I give a slight cough to clear my throat, the rest of what she said coming back to me. “He was cheating on her?”
Ashley nods and leans in closer to me to deliver the rest of her gossip. “Apparently with his costar, Lilliana Prentice. Eden made a big scene about it, and then later Brad confirmed to the press that they’d broken up, and that he was driven into his costar’s arms because Eden was terrible in bed.”
She finishes that last part with a cackle of glee, then tacks on, “Of course, I’m sure you know all about that.”
Now granted, my time with Eden was many years ago and we were young, didn’t know what we were doing half the time. But she was in no way bad in bed. In fact, I remember her to be very, very perfect. We had been wildly in love—or so we thought, as we were only eighteen—and both of us had been devastated when we broke up. It was mutual, after a very long time of trying to make it work long distance. And you know what happens with time? You move on and you leave that shit behind. It’s what I did, and it’s why I don’t really keep up to speed with Eden’s glamorous Hollywood life. I just really don’t care; not in a mean way, but there’s nothing left there to care about. She left and she never came back. I’ve only seen her once in fourteen years, and frankly, I’m just not that curious about her.
Eden was a lifetime ago, or so it seems, and besides that, I’d never talk bad about any of the women I’ve fucked, and not going to start now.
“So, I’ll see you Saturday night. Pick you up at seven?” I say in a complete change of subject. Then I tilt my head toward the door. “And you better hurry along to your nail appointment. Wouldn’t want you to be late.”
Ashley nods, disappointment filling her eyes because I won’t engage in the gossip about Eden with her. Ashley went to high school with us and she knows how serious we were. I have no clue why she’d feel threatened about that now, but I’m not going to bad-mouth Eden to make Ashley feel good about herself.
No, any bitter feelings I have for Eden will remain my own, and they have nothing to do with us breaking up. Those came much later.
Chapter 3
He’s just a gardener…
Eden
My phone rings as I drive along Highway 142 toward Newberry and I don’t want to answer it but I do. I put on the happiest voice I can manage. “Hi, Colleen. What’s up?”
“What’s up is that you had a meeting with me and Carlos set to start half an hour ago and you’re still not here,” she snapped. “You know we have a life too.”
“Um, yeah,” I say carefully. “About that meeting. I’m not coming.”
“Of course you’re coming,” she says in a tired voice. “I know this isn’t ideal, but you have a contractual obligation and the movie execs want to make sure everything will work out okay. You know Carlos has reviewed the contract and you’re sort of bound to it.”
I snort. “Carlos wants his fifteen percent. It’s what agents do. And I know the contract well, as I had an attorney review it.”
“Damn it, Eden,” Colleen huffs. “This petty shit needs to be put aside and we need to talk this out. Brad’s camp is willing to talk.”
The meeting that Colleen is so peeved about is to discuss my ability to work with Brad in the movie we were set to start shooting next month. Contracts have been signed, advances made. It’s expected that I’ll be on set with the cheating, lying, bastard douchebag, ex-fiancé, Brad Wright, and I’ll do so with a professional smile on my face.
Of course, he’s been spouting his mouth off to every entertainment news station and magazine that will listen, making me seem like an arrogant bitch who was too demanding on him and was cold as ice in bed. His lies are just lies, but as of last night, I’d fucking had enough of them. People were believing him. Most articles were slanted in his favor. While some of my fans defended me, apparently Brad’s legion of female fans were absolutely vicious in their attacks. I was also tired of my business manager and my agent harassing me, I was sick of reporters calling me and paparazzi ambushing me, and there was no way in fuck I was going to work with Brad on that film.
I fluctuated between burning-hot anger at Brad for not only cheating on me, but continuing to twist the knife more, and being tremendously hurt by someone I thought loved me. Brad has been only the second man in my life that I loved, and while it may have been a different kind of love, it was real to me. I thought it was real to him. The thing that hurts the most, though, is learning that the reason he cheated was because I just wasn’t satisfying him enough, and that causes my insecurities to flare up hard.
What I needed was an escape, and I needed it to be somewhere no one would think to find me. And that place would be Newberry, Georgia, as I hadn’t returned but once in fourteen years, and that was for my grandmother’s funeral ten months ago. I wasn’t even back in my hometown a full day then. The paparazzi would never look here when they couldn’t find me at my home in Pacific Palisades and instead would be buzzing around either my vacation home in Vail, Colorado, or the getaway condo I kept in Miami. But more than hiding out, what I really needed was some peace and quiet. I needed time to lick my wounds before I ventured back out in the public eye. I could hide myself away at Goodnight House, and if I was lucky, I wouldn’t be found.
But I also felt Newberry calling to me. Over the last few days, I’ve latched on to the good memories of my life here, particularly the first fifteen years of my life before my parents died. I missed the small-town camaraderie and safety of being with my peeps. While I don’t really expect that to be the case now, because I’ve been gone too long and haven’t kept up with anyone, I do imagine just being at Goodnight House will be a balm for my soul.
“Just get your ass in gear and get over here,” Colleen says impatiently. “This problem isn’t going to go away.”
Oh yes it is, I think. At least for a little bit longer while I’m in Newberry. In fact, I might not come back at all. I’ve got more money than I could possibly spend, and the thought of telling Hollywood a big old fuck you is very appealing.
“I’m not in Los Angeles,” I tell Colleen, and I hear her gasp.
“Where are you?”
“None of your business. I’m taking some time away for myself and I’m really going to try to figure out what I want to do.”
“What you want to do?” Colleen practically screeches into the phone. “There is no ‘want’ in this industry. You’re under contract to film a movie next month.”
I see the long gravel drive to Goodnight House in the distance flanked by large magnolia trees on each side. I slow down and put my turn signal on, even though there’s no one behind me. “That’s next month. This is now. I’m taking some time off and I’ll let you know when I’ll be back.”