What I Did for Love (Wynette, Texas #5)(8)

Eight minutes had passed. Rory Keene finally spotted her and gave a friendly wave. Georgie waved back. Fifteen years earlier, during the second season of Skip and Scooter, Rory had been a lowly production assistant, but now she was the head of Vortex Studios and one of the most powerful women in Hollywood. Since Georgie’s last two films had been box-office flops and her newest one promised to do even worse, she hated having someone so influential see her sitting here looking like a loser. But then, what was new about that?

She never used to be a defeatist, and she had to stop thinking like one. Except ten minutes had elapsed…

Georgie pretended not to notice the stares she was receiving, but she’d started to perspire. Being alone at The Ivy was tantamount to a public shunning. She debated flipping open her cell, but she didn’t want to look as though she had to track down her date.

Across the patio, a group of thin, painstakingly stylish young heiresses with beautiful, vacant faces had gathered for lunch. They included the vapid daughters of a fading rock star, a studio mogul, and an international soft drink tycoon. The girls were famous for being famous—icons of everything that was trendy and scrumptiously unaffordable for the ordinary women who poured over their photos. None of them wanted to admit they lived off Daddy’s money, so they tended to list their occupation as “purse designer.” But their real job was being photographed, and their leader, the soft drink heiress, rose from the table and glided like a sleek Ferrari toward Georgie.

“Hi, I’m Madison Merrill. We haven’t met.” She angled her hips for the long lenses of the paparazzi across the street, giving them a flattering view of her Stella McCartney trapeze dress. “I just loved you in Summer in the City. I don’t understand why it wasn’t a big hit. I love romantic comedies.” A crease dented her perfect forehead, and she hastily added, “I mean, I love serious stuff, too, like, you know, Scorcese and everything.”

“I understand.” Georgie offered up her perky smile and imagined the paparazzi clicking away, getting great photos of the fabulously photogenic Madison Merrill standing by an emaciated Georgie York, who was seated alone at a table for two.

“Skip and Scooter was great, too.” Madison moved a few steps back so the table umbrella didn’t shadow her face. “It was my favorite TV show when I was like nine.”

The girl was too stupid to be subtle. She’d have to work on that if she wanted to stay ahead in L.A.

Madison gazed at the empty chair. “I’ve got to get back to my friends. You could like sit with us if you don’t have anybody to eat with?” She made the statement into a question.

Georgie tugged on one of her amber earrings. “Oh, no. He got held up in a meeting. I promised I’d wait for him. Men.”

“I guess.” Madison waved at the photographers and trotted back to her seat.

Georgie felt as if a flashing neon arrow was pointing at the empty chair across the table. Thousands of men all around the world—millions of them—would give anything to have lunch with Skipper Brown, but she’d had to pick her unreliable former best friend.

Georgie’s server popped up for the third time. “Are you sure you wouldn’t like to order now, Miss York?”

Georgie was trapped. She couldn’t stay. She couldn’t leave. “Another iced tea, please.”

The server disappeared. Georgie lifted her wrist and gazed pointedly at her watch. She couldn’t put it off. She had to pretend to be getting a call. It would be her date telling her he’d been in an automobile accident. First she’d pretend to be concerned, then she’d be relieved that no one was hurt, then she’d be totally understanding.

Stood Up! Mystery Man Ditches Date with Georgie

She could already see the photo of herself alone at a table for two. How could such a basic plan have backfired so quickly? She should start traveling with an entourage like every other celebrity, but she’d always hated the idea of being surrounded by paid companionship.

As she reached for her cell, she grew aware of a subtle shift in the atmosphere, an invisible electric current zipping across the patio. She looked up and her blood froze. Bramwell Shepard had just walked in.

Heads ping-ponged all over the patio, bouncing from Bram to her and then back again. He was dressed like the aimless second son of an exiled European monarch: a designer blazer—probably Gucci—great jeans that emphasized all six feet two inches of his height; and a faded black T-shirt that signified he didn’t give a damn. A pair of male models ogled him enviously. Madison Merrill half rose from her chair to intercept him. But Bram was heading right toward Georgie.

Car brakes squealed as the paparazzi dashed into the traffic from across the street to get the shot of the week, maybe the entire month, since they hadn’t been seen together since the show ended. Bram reached her table, ducked under the umbrella, and brushed a kiss over her lips. “Trev couldn’t make it.” He kept his voice low against eavesdroppers. “Unavoidable last-minute circumstances.”

“I can’t believe you’re doing this!” She could believe it. Bram wanted something from her—maybe a public scene? She forced her frozen lips into what she hoped the cameras would register as a smile. “What did you do to him?”

“So much suspicion. Poor guy wrenched his back getting out of the shower.” Bram settled into the chair across from her, keeping his voice as quiet as hers and offering up his most seductive smile.