“Georgie! Are you out here?”
Her heart sank. One part of her wondered how he’d managed to find her so quickly. The other part was surprised it had taken him this long.
Shoes crunched on the gravel path outside the guesthouse, and then her father appeared. He was conservatively dressed as always in a white shirt, light gray trousers, and tasseled cordovan loafers. At fifty-two, Paul York was trim and fit, with rimless glasses and crisp, prematurely gray hair that caused him to be mistaken for Richard Gere.
He stepped inside and stood quietly, studying her. Except for the color of his green eyes, they looked nothing alike. She’d gotten her round face and stretchy mouth from her mother. “Georgie, what have you done?” he said in his quiet, detached voice.
Just like that, she was eight years old again, and those same cold green eyes were judging her for letting an expensive bulldog puppy get away during a pet food commercial or for spilling juice on her dress before an audition. If only he were one of those rumpled, overweight, scratchy-cheeked fathers who didn’t know anything about show business and only cared about her happiness. She pulled herself together.
“Hi, Dad.”
He clasped his hands behind his back and patiently waited for her to explain.
“Surprise!” she said with a fake smile. “Not that it’s really a surprise. I mean…You had to know we were dating. Everybody saw the photos of us at Ivy. Sure, it seems fast, but we practically grew up together, and…When it’s right, it’s right. Right, Bram? Isn’t that right?”
But her bridegroom was too busy reveling in her discomfort to chime in with his support.
Her father studiously avoided looking in his direction. “Are you pregnant?” he asked in the same clinical voice.
“No! Of course not! This is a”-she tried not to choke-“love match.”
“You hate each other.”
Bram finally uncoiled from his chair and came to her side. “That’s old history, Paul.” He slipped his arm around her waist. “We’re different people now.”
Paul continued to ignore him. “Do you have any idea how many reporters are out front? They attacked my car when I drove in.”
She briefly wondered how he’d found her back here, then realized her father wouldn’t let a small thing like an unanswered doorbell stop him. She could see him now, tramping through the shrubbery and emerging without a single hair out of place. Unlike her, Paul York never got ruffled or confused. He never lost his sense of purpose, either, which was why he found it so difficult to understand her insistence on taking a six-month vacation.
“You need to get control of this publicity immediately,” he said.
“Bram and I were just discussing our next step.”
Paul finally turned his attention to Bram. From the beginning, they’d been enemies. Bram hated Paul’s interference on the set, especially the way he made sure Georgie never lost her top billing. And Paul hated everything about Bram.
“I don’t know how you talked Georgie into this charade,” her father said, “but I know why. You want to ride on her coattails again, just like you used to. You want to use her to advance your own pathetic career.”
Her father didn’t know about the money, so he was uncharacteristically off the mark. “Don’t say that.” She needed to at least pretend to defend Bram. “This is exactly the reason I didn’t call you. I knew you’d be upset.”
“Upset?” Her father never raised his voice, which made his disgust all the more painful. “Are you deliberately trying to ruin your life?”
No, she was trying to save it.
Paul rocked on his heels just as he used to when she was a child and she didn’t have her lines memorized. “And here I thought the worst of this mess was over.”
She knew what he meant. He adored Lance, and he’d been furious when they split. Sometimes she wished he’d just come out and say what he really meant, that she should have been woman enough to hold on to her husband.
He shook his head. “I don’t think I’ve ever been so disappointed in you.”
His words bit to the quick, but she was working hard at being her own person, so she made herself manufacture another bright smile. “And just think, I’m only thirty-one. I have lots of years to improve my record.”
“That’s enough, Georgie,” Bram said, almost pleasantly. He let his hand slip from her waist. “Paul, let me lay it out for you. Georgie is my wife now, and this is my house, so behave, or you’ll lose your invitation to visit.”
She sucked in her breath.
“Really?” Paul’s lip curled.
“Really.” Bram headed for the doors. But just before he got there, he turned back, performing the old false exit as flawlessly as he’d done it in a score of
She couldn’t believe it. Of all the-She took a step toward him.
An angry flush spread over her father’s face. “Are you implying that I’ve mismanaged Georgie’s money?”
“I don’t know. Have you?”
Bram had gone too far. She might resent the way her father attempted to control her, and she definitely questioned his judgment in choosing her latest projects, but he was the only man in the world she trusted completely when it came to money. All kid actors should be lucky enough to have such a scrupulously honest parent guarding their incomes.
Her father grew more outwardly calm, never a good sign. “Now we get to the real reason for this marriage. Georgie’s money.”
Bram’s lips curled with insolence. “First you say I married her to advance my career…Now you think I married her for her money…Dude, I married her for
Georgie rushed forward. “Okay, I’ve had enough laughs for tonight. I’ll call you tomorrow, Dad. I promise.”
“That’s it? That’s all you have to say?”
“If you give me a couple of minutes, I can probably come up with a good punch line, but for now, I’m afraid that’s the best I’ve got.”
“Let me show you out,” Bram said.
“No need.” Her father strode toward the door. “I’ll leave the same way I came in.”
“No, Dad, really…Let me…”
But he was already crossing the gravel patio. She sank into a saggy brown couch right underneath Humphrey Bogart.
“That was fun,” Bram said.
She clenched her fists in her lap. “I can’t believe you questioned his integrity like that. You-the go-to guy for financial mismanagement. How my father handles my money is my business, not yours.”
“If there’s nothing to hide, he won’t mind opening the books.”
She shot up. “I mind! My finances are confidential, and I’m calling my lawyer first thing tomorrow to make sure they stay that way.” She’d also have a private talk with her accountant about disguising the fifty thousand a month she was paying Bram from her father. “Household expenses” and “increased security” sounded a lot better than “blood money.”
“Relax,” he said. “Do you really think I’d know how to read a financial statement?”
“You were deliberately baiting him.”
“Didn’t you enjoy it just a little bit? Now your father knows he can’t order me around the way he does you.”
“I run my own life.” At least she was trying to.
She expected him to debate the point, but he flicked off the desk lamp instead and nudged her toward the door. “Bedtime. I’ll bet you’d like a back rub.”
“I’ll bet I wouldn’t.” She stepped outside as he pulled the doors closed behind them. “Why do you keep pushing this?” she said. “You don’t even like me.”
