shake.
"You must be Grace?" he asks with that winning smile they flash on TV every chance they get. "John Blazen. Nice to finally meet you. Kristi has talked about you non-stop for two weeks now, she’s your biggest fan. I can’t thank you enough for taking over the wedding and making her happy."
He actually beams a smile down on her and…
I wilt.
I die right there on the spot as I play all my nasty words back in my head.
I’m an asshole.
I bolt out the door and for once in my life, luck loves me. The elevator is open and waiting so I can make my shameful escape without having to explain myself.
There is only one place to go when your life implodes.
The bar.
Chapter Five
M Y phone buzzes in my pants more than two dozen times during the premiere of Invisible Man 2 , and each time I check it, just waiting for that one call. But each time I’m disappointed. Unknown numbers, known numbers… but none of them are Grace.
The movie screening ends to resounding applause and I allow myself to feel a moment of satisfaction at what we’ve accomplished. The Invisible Man is a complex character. You never know if he’s the good guy or the bad guy, and most of the time he’s both. Moviegoers like to have a clear villain. They like to know who the hero is. But the Invisible Man can’t be boxed up like that and that’s why I can relate to him.
Am I good?
Am I bad?
Am I both?
Are all those things Jasinda is telling the world about me true?
I didn’t read the entire article at Buzz Hollywood Online , but I did read the one Elite Lifestyles Magazine ran today. And that one drew very clear parallels between the story Jasinda is weaving and all the past reports. Complete with a full-spread timeline. Like they’re piecing together the clues in a murder mystery.
My date for the premiere—my Disney ex from back in my teens, who is mostly known for her sex tapes and trust-fund money these days—clings to my arm like a leech. I only brought her to take all suspicion off Grace, and even with my world crumbling around me, that seems to have worked.
My phone buzzes again and this time it’s Ray. I pry the girl’s fingers off my arm and excuse myself, walking out the emergency exit. I do not end up outside, but in the bowels of the theater’s backstage. "Yeah," I say into the phone. "Any news?"
"She’s been drinking all evening, Vaughn. She’s in the Villa Privé casino hanging on the arm of some corporate guy from San Diego. But I don’t know how you’re going to get in. It’s a private rental."
Two weeks. I’ve forced myself to stay away from her for two weeks, doing my best to keep her out of this. I felt it coming and I’m never wrong about these things. But I can’t do it anymore. She has to have seen the tabloids. She has to be drinking because of me. I am a coward if I don’t set this right. A coward and a dick. She deserves to know the truth.
I need her to know the truth. When I decided to pull away from her, my understanding was that it would be temporary. But this doesn’t feel temporary anymore. This feels like my last chance.
"The staff said she’s talking about your tabloid news today, but they didn’t tell me exactly what she said. You want me to subdue her and take control?"
Fuck.
"Boss?"
"No, I’ll take care of it." I end the call and dial up my pilot, which goes to voice mail. "We’re going to Vegas. Tonight. Fuel the jet."
I don’t go back inside the theater, I’ll never escape if I do. Instead I push my way out the back doors into the alley and call my driver to come pick me up a few blocks away. It’s a forty-minute drive up to the airport and by that time the pilot is on his way, but not there yet.
I board the jet and collapse back into one of the leather seats with a sigh.
"Rough day, Mr. Asher?" the attendant calls from the small galley near the front of the plane.
I ignore her and she takes the hint and shuts up.
I spend the next two hours with my knee bouncing, my
"You must be Grace?" he asks with that winning smile they flash on TV every chance they get. "John Blazen. Nice to finally meet you. Kristi has talked about you non-stop for two weeks now, she’s your biggest fan. I can’t thank you enough for taking over the wedding and making her happy."
He actually beams a smile down on her and…
I wilt.
I die right there on the spot as I play all my nasty words back in my head.
I’m an asshole.
I bolt out the door and for once in my life, luck loves me. The elevator is open and waiting so I can make my shameful escape without having to explain myself.
There is only one place to go when your life implodes.
The bar.
Chapter Five
M Y phone buzzes in my pants more than two dozen times during the premiere of Invisible Man 2 , and each time I check it, just waiting for that one call. But each time I’m disappointed. Unknown numbers, known numbers… but none of them are Grace.
The movie screening ends to resounding applause and I allow myself to feel a moment of satisfaction at what we’ve accomplished. The Invisible Man is a complex character. You never know if he’s the good guy or the bad guy, and most of the time he’s both. Moviegoers like to have a clear villain. They like to know who the hero is. But the Invisible Man can’t be boxed up like that and that’s why I can relate to him.
Am I good?
Am I bad?
Am I both?
Are all those things Jasinda is telling the world about me true?
I didn’t read the entire article at Buzz Hollywood Online , but I did read the one Elite Lifestyles Magazine ran today. And that one drew very clear parallels between the story Jasinda is weaving and all the past reports. Complete with a full-spread timeline. Like they’re piecing together the clues in a murder mystery.
My date for the premiere—my Disney ex from back in my teens, who is mostly known for her sex tapes and trust-fund money these days—clings to my arm like a leech. I only brought her to take all suspicion off Grace, and even with my world crumbling around me, that seems to have worked.
My phone buzzes again and this time it’s Ray. I pry the girl’s fingers off my arm and excuse myself, walking out the emergency exit. I do not end up outside, but in the bowels of the theater’s backstage. "Yeah," I say into the phone. "Any news?"
"She’s been drinking all evening, Vaughn. She’s in the Villa Privé casino hanging on the arm of some corporate guy from San Diego. But I don’t know how you’re going to get in. It’s a private rental."
Two weeks. I’ve forced myself to stay away from her for two weeks, doing my best to keep her out of this. I felt it coming and I’m never wrong about these things. But I can’t do it anymore. She has to have seen the tabloids. She has to be drinking because of me. I am a coward if I don’t set this right. A coward and a dick. She deserves to know the truth.
I need her to know the truth. When I decided to pull away from her, my understanding was that it would be temporary. But this doesn’t feel temporary anymore. This feels like my last chance.
"The staff said she’s talking about your tabloid news today, but they didn’t tell me exactly what she said. You want me to subdue her and take control?"
Fuck.
"Boss?"
"No, I’ll take care of it." I end the call and dial up my pilot, which goes to voice mail. "We’re going to Vegas. Tonight. Fuel the jet."
I don’t go back inside the theater, I’ll never escape if I do. Instead I push my way out the back doors into the alley and call my driver to come pick me up a few blocks away. It’s a forty-minute drive up to the airport and by that time the pilot is on his way, but not there yet.
I board the jet and collapse back into one of the leather seats with a sigh.
"Rough day, Mr. Asher?" the attendant calls from the small galley near the front of the plane.
I ignore her and she takes the hint and shuts up.
I spend the next two hours with my knee bouncing, my
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