Never Say Never (7 page)

“I can’t,” I say and take a drink of coffee. A night out drinking would be wonderful, and a night out drinking with Aiden would be amazing. Well, I assume so at least. But a night out drinking meant staying out late and possibly not at my house. It meant not being home in the early morning to feed the horses, and it meant not working with Sundance and not using the rest of tonight and not being there to tend to Phoenix’s wounds and give her medication.

He leans back. “You’re joking, right?”

“I wish I was,” I say. My eyelashes come together in a long blink. “The horses…I…I have to take care of them.”

He doesn’t look angry or even hurt, just confused. Genuinely confused. I’m guessing no one ever turns him down. “Do you have a boyfriend or something? It’s just drinks.”

“No, I don’t.”

“Are you into women?” he asks bluntly.

I gape at him, mouth opening in shock. Did he seriously just ask that? He’s so full of himself he thinks someone has to be a lesbian to turn him down. “No, I’m not. Are you?”

He laughs. “Very much so.” He gives me his trademark smile again. “Maybe you didn’t hear. Come out with me. It’s boring as hell here. I could use some fun. I’m taking you out tonight.”

Thank you, Aiden. You just made this much easier.
“I’m sorry, but no, I can’t,” I say again, as I watch the confusion come back to his handsome face.

“Your loss,” he says under his breath, and I am so glad I’m not going out with him.

Chapter 6

I cannot stop thinking about her, cannot get her out of my mind. From the moment our eyes met, I knew she was different. I was told I was being interviewed by someone named Parker, and I assumed it was a man. When the annoying bell chimed for the millionth time and I looked up, I wasn’t expecting to see her come through.

She is beautiful in an unconventional way, so unlike the women I’ve surrounded myself with the last few years. She’s tall and fit without being overly thin. I knew right way her supple breasts were real. There was pain behind her green eyes—eyes that I didn’t want to stop looking into, eyes that showed all the emotion she was holding back.

What happened to her?

I finish my drink and flop back onto the hotel bed. Why the fuck am I so interested in her? She’s a journalist. Some aren’t much better than paparazzi. But she wasn’t like them. The things she said…the depths of her words…no, Haley is different.

And she turned me down. She fucking turned me down. That never happens.

I considered getting some cast mates to go to the bar with me instead, and finding some random chick to take back to my room and fuck, pounding her until Haley was just a memory. I could have easily, but I didn’t. I came back to my room alone and am now drinking in the dark, thinking about second chances.

You don’t get a second chance. Life fucks you up, and you have to move on and make your new destiny. There are no do-overs. Because if there were, I’d have found mine.

I’m tired, and my body wants to sleep. I close my eyes and see her face. I roll over and grab my phone, swiping the screen and tapping in my password. I open the Internet and stare at the blank screen. What do I expect to find? Even Google can’t help me figure out why Haley got under my skin so much.

Regardless, I type in her name and add “horse rescue” to the search. What comes up horrifies me. The first hit isn’t a website for her barn. It’s a news article from April. I want to stop reading. I don’t want to know these horrible things. I’ve shut them out for the last four years, surrounded myself with fame and the finer things in life for a reason.

I’m pissed at her now for bringing darkness.  I’m pissed at her because now I care, and now I feel like an arse for asking about her burns.

And I’m fucking pissed I want to make it up to her.

I let the phone fall onto the mattress. Images of fire flash before me. I wasn’t even there and it terrifies me. My eyes open and I sit up, clutching my chest. I’m not drunk enough to pass out, but I have enough alcohol in me to shut off my mental filters.

Nope, not doing this. I get up and weave my way into the bathroom. I splash cold water on my face, get dressed, and get the hell out of this room.

In just two hours, I’ve successfully obliterated myself. I bring a woman back with me to my hotel room. She’s tall and blonde with a big arse. I think we have sex. Maybe. I’m too drunk to remember anything.

When I come to that next morning, I’m naked at the foot of the bed, tangled up in sheets. I have a condom on—thank God—and the girl I banged is sprawled out on the floor. Fuck. I have no idea what her name is.

She’s not as attractive as I thought she was last night. I hadn’t noticed the layers of makeup or the clip-in extensions. Whatever. It’s what I needed. Right? A fun night. No-strings-attached sex. Well, that’s what I assumed happened. For all I knew, she passed out and I jacked myself off before I passed the fuck out.

I text Claire, my PA, and tell her to bring me clothes and something to eat…and to deal with that chick who’s naked and lying spread eagle on the floor of my suite. Then I plan to pass out so I can get up and repeat the same thing tonight.

“Aiden.”

I groan and feebly raise my arm in the air, swatting away whoever is standing next to my bed.

“Aiden, you have to get up.”

It’s Claire. What the fuck is she doing here? She knows not to wake me up. “Go away,” I mumble. The blankets get yanked back. I open my eyes and feel nausea twist in my gut. Why are the curtains open?

“Get up,” she says sternly. “You’re already late.” Late? Late for what? Ah, fuck. Work. I was supposed to get up and get to the set around sunrise. Well, that’s not happening. “The director called.”

“No, he didn’t. Stop lying.” My face is pressed into the pillow. I don’t think she can understand anything I’m saying. She says I sound ‘too British’ when I’m hung over and makes me repeat everything. I don’t care. All I care about is going back to sleep.

“Fine, his assistant called. It doesn’t matter who called, Aiden. You have to get up and get your ass to the set.”

I groan and push myself up, unable to open my eyes.

“Jesus,” she says, extending a water bottle and two pills. “You look like shit.”

I glare at her, wishing I felt well enough to threaten her job or at least make a retort back. Instead I pop the pills in my mouth and take a gulp of water. “Tell them I’m sick,” I say. “Food poisoning. Or the flu. Or something. Fuck, anything. I don’t care.”

“Everyone knows you went out drinking last night.” She hands me a shirt. “This is a small town. Even if it weren’t for the paparazzi, you stick out. There are pictures of you on Perez Hilton’s site.”

I stick my arms through the sleeves of my shirt and struggle to pull it over my head. I’m still fucking drunk. Finally, I get the shirt on and glare at Claire. Her red hair is pulled into a tight bun on the top of her head and her pale skin is flush from frustration.

I’ve fired her three times over the last year. Yet I always hire her back within a week. She’s a pain in the arse and never sugar coats anything like the other assistants I’ve had. She doesn’t stroke my ego, or anything else—I’ve tried before when I was drunk—but she’s damn good at what she does. I don’t say it, but I can’t function without her. And she knows it.

I pull on trousers and stand up. Claire runs her fingers through my hair to pull out the tangles. There’s nothing sexual about her touch. She’s several years older than me and puts off a mum vibe. I haven’t admitted to myself yet that I like the maternal affection. God knows I didn’t get any of it as a child.

“Put these on,” she says, giving me sunglasses and a baseball cap. “Keep your head down. We can’t afford any stops, and trust me, you don’t want anyone seeing you like this.” She’s on the phone as we hurry through the hallway of the hotel. Frank, my bodyguard, nods at Claire and his cheeks redden just a bit. I smile to myself. Oh, there’s something going on between them.

“Where’s my phone?” I ask, and Claire digs it out of her giant bag.

“Your battery is at fifteen percent, but I have the portable charger in the car.”

“Thanks.” I unlock it and scroll through my messages. Most are from my friends, who are also famous. Actors, artists, and a few TV show hosts. I answer as many as I can on my way to the car, which is waiting for me in front of the hotel. A small crowd gathers around. I don’t care what Claire says. I hold my hand up and smile.

Claire shakes her head and sighs, opening the door for me to get into the car. I slide in the back of the sedan and take the sunglasses off. I open the Internet to look at the supposed horrible picture of me. My browser is still open to the article of the barn fire that killed Haley’s mother.

“That girl who interviewed me Saturday,” I start and close the window. I remember Haley’s eyes so vividly. A pretty shade of green with blue flecks around the pupil, holding back so much hurt, reflecting the pain I’ve tried so fucking hard to bury.

“What about her?” Claire asks, eyes going wide. “Was she rude? Did she do a bad interview? Should I call and bitch?”

I smile. “No, but can you get me info on her?”

Claire turns to me, eyebrows hiking up so high they disappear under her bangs. “Why?”

I shrug. “Don’t ask questions. Just do it.”

She purses her lips together. “Fine. What do you want to know?”

Another shrug. “Anything you can find.”

“If you go to jail for stalking, it’s not my fault,” she says as she types a reminder in her phone. I just smile and lean back, letting my eyes close. It’s an hour drive to the set—just enough time for a nap.

Claire wakes me up when the car goes through security. I run my hands over my face and groan. I’m hungry, have to pee, and feel like total shit.

“Eat this,” she says, handing me a protein bar. “Then drink this.”

I take a bite of the peanut butter flavored bar and force it down before chugging the rest of the water. I get a coffee while I sit in hair and makeup. I sip it and think about my character. I channel him, letting my thoughts fall to the wayside. I become him, feel what he feels, and let Aiden Shepherd disappear into nothing for the rest of the day.

“I know you get fixated,” Claire says that night. It’s eleven o’clock and we just got back from filming. She picked up Mexican food and brought it back to my room. “But this one, I don’t understand.”

She hands me a Styrofoam box filled with tacos, rice, and beans. I looked down at the papers she printed off about Haley Parker.

“She’s pretty and all, but she’s just some horse trainer who works for a small press. I don’t see why you’re so interested.”

“I asked her to go out with me,” I say, picking up a taco. It’s hot and dripping with grease, and totally against my strict diet. It’s heaven. “And she said no.”

“Oh, so you need to recover your ego?” She sticks a fork in her salad and flips through her calendar.