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Authors: Brenda Novak

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BOOK: When Lightning Strikes
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“No way. They’d never go along with it.” He cracked his
knuckles.

“Then I’ll do it, like I said.”

“That’s better. But how am I supposed to find an innocent woman
in the circles Simon’s been hanging out with lately? He’s so afraid he’ll
actually be tempted to trust someone he’s sworn off all women except the most
jaded and easy. You’re the only one he knows who—” His head jerked up. “That’s
it!”

Gail wasn’t sure why, but she took a step back. “What’s
it?”


You’ll
be his wife. That way even
Chelsea won’t have to know. It’ll stay between us. The three of us.”

“You’re not serious....”

“Of course I am. It’s got to be someone he knows or people will
see this as the ruse it is. Besides, you owe us, and you need the money a lot
more than Chelsea Seagate. She has all your old clients, remember?” he added
with a devilish grin.

“How could I forget? But I’m not cut out for the part of
Simon’s wife!”

“Sure you are. You’re perfect. No one will pay attention to the
rape claim because they’ll know that if you’re marrying him, it couldn’t
possibly be true. Everything will be tied up with a neat bow.”

Was she really the one who’d come up with this idea? She was
beginning to feel faint again. “But Simon and I aren’t the least bit compatible.
Seeing us together, the way we interact, will be a dead giveaway.”

“He’s an actor, and a damn good one. He can pretend to love
even you. And you’re a PR agent, which requires no small amount of stretching
the truth.”

She considered what his suggestion would entail and gulped.
“Wait a minute…”

“For what?”

For the room to stop spinning.
“What about my business? I’m needed here.”

“You said you don’t have any business left.”

“I don’t, but I was…hoping that—”

“We’ll send your staff on vacation until we have everything set
up and ready for you to return.”

“That won’t work. My employees can’t survive without a
paycheck, even for two weeks.”

“Then they can stay and work. Simon will cover your
payroll.”

He was overcoming every argument. “And the rent until we can
make a comeback?”

“Simon will cover that, too.”

Her knees buckled, and she sank into a chair. She had to admit
she’d had her fantasies about Simon. What woman in America hadn’t imagined his
mouth on hers? She’d imagined a little more than that. But those were silly
daydreams about characters who didn’t exist, not the flesh and blood and very
fallible man who played those larger-than-life parts. At least, that was what
she’d always told herself....

“I’m not sure I can do this.”

Shoving his hands in his pockets, Ian came closer. “Why not?
Who better than a PR pro to stay at Simon’s side night and day? If that won’t
keep him out of trouble, what will? Besides, you’ll know exactly what to say
when someone shoves a microphone in your face.”

Gail grabbed for the one remaining argument she could think of.
“How can you promise that Simon will pay my employees and my rent or anything
else on his behalf? Last I heard you were fired.”

He winked at her. “Simon needs us. He’ll understand that once
I’ve had a chance to talk to him.”

Maybe he’d refuse. He wouldn’t like this idea. No question
about that.

But if he thought it would give him Ty he’d do it in a
heartbeat.

5

“S
eriously? This is what my life has come
to? A fake marriage?”

Suddenly finding it too much of a distraction, Simon put the
football game he’d recorded on his DVR on pause. Ian was hoping to retain his
job, so it was understandable that he’d come here with some crazy idea that was
supposed to save the day. But even if it had been a
good
idea, Simon doubted he’d take him back. In his opinion, Ian had
revealed some disturbing character flaws.

Then again, Simon knew he probably wasn’t anyone who should be
pointing a finger.

Ian sat on the edge of his chair. Showered and ready for the
rest of the day, his sunglasses dangling from one hand, he looked refreshed and
energetic, which counted for more than anything he’d had to say so far. His
manner made him convincing. Simon needed
someone
who
felt ready to tackle the world.
He
felt as if he’d
just been hit by a truck.

“It wouldn’t be fake,” Ian said. “It would be real.”

“That makes it worse. I’d be acting my own life.” Simon brought
his recliner upright. He spent a lot of time in this room. It had no windows, so
it was completely dark if he wanted it to be, and that helped whenever he had a
headache. It was comfortable, too. After barging into Gail’s office and ranting
like a madman early this morning, he’d come here to calm down and recover from a
raging hangover. But he wasn’t succeeding, at calming down
or
feeling better. Every time he thought of Gail and that rape
charge, he wanted to put his fist through a wall. And although beer sometimes
helped with a hangover, it didn’t seem to be doing much today. His head pounded
as though it might explode.

What he needed was sleep. He hadn’t slept well in weeks. But
nothing he did, short of pills, made sleep possible.

“This is what you come to me with?” he asked Ian. “
This
is how you plan to prove your worth?”

Surprisingly, his manager—possibly ex-manager; Simon was still
trying to decide—didn’t back down. He was completely convinced he had the answer
to all of Simon’s problems. “Yes. It’s brilliant.”

“It’s crazy!” He winced. Raising his voice had been a mistake.
“There’s got to be another way out of the mess I’m in,” he added more calmly.
“I’ve got more money than I know what to do with. Let’s put it to good use.”

Ian shook his head. “Money’s not enough this time, Simon. You
need a more drastic solution.”

“This is drastic, all right,” he responded with a humorless
chuckle. “Are you listening to yourself? You’re suggesting I pay Gail DeMarco, a
woman I don’t even like, to be my wife.”

“She’s a PR professional, the best in the business. We can’t
expect her to give up two years of her life for free.”

“Two
years?
” The sour taste of the
beer was making his stomach queasy. He should’ve eaten something.

“You’ve got to create a track record of stability, give her
time to build the illusion of peace and happiness, a life in control.”

Simon said nothing. He was too busy trying to subdue his
nausea. Maybe he didn’t want to admit it to Ian, but he knew one thing—he
couldn’t go on like this. He’d known that for a while.

“Think about it,” Ian said. “You won’t have much to do with
her. It’s mainly for appearances. You get married, you lie low, you get Ty back
and then you part amicably. This is a PR campaign, not a marriage in the normal
sense. You’re taking it way too seriously.”

“Then
you
marry her.”

“I would if it’d help.”

Simon tried to picture Gail as his wife and couldn’t. They’d
worked together too long in carefully defined roles that rarely crossed into
their personal lives. And what he’d seen of her on a personal basis hadn’t
impressed him. Talk about a straight arrow. Could he tolerate having this person
in his life on a day-to-day basis? “Who picked the length of time?”

“She did. But it’s a worst-case scenario. If our plan works
sooner than expected, we can make adjustments.”

He sure as hell hoped it wouldn’t take two years. At the
moment, Bella had full custody of their son and, thanks to a hard-ass judge
who’d ranted on about his “moral corruption,” she’d managed to deny him
visitation rights. Yet she was leaving Ty with one nanny after another while she
had surgery to fix cosmetic flaws that didn’t exist, took expensive trips with
men she’d barely met and tried too hard to be seen, to be part of the Hollywood
“in” crowd, as if she wanted to be famous herself. After his mother died, Simon
had been raised by nannies. He didn’t want that for his son.

“It beats rehab,” Ian murmured when Simon didn’t respond.
“Something has to be done.”

Surely marriage would do more for public perception than a
rehab program. But it would only work if he could get his drinking under
control.

He turned his beer around and around in its holder. “How much
is she charging?”

“The price of the wedding photos. Whatever we sell them for,
that’s what she’ll get. She’ll even negotiate the sale and handpick the
placement so we get maximum publicity.”


People
magazine will want them.
And they’ll pay a couple mil, at least.”

“That’s a lot, but it’s money you wouldn’t have without her, so
she’s essentially paying for herself, right?”

He didn’t care about the money. He just wanted to understand
the setup. “Apparently you two have thought of everything.”

Ian smiled. “This will work, Simon. If you’ll let her take
charge for a while, do everything she tells you, you’ll get Ty back. I fully
believe that. Will you meet with her?”

“Not today.” He wasn’t sure he could trust himself not to lay
into her again. Every time he remembered that whole assault thing, he wanted to
go ape shit.

“Tomorrow, then?”

Why not? It was worth a shot. Gail DeMarco wasn’t the most
appealing woman in the world, but she was better than the alternative.
“Fine.”

Ian slapped his knees and stood. “Fantastic. So…are we good?
Are we back in business?”

Simon hated to give in so easily, but in his current condition
he didn’t have the wherewithal to do much else. “Yeah, I guess so. For now,” he
added grudgingly.

“You’ll be glad you hired me back. I promise. But…”

“What?” Simon said when he hesitated.

“No drinking tonight, okay? I don’t want Gail to see you like
this.”

Simon gave him a wry smile. “You think she’ll walk out on two
million dollars?”

“I know she will. Her reputation will be on the line. She’ll
only do it if she believes we can succeed.”

He was probably right. That was partly why Gail had always made
him a little defensive and uneasy. His money didn’t matter to her. Neither did
his fame. And he wasn’t too strong in any of the categories that did.

* * *

It was a beautiful Saturday afternoon. Pale October
sunlight drifted into the living room of Simon’s Beverly Hills mansion through a
series of large front windows, but Gail barely noticed. They’d just come in from
outside, where Ian had taken pictures of her and Simon wrapped in each other’s
arms, their mouths only millimeters apart as if they’d just kissed or were about
to. They planned to kick off the campaign by leaking those suggestive
photographs to the press. It was all calculated and arranged. It meant nothing.
And yet…standing so close to Simon had left Gail a bit breathless.

She tried to pretend otherwise, but Simon immediately threw her
off balance again.

“What about sex?” he asked, taking a seat on the sofa, while
she stood closer to Ian, who had his laptop on a table and was downloading the
pictures.

Gail had been planning to cover this herself. She just hadn’t
found the nerve. “What do you mean?” she asked, stalling while she formulated
her response.

He held the club soda he’d poured himself. “You’ve told me that
from this minute on I can’t drink a drop of alcohol. You’ve negotiated your
price. And you’ve covered how we’ll make the marriage look real by leaking
information and photographs to the press. You’ve even had Ian take the pictures
you plan to start with.” He motioned to his manager. “He’ll be emailing them to
you any minute. Don’t you think it’s time to address how we’re going to handle
our marriage on the
inside?
I’m assuming I can’t
cheat—”

“Of course not. That would endanger the whole campaign!” she
broke in.

“So what am I supposed to do?” He slid one hand down his thigh
as he shifted, adjusting the fit of the faded jeans he wore with a simple
T-shirt and expensive-looking house shoes. “If we were talking about two months
it might be different. But we’re talking about
two
years.

Dressed in a standard business suit, since she considered this
a business meeting, she fiddled with one of her buttons. “I realize that sounds
like a long time.”

“Damn right,” he said. “An eternity. You’re not suggesting I go
without, are you?”

Hoping he’d explain why her answer had to be what it was, Gail
looked at Ian. But he merely glanced up from his computer and arched his
eyebrows, implying that this one was all hers.

“Thanks for jumping in to break the bad news,” she
grumbled.

He grinned for the first time. “It’s kind of funny to watch you
flounder. I’ve never seen a grown woman turn so red.”

She grimaced. “With my coloring, it doesn’t take much.” Which
hardly seemed fair, since the two of them were tanned to a perfect café au lait
despite the fact that summer had ended two months ago.

Ian’s grin stretched wider. “I’m starting to like you, you know
that? For someone who’s so uptight and controlling, you’re not bad.”

God, he made her sound like her father. She cringed at the
militant image that presented. But she was her father’s daughter. She’d heard
that before. She’d even inherited his freckles and strawberry-blond hair, both
of which she hated as much as his intensity.

“I don’t care if you like me or not,” she said. But it wasn’t
true. She was the worst kind of type A, worse than her father, because she was
also a pleaser, which meant she’d work herself to death to meet everyone’s
expectations, no matter how unreasonable they might be.

“Is there an answer in my near future?” Simon shook his drink,
causing the ice to clink against the glass.

Lifting her chin, she addressed him herself. “Yes.”

“Yes, what?”

“Yes, I expect you to go two years without sex. That’s what the
job requires.”

He took another drink of his club soda as if this didn’t bother
him, but a subtle tightening around the mouth and eyes said otherwise. “So
you’ll be my wife in name and pocketbook only.”

“Basically. Although I’ll be signing a prenup, so I’ll have
enough to make you look generous and in love, but no access to your millions.
You’ll pay for our wedding rings and the kind of wardrobe your wife should have.
The sale of the pictures will cover my contract.”

She got the impression he was circling, searching for
vulnerability, like a buzzard.

“A rock on your finger and a few clothes. That’s all you’ll
need from me to get you through the next two years?”

“That and some privacy. Once I’m Mrs. O’Neal, my business
should recover on its own. I say we go our separate ways behind closed doors,
don’t you?” How else would they survive suddenly being shackled to each other,
two people who were so opposite and ill-suited?

“For the most part…yes.”

She’d expected him to be more adamant that she keep her
distance whenever possible. He’d had no interest in her on a personal level
before. In the past year, neither had he listened to anything she’d told him
professionally, despite paying a hefty monthly retainer for her guidance and
advice. He was only listening now because he’d bottomed out.

“We’ll need personal space and time alone,” she went on.
“Considering the number of mansions you own, having our own space shouldn’t be a
problem.” There was definitely room enough for two at his
twenty-five-thousand-square-foot home in Belize, for instance. Room enough for
her to handle her business remotely, with Serge’s and Josh’s help; it would grow
by leaps and bounds as soon as word of their union got out. Simon could…read
scripts or whatever he did when he wasn’t shooting a movie. “We should live a
few weeks here and a few weeks there—preferably out of the country as much as
possible. That’ll help us keep ahead of the paparazzi, control which details get
out.”

He pursed his lips. “You won’t miss sex? It won’t be hard for
you to sleep alone for two years?”

She gestured carelessly. “I’ll
miss
it, but…my world doesn’t
revolve
around getting
lucky. I’m a mature adult. I can delay gratification until our marriage is
over.”

If he got her hint that he should be able to do the same, he
didn’t let it deter him, didn’t act the least bit chastised or embarrassed. “And
if I feel more strongly about not having to go so long?”

She curled her fingernails into her palms. “I’m afraid you—you
don’t have any choice. It’s the only way this will work.”

“You could change your mind.”

That was what he’d been getting at all along. Gail’s anxiety
rose until the muscles in her back felt like rubber bands twisted to maximum
torque. “I’m sorry. That’s not going to happen.”

He jiggled one knee, an obvious sign of agitation. She’d seen
him do it before when he was on edge or growing impatient—or anytime he had to
sit still for too long. “What if I let you keep the ring? A big diamond. One of
your choosing.”

Of course he’d think he could buy anything he wanted. He was
richer than God. And every decision they’d arrived at so far had been reached
through negotiation. But he had to understand that this was different. She had
her limits. “I won’t trade sex for money.”

BOOK: When Lightning Strikes
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