Rogue Beast (The Rourkes, Book 12) Page 4

  I drop my head in my hand. I have to stop picking the wrong kind of guy. I need to listen to my gut more for warning signals that something’s not right. I read a book today about women who make bad choices in men. Yes, I’m that desperate for answers. I’m smart, yet I keep doing this. One of the reasons women choose the wrong men is because of abandonment issues, which I definitely have, since my mother left me as a newborn and wasn’t part of my life. I always suspected my strict grandmother drove her away, not approving of a nineteen-year-old accidentally pregnant by a married man. My father never wanted me. He had another family, and my very existence threatened what he had. My throat closes tight, my eyes hot. Unwanted, unlovable. I wipe at a tear and take in a shaky breath.

  No wonder I’m screwed up about men and relationships. My father was a cheater who never once tried to contact his daughter. I learned young—men cannot be counted on. They won’t stick. And, somehow, I have to keep learning this lesson by choosing the wrong men.

  So, okay, now that I know why I have this destructive pattern, I can be smart and end it. I’ll choose the right kind of man next time. A good trustworthy man. Once I’m ready to go back to dating, that is, way, way in the future.

  One thing’s for sure, I’m never going to have a kid by accident like my mom. My child will be planned for and very much wanted with a loving family surrounding her. She’ll never feel worthless or unlovable. Fantasies. Who knows if I’ll even be married before my fertility window passes? But if it’s meant to be, I’ll do it the right way.

  I exhale sharply and pick up my phone to read my text. Not Garrett. I deflate and tell myself I’m relieved it’s my manager.

  Saw the press. Did you know Garrett Rourke is from the royal Rourke family in Villroy? Congrats on snagging a royal! Good PR.

  I hadn’t put that together. I try not to read gossip sites, not wanting to read anything bad about myself. That’s why I hired a publicist as a buffer. So a guy from Brooklyn is a prince or a duke or something. Is that common knowledge? I’m about to do a search on his name when I stop myself. That would only bring up the latest trashy talk about me and Colton, where I mentioned Garrett. I shouldn’t have done that. It’s just he made a good impression on me, so his name just popped out. And my adrenaline was through the roof when that reporter showed up just as I was entering my apartment building. I don’t like men staking me out where I live.

  I swear the next guy I date will have zero ties to the industry. A writer would be nice. He’d probably be quiet and have lots of books. We’d spend our Sundays reading in a quaint cottage on the water. In the meantime…

  I send a quick response to my manager and get back to dinner. Joe moved in next door, so I feel safe here alone. After dinner, I’m going to have a relaxing Saturday night in and read my go-to comfort book The Scoundrel and the Governess by Alice Segal. See how I’m already preparing for my role as wife to a writer by reading so much? It’s not being antisocial, it’s called rehearsing for my future dream life.

  Just as I settle into the cushy corner of my sofa with my e-reader, I get a call. I check the screen and immediately tense—Dana, my bulldog publicist. I hired her mostly so she could spin press away from me unless I’m obligated to promote something. I’m not a good public speaker. Which is to say I completely freak out for days ahead of time and get through it in a sweaty, heart-pounding race to the end, after which I collapse. It’s not pretty. I much prefer saying lines written for me as a character than facing the public as myself.

  I answer the phone, immediately taking control of the conversation. “Hi, Dana, were you able to make any headway tamping down the Garrett part of the story?”

  “I’ve been following it closely, and, truth is, I’m loving this royal guy you threw into the mix,” she says. “Completely topped Colton’s newest sweet young thing. Sorry. I know you cared for him, and you guys looked great together, but everyone said he was not the kind to stick. If it helps, I’m sure he’ll cheat on Taylor too.”

  “It doesn’t.” I grip the phone tighter. “You said you’d help get Garrett out of the story.”

  “It exploded with the royal angle. No way I can contain it. I say we roll with it. Now that Colton’s out for the gala next Saturday, might I suggest you invite this royal? You need a gorgeous hunk of a man in a tux at your side. Colton’s absence will be too conspicuous. You’ll spend the whole night fielding questions about him, and neither of us wants that.”

  I stiffen. I forgot Colton was set to fly in for the event. No way I’m roping Garrett into it. The poor man! First I accost him and drag him into my trailer, assuming he’s my guard, and then I blurt his name to a nosy, well-connected reporter. He’s been through enough because of me. The gala is a black-tie fundraiser dinner for an organization close to my heart—Best Friends Care. They train service dogs and match them to people who are disabled physically and/or psychologically. A lot of veterans with PTSD benefit from a therapy dog. My uncle suffered from PTSD and never got the help he needed. He suffered greatly before he committed suicide. A therapy dog might’ve saved him.

  “Dana,” I say firmly, “I’m not going to ask Garrett to what will likely be a boring event for him.” I don’t want him to feel used either. It’s a terrible feeling when you realize someone you thought was your friend (or your love) just wants something from you.

  “He’s a royal. It’s right up his alley.”

  Garrett looked like a regular guy in a T-shirt, jeans, and work boots. He works construction in his family’s business. I just can’t picture him as a royal doing photo ops and cutting ribbons. He’s too rough and tough looking for that, which is partly why I thought he was my guard. I close my eyes, embarrassed at the memory. My tough, hot, sexy AF guard. Not.

  He fixed my shelf.

  No, I’m not going down this path.

  “I’ll go solo,” I say. “Or maybe I’ll bring a friend.” I’m only an hour and a half away from where I grew up in Summerdale, New York. I could ask one of my hometown girl friends. “A woman in a tux at my side could deflect the Colton gossip.” I stifle a laugh.

  “Harper,” Dana says in an exasperated tone.

  I often exasperate her. We’re at cross purposes—I work hard to keep my life private, and she works hard to keep me in the public eye. She knew what she signed up for with me.

  She continues. “I looked up these Rourkes. They’re hot as hell.”

  At least one of them is. Still not going there.

  “I’m not using him for a photo op,” I say.

  Dana continues as if I haven’t spoken. “And even though Garrett’s in the background of this wedding picture floating around—wearing a black tux, I might add—it’s clear he’s superior eye candy with all that muscle.”

  Like a bodyguard. Then I get an idea. “I have Joe now. It’s perfect. He’s going with me anyway as my guard, so I’ll just put him in a tux, and it’ll look like he’s my date. Problem solved.” I smile, pleased at my clever thinking.

  “You’re not using your guard as a date. He’s recently separated from his wife, not yet divorced. That’s not the PR we want for you. Don’t you read the daily memos Trina sends out to keep us all in the loop?”

  I grimace. My assistant is very industrious, but who can keep up with daily memos? I trust her to do her job. She’s been with me for three years now.

  “Okay, forget about the memos,” Dana says. “I’m happy to read them for you. Your job is to get that royal man candy on your arm for next Saturday.”

  I break out in a cold sweat at the thought. Could I skip the event entirely? No. I want the press to take note of Best Friends Care, and my presence will help draw attention to the cause.

  “Harp, we good? Date for Saturday’s gala?”

  No. “I’ll come up with something.”

  “I’ll get in touch with Prince Garrett Rourke for you, okay? I know you can get uncomfortable with this kind of thing.” That’s her polite reference to my shyness. I don’t pursue men. Except w
hen I mistake them for my guard apparently.

  “I don’t think anyone calls him Prince Garrett.” Do they? Josie didn’t. Boy, is she a major Garrett fangirl. I’m betting she loves everyone in the Rourke family with great enthusiasm. That’s just her. “Don’t get in touch with him. I’ll figure something out.”

  Her voice takes on an urgent tone. “You have to go. You’re getting an award for your contribution. It’s because of you they were able to go international with their organization. That is a big deal. You can’t turn them down at this late date. I’ve arranged a ton of press for this.”

  “I’m going! Don’t worry.”

  She lets out an audible breath. “Okay, okay. We want the focus on the cause, not on your cheating ex. If you show up with a date, the message is, you’re fine and you both love this cause. Don’t make it harder on yourself than it needs to be. And he’s easy on the eyes. No one will feel sorry for you after that.”

  My breath catches. “They feel sorry for me?”

  “More like pity. You know I tell it like it is. It’s career suicide to be pitied. No one will enjoy rooting you on as Amanda Boxer, Lexi Gold, or any other character. You can be tough, you can be a wealthy socialite, but you cannot look pathetic and weak. You can’t be pitied. Understand?”

  Pathetic and weak! My upbringing kicks in, and I square my shoulders and straighten my spine. I was raised to be strong and I am. I was betrayed by Colton and did nothing wrong.

  I keep my tone even. “I’m going solo. Goodbye, Dana.”

  “Think about it, please,” she says in a strained voice. “Ciao.”

  I hang up. I’ll look even stronger and tougher going alone. I don’t need a date to even the score between me and Colton. I will rise above.

  I walk to my trailer for lunch after our Monday morning table read for Living Gold, looking forward to some quiet time to myself. I halt, surprised to find Dana sitting on the trailer steps. She’s in her forties with sleek black hair in a bob and more energy than anyone I know. Except maybe Josie. That woman is nonstop.

  “Surprise!” she exclaims, rising from her perch on the top step.

  I give her a one-armed hug so I don’t spill my take-out container of sushi on her. “I can’t believe you flew all the way from LA to see me. Is this about the gala?”

  “Hey, I like to check in with my New York contacts on the regular. Not everything is about you, though you are my favorite client.”

  I unlock my trailer door and head inside. She follows, unusually quiet.

  Once we’re both seated on the sofa with drinks, I offer her half my lunch.

  “Already ate, thanks,” she says. “You go ahead.”

  I pull the built-in table in the adjacent wall closer, set my lunch on it, and open the lid of the take-out container.

  “So how’s things here?” she asks. “Are you enjoying playing Lexi Gold?”

  I get out my chopsticks. “I love it.” On Living Gold I get to play against type as a single mom with a vulnerable side, which is the main reason I took the role. The premise of the show is that the wealthy family (the Golds) have a maid problem. Namely, the former maid’s illegitimate daughter—played by the comedic genius Josie—just inherited the mansion from the recently deceased patriarch, who had an affair with her mother. Sitcom gold. Ha. Gold.

  Dana’s quiet again. She’s working up to something.

  I eat my lunch and wait.

  Finally, she says, “Wouldn’t it be great to bring that sensitive fashionista persona into the public eye at the gala? Instead of being pegged as that tough bitch, you become the socialite with a heart of gold.”

  “What’s wrong with being myself in public?” I take a bite of sushi. I do my job, get in, get out, as polite and professional as can be. Not that it’s easy for me, but at least it’s honest.

  She nods and takes a long drink of water.

  I lift my brows in question.

  “Nothing, of course,” she finally blurts. “You’re wonderful, very sweet, just that sometimes you’re so reserved it makes reporters fill in the blanks. Empty expression on your face can mean tough or aloof or angry.”

  “My so-called resting bitch face. Screw ’em. Let them think what they want.”

  She laughs nervously. “See, that’s why I’m the publicist and you’re the talent. So who’s your date for the gala?”

  I narrow my eyes at her. “Tell me you did not fly out here just to harass me about a date.”

  “Of course not. I have other business in New York. I just stopped by to make sure you take the next right step.”

  I shake my head. She totally came out here to harass me.

  “This is bigger than you,” she says. “This is about putting the spotlight on Best Friends Care. Everyone wants to know about this new guy you said you were seeing; therefore, everyone will listen when you talk about this great cause. We’ll come up with a noncommittal sound bite to shift the attention from him to the service dogs.”

  I sigh. She knows how much this organization means to me. I helped foster puppies for them in LA years ago when they were just getting started in that one location. As my name recognition grew, I was able to help them grow. Soon they had training centers across the country and now across the world.

  I put my chopsticks down, my gut knotting. It’s not that I don’t want to see him. I just don’t want him to feel used. And it’s embarrassing what I’ve put the man through. I can’t let that hold me back. I can get over my embarrassment for the cause. “Fine. I’ll ask Garrett—”

  She pumps a fist. “Yesss!”

  I hold up a palm. “But I’m going to tell him he’s under no obligation, especially after I dragged his name into the press.” And dragged him into my trailer. Then I remember what he said when I asked him why he let me think he was my guard: I should’ve said something, but it felt like we were connecting, ya know? I don’t know many guys who would speak so openly. Maybe there is something there—a connection. If I’m willing to take a risk. My gut churns. I need to pay attention to my gut, and it’s telling me not to get in deep. I’m not ready for it.

  She stands and kisses my forehead. “He won’t say no, trust me. You’re a catch.”

  I give her a wry look. “Don’t be alarmed if I show up by myself on Saturday.”

  “Not a chance. I gotta go. I’ve got a meeting with Josie today too.”

  “You do? Is she your client now?”

  She crosses her fingers and holds them up. “Not yet. She wants to see if I can amp up the spotlight for the Rourke foundation fundraiser at the Met. I’m all over it. Ciao!”

  She leaves in a rush, the scent of her citrusy perfume lingering behind. Zippy like her. I told Josie I’d go to her fundraiser mostly because she asked, and I felt I couldn’t say no. I just hope Dana doesn’t insist on a royal date for that event too. It’s the Saturday after the gala, and two glitzy events back-to-back is too much to ask anyone, let alone a guy you just met under embarrassing circumstances.

  I’m suddenly too nervous to eat. I decide to text Garrett and just get it over with. I type out a long text explaining Best Friends Care, and why it would be nice to have him there. I add that he’s under absolutely NO OBLIGATION. All caps to emphasize the point.

  Then I wait.

  He’s probably busy. I take my phone off vibrate, so I won’t miss the notification, and go back to lunch, keeping my phone within reach just in case. I’d really like to have an answer before I go back to work. We’ll be blocking on set, scripts in hand, so no phones allowed. I don’t want to be angsting over this all day. I put myself out there. Okay, I went kicking and screaming to this point, but part of me hopes he’ll want to go just for me. I exhale sharply. This is another reason I keep getting tangled up with the wrong men. I always hope the next guy will be different. And I so want me to be enough, not just be a step up in someone’s career.

  My phone rings, and I jump. He called me. I really prefer texting. It lets me think carefully about what I want to s
ay and compose the perfect message. Who knows what I’ll blurt in the heat of the moment?

  “Hello?” I say cautiously.

  “Hey, good to hear from ya, Harper.” His deep smooth voice melts me, making me feel soft and gooey inside. I’m chocolate. Wait, what?

  “Hi.” I don’t trust myself to say anything more.

  “Hello,” he says warmly. “You texted a long note, so I thought the phone would be better.”

  Adrenaline fires through me as I realize this is the part where I have to ask him on a date. “Yes. Like I said in my text, I was supposed to go with Colton to the gala, and there’s all this press—for a really good cause, service dogs for people who really need them—and there’s going to be a ton of press. Did I mention that part in the text? About the press? I can go alone, no problem, but if I have a date, it would be nice, especially if you also say service dogs are a good thing. To the press, I mean. No pressure, just as friends united for a good cause.”

  “Will the press be there?”

  “Uh…yeah.” Didn’t I mention that?

  He chuckles. “I’m teasing. You said press, like, four times. Sounds like you’re concerned about them.”

  “I want the spotlight on Best Friends Care, not on me and my cheating ex. The spotlight would be on us, of course, but then we’d redirect it to the service dogs.”

  “I do think service dogs are a good thing.”

  My heart races because that almost sounded like a yes, and I’m not sure how I feel about that. Why did I let Dana rope me into this? “You’re under no obligation to go. None whatsoever. In fact, it will probably be a horribly tedious night. I have to make a speech that will not be at all entertaining. It’ll be painful and awkward. For me too. I’ll be stressed the whole night about it. Public speaking is not my thing. I need to be a character to be comfortable out front like that—”

  “Harper.”

  “Yeah?”

  “I’ll go.”

  “Why?” I blurt.

  “I like you.”

  “Which part did you like best? When I accosted you, or the part where I pretended we were dating without consulting you?” Seriously, what guy wants that?