So Now You're Back

‘Hey.’ He took her wrist. ‘I was kidding. No need to get your knickers in a knot.’

‘Don’t touch me.’ She yanked her hand away. Forced herself to breathe, before she smashed her fist into his face and broke his bloody nose a second time.

She wanted to shout at him that their past—and the cruel way he’d treated her—wasn’t a joke, could never be a joke, not to her. But that would give him much more importance than he deserved.

‘No touching, I promise.’ He held his hands up. ‘Just hear me out. All I’m asking is two weeks of your time. I know we don’t have a relationship any more, but we do have shit we haven’t been able to deal with because you have consistently refused to communicate with me directly.’

‘I refused to speak to you because I didn’t want to speak to you. And it doesn’t matter if there’s shit we haven’t dealt with, because I never plan to speak to you again.’

‘What about if the shit has to do with Lizzie?’

The level question stopped her in her tracks. But only for a second. This had nothing to do with Lizzie’s shit, and she had proof. ‘Don’t try to bring our daughter into this, when you’re the one who wants to expose her to the glare of publicity in some grubby tell-all biography just to pocket a few extra quid.’

His jaw tensed, as if he were surprised by the hit. But after a pregnant pause, he spoke again. ‘There’ll be no book if you give me these two weeks. And once I get the goods on this guy, the piece is going to be huge. Vanity Fair is already gagging to publish it …’

‘You’re not listening to me, Luke.’ Some things never changed, it seemed. ‘Read my lips. I don’t care about your article.’ And she certainly didn’t want to have to spend two weeks with him—the past twenty minutes had been trying enough. ‘Or bloody Vanity Fair.’

‘That’s because you’re not looking at the bigger picture here. If this article gets the traction I’m hoping for in the US, it could be great publicity for you. You’re trying to break that market, right?’

‘How did you know that?’ Good God, had he been checking up on her?

‘Because it’s your obvious next step,’ he said, without even breaking stride.

‘How could rehashing our disastrous relationship for the purposes of exposing some charlatan possibly be good publicity for me?’

‘We won’t have to rehash it—what Monroe offers are basically glorified holidays, there’s no real counselling involved. But I’ll go into the background of our relationship in the piece, that’s the angle I’m planning on.’

Her jaw literally dropped at that. She was astonished she couldn’t hear it thudding against the floor. ‘You are actually insane.’

‘It’s a great angle. I’m telling you, it might even get you a spot on Oprah.’

‘Oprah went off air years ago.’ Which showed how much attention he paid to daytime TV.

He hesitated for a moment. ‘Yes, but she still does specials. Like the interview with Lance Armstrong. Your story could qualify.’

‘Why the hell would Oprah bother with a story like mine?’ she asked, not even sure why she was humouring him. Maybe it was sick fascination. It was almost as if he were dangling over the precipice of an alternative reality.

‘Oprah’s all about the feel-good feminist angle,’ he said, convincing her that he wasn’t dangling any longer, he’d dropped right off the cliff. ‘That’s what her viewers lap up. You fit the bill perfectly. The woman who worked her way back from adversity and stuck it to the guy who did her wrong. That’d be me, by the way,’ he added, without even a hint of irony. ‘Don’t sell yourself short, you’re the superhero in this scenario.’

‘Uh-huh? And what superhero am I, exactly? The Incredible Dumped Woman?’

Sod humouring him. His mental health issues weren’t her concern. ‘What the hell makes you think my success has anything at all to do with you?’ She stood, determined not to let him see how mad he could still make her.

Bugger the bloody book. She’d just have to get Jamie to issue an injunction or something once it was written. Knowing Luke’s inability to finish anything he started, she had probably blown the threat entirely out of proportion anyway. ‘And don’t worry, I have never sold myself short. You’re the one who did that.’ She swept out of the booth, ready to make a dramatic exit, when strong fingers clamped on to her wrist, halting her in mid-sweep.

‘Sit down.’

She twisted her wrist, but his grip remained firm this time.

‘Let go of me right this instant.’

‘I’ll let go when you sit down. We’re not finished talking here. You want to cause a scene that’ll end up in Paris Match, be my guest. This happens to be a popular hangout for the paps.’

Whaaat?

She darted a glance round the restaurant, the blood rushing up her neck. The place was busy but no longer packed. But as she scanned the booths to see if there were any obvious candidates about to draw a telephoto lens on her, she caught sight of the self-satisfied smirk on Luke’s lips and realised how ridiculous she was being. She was a celebrity in the UK, not France. She narrowed her eyes at Luke, hoping to eviscerate him with a single glance. ‘Paps, my bum.’

‘Sit down,’ he repeated.

She lifted her wrist, but he still wouldn’t let go. She didn’t much like the tingles shooting up her arm from the strength in those calloused fingers.

‘I’ll sit down when you let go,’ she said.

His fingers released, and she toyed with the idea of striding out despite their bargain. She owed him nothing, certainly not honesty or integrity.

‘This isn’t a negotiation, Hal. It’s a choice. I’ll sign your contract and lose the book deal with no money changing hands, but you’ll have to come with me for two weeks to Tennessee first and pose as my plus-one.’

‘That’s Sophie’s choice and you know it,’ she cried, not caring if every paparazzi in Paris overheard them now. ‘What difference is there in having my past idiocy exposed in Vanity Fair and probably syndicated round the globe to getting it rehashed for public consumption in your book? I’ll take my chances, thank you, with an injunction once you’ve actually written the thing. Knowing your bullshit to productivity ratio, you probably won’t even finish it.’

‘There’s no reason why I have to name you in the article. If that’s what you’re scared of, I can keep your identity secret.’

‘Really?’ She sat down—which helpfully disguised the renewed tremor in her legs.

‘Yes, really,’ he said without hesitation, more serious than a heart attack. It was a new look for him. One she was fairly sure she didn’t like any more than all his others.

‘But what if someone guesses my identity?’ Not that she was actually considering his preposterous ultimatum. But theoretically speaking. ‘We’ve got the same last name.’

‘Yeah, I know, funny that, seeing as how I don’t remember us ever getting married.’ Before she could come up with some cutting remark about how eternally grateful she was to have dodged that bullet at least, he continued in the same patient tone. ‘Don’t worry, no one will guess it’s you. Not if I don’t want them to.’ He watched her, in the focused, intent, all-consuming way that had excited her so much as a teenager, when she’d been desperate for his attention. ‘That said, the piece won’t be nearly as strong, and you’ll lose out on all the great publicity you could get from it. So you can make the final decision about whether you want to remain anonymous once you’ve read it,’ he said. ‘Just in case you change your mind.’

She so would not. Did he seriously think the power of his prose would be enough to eradicate the fact that he’d blackmailed her into this?

‘I’m willing to bet you do.’ His lips curved in an assured smile. Good God, the man’s vanity was as phenomenal as his ego.

‘Would you be prepared to put all that in writing?’ she clarified. Even though she still wasn’t seriously considering his devil’s bargain. But where was the harm in exploring all her options?

‘You won’t accept my word?’

‘I wouldn’t accept your word if it was tattooed across your arse.’

He chuckled, the sound deep and rich and not remotely insulted. ‘I’d rather see it tattooed across your arse.’ The buzz of something rich and hot in her belly, and the answering hum deep in her abdomen, felt suspiciously familiar. But it wasn’t excitement, she decided. Or certainly not sexual excitement. More like the buzz you got from besting a worthy opponent in battle. Not that Luke had ever been remotely worthy of her. But apparently the thought of besting him could still give her a cheap thrill.

‘But if you insist,’ he added, ‘get your solicitor to draw something up and I’ll sign it.’ He reached across the table, offering his hand. ‘Shall we shake on it for now?’

She looked at his outstretched palm, her usual common sense returning. Could she bear two whole weeks stuck in his company? Even if it meant the end of the threat against her and her children?

But as his hand hung there, suspended over the table, the buzz peaked, and a strange calm came over her. And she knew, against all the odds, she actually wanted to take his devil’s bargain.

Because she owed it to the girl she’d been.