Entice Me (Stark Trilogy 3.7)

“You’re telling me that your manager is the one behind that blackmail attempt?”

She nods from her perch on the edge of the pool, looking miserable.

I exhale and run my fingers through my hair. Not long after Damien and I were married, someone had tried to blackmail Damien by threatening to release some extremely racy photos of him and Carmela. What had made it worse was that the blackmailer had also gotten a hold of explicit pictures of Jamie with her next-door-neighbor.

Thankfully, Damien had put the fear of god into the anonymous blackmailer, and the pictures weren’t released.

But then about a year ago, not long before Jeffery was born, the photos had turned up again—in the hotel room of my prodigal father, who’d just reintroduced himself to me.

At first, Damien had believed that Frank was behind the original blackmail attempt, but after Frank’s adamant denials and some investigative work, we’d all come to realize that the photos were planted in his room.

But we never learned by who or why.

The damn photos are like a bad penny, and I really don’t understand why or how Carmela’s manager fits in.

“Are you sure?” I ask, sitting down beside her. “Why? Why on earth would your manager want to blackmail you? Or Jamie, for that matter?”

“Because he is a horrible, vindictive, ambitious man.”

I wait for her to elaborate, but she just sits by the pool pouting prettily as businessmen walk by, openly staring.

“Can you be more specific?”

She sighs and her forehead crinkles. “He has always been my manager, from when I was very young. It is much easier to model when you are young, no? And I am in my thirties now, and that is not so good for a model. Bertrand knows this, and so as I neared thirty, he tried to get me roles in the cinema.”

“You did a few movies, didn’t you? Italian films, and a few small Hollywood roles, too.” Jamie had mentioned seeing Carmela on screen once or twice. At the time, I hadn’t paid attention, because that was before our truce. Now, I’d probably watch one of her films.

“A few,” she confirms. “But I was not a star in either country, and Bertrand thought this was a terrible travesty. I will tell you a secret—it is not a travesty. I am not an actress. I do not like it, and I am not pleasant to watch. It is not my dream, and yet it was his. So he pushed and pushed, and I have always trusted him, and so I let him guide me.”

“Let him bully you,” I say, and she lifts a shoulder in acknowledgement.

“But what does that have to do with the photos?”

“He was going to release them, thinking the scandal would help my career. He did not care that it would hurt you or Damien. He thinks only of himself.”

I sit, shocked, as that bit of information washes over me.

“You knew about it?” I finally say. “All this time, you’ve known?”

She stands up, looking as shocked as if I’d slapped her across the face. “No! That is why I am here. I have only just learned all of this. Please, Nikki, you must believe me. I knew nothing.”

“I do,” I say. “I mean, I did. I thought you were confessing now, and—”

“No,” she says, her voice hard. “I would never do such a thing.”

“Okay. Sorry. I believe you.”

She nods firmly, but doesn’t continue.

“I can kind of understand the whole scandal thing and why he might think that would drive your career. But why Jamie?”

“Two reasons. He thought that photos of just me and Damie would be suspicious. And he was also expanding his business to America. He was looking for clients. And wouldn’t a young actress caught in a scandal need his guidance?”

I frown—and realize my hands are clenched into fists so hard my fingernails are cutting into my palms.

“Is he the one who planted the photos on my father?”

She sits again, nodding miserably. “I am not sure what Bertrand was thinking about that. But your father is an excellent photographer. I understand he shoots mostly landscapes now, but he has done runway coverage, too, and he is very talented.”

I believe that. I’ve seen my father’s portfolio, and though travel photography is his passion, he has an excellent eye overall.

“He shot some portraits of a model who is on Bertrand’s list. She wanted to leave him, and so was building her own portfolio.”

“Bertrand never pushed that,” I point out, because there was never a threat about the photos found in my father’s room.

“The model—she was killed in a traffic accident. I do not know if Bertrand would have pushed against your father if she had not died.”

“I’m sorry,” I say. “Did you know her?”

Carmela nods. “She was very sweet and very young.” She swipes at her eyes again. “Anyway, as I said, I knew none of this. At least not until last month.”

She glances at her watch. “We should go up and tell this all to Damie, too. I am supposed to be there at ten. I spoke with—ah, Reagan? She said she would squeeze me in.”

“Rachel,” I correct. “Let me ask you this—is your manager threatening to release the photos today?”

She shakes her head, “No. No, he knows I found them, and he told me the whole story. He doesn’t plan to release them.” She licks her lips. “At least so long as I play nice. That is how he said it. Play nice.”

“Sounds like a charming guy. Hang on.”

I pull my phone out. “Hey, Rach, it’s Nikki. I’m sitting here with Carmela. Can you move her appointment with Damien to tomorrow? Same time?”

Rachel, fortunately, doesn’t ask any questions. Carmela, of course, does.

“But I need to see him,” she says. “I need his help. I do not want to play nice, and who better than Damien to play—what is the saying?—hard ball?”

“Totally with you. But humor me, okay? It’s probably stupid, but I think I have an idea. And if I’m right, it’ll help both of us.”

“Help you?”

I stand and start pacing again. “Let me think this through. Bertrand told you everything? Why?”

She sniffles. “I went to his house. We have known each other for many years, and I thought he deserved a discussion between friends when I left him as a manager.”

“So you were firing him?”

“I have no wish to model anymore, and I do not want to act. There is no business between us moving forward, though I had no ill thoughts toward him. I went to his house believing that he had always had my best interests at heart. That he was eager and aggressive, but that he wanted me to be a success. I thought he would be happy for me.”

“So you were leaving for some other kind of job entirely?”

“New job. New life.” Her smile lights up the morning and she holds out her left hand, revealing an engagement ring that I can’t believe I hadn’t noticed, because the stone is roughly the size of a small apple. “Paolo is a brilliant fashion designer. We will work together, and I will have my own couture line.”

“Congratulations,” I say. “On both counts.”

“He is very charming. And,” she adds with a wink, “he is at least as handsome as your Damie.”

“I highly doubt that,” I say, a smile twitching on my lips.

She laughs. “You are right, of course. But don’t tell Paolo,” she adds in a low whisper. “I am still one of the greatest models of this generation, no? I cannot marry a man prettier than I am.”

Now I do laugh out loud. “Okay, okay, so we have to get back on topic.” I’m thinking I may take her up on the trip to London. I’m liking Carmela more and more. “So he was pissed that you were firing him. And then, somehow, you found the photos?”

“He actually showed them to me. He told me everything. And then he said that if I didn’t want Paolo and the world to see the pictures, I would continue to let him represent me in the couture business. And that Paolo and I would book all our models through him, and—”

I hold up a hand. “I get it

. Obviously, you don’t want Paolo to find out.”

“No, that does not bother me. I told him. I even showed him—I took a photo of the print with my phone.”

I nod slowly, processing all this. “You once told me that you’d cope if the photo got out. I think what you said exactly was that it would be embarrassing, but at least you looked damn good.”

Her mouth quirks up. “It is true. The photo is explicit—but it is also very flattering.”

“And Paolo doesn’t mind?”

“He is thrilled to have a fiancée who is so delicious.”

“Then you’re here to protect Damien.”

She nods. “And you,” she says. “But also Paulo’s family. He is fine with the photo being public. But his mother is very conservative. And his sister has taken Holy vows. They are welcoming me to the family, but I know that I am a bit of a scandal to them, you see?”

“I get it. And I have an idea. Is Paolo in LA with you?”

“Yes. Of course.”

“And Bertrand. Could you get him to come to California by Friday? Specifically Santa Barbara?”

“I—well, yes. He is already in Los Angeles for meetings. So, yes. I think I can do that. Why?”

“Carmela,” I say, “I want to invite you and Paolo to Damien’s birthday party next Friday.”

She blinks, obviously confused. “We—we would be delighted. But what does that have to do with—”