The preparations for getting Briar to America take almost the full week to perfect. The studio has already booked hotel rooms and plane tickets for the cast, but they’re obviously insecure. Instead, we pick out a new hotel close to the premiere spot. We book a whole floor of rooms, and manage to convince hotel security to place a block on the elevator system, so none of the lifts can stop there. They give us permission to install cameras in the hallway, and agree not to send up any cleaners or maintenance staff during our stay.
We also have to change the flight arrangements. We don’t want Briar flying commercial, so we call in a favour with an old employer and wrangle a flight on his personal jet.
To my surprise, Briar is very unhappy about having to fly privately. I’ve never seen a celebrity get so worked up about carbon emissions.
“One hundred people could be taking this flight, for the amount of damage we’re doing to the environment,” she says to Julie as we step inside the cabin. I’ve been in plenty of private jets before, usually on political jobs, but this one is particularly impressive. The aisle is wide, and the seats are essentially plush leather armchairs, set in clusters around small tables. Everything is tastefully decorated in buttercream leather with dark wood accents. A handful of flight attendants in short red skirts and jackets greet us, handing us all drink menus.
“One hundred.” Briar continues. “Right now, every single one of us has the same carbon footprint as one hundred and fifty train passengers. Each!” She gesticulates too widely and accidentally drops her phone. “Crap.” She bends to pick it up, and I try not to look at the miles of soft, white thigh revealed as the hem of her plaid skirt rides up. She’s paired the skirt with a matching pink blazer, knee-high socks, and impossibly high heels. I overheard Julie calling the outfit ‘Clueless-chic’, whatever the Hell that means. All I know is those heels make her legs look unbelievable.
“Pity.” Julie frowns at the stewardess. “Please tell me this thing has Wi-Fi.”
The stewardess blinks. “Of course, ma’am.”
Briar straightens and glowers at her friend. “Don’t you get how hypocritical this is of me? I did all that work with ecological organisations, and now I’m putting a whole goddamn plane up in the sky?”
“Stop complaining,” Matt orders, as he assesses the seating arrangement with narrowed eyes. “You need this.”
Briar looks up at him, irritation flashing across her face, but doesn’t respond.
We all find our seats; Julie parks herself near the front of the plane with her laptop. Matt, Glen and I all seat ourselves in the middle section, huddling around one of the tables. Matt immediately pulls out some paperwork and spreads it out in front of us, but Glen ignores it, jamming his cap down over his face and settling in for a nap. Briar disappears towards the back, pulling the blue privacy curtains across the aisle to partition herself away from us.
“Leave that open,” Matt calls over his shoulder. “We need a clear line of sight on you.”
“Don’t worry,” she calls back through the curtain. “If one of the flight crew tries to stab me, I’ll scream really loud.”
The flight attendant pouring my soda water straightens, alarmed, and I wave her off. “Ignore them,” I advise, and she smiles uncertainly, sashaying away.
I wait until she’s out of earshot before turning to Matt. His jaw is clenched tightly as he flips through blueprints of the hotel.
“You’re being rude,” I tell him.
His scowl just deepens. “We’re not here to baby her. We’re here to keep her safe.”
“I’m sure you can manage to do that without being a total ass.”
He thumbs at the corner of a paper. “The girl has a deranged stalker, and we’re going to a country where any lunatic could be carrying a firearm. Forgive me if I’m being a bit blunt.”
I snort. “You don’t need me to forgive you. I’m used to taking orders from you. But you’re not in the force anymore, and she’s a civilian. Stop barking at her like a drill sergeant.”
“I think you’re starting to hurt her feelings,” Glen mutters from under his cap.
“Since when did you care about a client’s feelings?” Matt asks, aggravated. “Oh. Right. When you started sleeping with her. Great job, by the way. I’m sure that will really give us the protective edge, having you stare at her arse when you’re supposed to be monitoring for danger.”
I raise an eyebrow. Glen has been staying in Briar’s bed most nights for the past week, although to my knowledge, they’ve only slept together once. He’s clearly fond of her, though. He blushes whenever she smiles at him.
Glen opens one eye lazily, studies Matt for a second, then closes it again. “Stop being an arse,” he mumbles succinctly.
I have to agree. Matt’s behaviour is getting out of line. It’s out of character for him to be so broody; he’s usually a pretty charming guy. Something’s going on with him.
As the sky darkens outside, Matt gives up on working and reclines his seat to sleep. I’d rather beat the jet lag, so I force myself to stay awake, loading up YouTube on my laptop. I want to look through some old crowd footage of Briar out in public, to see if any common faces pop up.
I sift through a few videos, then end up falling into a spiral of old clips from Hollywood House, the show Briar was in as a kid. It’s easy to see why she got cast. Even at thirteen, she’s so bright and full of sparkle that she practically lights up the set. She plays the tween daughter of two wannabe actors, and even though they both have twenty years on her, she’s so funny and charming that they both fade into the background when she’s on screen.
When the clip rolls to an end, I click on the next recommended video. It’s of Briar, probably around fourteen or fifteen, speaking on a late-night talk show. My eyebrows raise as she walks on set, smiling nervously at the camera.
I don’t recognise this girl at all. She has none of Briar’s fire. None of her sharpness. She looks shy and scared and sweet, which are not words I ever thought I’d ascribe to Briar. I watch as she waves at the audience, then sits carefully in the interview chair. The host, a blonde woman with a bright smile, shakes her hand.
“Well, hello, Miss Briar Saint,” the woman says, beaming. “It’s so lovely to have you on the show today. Tell me, what do you think of being nominated for the TV Excellence Awards? Do you think you’re going to win?”
Briar plucks at the skirt of her dress. “Oh, I don’t know,” she says, her voice higher than I’m used to. “I’m just so glad to be nominated. All of the other nominees did so well.”
“What a sweet answer,” the host gushes. “Isn’t she sweet?” She leans in conspiratorially. “Let me tell you though, Briar, whether or not you win the official award, you certainly win the award for best body of the evening. I mean, really. Look at that tight stomach. What’s your workout plan, darling?”
My mouth falls open. Little Briar’s cheeks turn bright red. She shifts, probably uncomfortable with the whole audience staring at her body instead of her face. “Oh, um, I don’t work out much. I like to go swimming, and I just try and eat healthy.”
“Oh, to be young. And this dress really shows off your petite figure. An excellent choice.” The host chuckles. “Alright, come on, get up and give us a twirl.”
Alarm crosses Briar’s face. “Oh, um… I don’t know. It’s shorter than I usually wear…”
“C’mon, just twirl for us. You guys want to see the full outfit, right?” The host looks up at the audience. Everyone starts whooping and clapping. Briar’s face gets redder. She shakes her head, trying to smile and laugh it off, but the host starts up a chant. Soon, the whole studio is shouting Show us the dress! Show us the dress!
Briar looks terrified. When she doesn’t move, the host grabs her arm and tugs her, and she obediently twirls, spinning in place while the audience cheers.
I hit the spacebar, pausing the video, and sit back in my seat, trying to digest what I just watched.
She was a kid. A child. And people were already treating her like a piece of meat. No wonder she’s so aloof and distant now; she grew up in a world where grown adults were openly manipulating her. The thought of it makes me sick.
I’m about to click onto the next video when Matt twitches next to me. I look down at him. There’s sweat on his forehead, and his face is twisted. He flinches again, harder this time.
“Matt.” I put a hand lightly on his shoulder. “Hey.” I wouldn’t normally wake him up from a nightmare, but if he starts thrashing around, he’s probably going to smack his leg into the table. “Matt.”
He suddenly surges upright, gasping like a drowning man. I wait as he stares with wide eyes around the plane, taking in the soft leather seats and dim lighting. When his eyes land on me, he lunges at me, grabbing my face. “Ken—”
“I’m fine,” I tell him, keeping still. “Look at me. I’m completely fine, man. I’m safe.” I nod to Glen, snoring happily in his chair. “We’re both safe.”
Matt’s eyes finally focus. His face closes off. He drops his arms and slumps back into his chair.
“You’re getting worse,” I tell him, as he heaves for breath. It’s been years since he grabbed me like that.
“Yeah, no shit,” he snarls, slamming his hand on the call service button built into the arm of his seat. An attendant scurries over, and he forces himself to smile at her. “Whiskey on the rocks, please.”
She nods and disappears, and he straightens his chair so it’s upright again, wiping a hand through his hair.
“Is this happening every night?” I ask, shutting down my laptop.
“And half the Goddamn day, too,” he mutters.
I nod. That explains why he’s being so snappy. “Do you know why?”
He shakes his head jerkily, rubbing the back of his neck.
“When did it start?”
“A week ago.”
“Let me guess: after the charity gala?”
He shrugs. “I guess.” He sounds exhausted.
“I know a trauma therapist in LA. If you want, I could—”
He squeezes his eyes shut. “Don’t,” he bites out. It’s probably meant to sound like a warning, but he just sounds empty. The flight attendant bustles up with his drink, and he smiles tightly at her, taking the glass and swigging deeply.
“What an excellent coping mechanism,” I say drily. “I’m sure this could never go wrong.”
He flips me off, and I stand, stretching out my back. He could probably use some space, and it’s been a few hours since anyone checked on Briar.
I’m expecting her to be asleep, but when I pull aside the privacy curtain, I see that she’s still awake, sitting curled up in her seat. There’s a box of Greek salad on her lap, and she’s picking at it dispiritedly, pulling out the olives and ignoring everything else.
She looks very beautiful, and very, very tired.
“Briar?” She glances up, and I gesture to the seat opposite hers. “Can I sit?” She nods, and I sit down. “I just wanted to check in. See how you’re doing.”
Her lips twist. “I’m not going to break down and scream at the pilot. I promise.”
“Wow. The therapy must be working.”
She smiles slightly, but it doesn’t touch her eyes.
“Are you okay?” I ask her. “You look—subdued.”
“Have you ever eaten vegan feta?”
“No.”
“It’s pretty subduing.”
I lean forward. “Go on, then.” I open my mouth. Her smile gets a bit wider as she stabs a beige cube and pops it between my lips. I grimace, swallowing the lump of soggy tofu. “Christ.”
“How do you feel?”
“Marginally depressed.”
She rolls aside some cucumber and unearths another olive. “I’m still waiting for vegan scientists to work out cheese,” she says glumly. “They’ve got meat and milk in the bag. But cheese needs some work.”
I watch as she eats another olive. I’m pretty sure it’s not her dinner that has her looking so upset. I try a new tack. “I was thinking: do you have any family in America? Matt won’t like it, but we can find a way for you to arrange visits, if you like. Maybe on your birthday?” According to our files, Briar turns twenty-nine the day before the premiere. “It’s important to have a strong support network.”
She snorts. “That’s a pity, then. I don’t have any family.”
I frown. “What, no one at all?”
She shakes her head. “I never knew my dad, and I cut my mum off when I was sixteen.”
“You cut her off?”
She nods. “I’d just got fired from Hollywood House. When I got home, I found out that most of the stuff in my bedroom had gone. Clothes, photographs, toys. Turns out she’d been selling it online.” Her face twists. “She’d also sold most of my baby pictures to the press, and she was halfway through writing a tell-all book about my childhood.”
“Jesus.”
She shrugs. “It wasn’t a big deal. I moved to LA when I was thirteen, and I barely saw her after that. We have an arrangement now; I send her enough money to retire in a mansion, and she refrains from making up stories in the tabloids.”
My throat aches. I can’t imagine being betrayed like that, especially by your own family. My mum still demands that me and all of my siblings Skype her once a week so we can all eat dinner together.
And Briar’s all alone.
She fidgets in her seat. The silence stretches out. I sigh. “Look, is something bothering you? Honestly?”
Her eyes trail to the blue privacy curtain. Her face hardens. “He’s avoiding me.”
“Matt?” That’s not what I expected. “He does that, sometimes. He’s horrendous with emotions.”
Her jaw clenches. “He never forgave me. For what I did to Nin.”
I frown. “He did.” I study her. “Did he tell you what happened on our last celebrity job?”
“He said that the girl sexually harassed him.”
I nod. “It bothered him more than he’d ever admit. Even to himself.” I remember that assignment. Watching him get tireder and jumpier every day. Of course, he’d never accept that a seventeen-year-old girl could faze an elite soldier.
“Well, yeah. I figured. If I went to set, and the director kept shoving his hands down my pants and dragging me onto his lap, it’d fucking affect me, too. Just because he’s a big strong man, doesn’t mean that wouldn’t screw with his brain.”
“It definitely jaded him when it comes to celebrities. He’s wary, now. Of rich, entitled people throwing their power around. Using people.”
“Hm.” She considers that. “If it’s not Nin, why is he being weird? Was it the panic attack? Is he that freaked out by mental health episodes?”
“It’s definitely not that.” I think of how to word this. “It’s very difficult for him to watch people suffering,” I say carefully. “When you told him how you’ve been feeling… it upset him, a lot.”
“That’s dumb.” She stabs a tomato violently. “It’s not his fault.”
“Matt has a tendency to blame himself for other people’s pain. But trust me. He cares about you a lot. More than he’d like to admit.”
Her mouth twists unhappily. She puts the salad down and runs a hand over her face. “I just feel so stupid,” she mutters.
“Stupid? Why?”
“For freaking out like that. Collapsing on the bathroom floor, and then crying all over you. You guys have been through Hell and back. When you were a soldier, I bet you used to live like this every single day. Always looking over your shoulder. Always on guard.”
“It’s not really the same thing,” I say gently. “We were at work. It was what we signed up for. We were unsafe, but we were holding guns, too. We got to shoot back.”
She just frowns, looking down at her lap.
Without thinking, I reach across and take her hand, pressing it between mine. Her fingers are soft and warm. She raises an eyebrow, but doesn’t try to move away. “I know you’re scared. But I also know you can handle whatever this bastard has to throw at you. You’re more than strong enough to deal with this.”
She studies me for a few seconds. “You really think that, don’t you?” She says softly.
“I think you can handle anything,” I say honestly. She looks at me, an expression I can’t read crossing her face; then she leans forward and presses her mouth to mine. I go still. She smells sweet, like candy, and the blonde hair falling loose from her ponytail tickles around my face. It’s a quick, firm kiss, and she’s pulling away before I can really register what’s happened. She leans her head back against the headrest and contemplates me, her blue eyes daring me to say something. I just hold her gaze, trying to ignore my heart pounding painfully in my chest.
“Thank you,” she says quietly. “You can go now. I’m going to sleep.”
