Taylor. She hadn’t even been sure she could access the real Taylor any more until that moment in the maze with Luca.
Pushing that thought aside, she stepped out of the car, telling herself that the media attention would die down after the first day of filming.
Her confidence lasted as long as it took her to notice the black expression on the director’s face. She’d assumed he was meeting her in person out of courtesy and respect for her position on the movie, but one look at his face told her that was a false assumption.
It was a struggle to keep her smile steady. ‘Sorry about the media circus. Hopefully they’ll lose interest soon enough.’
‘Why would they lose interest when you are a never-ending source of juicy stories?’ His voice was cold. ‘Your brief was to create interest in the movie, not in your personal life. The moment Santo told me he wanted you on the project I knew it would be a disaster.’
‘Oh.’ Shaken by that unwelcome news, Taylor spun a few more layers of protection between her feelings and the world and kept it professional. ‘I’d like to think you’d judge me on my performance now, not on something that happened years ago.’
‘The whole world is judging you on your performance at the Corretti wedding.’ His face was scarlet with anger and for the first time Taylor noticed the newspaper clutched in his hand.
‘The wedding never happened, but even I couldn’t be blamed for that, surely?’ Confused, she eyed the newspaper. Did people even still buy those things? If she ever wanted to glance at headlines she just used her phone. ‘If you’re worried about the fact the wedding didn’t go ahead, then don’t be. I’m sure Santo Corretti will deal with it. The publicity might even be good for the film.’
His mouth opened and closed. ‘“Good” that the movie-going public see you as a man-stealer?’
She looked at him blankly. ‘A what?’
‘Just in case you were too drunk to know what you were doing, you can read it for yourself.’
Taylor almost lost her balance as he thrust the paper at her. ‘I don’t drink. And I remember everything.’ An image of Luca’s handsome face floated into her head and she pushed it away as she fumbled with the newspaper.
‘Portia Bateman.’ He enunciated every syllable. ‘Are you going to tell me that name doesn’t mean anything to you?’
‘Yes, that’s exactly what I’m going to tell you because it doesn’t. I’ve never heard of Portia Bateman.’ Taylor’s mind was working in slow motion. Her fingers were clumsy as she unfolded the offending paper. ‘In fact, I don’t know a single person called Portia—’ The words stuck in her mouth as a snippet of conversation rose in her mind.
So who is this woman you’re hiding from?
Apparently her name is Portia.
Driven by a horrible, awful suspicion, she shook her head. ‘Oh, no, no, she can’t have done that. I checked. I looked…’ She muttered the words to herself but the director was watching her keenly.
‘So you do know someone called Portia.’
‘No, I don’t! I’ve never even met her. She’s just someone he…’ She scanned the piece, saw the photograph of a tearful blonde woman under the caption Exclusive—Taylor Carmichael Stole My Man. And there beneath the caption was a photograph of her and Luca. His bronzed hand was plastered against her bare thigh and they were kissing. Not just kissing. Devouring each other. Passion was painted into every line of the photo and she stared at it in dismay.
Her fingers gripped the paper.
The sounds faded around her.
Dizziness washed over her.
She’d congratulated herself on the fact that no paparazzi had caught her moment of indiscretion. She’d forgotten that since the advent of camera phones, everyone was a photographer. And this one had hit the jackpot.
Bathed in horror, Taylor closed her eyes. This couldn’t be happening to her. It just couldn’t be. She couldn’t think through the panic. ‘Why did she wait a day to publish this?’
‘She says she offered Luca Corretti the chance to buy the photograph but he just laughed and told her to go ahead and sell whatever story she wanted to print. So she did. She sold her story to the highest bidder.’
He’d laughed?
Taylor felt cold.
What had she done?
The answer to that was nothing, but no one looking at this photograph was going to believe that. She’d dropped her guard for a few moments, that was all, and this was the result.
Keeping her expression neutral, she handed the newspaper back to the glowering director. She wanted to wake up and start the day again. She wanted to wind the clock back. She wanted to never have gone to that damn wedding. Most of all she wanted to kick Luca Corretti in a place that would ensure he’d never seduce a woman again.
‘I understand your concerns and I realise that the story looks bad, but I’m asking you to trust me. This piece isn’t—’ how on earth could she even begin to justify it in a way that would change his expression from sour to sympathetic? ‘—accurate. Please judge me on my acting ability, not the media circus that follows me.’
‘You think that pack of journalists are interested in your acting ability? Your movie comeback is over before it began. Santo Corretti is on his way here now and I can tell you he is not amused. After that wedding fiasco he isn’t in the best of moods as it is and this project means a lot to him. He doesn’t want it hijacked by your never-ending need to grab the headlines.’
He wasn’t interested in an explanation, Taylor thought numbly. The truth wasn’t going to help and a small part of her couldn’t even blame him for that because the picture did look incriminating. It had just been a kiss. Other people kissed all the time and did a whole lot worse and no one knew or cared. She slipped for one moment and the evidence was plastered everywhere and she had her mother to thank for that. She’d ensured the media had been fed a steady diet of Taylor Carmichael from the first moment she’d stuck her child in front of the camera.
Taylor wondered if Luca had even seen the pictures.
He’d probably laugh, she thought bitterly. It wasn’t his naked thigh that was up there for the world to see. It wasn’t his career that was ruined. Even if the board refused to give him more responsibility, he still had the fashion house. And anyway, he didn’t appear to care what the world thought of him. In fact, he seemed to behave in a way designed to invite and encourage salacious headlines.
‘I can tell you that Luca Corretti isn’t involved with that woman. It’s a kiss and tell. He rejected her and she’s getting her revenge.’
‘So you’re trying to tell me that picture is Photoshopped?’
‘No, but—’
‘It’s not you he’s kissing?’
‘Yes, it’s me, but—’
‘It’s not your dress that’s
