“Like I’ve told you before, it was years ago,” Christian said. Besides, he was wealthy enough to finance his own damn movies. “And I’ve been very honest about my past with the press and you.” For the most part anyway.
Martha harrumphed. “The date stamp on all seven read January of this year.”
“Impossible.”
“So you keep insisting, but these look legitimate.”
Nearly a year had passed since he’d last touched any illegal substance. It hadn’t been one incident that led to him go cold turkey, but rather a string of waking up without a clue as to where he was and what or who’d he done the night before.
Simply put, he’d had enough.
He stopped playing and opened his eyes. Unfortunately, that wouldn’t be enough to convince anyone that the pictures really were half a decade old. He would look like the biggest hypocritical ass, not to mention liar, to ever walk the planet if they went viral, since he was slated to be the newest spokesman for Back To School.
The organization was endorsed by M.A.D.D. and D.A.R.E. In addition to those heavy hitters, an anonymous donor financially supported the effort B.T.S. made to get teens off the streets, off of drugs and/or gangs, and firmly on the path that led to a brighter future. Since his involvement had been made public, the paparazzi had done their level best to find out the identity of the donor, without success.
Christian knew exactly who the donor was and he wasn’t telling. The designation of anonymous meant just that—anonymous.
Besides, this was something he’d done without agents, managers or public relations assistants. It was all his idea, his way of making amends for all the ways he’d screwed up over the years. The next round of public service announcements, featuring him, would start this fall. He had all but signed away his first born to get them to take a chance on him. To get them to look past his party reputation, the drunken clips on TMZ and the People Magazine documented failed relationships.
The very real possibility that it all could be shot to hell in a matter of minutes left him cold inside.
“The photos have been manipulated.” There were only a handful of people that were privy to his finances and personal activities. The majority of them were bound by ironclad confidentiality agreements. As for the others…
“This isn’t you at a party, snorting coke off of a table, the bar and on three different strippers’ stomachs?”
Frustration kicked him in the gut. “Yes, it’s me, but—”
“Doesn’t matter. Bad press doesn’t equal movie roles anymore. The economy won’t allow it. I won’t allow it. Are we clear, Mr. Romanov?”
He swallowed the retort that sprang to mind. It would do no good to argue with the tenacious woman. Or tell her that his career was second to his reputation with B.T.S. “Crystal, Ms. Alfred.”
“Find a non-Hollywood type of woman to be seen with once you get back to the States. This is not a suggestion. You will revamp your image. You will start taking leads in chick-flicks, and become all minivan-family-friendly. Why don’t we start with something simple, like having the press call you Christian Romanov instead of your stage name Ian Romanov?”
“Tell Bryson I’m dying to audition for the male lead in The Heart Says Yes.” He couldn’t keep the sarcasm out of his voice, but knew Martha didn’t care as long as she got her way. “But my name remains as is. It’s how I keep things separated.” No matter how inconsequential it seemed. There were very few people that called him Christian. Martha, despite their years of working together, wasn’t one of them.
“It’s your career on the line, not mine.” She ended their call.
A butler entered the room and gave him a small nod.
Christian shrugged into a cashmere overcoat and slid on leather gloves. He walked out of the townhome, then jogged down the front steps. A silver Mercedes with darkly tinted windows idled in the circular drive. Boris, the Romanov’s head of security, waited by the back passenger side door and opened it for Christian.
He slid in and found Sebastian staring at him, blue eyes as cold and icy as Lake Baikal in April. Christian met the unflinching gaze with one of his own and smirked, running his hands through his hair.
“I know, I know. It’s like looking in a mirror. Makes a brother all reminiscent about our childhood.” Before they became more like enemies than brothers. Before nothing was expected of Christian and everything was expected of Sebastian.
“You are becoming more American by the year. At least you remember the correct form of dress.” Sebastian picked up the iPad on the seat beside him. “Two more years, then your permanent return is expected and Ian, the Hollywood Actor, is no more. Which would help your legend live in memoriam best: plane crash, car explosion, or overdose?”
“Just listening to you would make any man die of boredom. Contact your secretary for an appointment, shall I?” Christian would retire from acting when he damned well pleased, not because he was needed in the family business.
“Always the comedian.” Sebastian glanced at the window, then back at him. “Ready for the soiree this evening?”
An evening of forced conversations and associations? Christian fought the grimace threatening to pull down the corners of his mouth. “Wild horses couldn’t keep me away.”
“Dammit, Christian. Is there any way you could ever be discreet?” Sebastian asked, all attention on the iPad in his lap.
“The press won’t let me.”
“‘Vivian Cross is lonely in London. She’s pining away for former flame, Ian Romanov’,” Sebastian read from the screen, then stabbed at it with his finger. “Why does anyone read this drivel?”
Because people craved it, whether the gossip was true or not. Hell, if he so much as sneezed in the general direction of any woman, he was suddenly canoodling with her.
God, he hated that word.
“If I told you, it would only confirm every bloody opinion you’ve had about American culture,” Christian said with a small rise of his brows. “As for Vivian, it’s not true. We were never together. She’s married. Happily, I might add, but even if she weren’t, I stay away from married women.”
Sebastian barked out a laugh. “The fabrications of your life are so entertaining. How unfortunate you leave in two days.”
In two days he would have to find a woman, with whom he’d be expected to fabricate an entire relationship. Damn his brother and damn his agent. “My entire career, not to mention a very worthwhile organization’s reputation is at stake, thanks to you sending those pictures to Martha,” Christian growled, hands fisting.