Page 16 of Sapphire Storm

“Look, Rachel’s at a very sensitive point in her career.I’ve indulged this theater thing of hers long enough. The Tony only makes itworse, to be frank. Now she’s going to start thinking her hobby should be themain event. But if she wants to level up, and she claims she does, she needs anew narrative. Soon. And this is it.Hollywood princess marries PrinceCharming in a white wedding filled with stars!” Diana spread her hands outas if she’d just strung those words in twinkling lights. “That’s a story we cansell somewhere besides Broadway. Which at the end of the day is just a couplecity blocks filled with people who can’t get good jobs in TV.”

“But her Prince Charming’s a douchebag.”

Diana nodded politely. “A douchebag with no acting ambitionswho didn’t complain about a single clause in the prenup. And he’ll also lookamazing on her arm as she walks the red carpets that will take her where sheneeds to go, which is all the cameras care about. Soas longaswecontain his lack of discretion…” When she saw she hadn’tconvinced him, she took a step closer. “Marriage is a complicated business whenyou’re a star. You need someone next to you who shines, but not brighter thanyou. He’s not dim, but he’s not bright. He gives off a sort of dull, appealingglow, and that’s what she needs.”

Roman suddenly wondered if this attitude toward marriagewas why Dianahad gone through six husbands. Maybe they’dall run for the hills after conversations like this one.

“Trust me. In the end, this is what Rachel wants.”

He swallowed, speechless.

“She’s playing a very difficult game, Roman. Luckily, shehas me to help her win.” When Diana took his limp hand in hers, her grip wasfrighteningly firm. “And so do you, remember? I mean, look at the money we hadto spend to land you all those followers. If anyone could have scored that manyeyeballs the natural way, it should have been you, right? I mean, you’restunning. The straight men who come to work on this house can’t even stop oglingyou. And yet…” She cupped his cheek in one hand. “The truth about celebrity,darling, is that if you’re going to get there and stay there, someonehas topull the levers on your behalf. And then, one day, ifyou’re lucky, you’re powerful enough to pull them yourself. But Rachel’s notthere yet, I’m afraid.” She patted his cheek, cool gaze lingering on his face.“And neither are you, sugar.”

At first, it didn’t compute, what she was saying. What shewasdoing. She’d never done it before. Until now, it had all beenencouragement and gifts and big plans she had for his career. Now she wasthreatening him.

Did she turn to go because she was ashamed she’d done it orbecause she wanted her parting words to linger and sink in? Suddenly it feltlike he didn’t know her well enough to be sure.

“Don’t forget about your dinner.” She pulled the door closedbehind her.

Roman, breathless, stared into space.

6

Ethan’s come-down ritual after a stressful day’s workwas a favorite movie and a glass of Chardonnay.

Thanks to Roman Walker, tonight he’d need two glasses and anextra-long flick.

Heat, Michael Mann’s classic crime saga starringRobert DeNiro and Al Pacino, would fit the bill perfectly. It was close tothree hours long and featured a minimalist electronic soundtrack that alwaystransported him back to the late nineties, when he was an innocent twinkbopping it to Moby remixes at his first small-town gay bars in Columbia, SouthCarolina, a safe distance from his parents’ stately home in Charleston. BeforeNew York, before his parents gave him the boot. Before he was ever paid forsex.

He was more rattled than he wanted to be and had spent mostof the night since Roman’s departure from the hotel assuring himself thingswouldn’t escalate. Couldn’t escalate. If the sharp-tonguedfitfluencerdecided to kick things up a notch, it would be his word against Ethan’s. Unlesshe’d been secretly recorded, and where in God’s name would Roman Walker havehidden a wire? His shoes?

Within no time, the movie and the wine were working theirintended magic.

He’d first seen it at an art house screening in Paris duringa particularly harsh winter, transfixed by its stunning visual style and simplestoryline. Panoramic shots of LA’s circuit boards of glittering streets beneathclear and starry skies, lonely, beautiful people pursuing ruthless ambitionsthrough a vast, sun-bleached landscape that bled money. He’d identified withalmost every character in it. So what if they were all cops and robbers? Theywere trying to find value and meaning in a world where you couldn’t count onanything or anyone. It reminded Ethan of his first days of escorting. Days whenevery client call brought his heart to his throat. When hewasacutely conscious of the switchblade in his back pocket at all times,but the cash at the end was another little steppingstone toward culinary school.

He’d rewarded himself for landing the job at Sapphire Covewith a deep, L-shaped sofa comfortable enough to get a good night’s sleep on,and he was in danger of nodding off on it when the film’s titular scene jerkedhim awake.

Robert DeNiro, criminal mastermind, was lecturing hisprotégé Val Kilmer on his marriage problems as the morning sun sparkled on thePacific Ocean outside the windows of his unfurnished Malibu beach house. DeNirowas telling Kilmer how men like them shouldn’t get involved in anything theycouldn’t drop at a moment’s notice when they felt the heat around the corner.

For the first time, the familiar dialogue sent an ice pickthrough his gut.

His new place was nice, but it was a sublet in a condocomplex where he could probably afford to buy, a fact that had shocked ConnorHarcourt when Ethan had mentioned it one day. The hotel had given him afour-year contract, but he’d spent most of his signing bonus on a brand-new BMW4 series convertible in metallic tanzanite blue. Andwith theexception ofDonnie, his closest friends weren’t local. In short, Ethanwas doing exactly what he’d done in most of the places he’d lived—throwinghimself into his work, putting down the shallowest of roots in case his pastcame back to turn up the earth underfoot.

There’d been a few brief awkward encounters with formerclients over the years, the last one when he worked at the Four Seasons inLondon. An investment banker he almost didn’t recognize until the man gave hima strained smile and toast when they saw each other across a tasting party. Ithad been jarring, being suddenly distracted from a conversation with his bossby memories of how his old client had loved having his earlobes nibbled andlaughed hysterically when he came. But that’s all it had been.

His past had never confronted him the way Roman Walker had,even though he’d always been braced for exactly that.

People could survive with secrets. But could they thrivewith them? If there was a part of your past you didn’t want discovered, ambitionmade you a target.

Head pastry chef. Reality show judge. These were the thingsthat had placed him in Roman Walker’s line of sight.

When the phone resting on his stomach rang, he jumped. Acall from the hotel’s switchboard operator at this hour was never a good sign.“Someone named Ronnie Burton wanted to be put through to you. When I said youweren’t on the property, he asked for your cell. Like that’s somethingI’mgoingto give out. I took down his number and said I’d pass a message along. You wantit?”

Scribbling as she read it, Ethan thanked her and hung up. Itwasn’t exactly a Machiavellian move on Mr. Walker’s part, placing calls to thehotel using his old name. But it smacked of some kind of game. Ethan had noplans to play. “Didn’t you legally change your name, young man?”

The voice that answered back was outside and fighting to beheard over gusts of wind. “I didn’t do that part to mess with you. I justdidn’t want it getting back to Diana that I’d called the hotel at midnight.”

“Fair enough. Out for a stroll?” he asked.

---