She covered her mouth as she giggled, her eyes lighting with mirth. Her shoulders relaxed as she realized I wasn’t going to yell at her. I didn’t care about her dented car or what they would print. I only cared about her being hurt. She only cared about those she loved not being angry with her.
“I understand, Shelby. I do,” I assured her quietly. “I only lasted about three days the first time I had a meltdown.” I ran my fingers down her soft cheek, wanting her to know I wasn’t angry with her. Never with her. Only at the situation we were in. “That was how I met Everett. Did he never tell you the story?”
“No. I assumed you met at some industry function.”
I shifted. “Nope. I became an actor by accident. I was visiting Douglas, and as a laugh, he let me have a walk-on role in a film he was making. I was spotted by another producer visiting the set and given my first break. It was a small role, but it led to another, and then I was hired for a leading role.” I huffed a long breath. “That movie took off like wildfire—totally unexpected by everyone. I was hounded and had no experience, nothing. Douglas tried to help, but I was a bit stubborn and insisted on making my own way.”
Shelby laughed quietly. “You, stubborn. I can’t even imagine it.”
I kissed her forehead. “Hush. So in the meantime, I had hired a manager. My first mistake of many. He was” —I snorted— “useless. To him, any press was good press—any picture of me was a good thing in his eyes, no matter how intrusive.” I rolled over, tucking my arm under my head and pulling Shelby close. “I had been trapped in a hotel doing a press junket for a few days and had to get out. So, I did much like you and jumped in the car, thinking I’d be okay. I ended up in some bar across town, believing I’d lost the reporters following me. But not long after I got there, a couple of the tossers walked in and sat at a table nearby, staring at me, waiting for me to do something. They would throw out remarks to try to get me to react.”
“What happened?”
“I started getting angrier, and after I had a couple of ales, decided I was gonna confront them and give them what they wanted. Maybe even throw a punch or two and show them who was in charge. I figured if they thought I was tough, they’d leave me alone.” I chuckled at the memory, tracing small circles on Shelby’s skin with my fingers. What an idiot I had been. “I was about to get up when this big guy beside me slapped his hand on my shoulder and told me I needed to stop thinking what I was thinking and just ignore the fuckers.”
“It was Everett?”
“Yeah, it was. I growled at him, I think, and he laughed, then introduced himself, ordered us another round, and calmly explained exactly what would happen if I followed through with my plans. I had been muttering out loud, it seemed, and Everett heard enough to know what I had planned.”
“What did you do?”
“He told me he had a much better plan and asked if I was up for it. Of course, I said yes because anything was better than sitting there with those wankers so close, irritating the hell out of me. He explained his car would be out back, to give him five minutes, and winked. He said to follow his lead, and then he raised his voice, telling me to get over myself, stood, and walked out the front door.” I started to grin, remembering what happened next. “A few minutes later, I got up and loudly announced I needed to take a piss then pretended to stagger down the hall. I slipped out the door and into his car.” I shook my head. “We were long gone before they even realized they’d been played.”
Shelby was giggling with me. “And then?”
“We went to his place and got right drunk off our heads. It was the start of a great friendship. The next day, there was an article about my rude and drunken behavior in a public place.” I looked down at Shelby, grinning. “I was quite thoroughly chastised by the studio. If only they knew how drunk I’d been in a much more private place, they would have been horrified.”
“How did he become your manager?”
“Jack and I hadn’t been getting on—at all. We argued constantly, and then one day he informed me I should stick to acting, and he would handle the rest of the stuff, since he was much more capable than me.”
I sighed. “The day I was mobbed, he was there—twenty feet away, watching. He did nothing to help. He stood and watched as they tore at my clothes and hair. Groped at me. Grabbed my junk. He did nothing but make sure lots of pictures were taken.” I shuddered at the memory. “He thought my panic attacks were amusing. He never cared about me. Only the dollars I added to his bank account.”