Unforgettable: Book Two (A Hollywood Love Story #2)(5)

“A lot. I was angry at the world. I wanted to kill that bastard who ran into them. He served some time, but he should have rotted in hell.”

“How did you get over it?”

“I moved to LA and funneled my pain and anger into acting. It was a release.”

“You studied with the legendary Bella Stadler, right?”

He blinks his eyes several times in rapid succession as if remembering something.

“Are you having some kind of memory breakthrough?” His mind is definitely elsewhere, and he doesn’t answer me. “Brandon, are you okay?”

His eyes continue to flutter, and then he responds. “Yeah, I’m good. Bella was an amazing woman. She made me the actor…and the man I am today.”

I process his words. I recall reading somewhere that Bella was rumored to have affairs with many of her talented, handsome protégés. Did Brandon sleep with his teacher? His master? I refrain from asking and instead give him a compliment.

“You’re a really good actor, Brandon.”

He cocks a brow, as if in disbelief. “Really? You think so?”

I smile at him warmly, touched by what I think is a genuine, humble moment of self-doubt. “I know so. Hel-lo-O. You won the Golden Globe.”

“But still. I don’t think I’m a Brando. Or anywhere close to Connery.”

He’s referring to Marlon Brando and Sean Connery, his two favorite actors according to Wiki. I once read all actors are insecure. Even the best. I guess he’s no different. My gorgeous, bigger than life action-hero boss, People Magazine’s “Sexiest Man Alive,” is just human. The egotistical * is actually quite adorable with his insecurity complex. I look deep into his eyes.

“Brandon, you’re as good as they are. In fact, better. One day you’re going to win an Oscar.”

That sexy lopsided smile plays on his lips. “You’re just kissing my ass.”

I wish. The thought of my lips on those perfect buns of steel makes my heart skip a beat and my skin heat. “No, I’m telling you the truth.”

His smile widens. “If and when I do win, I’m going to thank you.”

I twitch back a small, melancholic smile. His fiancée, America’s stunning “It Girl,” Katrina Moore will be there when he does.

“Do you believe in happily ever after?” I think back to my erotic Cinderella dream and wonder if there’s such a thing.

Brandon’s smile falls from his face and his brows furrow as if in deep thought. “I don’t know. Even with finding a great love, happily ever after may not exist.”

My heart clenches. So, Katrina is his great love? A pang of jealousy stabs me.

“What do you mean?” I ask shakily.

“Just look at our parents. They never got theirs. A happily ever after ending is not promised to everyone because tomorrow isn’t promised to anyone.”

His profound, wistfully spoken words sink into me. I stare at his face with those beautiful long-lashed sad violet eyes and reality jabs me. Chances are happily ever after will never be mine.

In my emotionally fragile state, it’s difficult to hold back tears. I set my soup bowl on the coffee table and then my cell phone rings. I pick it up and check the caller ID. It’s Jeffrey. I spoke to him briefly at the hospital earlier this afternoon while Brandon was at the set and filled him in on what happened. Overseeing an extravagant wedding up in Seattle, my brother, the event planner, is likely calling to check up on me. Thank goodness, I didn’t mention his name when I told Brandon that Pops and Auntie Jo had a son. The phone rings and rings.

“Brandon, I have to take this. It’s my boyfriend calling from out of town. He’s been…think!…at some banking conference.” My charade gives me little solace.

“Jeffrey?” Brandon’s voice is as pinched as the expression on his face.

“Yes. He probably wants to know how I’m doing. I’m going to take the call in my room and then I’m going to get some rest.”

“Fine,” he huffs with resignation. “Let me know if you need anything.”

I meet Brandon’s piqued gaze and then walk away before tears betray me.

There’s only one thing I need. Him. But he’s not mine to be had.




The next day, while I’m ready and eager to go back to work to get my mind off Mama’s murderer, Brandon insists I rest up for another twenty-four hours. Boss’s orders. I can’t say no and surrender.

It’s like he’s become a whole new person. He dotes on me. Gets me more chicken soup from Greenblatt’s and checks in on me constantly. He even runs down to the newsstand on Sunset to buy me a dozen magazines so I won’t get bored while he’s studying his lines. I’m not used to the role reversal. I’ve always taken care of him, submitted to his every need. But now, he’s taking care of me. I’m loving every minute—including having him wait outside the bathroom while I shower—but know it’s not going to last. It’s only a matter of time until Katrina shows up. I’ve refrained from asking Brandon about her whereabouts. Out of sight. Out of mind.

In the afternoon, we hang out together on the couch and binge on a James Bond marathon. Brandon has every 007 movie in his home library, and we start from the first, Dr. No, and then randomly watch Brandon’s favorites.