Or, worse, what if she slipped up during the interview and said something that gave it all away?
The thought made her ill. Then what? What would happen to her? Where would she go? Who would she be after that? Would she go to prison? Her pulse ticked up. Could that actually happen? She’d never survive prison. Unless it was one of those sleepaway camps for white-collar criminals, like the kind Martha Stewart had gone to.
Maybe that was the life that awaited her. One of notoriety and the sort of scandalous fame that came with committing a crime that wasn’t all that bad. Martha had managed all right.
But Harper was not Martha Stewart. Harper might have helped a lot of people, but it was doubtful they’d stand up for her now. Most of them were just fine with keeping their involvement with her a secret. There were NDAs in place for that very purpose.
The worst part of the attention was how they referred to her. The woman who’d broken Ford Keating’s heart.
Even if it had been an amicable, mutual parting of the ways, her hearthadbeen broken. But no one cared about that, did they? No one knew the real story. And if things went well, no one ever would.
She lifted her face into the salt air that swept past. What she’d done with her lifewasn’tthat bad. Not to her mind. She’d helped so many people, after all. People who otherwise felt like they had no one they could trust. There was value in that, no matter what anyone else thought.
This house was proof of that.
Arlington Marsh had left her his “cottage,” as he’d so often described this place, in his will. Something she’d never expected the legendary movie star to do. She had, however, expected he was actually talking about a cottage. Not this three-story mammoth residence.
What on Earth had he been thinking to leave her this place? Without question, she was grateful. Deeply touched by his generosity. Overwhelmed by it, really. This house had given her a place to run now that things with Ford had crashed and burned.
She exhaled, her heart still ragged from the emotion of it all. She couldn’t believe Arlington had been gone a year already.
She’d met Ford at Arlington’s funeral. The who’s who of Hollywood had been there, Ford included. She’d had a strict policy about not getting romantically involved with celebrities, clients especially, because it made everything so much more complicated.
With clients, it was important that she maintain a certain aloofness. She felt it helped to have a little mystery.
Ford hadn’t been a client, but he had been utterly charming, despite the ten-year age difference between them. He was also Ford Keating. Who cared if he was sixty-three? How many times had he been voted one of Hollywood’s most handsome bachelors? Was there a female star he hadn’t been linked with?
That should have been her first clue that dating him would be a bad idea.
It hadn’t been at first. He’d been everything she’d imagined he’d be. Witty, worldly, quick with a joke, always smiling. Oh, the way his eyes crinkled when he smiled. It was like he lit up from within.
She blew out a breath just thinking about it.
He’d showered her with gifts. Flowers every week. A piece of jewelry here and there. Dinners out, and not the kind set up by his people to get his face in magazines.
Real dinners at restaurants that understood the word “privacy.”
There had been trips, too. A weekend in Martinique. The French Riveria. A safari in Tanzania. All of them amazing and more memorable than the last. A few of those had involved paparazzi, but nothing too over the top. They’d only been interested in him, which was the way she preferred it.
Then he’d taken her to a premiere, and that’s when the trouble had begun. There was no avoiding the media at an event meant to put people in front of the media. All the questions about who she was and what her background was and what his intentions were. So many questions. None of which she was willing to answer.
Why couldn’t the media just let a personlive?
What had brought it all crashing down was Ford started asking her questions, too. About her past. Her history.
More questions she wasn’t willing to answer. Because she couldn’t answer them honestly. Not if she wanted to maintain the life she was currently living.
So she’d ended things and gotten out of town, hoping that she’d soon be forgotten. The cottage Arlington had left her had been the perfect escape. She’d hoped to find a little place that would serve as her retreat while she tended her broken heart and tried to get on with her life. She’d never expectedthishouse.
And while she’d told her clients to reach out if they really needed her, none had so far. Maybe it was the fact that she’d also told them she’d only be available via Zoom for a while.
How long “a while” was, she had no idea. It wasn’t how she typically worked. Being available in person was much better, but once in a while, if a client was away or on location somewhere, Zoom was better than nothing. For now, it would have to do.
She went back inside. Archie followed after her with a little enthusiasm. “We’re not leaving, buddy. Sorry.”
The place had come furnished. Almost entirely in white with splashes of turquoise, cobalt, emerald, and orange. It was pretty, but white was about as chic and impractical as you could hope for in what was essentially a beach house. She sat on the big white sofa. She’d have to find a blanket to go over it. Archie wasn’t much of a shedder, but if he brought his treats up there, he’d leave crumbs and slobber. It was just better if his spot was covered. Archie, understanding he hadn’t been invited up, lay by her feet.
She scratched his head and stared at the black expanse of the television. It was as big as a movie screen, which made sense, considering who’d previously owned this house.
