Page 85 of Faking It

“Yes.” I see two guys approaching the building, so I move her further down out of earshot. “Ana told me everything, how you almost made that monster steal her innocence—”

“I did no such thing,” she hisses. “James wanted fresh meat. He wanted her.”

My fingers curl at my sides. “Fresh meat? She’s your daughter! She was a fucking child!” I hiss, trying my damndest not to shake her.

“And James was the most powerful guy in the town. How could I stop him?”

My blood boils. I’m not interested in hashing this out with her. I’m not a fucking therapist. Getting her away from Ana is my only intention. I’m glad she’s shooting a scene in San Francisco, far away from here.

Willing myself to calm, I lower my voice even more. “What do you want, really?”

She smirks. “What do you think? Money. That little tramp owes me. I lost a good, rich man because she wouldn’t play nice. Stupid bitch.”

“How much will it require to make you leave her alone?” I do a mental check of my savings after paying down half the loan from my dad, wondering if it would be enough. If it requires staying in the industry a little longer, doing another movie or two, I’ll endure. Anything to keep Ana’s secret safe.

“Ten grand,” she replies without hesitation, and I catch myself before my jaw falls open.

Ten grand?

Did she really just say ten grand?

Fucking hell. I’d been bracing for fifty thousand, at least.

Ana did mention she had a drug and alcohol problem back in the day. I’m almost sure she’s still an addict. No one in their right mind would ask for a measly sum like that, knowing the information could wreck Ana’s career.

She scoffs at my silence. “And it’s not up for negotiation, either. Pay up, or I’ll take this news to the tabloids in a heartbeat.”

There’s no guarantee she won’t go to the tabloids, even if I pay her. It’s a risk, either way. Choosing the option that would yield the most favorable outcome—I hope, I level my focus on her.

“I’m going to give you the money, but if you breathe a word of this or try to find Ana again, I promise, you’ll regret it,” I rumble.

“No need for threats, sweetie.” Her tone sounds much lighter now. “Pay me up, and I’ll go away. Ana won’t even know I’m here.”

“She’d better not.”

A slight gesture to my pocket, and she smirks. “So…?”

“No one walks around with that amount of cash. We need to get to the bank.” I hate being in a confined space with the woman who made Ana’s life such a living hell, and it’s a risk being seen with her, knowing the paparazzi could pop up at any time, but what the heck. Anything to ensure she never disrupts Ana again.

She tries to chit-chat on our way over to the bank, but I’m not having it. Reaching over, I turn the radio on full blast and keep my gaze focused on the road for the entire journey. We get to the bank, and I slide my shades on and hurry toward the building, thankful that the people around seem to be minding their own business. There are no shouts of my name, no cameras shuttering, no one rushing up for an autograph. The last thing I want is Ana getting an inkling of this.

The bank manager slides Ana’s mom a curious glance after I flash her my ID. Without a question, she lets us in the private entrance. She doesn’t question my request to withdraw the funds, yet I sense her eyes on us as we leave, Ana’s Mom is now ten thousand dollars richer. It’s not a lot of money, but it’s ten thousand dollars from my much-needed savings.

Yet, it was worth losing.

She’s worth it.

Ana has been through so much, fought so hard to get here. She deserves the break. Whatever I can do to help her success, I’ll never hesitate.

“Lovely doing business with you, handsome,” Margaret says pleasantly, stuffing the cash in her purse. She looks up at me, the mirthfulness fading. “Seriously, though. Take care of my daughter.”

I don’t reply. The words on my lips are far from civil. She nods as if she understands. With a shrug, she goes off.

Pivoting, I head to my car. Half an hour before the photoshoot. I need to get going. I reach for my cap in the glove compartment, then slip my glasses on. As I’m tucking my hair under the cap, an SUV comes barging through the entrance, rap music blasting inside.

I note the familiar plates, and as the car screeches to a halt in a parking spot and the driver emerges, a sudden realization dawns on me. I know who ANON’s source is.

Chapter 31

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