Perfectly Scripted Page 7

  During the first week home from Cabo, Ronan’s filming schedule had been brutal. Late nights alternated with early morning call times. I’d eaten dinner alone nearly every night. My loneliness had made me realize I didn’t enjoy going to bed by myself. That was a different feeling for me, because it had just been me and my cozy bed for the longest time.

  The house was extra lonely over the weekend because Ronan was in Los Angeles. He’d been asked to present with Heather at the Golden Globes. I stayed behind, because I’d previously committed to watching the twins while my sister and Lucan attended an event on Saturday evening. Charlotte showed up on my doorstep last night with goodies in tow, and we watched the awards together. We’d had a blast sipping champagne¸ drinking wine, and consuming terrible junk food.

  As much fun as we’d had, though, I couldn’t wait to see Ronan later. I planned to surprise him at the airport.

  After my second cup of coffee, the lingering effects of the hangover dissipated. I powered through the rest of my morning, returning phone calls, sending e-mails, and finalizing details for the editorial shoot at Belle Magazine. With Fashion Week quickly approaching, I had my first prep meeting with Charlotte and the production team later. And now, I was on my way to meet with Cassie and discuss the blog posting schedule for the website.

  Before I’d even made it past the executive conference room, I stopped, startled at the sound of my mother’s voice.

  “Holliday, darling.” She approached looking elegant dressed in a classic black-and white pant suit with her raven hair in a sleek, knotted bun.

  “Mom…What…What brings you to Manhattan?” I asked before kissing her cheek.

  She laughed, tucking a strand of loose hair behind my ear. “Surely you haven’t forgotten.”

  I honestly had no idea what she was talking about. “Oh yeah, that thing...The event.” Fake it till you make it.

  “Holliday, you were never very good at lying.”

  “Okay,” I replied, looping my arm with hers. “Clue me in, then.”

  “Well, dear, tomorrow evening is the J. Edward Avalon Foundation Gala. Perry and I have a table. I sent you the invite a few weeks ago.”

  “Shit! I completely forgot.” Then I remembered reading the e-mail the afternoon I’d met Ronan.

  My mother laughed, amusement drifting through her tone. “Maybe you’ll attend and finally introduce me to the new gentleman in your life. Please don’t leave me with a nearly empty table, Holliday.”

  Painfully, I smiled. “Mother—” I began, but Charlotte’s jovial tone cut me off.

  “Oh, Mother, I am so delighted that you could join Holliday and me for lunch.”

  I shot my sister an icy glare. She had known that Mom was coming to the city and hadn’t told me. Worse yet, Charlotte had planned the lunch and hadn’t told me.

  She was going to hear it from me later.

  Despite my best efforts, there was no getting out of the gala, especially since Charlotte and Mom both begged me to attend with Ronan. I explained that his filming schedule had been going pretty late most evenings, but I would definitely check with him. That answer seemed to satisfy them, and we finished our lunch while talking about Fashion Week and the twins.

  My mom pulled me aside in the lobby as we waited for her town car.

  “How are you feeling these days?” she asked, squeezing my hand. “You look healthy and happy.”

  My smile grew wider. “It’s okay. I’m doing well, truly.”

  “I’m glad to hear that, my dear.” Then her lips parted as if she wanted to say more.

  “What’s on your mind, Mom?”

  “I know you don’t like me asking, but as your mother, I do worry about you. How are you managing with your therapy?”

  I smiled softly. “Therapy is just fine.”

  She took a step closer and pinned a concerned look on me. “Charlotte said you’d had a panic attack a few weeks ago.”

  I cringed, wondering which panic attack she was referring to. Averting my eyes from her gaze, I told her that it had been a mild attack and Charlotte was overreacting. I wasn’t sure she was convinced, but that seemed to satisfy her urge to spur the conversation on any further. Her next question took me by surprise though.

  “Are you feeling like you might be able to come home for a visit soon?”

  The sadness in my mother’s voice tore at my heart. I should have made time to visit her while Ronan and I were in LA. It would be wonderful to go home for a few days. She didn’t know that fear had kept me from coming home the last few years.

  “You know, I’m planning a surprise party for Perry’s fifty-fifth birthday. That might be a nice occasion to fly home.”

  I smiled. “Let me double-check my schedule. I haven’t been to a Helen Chambers soirée in a long time. They are rather festive,” I joked, wrapping my arms around her shoulders.

  We walked towards the doors as her car was pulling up. Once more, I promised that I’d talk to Ronan about the event before we exchanged goodbyes. Nervous knots formed in my stomach though. Was I ready to have Ronan meet the family? More importantly, would he want to attend the event after having spent the entire weekend with all of Hollywood?

  For the remainder of the afternoon, I worked on an article for the website. My drafting table was covered with various clutches, handbags, and top-handle totes. Charlotte was finally taking the plunge into designing accessories. They would be unveiled in a few weeks, but we wanted to give people a sneak peek.

  My phone buzzed with a text from Dean alerting me that Ronan’s flight would be landing at 7:41 p.m. Perfect. According to the clock on my phone, it was nearly time for my session with Dr. Goodwin.

  I called Blake. “Hey there. Can you pick me up in about thirty minutes, please?”

  Not more than a minute later, Ronan called me. My heart raced at the sight of his name lighting up the screen.

  “Hi, handsome.”

  “Hi,” his sexy accent greeted me sweetly. “How are you getting on with your day?”

  “Busy,” I sighed. “My mom and stepfather are in from California. I had lunch with Mom and Charlotte today.”

  “Oh, how was that?”

  “I survived…It was kind of fun,” I replied, placing the bags in the closet of my office and grabbing my coat. “How are you?”

  “Exhausted, but I’ll see your gorgeous face soon, which gives me renewed energy. It’s hard to believe I get to touch you tonight. I can hardly wait.”

  “Hurry Home,” I breathed, melting at his words.

  “I intend to hurry home, but I’ll be taking my time with you later.”

  We said our goodbyes—an exchange of I love yous, three simple words I cherished.

  Slipping my coat on over my shoulders, I stared at the framed photo of the two of us in Cabo. Excited beats of anticipation fluttered all over my body as I thought about the heated feel of his hands on me, the possessive grip of his fingers digging into my skin, and his mouth on mine. The ringing of my desk phone pulled me back from my wild thoughts.

  “Miss Prescott, this is Simon in reception. Your car has arrived.”

  “Thank you. I will be right down.” I slid the receiver back into the cradle.

  After grabbing my handbag, I exited my office, locking the door behind me.

  Dr. Goodwin sat across from me in a high wingback leather chair with his elegant Smythson notebook and black Parker fountain pen. He thoughtfully took notes as I talked about my day, including lunch with my mother and Char, and then listened as I carried on about Ronan. Dr. Goodwin was a great listener.

  Dressed casually in a white button down and navy slacks, his thick brown hair had a touch of grey around his temples. Dr. Goodwin—Rodger—was in his early fifties and married with four kids. He had been my therapist since I’d moved to the city. Charlotte had questioned my decision to have a male therapist, but Maggie had referred me to him, and I trusted her suggestion. Inwardly, I smiled, recalling the day she’d handed me his card and told
me that it was time to talk to a professional.

  “He’s the best in the business, Cookie,” her beautiful, raspy voice rang in my ears.

  “How are things at home with Ronan?” he asked, pushing his silver-rimmed glasses up the bridge of his nose.

  For a moment, I didn’t quite know how to respond to the question except for saying sparkly words like amazing, fantastic, and amazingly fantastic.

  “It’s been a whirlwind, but in a good way. I’m easily adjusting to my new surroundings.”

  Before I’d left for Mexico, in our previous session, Dr. Goodwin had questioned my decision to move in with Ronan so quickly, since I’d only known him for such a short time. He’d pointed out that Ronan had two kids, and he’d asked me if I was ready for that, along with the whole money, power, and celebrity component.

  To the best of my ability, I explained that, yes, at times, it was a tad overwhelming, but Ronan made me feel comfortable and safe.

  “How are you feeling?”

  “Annoyed mostly. And frustrated, but not for reasons you might think.” I stood and walked to the window. “I’m sick of feeling powerless. I’m tired of not being able to control my nightmares. I’m over feeling scared.”

  “What exactly scares you?”

  “Honestly, I’m terrified that I will never be able to shake the fear itself.”

  Scribble, scribble…“Tell me more about your fear.”

  Walking back from the window, I slumped into the leather sofa. “What more can I say, except that I don’t want to have nightmares. I don’t want to have triggers that cause nightmares.” Leaning forward, I dropped my head into my hands. “I don’t want to be afraid to go home to California when I feel like it. Without warning my mind will go back to that day that Derek threatened me, and I don’t know how to shake the fear that he’ll find me and kill me.”

  “It is not uncommon for people to fear the unknown. Often times the thought of fear itself is greater than of what it is we are most afraid. When you were in a relationship with Derek, did he ever admit to killing anyone?”

  “No.” I knotted my fingers together. “But, a few nights before I broke-up with him I’d heard him instruct someone to finish the job and leave no trace of evidence.”

  Scribble, Scribble…“More than likely, your brain has related that conversation to the direct threat.”

  “You don’t say,” I blurted out. Doc was used to my sarcasm. “How do I overcome this?”

  He smiled. “The first step is to acknowledge the fear. As I asked earlier, what exactly are you afraid of? Once you have named your fear write it down in a journal. Define its contours. Determine the reasons you have the fear. Are they good reasons? Or misplaced and inhibiting. Once you understand the fear, think about what exactly you want to change.”

  I sighed. “It sounds like I still have a lot of work ahead of me.”

  “Are you still taking your medication?” He raised an eyebrow in my direction.

  “Not daily. Work has been stressful, but I’m trying to handle it without medication. I haven’t had to take a pill in weeks.”

  I hated taking the medication, and I often wondered how much longer I would need it. For the first time in months, I felt like I was starting to manage without the meds. I hadn’t had a nightmare since Cabo San Lucas.

  “Dr. Goodwin, do you think it would be okay if I went off the Xanax?”

  He lifted his head from his notebook, and his eyes met mine. “That is a big decision. Is that something you have been thinking about for a while?”

  I nodded, smiling with confidence. “I haven’t had a nightmare in a few weeks. I feel like I have a good handle on my emotional triggers.”

  Scribble, scribble…

  “If you recall, Holliday, your most recent nightmare stemmed directly from a trigger.” He shot me a knowing glance. “Since you’ve started your relationship, do you feel your panic attacks and nightmares have increased or decreased?”

  “Increased, I guess. But that’s not entirely a fair assessment because I am learning to handle a new relationship and a new schedule,” I protested. “Given my history, I’d say I’m doing surprisingly well.”

  “That’s fair,” he acknowledged. “Let’s lower your dosage and begin to taper you off the drug. I think that would be our best course of action. I’m proud of you, Holliday. You have come a long way.”

  Smiling, I nodded in agreement. “Thank you. That means a lot. I don’t want to rely on the medication. In my research, I’ve found that some patients have tremendous success with natural healing methods.”

  Dr. Goodwin took a small bottle off the shelf and handed it to me. “This is lavender oil. I want you to use that when you need to de-stress and relax.”

  “What do I do with it?”

  “When you feel a wave of anxiety, apply a small amount to your wrists. This is an effective alternative to taking the medication. I’m going to let you decide which remedy you choose depending on your agitation level.”

  “Okay. Thanks.”

  “I want you to try yoga a few times a week and meditation when you feel stressed at work. Close your door, turn off the lights, and take a few minutes for yourself.”

  Part of me knew that this would be a challenge. Between the Foundation Gala, Ronan’s leaving for his international press tour, and Fashion Week, I already felt the tension rising in my body. For me, the meds were an instant relief. How would my body react to something other than medication? Better yet, how would my mind?

  No matter. Even though it was going to be an adjustment, I had to try—for my own good and for the good of my relationship with Ronan.

  Blake pulled the limo onto the tarmac moments before the stairs of the private plane came down. After what felt like days, Ronan emerged from the plane looking as handsome as ever. My stomach flipped at the sight of him dressed in dark jeans, a navy-blue pea coat, and a knit beanie. Then it dropped as soon as the familiar blonde stepped out of the cabin of the plane right behind him.

  Heather Young.

  She threw her head back, and her long, golden hair draped softly around her shoulders. My heartbeat quickened when Ronan offered his hand and led her down the staircase. Then her heel caught on the pavement, which sent her stumbling forward, right into his chest.

  Classic damsel-in-distress move.

  I froze, my stomach knotting as he clutched her forearms. With his hand, he swept the hair out of her face. Being the lovely gentleman he was, he helped her stand upright. Offering him a flirtatious smile, Heather waved her hands in the air, motioning back to the staircase. They shared a laugh and then walked towards the limo. She followed close—too close for my liking.

  Surely he—we—were not giving her a lift. My eyes darted around, furiously looking for a town car, a limo, or even a witch’s broom. No such luck.

  Dean opened the door and Heather climbed inside, relaxing into the backseat and dropping her handbag to the seat in front of her, a few feet from where I was sitting. After the door had closed, it took a moment for her eyes to meet mine.

  “Holliday,” she breathed excitedly, pulling her charcoal-colored skirt down over her knee.

  “Heather,” I replied smoothly, holding her gaze.

  “Ronan didn’t mention you were meeting us here.”

  “No, I guess he wouldn’t have because he didn’t know I was picking him up.”

  She crossed her ankles and pulled her leather gloves off, revealing a blood-red manicure. The door opened once again and Ronan’s ass glided across the leather seat. His green eyes sparkled, and my heart surged with excitement. I watched in satisfaction as his beautiful mouth curved into a devilish smile at the realization that I was waiting for him.

  Never taking his eyes off mine, he moved from the backseat to settle beside me, completely ignoring the busty blonde to his right. She huffed when his body accidently shifted in the seat and sent her handbag to the floor. He cupped my face in his hands, sliding his mouth over mine and taking me in an
intoxicating kiss that had me gasping for air.

  “My beauty,” he whispered against my lips.

  “That was quite a hello.” I breathed.

  “I’m incredibly glad to see you.”

  “You’ll also be glad to know that I’m not wearing any panties,” I whispered in his ear. “But, since we have another unexpected passenger…”

  “You’re an extremely naughty girl.” He traced the hem of my skirt with his fingers. “Should I tell her to get out?” he murmured against my cheek.

  I loved the way his breath curled across my skin. Scorching heat raced through my entire body like liquid fire.

  “No.” I shook my head. “I’m going to take pleasure in torturing you until we get home.”

  “Fuck me,” he groaned, slipping his hand under my skirt.

  “Oh, I will.” I traced the pad of my thumb over the seam of his lips. “When we get home.” Then I shifted in the seat, allowing his fingertips to brush against my upper thigh, relishing in the torment before I shoved his hand away.

  Ronan reached for the intercom button. “Blake, Miss Young is staying at The Hawthorne Parke Plaza. That’s our first stop.”

  “Very well, Mr. Connolly.”

  “And, Blake.” Tingles of heat climbed up my legs soft rub of his fingers on the back of my knee. “Step on it,” he ordered, cocking an eyebrow.

  Oh, I know that look.

  Holliday

  “So tell me all about the Golden Globes,” I prompted. “You looked incredibly dashing on television, by the way.” I swear he was so photogenic that it almost always looked like he was making love to the camera.

  “I’d rather talk about anything else other than the Golden Globes.” He exhaled, gliding his hand along my rib cage.

  “Okay, well…you and Heather seemed to have made up,” I replied, lacing my fingers with his.