Remember My Name. Havana Adams

a long soak in her antique freestanding bathtub, Tamara emerged to find Casey already waiting to wave her off. She would be late to set, but this didn’t worry Tamara unduly, she was always late and they always waited.

      “Someone called Dom rang you. He didn’t leave a message,” Casey told her as they emerged into the sunny London day.

      “Dom.” Tamara’s brow furrowed momentarily and then she felt a twinge of guilt. That poor mousy storyliner didn’t know what was about to hit her. “Oh don’t worry about him.” With a shrug of disinterest, Tamara walked towards her waiting car as Casey followed her, carrying her Hermes Birkin handbag and the script pages for the day.

      “And Damian called, a sixth time.” At this Tamara sighed. Married men were the worst, so needy. She would have to end things with Damian. Ignoring Casey, Tamara climbed into the back of the black Mercedes that the broadcaster provided to take her to and from the studio.

      “Bruno, darling,” she cooed sweetly at her driver.

      “Morning, Miss T.” As the driver started the engine, Tamara took the script that Casey handed to her.

      “Casey, talk to the phone company, see about blocking Damian’s calls.” Casey nodded; this wasn’t the first time that Tamara had demanded that the phone company block a caller. “And give William a call, tell him I need a dress tonight, something worthy of a billionaire.”

      “Sure thing, Tamara.” But before Casey could finish talking, Tamara had already pressed the button to wind the window up and the car was moving off down the small lane, past the exclusive terrace of mews houses.

      In the car, Tamara put on a large pair of Chanel sunglasses and leaned back, contemplating the events of the night before. She had been working for twenty years and she was exhausted. For now, she would have to continue to play the TV game but the future, she’d decided, was in men like Vassily Romanov; rich men, powerful men, the kind of men who could provide her with the life she had always wanted. Tamara had never been the kind of girl to wait for things to happen and she wouldn’t start waiting now.

      Vassily Romanov would be hers, one way or another. And with this thought she finally picked up the script pages and began to memorise her lines for the day.

       CHAPTER 4

      “Oh my God!”

      The squeal of shock laced with a building excitement pierced through Alex’s inebriated fog and he looked up to see two women standing over him, one slim and the other round and curvy. Alex had ventured out of the cosseted luxury of the villa to explore the surrounding town, eventually settling in this small bar, little more than a shack really, where local fishermen and Mexican families seemed to gather to watch cable television, smoke, drink and have dinner. There’d been few tourists to behold and it had amused Alex when one of the locals attempted to sell him a bootlegged copy of his latest film. He’d handed over a few dollars and bought a copy just to get the guy to leave him in peace.

      These two women were the first non-Mexicans he’d seen in the bar since he’d been coming there.

      “Oh my God.” The tall slim one breathed the words again, more quietly this time. “You’re Alex Golden.” Alex forced himself to focus on them and he readjusted his initial impression. They were young, hardly more than girls. The curvy one stood back, allowing her slim blonde friend to do the talking. Alex swayed slightly as he rose to his feet, with the trademark smile that he’d perfected over the years. He leaned close to the girl.

      “Shush,” he said. “That’s our little secret.” The girl seemed to be holding her breath, her eyes drilling into him as they stood toe to toe. Alex stared at her flawless youthful skin. She was tall, he realised, able almost to stare straight into his eyes. He smiled again as unthinkingly he laid his hand on her shoulder, to give her a reassuring pat. He’d grown used to this over the years; young girls, women and sometimes even men, who looked ready to faint at the sight of him. Sometimes it still amused him but now craving anonymity, he simply wanted them to get their picture and go. The hand on her shoulder seemed to reanimate the girl and she turned to her friend and then back to Alex.

      “Can we get a picture?” she asked. Alex heard the twang of the American Midwest in her surprisingly husky voice.

      “Sure,” he replied, and the girls immediately stepped either side of him. One of the Mexican fishermen quickly obliged, taking the photo with a knowing wink at Alex that made him realise that perhaps he had not been quite as incognito as he’d thought.

      “Thanks,” the blonde girl said. Her dark-haired friend smiled shyly at Alex, chiming in with her own thanks. Relieved, he sank back down into his seat, watching as the girls wound their way through the tables and chairs and out of the bar. He would finish this beer and then head back to the villa. But before he’d taken even one sip of his rapidly warming beer, he felt a shadow once again fall across him. He looked up; it was the blonde girl again.

      The unfocused desire he’d seen in her eyes had crystallised now into intent. Alex watched her idly. She really was stunning. Her face was free of make-up and those legs, which seemed to go on forever, were encased in the briefest of khaki shorts that revealed slim tanned thighs. How old could she be? Youthful innocence seemed to shine off her but Alex wasn’t fooled, he’d met too many starlets, pin-ups and porn stars that channelled that same look. He watched her silently, curious about how far she would go. What had she done with the friend, he wondered? Slowly she leaned down until her chin was level with his and she stared into his eyes. No doubt she knew that he had a direct view down the thin white vest that she wore. He could see her small breasts, which hung free under the thin tank top. She stared at him and against his will he found his interest stirring. It was two days since Isabella had left in a fury, finally realising that she was on her way out. The fact that Page Six had run a story about his fling with her Pilates instructor had been the final straw. There had been righteous anger and indignation but no tears and certainly no begging; Alex admired Isabella for that. She’d packed her bags and simply left. Though he’d got the outcome that he wanted, Alex suddenly realised the truth of that statement that women bandied about: There’s no better way to get over someone than to get under someone else. Not that he needed to get over Isabella but being in this hot, steamy climate without anyone in his bed was a less than satisfactory outcome. He stared at the coltish blonde, watching the desire in her eyes grow.

      “It’s not every day…” she pouted and then stopped, biting her lip nervously. He decided to take pity on her.

      “It’s not every day…?” he questioned lightly, watching as a flush of colour flooded her cheeks. Their eyes connected in a shock of electricity. The girl took a deep breath and expelled it.

      “It’s not every day that you walk into the man who stars in all your sexual fantasies.” She might not be an innocent but there was a nervous naivety about her that Alex liked. She didn’t do this every day and the last words had been whispered out in a rush of embarrassment. Her face was red, as though saying the words had over-exerted her. She watched him with a mixture of hope and fear and defiance and Alex suddenly wanted very much to see how badly she wanted to play. He rose abruptly and she backed away like a skittish horse but his arm shot out to pull her back towards him.

      “Let’s get out of here,” he said. “We’ll see about turning some of those fantasies into reality.” She swayed close to him as though waiting for a kiss, perhaps to seal the deal. Alex stared at her pink lips for a moment and then he turned his back on her, hearing the sigh of frustration on her lips, knowing that she fell into step behind him. She’d get what she wanted and more besides, but only when he was ready.

      Alex woke with the beginnings of a hangover as brilliant sunshine slashed into the bedroom. He was sprawled on the floor, on a thick rug next to the bed. He stretched the kink out of his neck as the night before flooded back. He moved gingerly as the girl next to him stirred before settling back into her deep sleep. Alex had been right about her, what innocence she might once have had was long gone and the wide-eyed enthusiasm that