Claim Me(163)

I grimace. Goddamn him for leaving me.

“You’re saying that Damien thinks you’re going to start up with the cutting again?”

I could kiss her for being so focused, so direct. “Yes,” I say. “I haven’t—not since I’ve been in LA. But I’ve come close.”

“The paparazzi?” She puts a glass of water in front of me, and I sip from it gratefully.

“And all this craziness about the painting. It—well, it got to me.”

“Hell, that kind of crap would get to anyone.”

“Now the press is saying all sorts of shit about me sleeping with a murderer, and Damien thinks—”

“That he’s got to be the hero and walk away. Goddamn the boy, you two aren’t supposed to be a tragedy.”

“Trust me,” I say wryly. “I’m not crazy about the last-minute script change, either. So what can I do?”

“You can haul your ass to Germany and get the boy back.”




“But he’ll just send me home again. He thinks he’s being chivalrous, remember? I have to prove to him I can handle it, but how? It’s not like I can go a year without cutting, and then say ‘I told you so.’ So what can I do to prove to him right now that I’ll be okay?”

“Ah, now here’s why you came to the right place. Because this is exactly the kind of sneaky shit you pick up after a lifetime in Hollywood. You just need to give the press nowhere else to go.”

“I’m not following.”

“They’re interested in you as a story. So make the story go away.”

I blink, trying to process what she’s saying. And then it all clicks into place. I leap out of my chair and throw my arms around Evelyn. “You’re brilliant.”

“Damn right, I am. Why do you think I’m a legend in this town?”

“Do you know someone who can handle the press side of things?”

Evelyn’s smile is as wide as I’ve ever seen it. “Just leave it to me.”

I do, and I watch in wonder as the pieces come together. Not two hours later, everything is on track for the first press conference of my life.

“And what makes it really unique,” Evelyn says with a guffaw, “is that everything you’re going to say is one hundred percent true.”

I spend the next hour organizing my thoughts. I’m not shy about speaking in front of a camera—I have my mother’s pageant obsession to thank for that—but I am nervous about making sure I’m clear and quotable. With lots of juicy sound bites.

When the knock at the door finally comes, and Evelyn opens it to the camera crew, I am ready. “You sure about this, Texas?”

“It’s the only thing I can think of to get him back,” I say. “And more important, I need to do it for me.”

She nods. “Okay, then. Let’s make you even more famous.”

I laugh, but have to acknowledge that she’s probably right. I also have to admit that this may not work, but that doesn’t matter. What matters is that the princess is going out to kill the dragon instead of hiding in the tower.

The crew consists of a cameraman, a reporter, and a producer. I’m not interested in being interviewed, so the reporter says she’ll tape the intro later at the studio. This is just me, and I should take my time. I stand in the spot they’ve lit, wait for the cameraman to signal me, and start talking.

“My name is Nikki Fairchild, and I recently accepted one million dollars as a modeling fee for a nude Blaine original. The completed portrait now hangs in Mr. Damien Stark’s Malibu home, and it is an exceptional piece of art. It is both tasteful and erotic. And it does not show my face.”