“My husband directed him in Compromises. Hollywood’s a small, incestuous world, isn’t it? Here’s Randi with your water. And here, finally, is my phone.”

The third woman—one between the ages of the other two—handed Cate a tall, slim glass.

“Thank you. I . . .” She stared at the phone, working to bring Jasper’s number into her head. She tried it, closed her eyes in relief at Jasper’s voice.

“Jasper, it’s Cate.”

“Oh, miss, thank God! Mr. Mitchell just got ahold of me. I was about to call your daddy.”

“No, please, don’t. If you’d just come get me. I . . .” She looked at Gloria. “I don’t know where I am, exactly.”

“Unique Boutique,” Randi told her, and gave her an address on Rodeo Drive.

“I got that, miss. I’ll be there in just a few minutes. You just sit tight.”

“Okay, thanks.” She handed the phone back to Gloria. “Thank you, so much.”

“Don’t you worry about it.” Gloria turned her head, gave one long, dark look toward the back of the shop. “It’s called being human.”

CHAPTER ELEVEN

The networks, the cable channels ran video footage, recorded on someone’s phone. Photographs of the forced embrace, of Charlotte pleading on her knees or holding a hand to her face as if Cate had struck her swarmed the internet, the papers.

In disgust, Hugh slammed down the national tabloid with its screaming headline.

A REPENTANT MOTHER AN UNFORGIVING CHILD

Charlotte Dupont’s Heartbreak

“She set it up. Someone told her where Cate would be and when, and when I find out who—” He broke off, hands fisted.

“Get in line,” Lily told him, pacing his office as Aidan stood staring out the garden doors.

“Even after all she did,” Aidan said quietly, “we underestimated her. Days after she’s released, days, and she’s using Cate for publicity. The photos, she had a paparazzo on tap for those. She had the story ready to go.”

“We’ll get a restraining order. That’s the first thing,” Hugh said. “It’s tangible, and if she tries to get near Cate again, she’ll be right back in prison.”

“We’re all too far into individual projects to walk away at this point. But as soon as I’m wrapped, I’ll take her back to Ireland. We should’ve stayed there.”

“I could take her to Big Sur now,” Hugh suggested. “I can commute when I’m needed for postproduction work.”

“No.” Cate stood in the doorway. “No Big Sur, no Ireland, no anywhere.” She shook her head as Hugh moved to cover the tabloid with a script. “I’ve seen it, Grandpa. You, all of you, can’t protect me forever.”

“Wanna bet?”

She walked to Lily, squeezed her hand. “I know I made a mess of this. I did,” she insisted before all three could protest. “I should’ve stood up to her. If there’s ever a next time, I will.”

“There won’t be. The restraining order’s nonnegotiable,” Hugh told her.

“I’m fine with that. I hope like hell she breaks it so she’s back in prison. But I’m not going to let her make me a coward, and she did. If she wants this—this shitpile of publicity, she can have it. I know we’re getting another damn shitpile of reporters pushing for my side, my statement.”

“You’re not talking to the press about this.” Aidan walked to her, took her by the shoulders.

“No, I’m not. I won’t give her the satisfaction. Everyone here, every one of you gave me what I needed to get out of that room all those years ago. And every one of you gave me what I need to do what I have to do now. I told Joel to accept the offer. I’m doing the film.”

“Cate.” Gently now, Aidan brushed a hand over her hair. “I’m not sure you know what you’d be exposing yourself to. Even with security, even if they agreed to a closed set, there’ll be more stories, more photos.”

“If I don’t do it, there’ll be more stories, more photos, because it’s already out I was having a meeting on just this when she barged in. I walk away from this, she wins.”

After touching a hand to her father’s heart, she lifted her arms. “You, all of you can tell me I’ve got nothing to be ashamed of, but I am ashamed. I need to do this for myself, to prove I can no matter what she throws at me. It’s not a movie anymore, or a project or a part. It’s how I feel about myself. And right now? I feel small.”

Aidan pulled her in, rested his cheek on the top of her head. “I won’t stand in your way. But we have to work out what precautions to take.”

“Publicity like this brings out the loonies,” Lily pointed out. “I can be proud of you, and I am, for taking a good grip on your own life. But we’re going to protect you.”

“I’ll take the bodyguard, I’ll use a car and driver. I won’t go anywhere alone. For now, it’s here and the studio.”

“Now I’m pissed off all over again.” Her face stony with rage, Lily dropped into a chair. “The girl’s hitting eighteen now, Hugh, for Christ’s sake. We should all be worried about the bad boy she thinks she’s in love with, the clubs she’s sneaking into.”

“I hope to get to all that.” Cate managed a smile. “Maybe a little late on the schedule.”

While Cate focused on preproduction, Charlotte made the circuit.

God, she’d missed the cameras, the lights, the attention. It didn’t matter when she sat in hair and makeup before her segment on a talk show whether she felt disapproval or fascination in the air.

She was on!

She knew how to play the part. After all, she’d had seven years to refine it. Remorse over what she’d done, grief over what she’d lost, the faint, shaky hope for a second chance.

And just a thin line snaking through that pushed the real guilt on Denby and Grant.

They’d lied to her, terrified her until she’d done a terrible thing.

Before her interview—a third-tier gossip rag, but cover story—she perused her wardrobe.

She needed new clothes, a star’s wardrobe, but at the moment, she needed to stick with the simple. Not quite dull, she thought, scowling at the meager selection in the small closet in the crap house she rented. She could never go all the way to dull, but simple, clean lines, no flash had to do for now.

So . . . the black leggings—she’d worked out like a fiend in prison to keep her shape—the scoop-neck tunic in soft blue.

No bold colors.

Laying out the choices, she sat down at the desk—the crap house came furnished—she used as a makeup table, switched on the good makeup mirror she’d invested in.

She needed a flash tan, but the pallor worked for now. As soon as she could spare a couple weeks, she’d have a little work done. Nothing drastic, but she was sick and tired of looking at the lines.

As with the mirror, she’d invested in good skin care products, good makeup. It didn’t pay to be cheap. And she’d made a little extra doing makeup for other inmates on visiting days.

She spent an hour perfecting her face. The pure, no-makeup look took skill.