Charlotte Phillips – Secrets of the Rich & Famous (страница 3)

He had to admire her persistence.

‘I’ve had a look at the contract …’ he glanced down at her name on the top sheet of paper ‘… er … Jennifer, and I can’t see what the problem is. I’ll make sure the agency finds you somewhere else to stay that’s just as good as this, and I’m prepared to offer you generous compensation for the misunderstanding. What’s not to like?’

‘Somewhere else isn’t good enough,’ she said. ‘It has to be here.’

A lightbulb flickered on in his mind at the desperation clearly audible in her voice. Was that it? She was some kind of obsessive fan? Oh, great. Just what he needed.

He tried to speak kindly. ‘Listen, Jennifer, I know there’s a strong fan base for my work, and I’m grateful for that, but you have to understand I like to keep my work life and my private life separate.’

More like have to, from now on.

He saw her eyes widen, and her lip curled a little. It occurred to him that for a fan she didn’t seem particularly keen on him.

‘This isn’t about you!’ she snapped. ‘It’s about the address.’

She wasn’t making any sense. He felt suddenly very tired. Not surprising after the few days he’d had and the night flight in from the States.

‘What’s so significant about this address if it isn’t the fact that I live here?’

She dropped her eyes from his, fiddled with the belt on her dressing gown.

‘It’s an important part of my cover story,’ she said. ‘I can’t change it now. There’s too much riding on it. And I only have limited time and means.’

Her cryptic explanations were beginning to irritate him.

‘What the hell are you talking about? Cover story?’

‘I’m a journalist.’

The words fell like rocks into his tired mind. He’d just flown thousands of miles to get out of the scrutiny of the press pack only to find that one of them had moved in with him. He fought to keep a neutral expression on his face, to hear her out, when what he really wanted to do was frogmarch her out of the apartment and lock the deadbolt behind her.

‘What kind of journalist?’

‘I’m working on an article that involves me inventing a different identity,’ she said. ‘The house-sitting is a cheap way of getting myself an address in the right …’ she pursed her lips ‘… social bracket. I’m working to a tight budget.’

He tried again.

‘What paper do you work for?’

The blue eyes cut away from his.

‘I’m freelance,’ she said.

So she worked anywhere and everywhere she could. Terrific. It was time to wrap this up—immediately.

‘Get your stuff right now and leave,’ he said. ‘I don’t give a damn about any contract. My lawyers will take it from here.’

She tilted her chin up and looked down at him, as if another bargaining tool had suddenly occurred to her. ‘Mr Hammond, you must know that with a couple of phone calls to the right people I could have paparazzi outside this flat before the sun comes up,’ she said.

He saw steely determination in the blue eyes and braced himself against the surge of rage. These press people—thinking they could manipulate any situation.

‘Are you threatening me, Miss Brown?’

She shook her head quickly.

‘No, I’m not,’ she said. ‘You can believe me when I tell you I have absolutely no interest in what’s going on in your life.’

She must be the only journalist in the country who didn’t.

‘I’m working on a very specific project. I don’t want any trouble, and neither do you.’

‘But you don’t seriously expect me to move out of my own house?’ he said. This was the best place for him to lie low, decide his next step. He certainly didn’t intend to do it with anyone else under the same roof.

‘I don’t,’ she said.

She crossed the room and stood on tiptoe to take a glass from one of the cupboards. The movement made her robe ride up, and he fought to take his eyes off the length of creamy slender thigh it revealed. There was something undeniably alluring about her in a scruffy kind of a way. She went to the water dispenser on the side of the fridge and filled the glass. Not a hint of awkwardness, acting as though she lived here and he was the guest.

‘I’ll be no trouble. Just imagine you’ve got a very easy to live with house guest until New Year. God knows the place is big enough for two of us without getting in each other’s way.’

For some reason his mind snapped to the bedroom, to that lithe body pinned underneath his, the blue eyes gazing back at his own.

‘And what if I refuse?’

She shrugged. ‘I’ve got a lot invested in this. A girl has to make a living, and if you pull the plug on this article I’ll have to find something else lucrative to write about.’

The pointed look she gave him said it all. Cross her and her next project would be him.

He’d heard enough.

‘Pack your stuff,’ he said. ‘In fact, no—don’t pack your stuff. Get whatever you need for the night and get yourself out of here. I’ll have someone send your bags on. You can collect them from the house-sitting agency.’

She didn’t move an inch. In fact, she got closer.

‘You people are all the same, thinking you can do whatever you like just because you’ve got a huge bank balance. I have a legal right to be here.’ Alex wasn’t so tired that he didn’t hear the desperate edge to her argument, but right now he was too tired to care.

‘I don’t get this,’ he said, levelling his voice with conscious effort. ‘I’m prepared to pay all your costs, cover any lost income. You could restart your project without losing anything. An address change can’t make that much difference.’

She took a sip of her water and Alex noticed her hands shake slightly. Good, she must be feeling nervous.

But she still shook her head. ‘No, thanks.’

‘Why the hell not?’

‘Because I’ve already set myself up with this address and I’m not screwing around with that. Plus I don’t dance to anyone’s tune just because they happen to offer me hard cash. I can get where I want to by myself, thanks very much. This way you get to keep a low profile … that is what you’re doing here, isn’t it? … and I get to finish my article. Everyone’s a winner.’

She folded her arms. She looked as fresh as a daisy, clearly prepared to argue all night if necessary, and suddenly he was done with it.

‘Stay the damn night, then,’ he snapped. ‘You’ll be out in the morning before you’ve had your first cup of coffee.’

The words were barely out of his mouth before she made a move towards the door, immediately taking him up on it. She disappeared, her bare feet padding softly down the passage back to the bedroom.

He stared at the empty doorway. Let her have her victory. It would be short-lived. In a few hours’ time his legal team would have it sorted and he could bolt the door behind her.

Alex switched the phone to his other ear and looked out of the bedroom window onto the square below. It was early and traffic was still light. A couple of hours’ sleep hadn’t soothed his mood and he was more on edge than ever. Mark Dunn had been his lawyer and close friend for a decade, providing confidential advice he trusted on a personal and business level.

‘You’re actually telling me I can’t evict her from my own apartment? What is the law there for? There has to be some kind of loophole.’ He gripped the phone between ear and shoulder so he could flick again through the house-sitting contract.

‘Without looking at it I can’t be certain, but these things are essentially rental contracts.’ Mark’s voice was matter-of-fact. ‘Fax it over and I’ll check it out. Of course you could insist she leaves regardless of what the contract says, but in the circumstances that might not be wise. What’s she like?’

Young, slim, minxy blue eyes. Legs that shouldn’t be allowed.

‘Knows her own mind and is refusing to back down,’ he said. ‘Hinted that she could make trouble.’

‘She most certainly could if she wanted to. Alex, think how this could look if she put the right twist on it. All this stuff in the press about you and Viveca Holt. It’s just a few weeks until the awards season kicks off and, trust me, the words “casting couch” are not ones you want bandied about in the run-up to that.’

‘You think I don’t know that?’

The familiar bite of fury at the backlash resurfaced. How dared people dictate what he did? Who he chose to see? Part of him wanted to issue a statement: Yeah, so I had a fling with Viveca. A great time was had on both sides, if I say so myself, and I doubt it did her career prospects any harm. But really it’s none of your damn business.

‘You need to kill that story stone-dead,’ Mark carried on. ‘Listen to your PR team for once. You’re paying them enough. Go to ground for a few days and then gradually start to be seen again on your own in the right places. Maybe a few carefully chosen public events. Be seen to be having a quiet Christmas away from the limelight. Regain some respectability. Don’t give them anything to write about and it will all be forgotten by New Year. What you don’t need is some loose cannon of a journalist getting a scoop on you assaulting your own tenant and then throwing her out on the street. And that’s just one story she could come up with. There could be worse. These people aren’t big on truth. Any new story will be used as an excuse to rehash this current scandal. It could run and run if you don’t handle it right.’