Funny to think how she’d vanished from sight, only to find her image more prominent than ever. There was even talk of an Oscar nom, a Golden Globe too. Ira wasn’t the only one getting a major PR bump. Madison’s abduction had sent her star meter soaring to the sort of stratospheric heights even a lead role in a critically acclaimed blockbuster could never accomplish. Not everyone was willing to sit in a darkened theater and watch a two-hour movie unfold, but most everyone liked to keep up on the sordid details of the latest tragedy in the making, and Madison planned to milk it for all it was worth.
For those who made their living in the public eye, attention was currency. The day the fans stopped talking was the day they stopped caring. Like a forced retirement, the end of celebrity gossip was the beginning of obscurity.
Still, she’d have to find a way to reframe the diary entries. Since the first one had been posted, a new one appeared every day. The incendiary content had inflamed news outlets the world over, but Layla was too afraid of the threatening notes to do anything to stop the carnage. As soon as Madison came out of hiding, she’d deny every word. She just hoped it wouldn’t be too late. The reveals had left her fans feeling deeply betrayed. The longer the mess was allowed to drag on, the more their rage would cement until there was no turning back.
She paused before the full-length mirror. A few healthy meals and a decent night’s sleep in a comfortable bed had gone a long way toward adding a bit of color back to her cheeks. Her cuts and bruises were still visible but beginning to fade. And while her ankle was still an issue, the pain was lessening, which made it easier to accommodate.
The hem of Tommy’s old Led Zeppelin T-shirt curled at the top of her thighs. She knew it was his favorite and hoped he wouldn’t mind that she’d borrowed it. Funny to think how just a few miles away she had a fantasy closet filled with the most coveted designer offerings, while here it was a choice between the cheap denim miniskirt she’d arrived in, a souvenir T-shirt featuring her face, or whatever she could cull from Tommy’s closet.
She fluffed her hair around her shoulders and frowned. She’d aimed for pretty but accessible, sexy yet friendly. While she hadn’t exactly nailed the look, she did exude a sort of haunting frailty that might convince Tommy she was in need of his comfort . . . in whatever form that might take.
Her plan was awful. But she refused to believe it made her an awful person. It was like the old saying went: desperate people do desperate things. At the moment, Madison Brooks felt like the most desperate girl in the world.
She made for the kitchen, where she unearthed a bottle of Unrivaled tequila from one of the cupboards and carried it into the den with two shot glasses in tow. Then, before she could talk herself out of it, she retrieved the bottle of pain pills she’d taken from the safe at Paul’s hideaway and placed two tabs in the bottom of Tommy’s glass.
With more regret than he’d ever likely believe, she poured the tequila and watched as the pills began to dissolve and bleed seamlessly into the liquid.
Satisfied, she arranged herself among the couch cushions. Tommy would be back soon, and she wanted him to catch her looking beautiful, alluring, and inviting in a way he’d be unable to resist.
She’d just reached for the cashmere throw to prop under her ankle, when the doorbell rang and Madison cast a worried look toward the entry.
Had Tommy misplaced his key?
A series of quick, insistent taps was followed by a voice softly calling, “Hey, open up—it’s Aster.”
Annoyed, Madison dutifully pushed away from the couch and peered through the peephole. Sure enough, Aster waited in the hall, wearing a pair of faded old jeans, a gray V-neck tee, a baseball cap, and oversize sunnies. She hugged a large canvas bag to her chest.
Madison swung the door open and ushered her inside.
“Ryan’s waiting downstairs,” Aster said in response to the way Madison peered past her shoulder before closing the door.
Madison nodded, secretly relieved by the words. She had no idea what Aster wanted, but if Ryan was waiting, then she wouldn’t stay long.
Aster moved into the den and surveyed the scene. Her gaze lighting on the bottle of tequila and the two full shot glasses placed right beside it, she swung toward Madison with a knowing look. “Drinking alone is a really bad sign. You know that, right?”
“What do you want?” Madison made no attempt to play nice.
“I could ask you the same,” Aster fired back.
Madison lifted her chin and kept her manner firm. “Me? I’m just hiding out, lying low, and playing by the rules you all set.”
“Give me one good reason why I shouldn’t call Detective Larsen right now.”
“Same list of reasons we already discussed.”
Aster steeled her gaze. “I don’t know what you’re up to with”—she gestured toward the shot glasses—“whatever that’s supposed to be. But don’t drag Tommy into your schemes. He’s gone out of his way to help you. The least you can do is respect the risk he’s taking and not use him to relieve your boredom or loneliness or whatever story you’ve told yourself that makes it okay for you to seduce someone you don’t actually give a shit about.”
Madison’s anger flared, but it would do no good to show it. “Well, look at you with the moral outrage.” She laughed. “Wasn’t so long ago
