The mood when we finally get back to the hotel is subdued. Matt lost the car pretty quickly—the driver stopped tailing us when he realised that we’d noticed him. Which is worrying. If it were just a paparazzo, he wouldn’t have cared whether or not we saw him. No one mentions it, but we all know what it means.
X was there tonight. He knew exactly where I was. He followed me.
As soon as we step inside the suite, I kick off my heels and flop down on the sofa, fiddling with the clasp on my clutch. My mind is going at a hundred miles a minute.
“Wine?” Glen offers.
I nod. “Thanks.”
Kenta pulls off his suit jacket and drapes it over the back of the sofa, coming to sit by me. “Sorry if the drama ruined your evening.”
I flash him a smile. “It didn’t. This is the best birthday I’ve had since I was a kid.”
He looks surprised. “Really?”
I loll my head back against the sofa cushions, watching as he unbuttons his collar and loosens his tie. “Is that so shocking?” I murmur, dropping my eyes to his forearms as he rolls up his sleeves. Do guys know how hot it is when they do that? I swear to God, there is nothing sexier than a guy in a half-undone suit.
He gives me a little smile. “I thought no one parties better than a rich woman in her twenties.”
I shrug. I don’t exactly feel like telling him that I haven’t had any real friends since I got back into the industry. It’s an unfortunate side-effect of being a notorious bitch; the only people who want to be friends with me are also massive bitches. I spend most birthdays either working or watching movies with a takeaway on my lap.
I budge closer to Kenta and grab his hand, winding his arm around my shoulders. “Like this, please.”
He smiles, dipping to press his lips to my head. “Can I ask you a question?” He murmurs into my hair.
“Absolutely not,” I reply haughtily, fiddling with his fingers. “I do not permit my employees to address me.”
Glen passes me a glass of white and hands Kenta a beer, sitting down next to me. Matt slumps down on his other side. I stretch between the men, smiling contentedly. Snuggled between three big muscly bodyguards, the impromptu car chase suddenly doesn’t seem like such a big deal.
“Fine,” I allow. “You may ask your question. Since I’m in such a good mood.”
“You said Petty ruined your life,” Kenta says. “The two of you worked on the same show, right?” I nod, taking a sip of wine. “What did he actually do?”
I open my mouth to give him my automatic response—some derisory comment about how I cheated on Thom because of his tiny fungus-ridden dick—but for some reason, the words die in my throat. A few seconds of silence go by as I try to work out what to say.
“You don’t have to tell me,” Kenta says quickly.
“No, it’s just….” I trail off, fiddling with the stem of my glass. “I don’t talk about this. Ever.”
I’ve kept all the memories of my teenage years locked up inside me for over a decade, now. I figure, if I don’t talk about them, gossip rags can’t sell them.
But I know the guys won’t sell my secrets to the press. The idea is laughable. They just want to keep me safe. They’ve trusted me with their secrets, and I trust them back.
Suddenly, I really, really want to tell them.
I study my wine, pursing my lips, then take a long swig. “When you start in the industry,” I start, “you’re given a brand by your PR people. You know what my brand was, when I was signed onto my first contract at thirteen?”
They all shrug.
“‘The Teenage Sweetheart’,” I pronounce the words carefully.
Matt snorts.
I nod. “I know, right? It’s hard to imagine now, but when I was thirteen, fourteen, fifteen years old, I was the good girl. The ‘innocent one’. I was really shy, back then. Painfully polite. All I wanted was for everybody to like me. My PR people decided to play off that, and they branded me as this sweet, gentle angel. Think early-era Taylor Swift.”
The guys exchange a blank look.
“Okay. Think Princess Di. My PR manager decided I always had to be dressed in white or pink dresses. Minimal makeup. I wasn’t allowed to go to parties, or post on social media. I was completely banned from taking selfies, under any circumstances. I was encouraged to do a lot of charity work. That, at least, stuck with me.” I stare down at my drink. “For years, that’s how everyone knew me. The good girl. And people liked me. I was one of the most popular child actors in the industry. I had a great career set up for when I turned eighteen. And then Thom Petty ruined everything, by telling the whole world I cheated on him.”
“You didn’t?” Glen asks.
“We were never even dating. He was my friend. My only friend, really. We met on the set of Hollywood House, and he was just like me. A British kid plucked out of secondary school and flung into Hollywood. We kind of clung to each other, I guess, and the press theorised that we were together. But we never dated.” I examine my fingernails. “When I was sixteen, I went on a date with this guy. The paps stalked us around the city and got a shot of us kissing. It was my first real, off-camera kiss, and I was so excited to see Thom the next day, to tell him about it.”
Nausea starts swimming in my stomach, and I put my wine glass down. I haven’t thought about this in such a long time. I almost forgot how much it hurt. “The next morning, I woke up to all of these headlines. Thomas Petty Heartbroken after Briar Saint Cheating Scandal. Thom had made a statement that we’d been dating for the last two years, and I kissed this other guy behind his back. I was getting eviscerated in the press. I went round to his house and begged him to just tell everyone the truth, but he refused to see me.”
“Shit,” Glen mutters.
I purse my lips. “It was a great PR move on his part. He went from being a regular kid actor to the poor, spurned lover. He went around for months, looking all dejected and teary-eyed in front of the paps. Which of course just meant people hated me even more.”
“It was bad?” Matt asks.
I take a deep breath. “Awful. The fans were so outraged, they started boycotting the show. The directors kicked me off the project because I was affecting numbers so badly. Hollywood House was my life. I knew the actors better than my own family. But none of that mattered.” I shrug. “And that’s how The Wicked Bitch of the West was born. It didn’t matter how much I told the truth. Everyone hated me.”
“It must have been terrifying,” Kenta says quietly.
I laugh humourlessly. “I’ve never been so scared in my life. I was a child, and it felt like the whole world had turned against me. The people who used to be my fans were now sending me death threats. I couldn’t do anything right: If I was photographed standing next to a man, I was being a hoe. If I looked upset in public, I was trying to get sympathy. If I was ignoring the paps, I was a stuck-up bitch who thought she was better than everyone else. I wanted to disappear off the face of the planet.”
“What did you do?” Matt asks, his voice low.
I sigh, taking another swig of wine. “I disappeared. I bought a house in Devon and lived there alone for years. Ordered all of my shopping online, ate takeaway, and refused to see anyone.”
I pick at a loose sequin on my dress. “For a few years, I was really depressed. I just didn’t see the point of existing. I couldn’t leave my house without being verbally abused by strangers and harassed in the press. I figured I’d never have real friends, or a partner, or a family. Everyone hated me too much. My life was already over, so what was the point?”
I’m surprised when a tear rolls down my face and lands on the pale fabric of my dress. I pull my hand free from Kenta’s and cross my arms over my chest, curling back into myself. Someone passes me a tissue.
“Thanks.” I dab at my face. “Yeah. Those were a few really dark years. Then, when I was twenty, I was watching a movie, and Thom came on screen. I looked him up, and I was shocked at how successful he was. He was doing so well. Movies, brand deals, music. He had his own line of cologne, for God’s sake. And it was like a switch flipped in my brain. I wasn’t sad anymore, I was just really, really angry.” I grit my teeth. “He was the one who lied. He was the one who should be being punished, not me. I missed acting so much. So I figured, I’d moped around enough. I’d try to get back into the industry.”
Glen shifts, but no one says anything.
“I decided, instead of trying to fix my reputation, I’d lean into it. If people wanted me to be a bitch, fine. I’d be a bitch. I moved back to LA. Started taking jobs again.” I smirk. “For my very first audition, I actually tried for a movie at my old studio. They were expecting the same wounded little deer I was before I left. A mouse who just wanted to be liked and accepted by them. And instead they got me.” I jab a thumb at my chest. “I didn’t get the job, obviously. But I left that audition room feeling like… like a lion.”
I take another sip of wine, swirling the golden liquid around the glass. “It’s funny. I used to be so scared of people thinking I was mean, or stuck up, or rude. Now, if anything, I’m scared of people thinking I’m nice. I’m strongest when no one likes me. I’m safest when I’m being a bitch.”
“You’re not, though.” Kenta says quietly.
I glance up at him. “Hm?”
“You’re not rude, or stuck up, or any of it. On the inside, you’re still that sweet kid.” He takes my hand again. “You do so much charity work. You care about people. You care about us. That sweetness is still inside you.”
“I know,” I say. “That’s kind of the point. If I go out in public, and be my authentic self, and then everyone decides that they hate me—what am I supposed to do with that? There’s only so much therapy can do. But now?” I wave a hand over my face. “I’m playing a role. The bitchy diva. They’re not criticising the real me, just my actions. And that’s a Hell of a lot easier to handle.”
“You did all of this to protect yourself,” he realises. “You didn’t want to make yourself hard. You just wanted to keep the soft parts of you safe from everyone else.”
“I guess you could say that, yeah.” I lean forward, fire suddenly sparking inside my belly. “And you know what else? Now people listen to me. They know I’m not a doormat. They know if they screw me over, I won’t keep my mouth shut.” I glance at Matt. “You asked a while ago why I would try to ruin that creep Mario Vasquez’ life, just because I didn’t like him. The truth is, I have people contacting me every day, saying that someone powerful in the industry abused them, or cheated them out of money, or sexually harassed them, and they can’t say anything without becoming a target. But I can blow as many whistles as I want without consequence. I live outside these power games the rest of Hollywood has to play. People are scared of me, and they fucking should be.”
“I think you’re the strongest woman I’ve ever met,” Glen says quietly.
I look at him, then nod. “Thank you.” I clear my throat, grabbing my wine and downing the rest of it in one long swallow. I slam the glass down on the coffee table and look between the three men. “Right. That’s enough of my tragic backstory. Do you guys want a birthday foursome?”
Glen’s laugh bursts out of him. “I thought you’d never ask.”
Matt stands slowly, heading for his bedroom. “I actually have something for you,” he calls over his shoulder. “I picked it up this morning.”
I raise an eyebrow. There’s a plastic rustling sound from the bedroom, then Matt returns, chucking something into my lap. I pick it up, examining the plastic packaging. My face flushes as I realise what my gift is.
A pink bullet vibrator.
“You didn’t,” I say, my eyes flashing up to him.
He smirks. “Princess, I’ve been dreaming of you coming around that thing for the past week. You’d better believe I did.”
I pull open the packaging and roll the toy into my palm. My whole body suddenly feels too hot.
Matt squats in front of me, holding out his hand. I pass it to him, and he presses the tiny button. All four of us watch it buzz between his fingers.
“Thank you for telling us,” Matt says quietly, meeting my eyes.
“I said I’d try to trust you. There you go.” I tilt my head. “Do I get a reward, now?”
“Yes,” he says simply. “Li, pull down the top of her dress.”
Kenta obediently slides the strap of my dress off my left shoulder. I let my eyes fall closed as Matt reaches up, pressing the tip of the bullet against the curve of my throat.
