Caitlyn had expected, and when she’d learned this evening that The Folly of the Fury was his favorite book, they’d had a lovely conversation about the importance of the book and character of Rebecca. Mrs. Marshall, though … That had been a slightly uncomfortable moment: although they’d never met at the time, Regina Marshall obviously recognized Caitlyn’s name from before. While she hadn’t been anything other than polite, Caitlyn had the sneaking feeling she was on probation with the regal matriarch of this powerful family.
Which was fine, because Caitlyn had no intention of screwing this up.
She had way too much on the line.
CHAPTER TWO
CAIT was acting strangely, which didn’t make sense—or bode well for future work on Folly.
He’d sought her out tonight intentionally, wanting to get a clear-eyed assessment of who she was these days and whether or not she was going to make filming a personal hell for him. Dolby was the one who’d pointed him toward the terrace. The scene he’d walked in on, though …
He’d recognized the situation immediately for what it was, but hadn’t known it was Cait until she’d had the man on his knees crying for mercy. He’d recognized her voice before the man even said her name—he’d had that irritated, clipped tone directed at him too many times to forget it. Then the details had hit him all at once: that coppery-blond hair that had kept hairdressers in business recreating the color on an entire generation of women, those long legs showcased by her signature stilettos, even the newly acquired curve of her hips that showed she wasn’t starving herself anymore to fit the starlet mold.
The shock of seeing her had delayed his reaction time, and it had been over before he’d recovered. That was bad enough, but his physical reaction at seeing Cait again didn’t sit well on top of everything else, and he’d let his anger loose on her. It was only his pride that had had him pulling it together to carry on a normal conversation.
Because he was not going to let Cait wreak her special blend of havoc on his life again. He’d learned his lesson there. He would keep this casual and professional if it killed him. He could be the bigger person.
“Are you ready to go back in?”
Cait seemed to be thinking very hard about a seemingly simple question. Finally, she shook her head. “Not just yet. I think I need another minute to cool down some and get myself together.”
“It might have been fun to watch you break his fingers, though.”
She seemed to consider that. “No. There are too many witnesses in there, too many cameras.” She shrugged casually, but there was a wry smile of resignation on her face. “I don’t need that kind of publicity this soon. Plus, it’s tacky to start a fistfight at a cocktail party. Believe it or not, I was raised better than that.”
At least her humor seemed to be returning. It was a longstanding joke between them: was the child of Hollywood royalty expected to behave better or worse than a child from political royalty? Using only the tabloids as their judge and jury, they’d never been able to come to a definitive answer as to how high or low the expectations really were.
And they’d certainly tested those expectations. Repeatedly.
He couldn’t help but smile at the memory. “I could hit him for you.”
She wrinkled her nose. “That’s kind of you—and tempting—but I’m going to think positive thoughts that he’s learned his lesson. The funny thing is that I think that might have been more about my folks than me. He seemed pretty interested in their political leanings and pet causes.”
He understood now. Cait’s connections—and all that Hollywood money—could be very valuable to an aspiring politician, and that guy had “congressional wannabe” written all over him. “Welcome back to the business.”
She shot him a pissy look. “I never totally left, you know. Just because I haven’t been working in Hollywood, it doesn’t mean I haven’t been working.”
“On the stage. It’s hardly the same thing.”
Her eyes narrowed. “Don’t start. I’m not going to get into that argument with you.” She seemed to catch herself and her face cleared, and a wickedly innocent smile took the place of irritation. “But I’m rather flattered to hear that you’ve been keeping up with my career. That’s rather sweet. I had no idea you cared.”
Her tone rankled. There was no way he was going to let her go there. “Just because I wasn’t consulted before you were brought on board, don’t think for a second that I haven’t verified you can actually pull this off. This film is my responsibility, and Rebecca falls outside your known range.”
Cait’s jaw tightened. Oh, he’d hit a nerve with that one.
She recovered quickly, though. She always did. She stood and stepped away from the bench before turning on him. “You know, if you spent more time actually working, and less time playing beach blanket bingo in Europe, you might not have to find out what’s happening with your own projects after the fact.”
The disdain in her voice chased off any desire he’d had to play nice. Where did Cait get off acting all high and mighty? “So you’ve been keeping up with my love life? That’s kind of … sad, actually.”
“Oh, please. Would you get over yourself? The last thing I care about is who you’re sleeping with now. I’m here for one reason and one reason only. I want my career back.”
He started to answer, but stopped short as a thought crystallized. Cait had been out of the spotlight for years; she wasn’t exactly a hot commodity at the moment—famous parents or not. Folly was a great place to prove her skills, but it wouldn’t do much to restore her to the fame and glory she’d once called her “birthright.” Hadn’t he and Dolby just discussed the headline possibilities today? A bad feeling crept over him. Maybe that was part of her plan. What better way to make the cover of every magazine and have her name on everyone’s lips than to work that very Finn-and-Caitlyn angle he’d just laid plans to avoid.
“Oh, I don’t know about that. It seems like a hell of a good way to make your comeback with a bang, doesn’t it?”
He hadn’t thought it would be possible for Cait to get any stiffer, but she did. With her arms crossed over her chest, she lifted her chin again until she was practically looking down her nose at him—something she could only do while he was seated.
“What exactly do you mean by that?”
“Being within fifty feet of me assures you every headline you want, doesn’t it?” With a casualness he didn’t really feel, but would grate on Cait’s nerves regardless, he leaned back against the railing and stacked his hands behind his head. “Once upon a time, you claimed I was good for your Q Score. Looking for a second bite of the apple, Caity?”
Her eyes narrowed. “Your ego is simply unbelievable, Finn. Believe it or not, this is not about you. In fact, the very last thing I need—or want—is the kind of headlines you bring. I’ve grown up, worked damn hard to improve my craft and cleaned up my image. I take my job seriously.” She eyed him with something he could only call distaste. “Since you can’t say the same, why don’t you just go back to Monaco until this is in the can? That would be very helpful for my comeback.”
Oh,
