He lowered his voice. ‘Do you think people wonder why I don’t have kids?’
Marty puffed out his chest. He thought about how to say it then settled on a truthful, ‘Probably, yes.’
Panic surged. Seeing Michael Benedict at the Romans’ wedding two months ago had freaked him the hell out. When would the old bastard kick the damn bucket? It couldn’t be long now. He’d take the secret with him and finally it would all be over–that day couldn’t come soon enough. In the meantime, it was imperative Cole keep Lana. She was his shield.
A vein became visible in Cole’s temple. Marty knew it was his time to strike.
‘There’s plenty of ways, Cole,’ he said. ‘That’s why I wanted to see you today, talk through the possibilities.’ He chalked his cue.
‘Which are?’
Marty took a deep breath. ‘You must present Lana with this. There’s no way we can do it under wraps, you’ve got to keep her on board.’
Cole’s eyes narrowed. He said nothing.
‘Lana bearing your child will be rewarded handsomely in the contract,’ Marty continued, ‘which, naturally, we would extend for a five-to ten-year period. Her career continues to flourish and she’s a working woman and a fine mother, an inspiration to women everywhere who want to have it all. When the contract terminates, the child remains with you. Lana has regular access but a hectic schedule means you’re the most stable party. You like that, huh? A real family man, Cole; a good father.’
His agent rambled on before Cole could object. ‘This must be a biological child–we’re wasting our time with adoption. Too messy, too passé, and, besides, the point is that everyone thinks the kid’s yours, fruit of your loins and all that.’
Cole grimaced. ‘And how do we go about that?’ he asked, tight-lipped.
A pause. ‘You ever heard of insemination?’
A cold draught passed across the back of Cole’s neck. He laughed in good humour. ‘OK, OK, very good, you got me.’
‘I’m serious.’
‘So am I.’ He lined up the black. ‘It’s preposterous. Lana will never agree to it.’
‘Not at first, but give her time. Let me talk to her–after all, it’ll be my kid she’s carrying.’
Cole straightened, incredulity contorting his features. ‘What did you just say?’
Marty gulped. ‘Well, I–I guessed we’d have to use my—’
‘Explain to me why the hell I wouldn’t do it?’
Marty looked flustered. ‘I just assumed—’
‘You assumed what?’
‘That you couldn’t …’ Marty’s eyes shot to the floor. ‘I didn’t think guys like you could … Look, buddy, I don’t know much about—’
‘You don’t know shit, Marty,’ Cole spat.
Marty nodded dutifully. ‘I don’t know shit.’
Cole spluttered a disgusted laugh. ‘To hell with this insemination plan–I bet you thought you could jump straight into bed with her. This is my wife, Marty. Christ, I haven’t even—’
‘It’s not like that,’ Marty simpered. ‘I just wanted to help. You know I’m the only person who’d do this for you—’
‘Spare me the crap.’ Cole gave his agent a long look. He took the shot. The black dropped neatly into the far pocket.
‘I can do it,’ he said quietly, rolling the cue between his fingers.
Marty waited. He cursed his own stupidity–any other day there’d be a price to pay, but fortunately his client was too preoccupied.
‘I’ve got it covered,’ Marty said eventually. ‘Hear me out.’
Cole sat down. ‘Astonish me.’
‘It’s all about you, Cole, OK? A hundred per cent. We use your …’ Marty looked about him ‘ … your little guys. Lana agrees with the right financial and career incentives. In a year’s time you’re all set: it’s happy families, good-fuckin’-night-John-Boy. You both sign a new contract–I’m the only one with the information, I sign a confidentiality clause. It’s as good as done.’
Cole sat very still, going through the possibilities.
Michael Benedict can rot in hell.
‘Even if I did consider it,’ he said, ‘even if I did, it’s way too risky. Lana’s never going to agree, not in a million years. Soon as I mention anything she’ll go running to Rita Clay.’
‘I wouldn’t be so sure,’ said Marty sagely. ‘Lana knows she’s on to a good thing as Mrs Cole Steel. Security in Hollywood isn’t an easy thing to come by, and that’s not even taking into account what it’ll mean for her moving forward.’ He held his hands up. ‘Just think about it.’
‘I need to think about it,’ echoed Cole, like he hadn’t heard.
‘It’s security for you, too, buddy,’ warned Marty. ‘That’s why I know it’s the perfect plan.’ He waited. ‘But, hey, you think about it all you want, take your time. When you’re ready, you know I’ll be here.’
Sam Lucas celebrated his sixtieth birthday at L’Etoile, an exclusive celebrity hotspot in West Hollywood.
Lana was stunning in a high-necked Valentino dress that showed off her legs and Marc Jacobs heels. The paparazzi were out in frenzy and no sooner had Cole’s security dropped her off than a circus of flashbulbs swooped in like vultures, popping and sparking close to her face. She fought the instinct to shield herself and walked dutifully into the fray, smiling and turning, a routine so familiar that she didn’t have to think about it at all.
L’Etoile was resplendent. The ultimate playground for the Hollywood elite, it was a festival of colour: sleek recliners and straight-backed couches bordered the gleaming wood-stain deck, more for show than comfort, all sewn up in a variety of elaborate, brilliant fabrics; an extravaganza of glass bottles, every kind of liquor you could imagine, lined the walls behind an L-shaped bar, lit from beneath by fluorescent spot bulbs.
Three huge Moulin Rouge-style birdcages hung suspended from the ceiling like pendants.
The place was heaving with Hollywood’s biggest names.
‘Where’s that gorgeous husband of yours tonight?’ asked Lana’s publicist over the noise.
Lana smiled, more with relief that Cole wasn’t there than at Katharine’s flattery. Katharine Elliot was in her forties with a mass of dark hair cut blunt at the chin. She was straight-talking, fast-acting and fiercely good at her job. She was also
