‘Now for the practicalities,’ he said.
She drew her legs up and wrapped her arms around her knees. ‘Practicalities?’
‘Food.’ He jerked his head to the side. ‘There’s not even a fridge in this place. We’re going to have to forage.’
That easily he made her smile. ‘In the wilds of New York city?’
‘It’s a challenge.’ He nodded seriously. ‘You up for it?’
Truthfully she’d been going to go with a container of yoghurt. She was on bread and cheese rations for this trip. But she needed to get out of here and inhale some fresh air. Cool the little inferno bubbling inside.
‘Okay.’ She swiftly twisted her plait into a flat bun—and then hid the lot under her black beanie, and grabbed her oversize sunglasses.
‘What are you doing?’ he asked, staring at her.
‘Getting ready to go out.’
‘You don’t like the sun?’
‘I don’t like being seen.’
‘You’re used to being recognised?’ His brows lifted again.
‘It’s unlikely here, but you never know.’ There was always someone, and everyone had smartphones. A snap could go round the world in seconds. She’d suffered through that many scathing articles and online comments recently, she didn’t feel safe from them yet—despite being in a whole other country.
‘Why would people recognise you?’
She hesitated. Until a few weeks ago most people wouldn’t have. It was years since she’d been on telly screens. But just over a month ago Dominic and his new girlfriend had set the hounds on her. Not that she was telling James about that mess. ‘I have a famous sister.’
His frown deepened when she didn’t elaborate. ‘Well, if you don’t want to be noticed—’ he plucked the glasses from her nose ‘—you’re going the wrong way about it.’ He tugged the beanie off her head as well and tossed it onto the bed. ‘There are plenty of blondes in this town. Even natural ones like you. No one will notice. But if they see someone so obviously trying to hide, then they’re going to think you’re someone worth snapping.’ He walked into the wardrobe.
‘Photographers linger in this area?’ she called after him. She should have known it. This building filled with huge condos in central Manhattan meant serious wealth—no doubt celebrities were part of the body corporate.
‘Sometimes.’ He reappeared. ‘Wear this.’ He handed her a New York Yankees cap. ‘It’s not winter, you know.’
‘Thanks.’
Fists on hips, he studied her intently as she pulled the cap down more securely. ‘You really don’t like the press?’ he asked.
‘Who does?’
‘Lots of people want to have more than their fifteen minutes,’ he said.
‘They’re welcome to have mine.’ Caitlin walked out of the bedroom.
She’d actually had more than her fifteen minutes years ago, and she didn’t want a second more. Which made the recent events all the more galling. Given she’d been out of the scene for so long, she’d forgotten how to play the game. She’d forgotten how much it hurt. And worse, both the field and her opponents of today were bigger and more vicious than before.
She lost her stomach in the elevator ride down to the lobby. Well, maybe it wasn’t the elevator, maybe it was a weird combo of nerves and excitement and a fragile possibility of happiness. Outside she drew breath and blinked at the mid-morning sunlight. Could she really walk down the street like a free person?
The last few weeks in London she’d been a virtual prisoner, afraid not only of whether there’d be a photographer lurking, but the reaction of the general public. She’d dreaded anyone recognising her. Having been labelled the psycho ex of the ‘hot young actor’ and the woman who’d gone crazy in her attempts to get him back, she’d been on the receiving end of the venom. They said she’d gone stalker when Dominic broke up with her. That she’d used the possibility of a baby to try to get him back. That she’d terminated that pregnancy when he refused to come to heel.
Lies. Vicious, hurtful lies. Every one of them.
And of course those stories were accompanied by all the articles comparing her to her sister—a resurgence of the pieces penned years ago. She was proud of Hannah, pleased for her. But her success came at a cost to Caitlin. The press had polarised them way back when—the ‘good sister’ versus ‘the bad sister’, the ‘talented’ versus the ‘try-hard’, the ‘consummate professional’ versus the ‘demanding diva’. While Hannah didn’t buy into it, didn’t add to the rumour mill, or perpetuate it, their father always had. He still was, with his apparent attempt to ‘reach out’ to Caitlin, his ‘troubled younger daughter’. Through the press of course. As if what had been written were true.
She’d never forgive him for that.
She’d never wanted her life to become like some scripted reality TV show. Didn’t hunger for fame the way her father did or have a passion for being on film like her sister. She’d worked as a child model and actress purely because she’d been told to. Because they’d needed the money. She’d got out of it as soon as she could—as soon as she’d forced them to drop her.
Now she just wanted to be left in peace to do her own thing.
Here, now, in New York, the streets were crowded with people busily going their own way, getting to where they needed to go and not paying attention to anyone else. Moving fast and free. She wanted to be like them.
‘First time in Manhattan?’ James’ amused voice broke into her reverie.
She realised she was standing stock-still, staring at the crowds walking down the sidewalk. She tore her gaze away from the scene and looked up at him, pasting a smile to her lips. ‘It’s that obvious?’
His eyebrows flickered. ‘What’s first on the list?’
‘The list?’ She echoed like an idiot as she looked at him in the midday light. He really was extremely compelling—tall, focused, intriguing.
‘Your “must-see, must-do” itinerary,’ he explained.
‘Oh.’ She turned and fell into step with him. ‘Do you know, I don’t know. I haven’t had the chance to figure it out.’ She glanced up and saw his surprised expression. ‘The trip was a last minute thing.’
‘You must have some ideas. No?’ He frowned. ‘Come on, let’s eat and I’ll give you a rundown of the highlights.’
‘The Wolfe Guide?’
‘Something like that.’ He led her a few more paces down the block and then turned, holding the door for her.
A diner like one out of an old Seinfeld episode? She grinned. Okay, she could do that. She was definitely in the Big Apple now.
He slid into a booth. She sank into the seat opposite and toyed with the menu.
‘You ready to order?’ a waitress asked.
Caitlin hesitated.
‘I’ll have blueberry pancakes, please,’ James ordered, then looked at Caitlin and winked. ‘Nothing beats dessert for brunch.’
She faux winced and ordered just a coffee.
‘That’s all you want?’ He frowned