Hollywood Heir (Westerly Billionaire #4)(8)

Only Reggie knew the full extent of what she’d said. He’d been doing electrical work in Eric’s then-modest London apartment and overheard Jasmine’s vile ranting. After she’d left, Eric had stood in the living room, devastated, asking himself how he could have thought what they had was love.

Because life has taught me to have low, low, low expectations of people.

Reggie had walked out of the kitchen and said, “That bitch played the wrong man. Aren’t you filthy rich?”

At the time, revenge had been the last thing on Eric’s mind. He’d never been the vengeful type. “I am,” he’d said to the then-near stranger.

“You must have an army of lawyers. Don’t let those fuckers get a dime from your movie.”

They hadn’t. Eric had made sure of that, but it hadn’t made him feel better. Jasmine’s view of him as someone who was unloved because he was unlovable had rung true to him. Wanting nothing more to do with Water Bear Man or the money that came from it, he’d donated his earnings from it to charities. Rather than close that chapter of his life, it had only brought a surge of interest for a sequel. Eric had had no intention of producing or starring in another film that involved him prancing around in a gray spandex superhero costume, but his publicist had begged him to meet with the writer and cast from the original movie before deciding.

One of the cast, a man Eric had forgotten had even been in the movie, said he’d been living in his car before Water Bear Man. Eric had offered him money, but the man had refused, claiming he didn’t want a handout, he wanted a career. One day, the man professed, he would become like Eric, rich and powerful and dedicated to giving back to the community.

A real hero.

Eric had tried to explain to the man that there was nothing heroic about his life. He was a disappointment as a son, a distant sibling to those who claimed to love him, and even what appeared to have been done out of kindness hadn’t been.

Eric offered the man the role as Water Bear Man in the sequel, but the public wanted Eric. They loved Eric Westerly, not onstage performing classic theater or for who he was in person, but as his on-screen, over-the-top character. More spandex. More swagger.

“You’re a role model, Water Bear Man.”

I shouldn’t be. I’ve never done a damn thing for anyone but myself.

Eric sometimes told himself the Water Bear Man franchise was his good deed, but in his heart he knew the truth. He employed more people than he could keep track of. Many successful actors had used his movies as starting points for their careers. In the industry, Eric had a reputation for generous support of his fellow actors. They didn’t know how little of it had been by design.

He didn’t tell anyone the reality of how he felt about them or the industry. It wasn’t their fault that no matter what he did, how insane he shaped the plot to be, or even that he moved his base to the UK—nothing slowed the brand down. No matter where he went or what he did, he was Water Bear Man. Every time he thought he might break free, the brand grew and sucked him in deeper until he couldn’t even look himself in the mirror without seeing the character he’d come to hate.

He touched the fake scar on his cheek and temple. Yes, it was a lie, but a necessary one. It was a passport to a second chance to be himself—just a man.

His thoughts drifted back to Sage. Part of him wanted to track her down and apologize for his behavior. None of what he hated about his life was her fault. She couldn’t have known that watching that little girl had been tearing him apart on the inside or that going to a play would only remind him of a world that was closed to him.

Her concern in response to ingratitude reminded him of his sister Rachelle. As he walked on, he thought about what a mess he’d been when Rachelle had come to London—determined to connect with him. She and her royal husband were the reason he’d agreed to the rehab clinic. They were good people—better people than he deserved.

Like Reggie.

Eric didn’t remember asking him to come to London, but he was grateful he had. Reggie and Alice made sure his household ran smoothly. Eric had a feeling that if he gave his fortune away, they would still show up to give him shit on a regular basis.

Eric smiled as he imagined Reggie taking his kids out for the weekend on the yacht Eric had told him not to use. He didn’t expect anyone to understand their bond. Eric had two biological brothers, one older and one younger. His older brother, Brett, was a brainwashed, condescending heir to the weight of the Westerly dynasty. In other words, he’d taken over the family company and stepped into their father’s shoes. His wedding had been the first of his siblings’. Oh yeah, and there was the little wrinkle of his wife having first been engaged to their youngest brother, Spencer. Not to be outdone, Spencer was a self-made tech tycoon and just as much of a workaholic as Brett. Or he had been until a few months back, when he’d married some woman who was raising her niece. Both of them adopted the little girl and claimed they’d never been happier. Although Eric had attended all the weddings, he’d felt like an outsider. He had more in common with any of the strangers walking past him than with any of them.

In addition to Rachelle, Eric had another sister—Nicolette. He knew next to nothing about her other than that she was traveling for her photography and spending as little time with the family as possible. She sounded like she had a good head on her shoulders. Survival was best achieved via distance.