Infamous (Beautiful Idols 3)

The house was remote, with no visible neighbors, which made sense for someone who guarded their privacy as much as Madison. Still, from the pictures he’d seen, the LA house was the stuff of fantasies. It seemed strange to want to escape from a place that represented everything she’d worked so hard to achieve.

Then again, Madison was a true star. Instead of griping over the price of fame, she’d accepted the inevitable and found a temporary escape from the pressure.

She swung the door wide, silenced the alarm, and invited him to follow. He blinked at his surroundings. The space was nothing like he’d expected, even though he hadn’t known what to expect.

The ceilings were lined with thick beams, and the dark wood floors were occasionally interrupted by woven jute rugs. In the den, he found an ivory linen couch, a set of leather club chairs, and what looked to be an original fireplace made of hand-smoothed plaster. Through the French doors just beyond, he could make out a charming garden terrace filled with lanterns, a long table, and a hammock lilting in the breeze in the far corner.

“California ranch chic.” Madison watched him survey the place. “What do you think?”

He turned with a start. While he’d been checking out the property, she’d removed her disguise, leaving her long dark hair tumbling over her shoulders as her violet eyes flashed on his. She was skinny and injured, and her makeup was heavy-handed, but at the moment, it was clear why Madison Brooks was the biggest star in the world. She radiated something that continued to thrive despite whatever had happened to her.

The look she gave him was so intense it set him off balance and left him wondering if she’d guessed at his thoughts. “I think it makes for a nice getaway,” h

e finally said, forcing a crooked grin to his face.

She glanced around the space and nodded in agreement. “But now that you’ve seen it, I guess I have no choice but to sell it.”

“You’ve never brought anyone here?” He understood the need to be alone, but it seemed strange not to share such a place.

“No one I wasn’t one hundred percent sure I could trust.”

He met her gaze. “So, no one then.”

Motioning for him to sit, she went to grab a couple of beers.

Tommy wasn’t sure he should drink. He was exhausted from the drive and hadn’t the slightest clue what she had in mind. But when Madison emerged from the kitchen, handed him a bottle, and plopped onto the couch beside him, he figured a little blunting of the nerves might do him some good.

“Last time we shared a beer, things didn’t turn out so well for me.” She tapped the bottle to her lip and stared thoughtfully.

“Same.” He wiped the back of his hand across his mouth, then hesitated before placing the beer on the table.

“You’ve got old-school manners. I like that. But this is a coaster-free zone, so . . .” She placed her own beer directly on the table and gestured for him to do so as well.

She was trying to make him feel comfortable, and while Tommy appreciated the gesture, he was hoping to move on to the discussion they needed to have.

“So.” She shifted her body toward him. “What now?”

Tommy eased back against the cushions. “Way I see it, it’s my turn to interview you.”

She leaned her head back and stared up at the ceiling. Then, without warning, she rose to her feet and extended a hand he was slow to take.

“What’s this? What’s going on?”

“Only one way to find out.” She wiggled her brows.

Grasping her hand in his, he followed her down a hall to a large room at the end.

“I think you’re going to like this.” She grinned as she swung the door open.

Tommy stood on the threshold. One thing was sure: Madison never failed to surprise him.

“It’s a combination training room slash rage room.” She slipped inside. “Have you ever seen one?”

Tommy shook his head and ran his gaze around the space. The floor was covered in wall-to-wall rubber that gave slightly under his step. Three of the walls appeared to be heavily padded, while the fourth consisted of badly dented drywall. In a far corner hung a large punching bag, along with an assortment of boxing gloves, paddles, and bats. A shelf stacked with cheap porcelain plates completed the theme.

“This is my favorite way to de-stress. Much better and far more effective than more illicit activities.”

Tommy shifted uncertainly. How much built-up anger did a person have to possess to even need such a place?