Page 42 of Faking the Pass
As I saw it, I had two choices—give up on my dream of having a film career, something I’d been working toward and sacrificing for for twenty years.
Or swallow my pride, ignore my morals, and go along with the lie Randy had cooked up to save his reputation and our movie.
“What is that?” Presley growled.
The sound was so vicious it actually made me jump.
Stalking toward my position at the kitchen island, he touched the underside of my right elbow and lifted my arm toward the light.
Confused, I glanced down to see what he was glaring at.
There on my bicep was a bruise, vaguely hand-shaped, very ugly.
Randy must have left it there when he’d grabbed me on our wedding day, trying to prevent me from leaving the venue.
“It’s nothing. I can’t even feel it,” I said, embarrassed for some reason.
Presley ignored my attempt to brush it off and moved to my other side, gently raising that arm so he could get a better look at it.
My skin bore matching dark streaks on that side as well.
Intense hazel eyes came up to meet mine, brimming with… something. I wasn’t sure what, but it was dark as hell.
“Who did this to you?” he demanded. “Randy? Did he abuse you physically as well as emotionally and financially?”
“Abuse me… wh- what are you talking about? No. He never hit me.”
“But he did put his hands on you.”
It was a statement, not a question.
“Well, yes, I guess. On our wedding day. I was trying to leave the mansion, and he was trying to stop me. He was angry.”
“That little shit.”
Presley brought a hand up to cover his mouth and dragged it down his chin, gripping his jaw before letting it go and spinning on his heel to pace over to a window.
After a few seconds, he turned to face me again. His expression was pure animus.
“You’renotdoing the press conference. You’re not getting anywherenearthat guy.”
As he said it, his hand slashed the air like he was slicing it open.
He was clearly upset, but I wasn’t sure why. I mean, yes in general we were all against men manhandling women, but this had nothing to do with Presley.
And the fact he apparently thought he had some say in the matter shocked me.
Why would he even care?
He was just a guy I’d known in high school who took me out for a few weeks before breaking up with me without anexplanation. We literally hadn’t spoken since then until he’d found me asleep in his bed last night.
“I don’twantto do it,” I said. “The last thing I want to do is get up there and lie and let him off the hook. But I think I have to.”
Looking down at my phone again, I checked my email for the script Randy was supposed to send. Nothing yet.
“Maybe if I don’t respond, he’ll simmer down and get over it,” I said. “Maybe Gina will go into labor and he’ll have bigger fish to fry. Maybe if I ignore him and stay in hiding, he’ll get bored of the whole thing and go away and let me live the rest of my life in peace and anonymity.”
But my luck wasn’t that good.
