My mother, Rose, had been the love of Jack Montgomery’s life. But a tragic car accident tore her from us not long after I was born. Her untimely death left my father reeling … and raising a six-month-old son on his own.
Although my father never truly got over Rose, a few years later, desperate to fill the void and find a mother figure for me, he met, and quickly wed, a beautiful, budding young actress. The first few years were marital bliss—my father was thrilled when Courtney gave birth to Miles less than a year into their marriage. Unfortunately, it didn’t take much longer than that to realize Courtney was more interested in partying and an acting career than mothering their two children. She began making the rounds at all the usual Hollywood parties, the Montgomery name opening doors for her like a magical key. For the sake of his children, Dad tolerated her late nights and overindulgence in a lifestyle she wasn’t accustomed to—until he discovered she was carrying on an affair with a twenty-three-year-old unemployed wanna-be rockstar.
When they divorced, Dad took full custody in exchange for a substantial financial payout to Courtney. She disappeared on a worldwide tour with her rockstar and never looked back. Although Dad loved both of us fiercely, Miles somehow resented my mother. And over the years, that resentment spread to me—the child of our father’s precious Rose.
“This is from today,” Helen says as she hands me a DVD. “Miles brought it over himself an hour ago. Said to tell you tonight is the first stranded date.” She stops on her way out, turning back to me. “He seemed a little anxious.”
I bet he is. After a tense two-hour meeting with the president of the stagehands’ labor union, I’m really not in the mood for more of Miles’s reality crap. But I pour myself a late afternoon drink and pop the DVD into my Mac anyway. I watch the first few minutes, dreading the conversation I’m going to have with my brother when I tell him I’m not giving him the loan he needs.
It’s no secret that Mile High Films is struggling financially since the split five years ago, but I had no idea how bad things were until I made a few calls this morning. My brother owes half of the film industry’s biggest suppliers a ton of cash. If it were any other film house, the credit would have dried up months ago, but the Montgomery name carried him far. Now the name is almost all he has left … aside from this show he’s banking on.
The contents of the crystal tumbler burn as the liquor slides down my throat in one hefty medicinal gulp. I lean back in my chair, closing my eyes for a few minutes as Miles’s daily feed drones on from my computer. The alcohol seeping into my blood, I actually begin to relax for a minute.
Then I hear her voice.
My eyes jar open. I’m positive it’s her before I even look up at the screen to confirm it. All morning, my mind has drifted back to her over and over again.
Her hair’s wet, slicked back from her face, and she has no makeup on, but I’m sure just from the sound of her laugh. A tall, thin-but-solid, tattooed, longhaired guy stands next to her in the pool. The filming doesn’t pick up what they’re whispering, but I can tell that he’s flirting with her. The way he looks at her, watches her mouth move, stealing glances at her perfect tits on display in her bikini top. I have no idea why, but it pisses me off. A fuck of a lot.
Sitting up in my chair, I move closer to the monitor and turn up the volume, hoping to eavesdrop on their conversation. But all I can hear is a bunch of complaining, whiney women in the background, standing around lounge chairs. The tatted rock-and-roll-looking guy in the pool says something and lifts one eyebrow. What the fuck did he say? I rewind, but still can’t make it out. So I do it again. And then again. Each time getting more annoyed watching that stupid eyebrow raise as he grins at Kate.
I speed up the parts where Kate isn’t on the screen, stopping each time she reappears. And when I come to a shot of her getting a foot massage, I feel like breaking something.
“Helen?” I bark. “Clear my afternoon schedule. Where is my brother filming right now?”
Rounding the turn to my brother’s office in the building we still share, I walk straight into a brick wall of a man. Damian Fry. I haven’t seen the guy in years. Dressed in head to toe black, his bald head gleaming, he looks exactly like what he is—a menace. Untraditional, unethical, a heart made of stone … the perfect private investigator for dirty jobs. It’s no wonder the police force kicked him off ten years ago. They called it excessive force, but Damian called it a waste of talent.
“Damian.” I nod.
“Make sure your brother pays my bill on time,” he sneers and walks away. He’s as friendly as usual.
When I stroll into Miles’s office unannounced and without bothering to knock, he, at first, looks annoyed. Then he remembers he needs something from me, and forces a smile onto his face.
“To what do I owe the pleasure, bro?”
Bro? A month ago he couldn’t stand the sight of me. The last time I was in this office, I’d confronted him about paying Mile High bills through Fallen Rose Petals, our father’s charity for children who lost parents. I’d let it go the first time I noticed it happen, knowing he was struggling financially. But when he didn’t get caught the first time, he got greedy, going back for seconds … and thirds and fourths and fifths. When I called him on it, he didn’t even bother to pretend it was inadvertent. Instead he screamed that he was taking his mother’s half of the charity, since our father hadn’t sought fit to set up one in his mother’s name, and I should get the fuck out of his office.