voice. “Another word, and you’ll need an orthopedic surgeon and years of physical therapy to recover.”

His face turned stop sign red. Unfortunately, he didn’t stop. He shot to his feet and all but pounded his chest. “I’m Claude Dyson. Do you honestly think I need to beg for female attention?”

It took every ounce of my strength to keep my hands at my sides, but I managed for two reasons. One, Meri didn’t need this, and two, I couldn’t take care of my daughter from prison.

“You’re begging for all the attention you can get.” Eric, my friend, dinner companion, and the guy currently writing a screenplay about my life, shouted from a few tables over. “Sit down and shut up, ya big blow hard. Some of us still have a shot at impressing our dates.”

The entire room erupted in laughter.

Seizing the opportunity to get the hell out of there, I eased Meri’s purse to her shoulder, placed my hand on the small of her back, and escorted her to the exit.

We hadn’t been this close since the night we’d screwed up and…well, screwed. In fact, I hadn’t heard from her in the six weeks since our friends’ wedding. We needed to talk about what had happened and, yes, I owed her a massive apology, but that would have to wait.

Once outside, Merilee blew out a breath. “Thanks for the assist. I should send that heckler a dozen roses.”

“You’re welcome.” I worked to unclench my jaw.

“Wow, do you look like you want to go back in there and beat the spray-tan off Claude.” She gave me a sheepish smile, but it did nothing to ease my temper.

“Why do you keep going out with actors?” The question fell out of my mouth before I could stop it. It was none of my business who or what she dated.

Her expression fell. “It’s hard to meet normal people…and when I do, most men are intimidated by the fact I work with celebrities.”

I’d heard the same excuse for the last five years. Since her divorce, she’d dated a long line of Hollywood types. Sure, not all of them were as bad as Dyson, but they were close.

Glancing back to the door, Meri bit her lower lip and wrinkled her brow.

“He’d be an idiot to follow us out.” I folded my arms and widened my stance, effectively creating a human wall between her and any threat.

“Can we have this conversation tomorrow? I just want to go home.” Her hand trembled as she tucked her blonde hair behind her ear. Meri would likely never admit it, but the altercation had shaken her up.

I wanted to lay into her for her shitty choice in men, but she’d had enough for one night. Sighing, I motioned to her arm. “Let me see it?”

“What? No. It’s fine.” She turned as if to keep me from touching her injured wrist.

“Meri…” Not going to take no for an answer, I held my hand out.

She huffed and rested her forearm in my palm. “It’s fine. I swear. No need to go to the emergency room for X-rays or an MRI or full body cast.”

I forced a smile for her sake as I gently pressed on the swollen area. I was no doctor, but I’d seen enough sprained and broken wrists to know she needed to have it looked at.

She winced and pulled her arm back. “Happy now?”

“You should get it checked out.” I had a hard time meeting her gaze.

Likewise, Meri seemed to look anywhere except at me. “I’ll ice it when I get home.”

I’d known her since high school. Except for the months surrounding my divorce, I’d never felt awkward around her. Not until we’d gotten naked. Since then, I’d waffled between remorse and embarrassment for what I’d done—the sex and what I’d said to her afterward.

Banging my best friend, declaring it was a giant mistake, and walking out wasn’t my proudest moment.

I panicked and acted like a grade-A Asshole.

I’d wanted her that night. Hell, if I was honest, I’d wanted her since junior year of high school, but what we’d done was wrong for several reasons. Our friendship meant too damned much to risk for a couple of orgasms. I was friends with her ex. I was her sons’ godfather and football coach. I was in the middle of a nasty custody battle with my ex-wife.

And last but not least, we’d never work out. Meri was already married—to her job.

Eric walked outside. “Everything okay?”

“Yeah, but I’m going to need you to follow us in my car.” I tossed him the keys.

“I don’t need a chauffeur.” Meri rolled her eyes at me and extended her hand to Eric. “Hi, I’m Merilee Cole.”

“Eric Chance.” He kissed the back of her hand. “Pleasure to finally meet you.”

She gave him a once over. “Oh, boy. You’re a charmer.”

I gave him a cut-the-shit look before turning back to her. “I believe you owe him a dozen roses.”

“Oh, wow, you’re the heckler? You look more like a professor than a comedian.” She laughed. Again.

“I know Dyson. He would have kept the argument going as long as someone was filming.” He grinned. “Besides, every now and then I come up with a good line of dialogue.”

“Eric’s a screenwriter,” I deadpanned.

“The screenwriter?” Her eyes widened.

I shoved my hands in my pockets, dipped my chin, and shrugged. “Yeah, Eric’s the screenwriter.”

Merilee had teased me mercilessly when I’d first told her Stewart, Myers, and Holbrook Studios was interested in making a movie about my life.

“I was blown away when Sully told me about the movie. Not because his life is boring, far from it. I was shocked he’d agreed.” She turned to me and smiled a smile I hadn’t seen since I’d taken her to bed.

Her expression gave me hope our friendship would survive. For the first time in six weeks, a weight lifted from my shoulders.

“Sully loves football, but he hates the notoriety,” Meri said to Eric.

She wasn’t wrong. I couldn’t stand the fame, the press, never being able to go out in public. The problem was it’d gotten worse with every Super Bowl ring. And yet, I’d signed on the dotted line to make a freaking movie.

“I can’t wait to see your story on the big screen.” She nudged my side. “Who do you think they’ll get to play you?”

“Anyone but that asshole in there.” I hitched a thumb toward the restaurant.

Eric studied the two of us so intently I could all but see the wheels turning behind his gray eyes. I made a mental note to tell him to leave Meri out of his screenplay.

“It was nice meeting you, Eric. You two have a good night.” She turned for the parking lot.

Nice try.

I moved to her side. “You’re not driving with that wrist.”

She opened her mouth as if to argue but shook her head. “Fine.”

“Glad you see reason.” I walked her to her car and opened her door.

“Honestly, I’m just glad the night is almost over.” In the process of climbing into the passenger’s seat, she bumped her arm. Between her gasp and the beads of sweat on her forehead, it was obvious she was in pain.

One way or another, I’d make sure she had that wrist examined.

I grabbed the seatbelt and reached across her to buckle it. Big mistake. Being that close made it impossible to ignore the scent of her perfume. Not to mention, parts of me were touching parts of her.

Meri sucked in a breath and swatted my hand away. “I’m not an invalid.”

I turned my face toward hers, our lips inches apart. All I had to do was lean in and taste her sweet lips. Feel her fingers in my hair. Hear her soft sighs and moans as I ravished her smart mouth. But I couldn’t. Too many people would get hurt, including the two of us.

I swallowed back twenty-some-odd-years of denied feelings and whispered, “Let me take care of you.”

Meri exhaled a shaky breath. “Okay.”