“No!” The word was infused with panic. “The Seaside Motel is good enough.”
Even if the magazine article had been ninety-nine percent lies, Drake knew one thing for certain—the woman in his passenger seat was rich. Really rich. One-thousand-thread-count sheets had to be her standard, not whatever faded cotton was on the ancient beds at the Seaside Motel. But instead of pushing her on it, he said, “I have a friend who can help tow your car. Joe won’t ask any questions. And he can fix it for you too.”
Her “Thank you,” was heartfelt, but soft. Almost as if she felt she didn’t deserve his kindness. As if she actually thought it was her fault some creep had taken and sold those pictures of her.
“I have money, but I can’t really get to it right now without people tracking m—” She cut herself off as though she suddenly realized she was saying too much. “All I’ve got on me right now is some cash, so hopefully your friend’s work on my car won’t be too expensive.”
“Don’t worry, Joe doesn’t rip people off.”
Finally starting his car and pulling onto the road, they drove the short mile to the motel in heavy silence. When he pulled into the parking lot, she asked again, “You won’t tell anyone I’m here, will you?”
He understood the urge to get away from real life. It was part of the reason he’d bought his cottage. Yes, it was a quiet place to paint, but more than that, it was the perfect way to escape from the pressure that came with his painful legacy as William Sullivan’s son. Even so, he didn’t have the first clue how to deal with her situation.
“I won’t tell a soul, Rosa.”
He wasn’t prepared for her small smile—or for the way his heart turned over in his chest at the pure sweetness of her beauty.
“There’s an extra car key hidden under the driver’s seat.” She licked her lips, biting the lower one before saying, “I owe you. Big-time.”
With that, she gathered up her things in her arms and got out of the car. He waited until he was sure that she’d arranged for a room on the second floor before slowly driving back to his cottage.
He’d tried like hell to forget her this morning, but now that he’d met her and knew even the smallest details of her situation?
There was no chance at all he’d ever forget her now.
And there was no way he wasn’t going to try to help, even if they never had more than that five-minute conversation. First by calling Joe to take care of her car, then with a second call to his cousin Smith, who just happened to be one of the biggest movie stars in the world.
Drake knew how busy Smith was writing, producing, and starring in movies. But when it came to family, his cousin always made it a point to pick up the phone.
“Drake, great to hear from you.”
“How’s Valentina?”
“Beautiful, like always.”
Drake could easily hear the love—and the pride—in his cousin’s voice when he spoke of his fiancée. Valentina and Smith worked together on all their movies now and were currently in the running for an Oscar for their first co-venture, a love story set on Alcatraz.
Not wanting to waste his cousin’s limited time, Drake got right to it. “I’ve got a favor to ask.”
“Sure, what do you need?”
“Have you heard of the photo scandal involving Rosalind Bouchard?”
“Who hasn’t?” Smith sounded disgusted. “Hollywood can be a good place to work, but you wouldn’t know it from looking at what can happen to people like her. Why do you ask? Is she a friend of yours?”
“No, she’s not.” A five-minute conversation in his car didn’t make them friends. But that didn’t change the fact that Drake felt compelled to help her. “I’d still like to know if you, or anyone else, has the power to make those pictures disappear.”
Smith made a frustrated sound. “Honestly, it’s unlikely. Once pictures are out on the Internet, they’re pretty much impossible to pull out of circulation. But I would think her family is already dealing with it.”
“Whether they are or not,” Drake said, his words growing more agitated despite himself, “if there’s anything you can do, I’d appreciate it. I wish I could explain more right now, but I’m afraid I can’t.”
“I’m on it.”
And that was it. No more questions. No hedging or waffling. Just Smith’s promise to help in any way he could. That was the magic of being a Sullivan—they were always there for one another, no matter what.
Drake wished like hell that Rosa could say the same about her own family.
Chapter Five
When Rosa woke the next morning, she was momentarily surprised by the faded drapes, the old diamond-pattern wallpaper, and the double bed with the orange and gold comforter.
Too soon, everything came back to her. The photos. The things her mother had said. Getting in her old car and driving nearly twenty-four hours straight, only stopping for gas a couple of times along the way. Crying out on the cliffs. Her car breaking down.