‘Mirren? Hey.’

  As if sent by the gods of distraction, both women looked up to see a familiar face. Mike Feechan, president of Pictor, was standing looking slightly awkward, not a stance that was familiar for a man who made deals worth millions of dollars on a daily basis. But that was in the boardroom, where he was Master of the Movie Universe. This was way out of his comfort zone. The young girl standing next to him wearing a South City T-shirt and a gold necklace that spelled out the word ‘Logan’ was eyeing him with undisguised scepticism.

  ‘Mike, hi!’ Mirren greeted him, raising to kiss him on both cheeks. Lou did the same, then gestured for him to join them.

  ‘Thanks, but we already have a table.’ He put his arm around the young girl who was still standing silently beside him. ‘This is my daughter, Jade.’

  ‘Hi. Lovely to meet you,’ Mirren said warmly. ‘Like the T-shirt.’

  Jade responded with a shy, ‘Thanks.’

  ‘OK, so after spending my whole life trying – and failing – to impress her, I think I’ve finally managed it by telling her I work with Logan Gore’s mom. So we just wanted to say hi.’

  ‘Ahhh, I understand completely,’ Mirren said. ‘How about I arrange something with your dad so you can meet Logan properly?’

  ‘That… W-would… Be… Awesome,’ Jade stuttered, her excitement obvious. ‘Like, totally awesome.’

  Mike laughed. ‘Mirren, thank you. I fear everything else life brings her will be an anti-climax after this.’

  ‘No problem at all.’

  ‘And now that I’ve resorted to emotional blackmail to coerce you into impressing my child, I’ll leave you to it. I’ll call you tomorrow. I think we’re due to sit down and have a chat.’

  ‘I think we are,’ Mirren answered smoothly, giving no hint of her irritation over the latest Clansman negotiations.

  Kissing both women, he mouthed another ‘Thank you’ and retreated to a table on the other side of the room.

  ‘Stop it,’ Mirren warned Lou.

  Her friend feigned confusion. ‘Stop what?’

  ‘You’re already mentally setting me up with him.’

  ‘Yeah, and I can see why you’d hate that. I mean, I happen to know he’s single. He’s also successful, powerful, looks like Liev Schreiber’s equally attractive brother and seems to be a caring dad who’s here with his daughter instead of off trying to fuck a supermodel whose boyfriend just died. I can see why you’d hate his guts.’

  ‘Sarcasm. Really?’ Mirren retorted, enjoying playing around. Lou had a point. If she was looking for any kind of relationship, she could see that Mike would tick boxes. But the truth was, it had been twenty years since she’d had any form of physical contact with any man other than Jack Gore, and that wasn’t something she was ready to change just yet.

  They signed off the check and made their way out to their private viewing booth. Located right in the middle of the stadium, it had a semi-circular black leather sofa, a black high-gloss table and an eager waiter ready to take their drinks order.

  He’d just hurried off to the bar when the lights went down and the contagious cheer rose to a deafening crescendo.

  Spotlights roamed over the stage, the first notes of ‘Not Giving You Back’ were twanged on an electric guitar, and the roar got even louder.

  Mirren stood, leaning against the balcony, immersed in a sea of thousands, goosebumps covering her body, completely unaware that while 20,000 people in that stadium were focused on the stage, one head in the crowd was turned the other way, looking upwards, watching her.

  9

  ZANDER

  ‘I Knew You Were Trouble’ – Taylor Swift

  Zander held the Marlboro loosely between his lips, the tip falling dangerously close to his chest as he inhaled.

  ‘You should give that up,’ Adrianna informed him as she rose from the scrunched sheets, the flawless contours of her ass shaded by the stream of light that forced its way through the gap in the heavy chenille curtains.

  ‘I should,’ Zander agreed. ‘But sometimes I kinda like things that are bad for me.’

  In the last week, he’d liked the beautiful thing that was bad for him on several occasions. They’d met most days, snatched moments, usually at their favourite hotel, Shutters on the Beach, a resplendent colonial beauty on the sands at Santa Monica.

  Adrianna’s perfect red lips widened as she leaned back down to kiss him. ‘So that’s what we have in common.’

  Yes, it was.

  She disappeared into the shower. Zander was only dissuaded from joining her when his cell phone rang and Hollie’s name flashed up. He knew better than to reject the call. Ignoring his right-hand woman was a dangerous move. It wouldn’t be the first time she tracked him down and then coerced room service into opening a hotel room door for her.

  ‘Hi,’ he said, attempting to pull on his jeans with one hand.

  She immediately let loose. ‘Urgh, you’re naked. I can tell. And you’re smoking. Did we not talk about that?’

  Zander’s laughter made him drop the phone and he had to scramble to reclaim it. ‘Your superpowers freak me right out,’ he told her.

  ‘As they should. Listen, where are you? I’m in Venice to collect you and the newsflash is that you’re not here. You’ve got an event in four hours and I’m holding your suit. So unless you intend to go butt naked, I need to know where you are.’

  ‘Shutters on the Beach.’

  Silence. Then, ‘Tell me you’re having a coffee in a picturesque setting and not doing anything you shouldn’t be doing… Fuck it, I don’t want to know. I’ll be there in fifteen.’

  He hung up just as Adrianna emerged from the bathroom, already dressed in a plain white shift dress, accessorized with red stiletto heels and reapplied scarlet lipstick. The information went straight from Zander’s eyes to his brain to his instant erection.

  There was no doubt about it, this was a physical craving just like the one he felt for a bottle of Jack and a line of coke.

  She blew him a kiss, murmured a ‘Ciao’ and was out the door. Ten minutes and a quick shower later, he was sitting downstairs in the restaurant, which looked out onto the famous Santa Monica boardwalk and pier. It was 5 p.m., late for the lunch crowd but too early for the evening diners.

  As he sat at a window seat, he eyed the array of drinks behind the bar, feeling that familiar urge creeping through his veins. It would never leave him. That need, the absolute desperation for a shot of bourbon. But it was never just one. The first time he’d knocked back a slug of alcohol at the age of fourteen, right after he’d battered his father with a baseball bat for beating his mother one too many times, he was hooked. This was more than the West of Scotland affinity with a good drink. This was addiction, pure and simple. And he knew it was never going away, no matter how many meetings he attended. Today, he wasn’t giving in to it. And hopefully not tomorrow.

  When Hollie burst in, he held up his coffee cup. ‘See? Coffee.’

  ‘Which would really impress me if I didn’t just see Adrianna Guilloti parked outside talking on her cell phone,’ she countered dryly. ‘Here’s your suit – which I’m guessing is the second Adrianna Guilloti you’ll have been in today.’

  Zander stayed silent, but Hollie, as always, read his face. ‘Urgh, you are depressingly predictable. Can I just check that you are in full knowledge of her husband’s reputation? It’s just that when you show up with your testicles in your mouth, I want to reassure myself that I didn’t fail you by neglecting to ensure you were in full possession of the facts.’

  ‘You can sleep easy,’ Zander replied, signalling the waitress to request a coffee for Hollie. He knew exactly who Carlton Farnsworth was – a self-made billionaire who had his fingers in many pies, from nightclubs to hotels, but specialized in property. The fact that he had evaded every accusation of dodgy dealing ever levied at him spoke volumes. He owned many assets in Queens, Brooklyn and Manhattan, including – it was rumoured – hundreds of properties, a couple of iconic landmarks, several commissioners, senators, a few judges and a couple of former mayors. Not that he’d ever been charged or indicted. He was way too clever for that. But as the rumours drifted along in the gutter, he continued to expand his empire.

  Of all the labels Farnsworth was credited with – mogul, investor, capitalist, criminal, fraudster, entrepreneur – the one that bothered Zander most was ‘husband’. He’d had no idea Adrianna was married when he met her, but as soon as he’d found out, he’d backed off. Married women weren’t his thing. He didn’t have many morals, but that was one of them.

  It had ended when he’d learned the truth, leaving their blistering but brief coupling in the past tense. In the months since their first encounter, he had never chased her, never attempted to disrupt her life or marriage, but when she’d shown up last week at the Combrian, he’d relapsed like an addict who’d just found himself face down on a pile of cocaine after a six-month abstention. The compulsion was just too hard to resist. This one was going to take more than a twelve-step programme to conquer.

  Heading outside, there was a familiar, ‘Zander, over here!’ It went unacknowledged, but Hollie immediately tensed at the paparazzo’s call.

  As soon as they’d locked the car doors, she exhaled. ‘I didn’t see him when I came in, and I can usually sniff them out at a hundred yards.’ She immediately pressed a button and put a call in to a contact at Zander’s management team. ‘Cindy, hi. It’s Hollie. Listen – just in case we get any interest about Zander’s movements today, I wanted to give you the heads-up that he met with Adrianna Guilloti at Shutters to discuss their next campaign. Give me a shout if any enquiries come in and I’ll let you have you more details. Thanks, my darling.’

  She hung up and slouched back in her seat. ‘Either I’ve got PMT or I’ve got a bad feeling about this.’

  ‘PMT,’ Zander replied casually. ‘Chill out, Holls. It’ll be cool.’

  ‘I’m going to get that put on your gravestone. “Here lies Zander Leith, actor and Hollywood heart-throb, who died after leaving all his worldly goods, including his Aston Martin, to his trusty assistant, Hollie. His final words before Carlton Farnsworth had him whacked were, ‘Chill out, Holls. It’ll be cool.’’

  ‘If you carry on with this insubordination, I’ll give you the night off tonight,’ Zander threatened playfully, crossing his ankles on the dashboard and earning a thigh-slap of rebuke.

  ‘Hah! Nice try. But I only stay for the perks, and if those dry up, I’m off.’

  They both knew she didn’t mean it. He couldn’t live without her, and she loved him enough to put up with him. Besides, he hated formal functions with a passion, so there was no way he was going to Lomax’s annual pre-Golden Globes dinner without her. It was a standard fixture in the Hollywood calendar. Held one week before the ceremony, Lomax brought all the nominees together with his own stable of talent in a shameless networking event dressed up as a glitzy exercise in congratulation.

  If his attendance wasn’t compulsory, Zander would have blown it off years ago.

  He was going, but – to Hollie’s irritation – his reticence forced him to stall so much they were late in arriving, just making it to the end of the convoy of limos dropping their bejewelled cargo at the doors of the Beverly Hills Hotel.

  Zander alighted first, holding the door open and taking Hollie’s hand as she joined him. There was no arguing with the fact that when she was around, he felt… What was the word? Safer? Better? Less likely to completely fuck up, get wrecked on booze and coke, and punch out some irritating dickhead?

  All of the above. Not to mention totally aware that if he stepped out of line, she’d soon nudge him right back into place again.

  The sounds of conversation and laughter rose above the string quartet playing Handel’s Water Music on the terrace, as they reached the poolside for pre-dinner drinks. Zander immediately scanned the crowd, ready to switch into ‘movie-star networking mode’, kicking off an hour of superficiality and inanity that he would never get back.

  ‘OK, smile on, shoulders back, pretend you’re delighted to be here,’ Hollie murmured teasingly, her smile genuine as she took two glasses of OJ from a passing waitress. Zander appreciated the gesture of non-alcoholic solidarity.

  The white lights surrounding the poolside and patio restaurant twinkled in the dusk, catching the diamonds around their owners’ graceful and, in some cases, surgically tightened necks.

  Chanel, Dior, Gucci and Halston were just some of the designer wares in attendance, parading alongside Tom Ford, Armani and the resurging cool of Burberry.

  Hollie spotted Mirren chatting to Mike Feechan, head of Pictor, and nudged Zander. ‘Wow, they make a stunning couple. Are they together?’

  Zander shrugged and Hollie rolled her eyes. He honestly had no idea, but looking at them now, he could see what Hollie meant. Mirren was beautiful, her navy gown a stark contrast to her pale-skinned perfection and her loose red curls.

  For a moment he saw her as a fifteen-year-old-girl who would bemoan her red hair while threatening retribution on anyone who teased her. That had always been Mirren – strong, independent, defiant, with the strength to endure and fight back even when her heart was hurt.

  Back then, Zander had felt a brotherly affection for her, and now that they were back in each other’s lives, those feelings were just as strong. The things that had happened to her would have broken most people, him included, but there she was, surviving, moving forward.

  ‘Let’s go over and say hello,’ Zander suggested.

  ‘Correct response,’ Hollie replied. ‘I’ll know in five seconds if they’re sleeping together.’

  ‘If you could market that talent, you’d make a fortune,’ Zander told her, placing a gentle hand on her back as she steered through the crowd.

  ‘Excuse me, I—’ He stopped.

  In front of him, an absolute vision of gorgeousness. The red one-shouldered silk creation flattering her dark complexion, enhanced by the large ruby drop earrings. Her brown eyes smoky, her lashes accentuating their perfect shape. Her black hair parted in the middle and gathered in a loose clasp that allowed it to fall down her naked back.

  ‘Zander Leith, a pleasure to see you here,’ she declared, holding out her hand in greeting. The gesture spurred him into action and he took her hand, leaning over to kiss the familiar cheek.

  ‘Lovely to see you too. You’ve met Hollie?’

  ‘Of course.’

  The two women smiled at each other, Hollie making the first move to shake hands. Zander had a feeling she’d be loving every dramatic moment of this meeting almost as much as he was hating it.

  The woman turned to her companion. ‘Darling, I don’t think you’ve met, although obviously you know his movies.’ She turned back to include Zander in the conversation. ‘Zander, this is my husband, Carlton Farnsworth.’

  Zander took the hand that was offered to him and shook it, noticing that the other man’s grip was just a little tighter than necessary.

  What was that about?

  An affirmation of the other man’s strength?

  An alpha male attempting to show dominance?

  An overenthusiastic welcome with no underlying meaning?

  Or did Carlton Farnsworth know that just a few hours before, Zander had been in a Santa Monica hotel screwing his wife?

  And if so, what was he going to do about it?

  10

  SARAH

  ‘Stairway to Heaven’ – Led Zeppelin

  Were they really playing Zeppelin’s ‘Stairway to Heaven’? If they ever made a movie called Spinal Tap: Where Are They Now? this would be the opening scene.

  Sarah had chosen to sit in the middle row of the bank of chairs laid out beside the grave at Forest Lawn. Davie stood in the front row, only a few feet away from Jizzo’s imminent resting place. In front of them, a coffin shaped like a keyboard. Yep, a keyboard. Or to be more accurate, a keyboard surrounded by a dozen wreaths in the shape of musical notes.

  On the other side of Davie, Sarah could see Carmella Cass, her head flopping as if supported by elastic, her wails loud.

  Sarah scanned the congregation, intrigued to see who else had come to pay their respects.

  Dong, Zeek and Caz, the three remaining members of Jizzo’s 1980s heavy-metal band, Stone Jiz, were there, adverts for – from left to right – cosmetic surgery, hair-plugs and Zimmer frames. The latter, Caz, had almost lost the use of his legs after injecting so much heroin into his groin that his veins collapsed.

  Sarah knew that Davie wanted to be anywhere but here. He wasn’t great at dealing with stuff like this. Davie did optimism, superficiality and positivity – he didn’t do death. That wasn’t an unusual sentiment in LA. Funerals were too much of a reminder of the ageing process and mortality, which half the population spent their lives trying to deny.

  For Sarah, however, this was fascinating from a journalistic perspective. Jizzo’s death was – not to sound too cold or unfeeling – another chapter in her book, one that focused on celebrity departures and the illicit substances that caused their premature departures.

  Michael Jackson. Overdose of Propofol. Heath Ledger. Prescription drugs. Cory Monteith. Heroin.

  Jizzo Stacks. Almost every illicit drug known to man. The final toxicology results were yet to be released, but Davie had learned that initial tests indicated a veritable pharmacy of substances that were either keeping him alive or killing him. Or both.

  A saxophone led the introduction to Jizzo’s hit ‘Cut You’, and once again Lauren Finney stepped forward and sang the haunting version she’d performed on American Stars. The funeral was being recorded for a one-off episode of Beauty and the Beats, so there was a guarantee of another million or so downloads of Lauren’s track on iTunes. And thanks to his production deal on both shows, there was another kerching on Davie’s bank account.