The A-List Collection. Victoria FoxЧитать онлайн книгу.
to come within a mile of me? You lying, conniving—’
‘What did you call me?’ Nate took a step forward, anger twisting his features.
‘Go fuck yourself, Nate. You know what you’ve done.’
The group around them fanned out, people backing away to get a better view, until it was just Chloe and Nate in the circle.
‘Do I?’ Nate called her bluff, attempting to laugh it off now they had an audience.
‘Oh, you need me to say it louder, do you?’ Chloe’s voice dripped with sarcasm. ‘Whatever you want, Nate, just like we’ve always done it.’ She whipped round, her dark hair lashing behind her like a whip, and stormed towards the stage. Nate bolted after her, grabbing at her top, but he missed and went flying face first on to the floor. There was a scuffle before he surfaced, straightening his leather jacket, a strident shade of red.
Chloe took the mike, turned it on and banged it a couple of times. She was drunk but for once she could see totally clearly. The music died.
‘Nate Reid,’ announced Chloe, ‘is a liar and a cheat.’ She waited while a thick silence descended on the crowd. Their outlines were black against the glare of the spotlight.
‘I don’t know how long he’s been going behind my back–probably since the beginning. He’s a filthy, dirty, philandering bastard, and more than that, he’s an actor.’ She clapped her hands slowly several times. ‘He’s played the part of my boyfriend very well.’
‘Shut your fucking mouth, Chloe.’ Nate lashed to the front, eyes blazing. ‘It’s all lies.’
‘I’ve had to go for an STI check,’ Chloe went on, her voice sounding loud and clear round the warehouse, ‘and I’d encourage any girl who’s been with him to do the same. If you think you’re the only one, chances are you’re wrong.’
A gasp rippled round the crowd.
‘What a load of bullshit!’ shrieked Nate. ‘You’re seriously going to listen to her? Give me a break. She’s just jealous, can’t handle my fame. Isn’t that right, babe?’
‘Do you know what?’ Chloe said calmly. ‘Fuck you, Nate Reid. Fuck you and your pretentious fucking music. I don’t need you to corroborate me and I never have–in fact, if you could operate your shit-sized brain for more than a second you’d realise it’s the other way round. Without me you’re nothing but a wannabe musician pretending to be poor.’ A pause. ‘Oh, yes, surely everyone here knows about the Buckley-Reids, Nathaniel–if they don’t, maybe you should tell them?’ She saw Nate gulp. ‘You’re phoney and you’re arrogant and all you ever think about is yourself. Go find a pretty little airhead who’s interested in sucking you off, because I’m telling you, it’s not me.’
Gathering all the dignity she could muster, Chloe replaced the microphone, stepped off the stage, made her way through the crowd and left. A smattering of uncertain applause accompanied her exit but then just as quickly died.
Nate was shaking. Someone tried to touch his shoulder and he slapped them away. His whole body was trembling, shuddering with uncontrollable rage. Vaguely he heard the DJ start up again, the crowd dispersing, no one knowing what to say.
Nate stood alone. How dare she? Stupid stuck-up-her-own-arse bitch!
In a frenzy he stalked out of the club, shoving a paparazzo on his way past. Someone else tried to take his photo and he punched their camera, the lens smashing as it crashed to the ground. Pumped with adrenalin he hauled the unfortunate man up and slammed a fist into his face, sending him careening back into the flank of a black cab.
‘Steady on, mate,’ someone said.
He started walking. He didn’t care where he was going. Never before in his life had he felt so livid, so incensed, so … humiliated. Maybe if he walked fast enough he could catch that bitch up and wring her scrawny neck.
Eventually he stopped, lit a fag, slumped down on the pavement.
He’d get his revenge.
One thing was for sure: nobody humiliated Nate Reid and got away with it.
Los Angeles
‘A baby.’
The pool cue, carefully chalked at one end and about to break with deadly accuracy, paused mid-shot. Cole looked at his agent across the table like he was mad.
‘A baby,’ he repeated.
‘That’s right.’ Marty King raised a hand to pat his spongy hair. ‘It’s the only answer. Cole, we have to give Lana a baby.’
‘Are you crazy?’ Cole spluttered, not knowing whether to laugh. He took the shot. It broke cleanly, sending the balls darting across the green felt. Two of them potted with a satisfying plunk.
‘No. I’m clever.’ Marty rested on his cue. It was a cool January morning and the men were in the basement games room at Marty’s Bel Air pad.
‘Come on, Marty, listen to yourself. Give her a baby. You’ve got to be kidding.’
Marty watched as Cole took a second shot. ‘It’s a radical suggestion, I know. But hear me out. This wouldn’t just be about Lana–it would be about you.’ He raised a bushy eyebrow. ‘Cole, you gotta admit, fatherhood would be a wise move.’
Cole opened and shut his mouth like a fish. ‘This is insane,’ he hissed, realising Marty was serious.
‘I’ve thought about it carefully,’ said Marty. ‘You should, too.’ He leaned his large frame over the table and lined up his aim. ‘Consider Kate diLaurentis–seven years married to you and no kids, then she shacks up with that funny-guy jackass and all of a sudden she’s getting knocked up all over the joint. You’re not getting any younger, Cole.’ In a clean move he pocketed one, careful not to overtake his client.
‘Forget it,’ snapped Cole, ‘it’s kamikaze.’
Marty stood back. ‘Like I said, I’ve thought everything through. We have options.’
Cole shook his head in disbelief. ‘Like hell we do, Marty. Is this all you’ve come up with? You’ve had since the fall to bring something to the table, and this is it?’ He reached for his glass of mineral water, a wedge of green lime bobbing on the surface. Marty stayed quiet, letting Cole turn things over.
After a moment he said, ‘Do you think people have noticed? I mean …’ He lowered his voice. ‘Do you think people wonder why I don’t have kids?’
Marty puffed out his chest. He thought about how to say it then settled on a truthful, ‘Probably, yes.’
Panic surged. Seeing Michael Benedict at the Romans’ wedding two months ago had freaked him the hell out. When would the old bastard kick the damn bucket? It couldn’t be long now. He’d take the secret with him and finally it would all be over–that day couldn’t come soon enough. In the meantime, it was imperative Cole keep Lana. She was his shield.
A vein became visible in Cole’s temple. Marty knew it was his time to strike.
‘There’s plenty of ways, Cole,’ he said. ‘That’s why I wanted to see you today, talk through the possibilities.’ He chalked his cue.
‘Which are?’
Marty took a deep breath. ‘You must present Lana with this. There’s no way we can do it under wraps, you’ve got to keep her on board.’
Cole’s eyes narrowed. He said nothing.
‘Lana bearing your child will be rewarded handsomely in the contract,’ Marty continued, ‘which, naturally, we would extend for a five-to ten-year