Red Carpet Arrangement. Vicki Essex

felt dishonest, but she hadn’t had much choice.

      I’m being practical. Riley probably had the right idea about that. She had come to him out of sheer practicality after all.

      “Fine. I’ll stay one night.”

      “The whole week or nothing,” he countered. “And if the baby is mine, you’ll come back with me to Modesto. I can’t have you running to the press.”

      “I wouldn’t do that,” she protested.

      “If you want me to even begin to trust you, Kat, you’ll have to prove to me how serious you are.”

      She blew out a breath. “This is ridiculous. You’re asking me to give up my life.”

      “What’s your other option? Walking out? Because I can pretend you were never here and keep going on with my life. Can you?”

      She ground her teeth. The only bargaining chip she had was to go to the press, but what would that earn her except his scorn and a lot of attention she didn’t want? And public pressure wouldn’t ingratiate her with Riley. She relented with a grunt. “I’ll have to get my things.”

      “I’ll have the concierge send up anything you need for tonight,” he said with a wave of his hand. “Don’t leave your room while I’m gone. The paparazzi will be looking for you, and it’s going to take all of Sam’s focus to keep them off your scent. Do you understand?”

      He might as well have tied her to the bed. But she nodded, even though she didn’t appreciate his attitude.

      With a quick call to the front desk, the concierge arranged a separate room for Kat on a different floor. Riley escorted her there, his presence as oppressive as a prison guard’s. A bellboy brought a basket of toiletries, grinning as Riley handed him a fat tip. Discretion came at a hefty price, apparently.

      “What do I do for clothes?” she asked.

      “Send what you’re wearing to the laundry. And you can collect your things tomorrow.”

      “But...what am I supposed to wear in the meantime?”

      “There’s a robe in the closet.”

      “I can’t go around naked.”

      He arched an eyebrow. “Are you expecting company?”

      She recognized the backhanded insult for what it was and glowered at him. “No.”

      He looked at his watch again. “I have to go. Stay here. We’ll talk in the morning. If you haven’t eaten dinner, order room service. Whatever you want. It’s on my tab.”

      “I can pay my own way, you know.”

      He gave a disbelieving snort. He was right, of course, but that didn’t snuff out her indignation. Alpha douche, she thought, then wondered if douche was a swearword she should have censored.

      With barely a nod he was gone, and she was alone.

      The baby kicked as if to remind her she would never be alone again—to remind her of what was important.

      And you are important, Sweetpea, she thought soothingly, rubbing her belly as if it were a crystal ball she could divine the future from. I won’t let anything happen to you. You’ll go to school and have friends and a place to keep all your toys...and you’ll never have to worry about where you’ll get your next meal.

      Her stomach growled then. She’d been so nervous about seeing Riley she hadn’t been able to contemplate eating beforehand. Caving to her need for sustenance, she picked up the phone and dialed room service.

      Thirty minutes later, she tucked into a chicken quesadilla, a beet salad, a plate of steak frites and a hot fudge sundae. She ate slowly, relishing every bite.

      Once she’d finished her feast, she left her friend a message, simply telling her Kat wouldn’t be home that night, not saying where she was. She hesitated before she dialed the next number, wondering if it was even worth making the long-distance call. Predictably, it went to voice mail.

      “You haven’t reached me...and if you don’t know who this is, don’t bother leaving a message.”

      Kat sighed. “Hey, Mom, it’s me again. I’ve finally connected with Sweetpea’s daddy.” She cleared her throat. “I hope you haven’t been trying my cell—I couldn’t afford it anymore. And I’m not at my friend Jamie’s tonight, so if you’re going to call...” She left the name of the hotel and the main reception phone number. “Anyhow, I’m okay. Sweetpea’s dad and I have some things to discuss. I’ll let you know more when we’ve sorted it out.” She paused. “Call me, okay?”

      She hung up. Hope could be so exhausting.

      She stripped down for a much-needed bath, leaving her laundry for housekeeping hanging in a plastic bag from the doorknob of the suite. As she sank into the blissfully hot water, she thought about Riley. He’d looked yummy in that tux, albeit tense. Not surprising after everything that’d happened tonight.

      Still, that wasn’t any excuse for his high-handedness. She would have to watch out for that. She wouldn’t let him intimidate her into any kind of arrangement that didn’t benefit the baby. She needed money, of course, but she’d prefer a father for Sweetpea, too. Preferably one who wouldn’t dictate how she was going to run her life.

      Don’t leave your room.

      She gazed around her gilded surroundings. It could be worse, she supposed—being trapped in a luxury hotel was hardly torture. Even so, she felt like the fox in a hunt, escaping into the woods with baying hounds closing in around her.

      Whatever it takes, she reminded herself, and sank deeper into the tub.

CHAPTER THREE

      “SO THE BABY’S YOURS?”

      Riley’s fingers tightened around his tumbler of Scotch, his mind full of dark thoughts even though he was smiling broadly for the guests at the after party. He couldn’t give the impression that he hadn’t enjoyed his own movie, even though he’d barely seen any of it. “I don’t want to talk about this right now.”

      His mother snatched the drink out of his hand. “If there is a baby, you shouldn’t be drinking.”

      “Mom—” He glanced around to see if anyone had heard. He bent forward and spoke directly into her ear. “Don’t use the B word around here. Someone’s bound to hear. This is how rumors get started.”

      “So it’s not yours?”

      He sighed. “The timing is right.”

      “And you and she...?” She made vague motions with her hands, but the action implied was clear.

      “For Christ’s sake...” He refused to discuss his sex life with his mother.

      Fortunately they were interrupted by a group of fans Sam had led over—members of his official fan club, apparently. He grinned and took photos, introduced his mother and made small talk. The women, ranging between nineteen and midfifties, giggled and beamed and spoke directly to his mother, praising her for raising such a talented son. His mother always got a kick out of his fans. Sam finally made excuses and they moved off.

      “You’re getting better at this whole human-interaction thing,” Sam said. “You even smiled like you’re supposed to.”

      He rolled his eyes. “This bunch wasn’t as bad as the last group you brought over. One of those girls was so nervous she was sweating through her shirt.”

      “Can you blame her? She was meeting a big Hollywood star.”

      “She was meeting a human being who happened to be in a couple of movies she liked. She gets more out of her mail carrier, but you don’t see her fawning over him.”

      “Don’t be such