Model Boyfriend

  So the only pictures that the papparazzi took were of two friends looking happy to see each other.

  Stop the press.

  FOR TEN DAYS, Anna and Nick were engulfed by the media storm, the wave of lies from Molly and Roy Greenside battering at them. But this time, they were together, and that made all the difference.

  Anna and Nick would have preferred to be in their own home, but they both knew that the best defence was to be seen out together looking happy, looking like a couple in love.

  Brendan arranged for them to be seen having lunch at The Palomar, walking the red carpet at a charity film premiere in Leicester Square, and entering Annabel’s nightclub in Mayfair. They stayed for ten minutes then left by the backdoor.

  But just when it seemed the storm was abating, fresh accusations emerged.

  The Rugby Rocket in Addiction Shock

  Renshaw in Rehab

  “Oh my God! Look at the lies these assholes are printing now!” Anna raged, waving a pile of tabloid newspapers. “You can’t let this go, Nick. You need to put out a statement refuting it all. How dare they write this crap about you!”

  Nick’s heart sank as he turned his eyes to the newspapers that Anna slapped down onto the tiny table provided by the hotel.

  He read the headlines without comment, then turned to the main part of the story.

  Nick Renshaw has an addiction to prescription painkillers, says a source close to the former England Rugby Ace. It’s rumoured that the addiction began after career-ending surgery to a torn rotator cuff in his shoulder. Friends of the star are concerned for his health, and suggest that his sudden return from New York where he had been developing a successful modelling career shows that his addiction is spiraling.

  Figures supplied by the NHS report that one in eleven patients has been prescribed a potentially addictive drug in the last year. TV star and presenter of ‘Britain’s Got Talent’, Ant McPartlin, recently completed rehab for his addiction to prescription painkillers and a conviction for drink driving.

  The Priory is a well-known celebrity rehab centre, but offered a ‘no comment’ about whether Nick Renshaw has been a client when approached by our award-winning journalist…

  Nick tossed the paper aside without finishing. The web of half-truths and downright lies seemed damning, but what killed him was Anna’s certainty that it was all made up.

  He looked into her dark eyes, blazing with fury on his behalf, and he swallowed the lump in his throat.

  “I’ve been taking tramadol,” he said bluntly. “Pretty much every day since my shoulder surgery.”

  Anna’s mouth dropped open.

  “But … but that was over a year ago?”

  “Yeah.”

  She took a shaky breath and sat opposite him heavily.

  “Nick, are you saying … is this true?” and she pointed a trembling finger at the newspapers.

  Nick pushed his hands through his uncombed tangle of hair.

  “I’m not an addict,” he said defensively. “My shoulder has taken a long time to heal. I still get pain … I’ve been cutting down recently.”

  Anna seemed close to tears.

  “You never said. I didn’t know. I thought the pain was manageable. But Nick, tramadol is an opioid, it’s addictive.”

  He grimaced but didn’t answer.

  “How much do you take?”

  “One pill, sometimes two.”

  Anna swallowed.

  “So, between 25mg and 50mg?”

  “Yeah.”

  “That’s … not so bad. We can deal with that.” She closed her eyes. “God, I’m so sorry!”

  Nick blinked.

  “Why are you sorry? It’s me that … it’s not your fault.”

  Her eyes glistened and she scrubbed at her face impatiently.

  “Jesus, I’m a trained sports psychologist and I didn’t even notice my own fiancé was taking tramadol every day! I’ve been so sure that you were doing better, that you weren’t depressed anymore. God, I’ve missed you so much, so much every long, pointless day, and I didn’t say anything because I thought you were doing better without me, when all this time you’ve been struggling. So many times I wanted to beg you to come home, but I didn’t. I wouldn’t! Oh my God! I’m supposed to be the one who’s a professional communicator! I couldn’t help you! I couldn’t help myself! It’s all a lie!”

  Nick’s throat burned as he listened to her bitterness and hurt, her shame and disappointment. She’d missed him, she’d wanted him to come home. But she’d never told him how she felt. And he’d never asked.

  He grabbed her arms and pulled her into his lap.

  “Anna, my Anna, I’m sorry. I’ve let you down. I’ve let myself down. New York was so hard without you. I missed you every day and I should have told you, but I needed to do it on my own. I’ve fucked this up so badly.”

  Anna’s shoulders shook as she fought her tears.

  “I love you,” she gulped. “So much. Let me help you. I can help you.”

  Nick nodded wordlessly, and held her trembling body against his.

  The next few days were tough for Nick and Anna. A giant wedge of doubt stood between them, and building back the trust was hard.

  Anna put together a plan to help end Nick’s reliance on tramadol gradually, and he promised he’d see the surgeon who performed the operation to check that there were no underlying issues.

  She also emptied the medicine cabinet of all painkillers.

  Molly got her tits out for page three of The Sun and told everyone who’d listen about her new book. Unfortunately for Nick, all the recent publicity had been a godsend to her publishers and they were rushing the book into publication the following month. It looked like it would be a bestseller after all.

  More seriously, the publishers were suing both Adrienne’s agency and Nick personally for £175,000—each.

  “Can they do that?” Brendan asked incredulously. “Well, of course they can, they have. But do they have any chance of winning? At all?”

  After nearly two weeks of being front page news, Anna and Nick were finally sitting at their kitchen table together for the first time in too long, trying to piece together a strategy with wily old Mark Lipman.

  Their story had been knocked off the front pages by speculation that Meghan Markle was pregnant. Anna had some sympathy for her—she’d probably just been eating too many afternoon cream teas with the Queen at Windsor Castle and now everyone thought she was … what was the expression? Up the duff.

  Mark Lipman’s voice came over the speakerphone.

  “They do have a case because you walked out of a job that you’d been paid for. The fact that you’ve paid the money back is neither here nor there. Even though it was all underhand, there was nothing illegal about what they did.”

  “Bastards,” Nick muttered under his breath.

  “Agreed,” sighed Mark, as Anna reached across and held Nick’s hand. “But they do have a case since costs were incurred with flights, hotel bills, studio hire, other expenses, having to schedule a re-shoot etc. etc. But I doubt that would come to more than, say, £25,000 or £30,000. They’re also trying to put a figure on lost sales because of the delay but that’s a more tenuous claim. What I find remarkable is that a publisher would pay out for all of those expenses in the first place. These people keep a tight rein on their budgets—how can they afford to fund a photoshoot in the States? It doesn’t add up.” He sighed. “And don’t forget, Ms. Catalano’s agency is in the firing line, too. She could quite rightly sue you for her costs as well as loss of reputation.”

  “Bloody hell!” Nick put his head in his hands. “Is there anything we can do?”

  There was a short silence while Anna exchanged a worried look with Brendan.

  Anna knew that he had invested in property, but Nick had very little in the way of liquid assets, and if he ended up having to pay out hundreds of thousands of pounds, they could end up losing their home.

  “Well,” said Mark, at l
ast, his voice thoughtful, “you could counter sue: the legal terminology is ‘intentional infliction of emotional distress’. You’d have a low to reasonable chance of a positive outcome since most of the four key criteria are met: did Molly and Roy Greenside act intentionally or recklessly—yes; was their conduct extreme and outrageous—probably not; were their actions the cause of the distress—yes; did the plaintiff, you Nick, suffer severe emotional distress due to defendant’s conduct?”

  Nick nodded, cutting a glance at Anna.

  Mark’s voice cut in again.

  “The ‘severe’ part is more of a stretch and it’s possible, likely even, that a judge would dismiss it. But it might just make the publishers reconsider their position since any sort of litigation is expensive, and the indication that you’ll fight them will definitely give them pause for thought. But let me ask you this: do you really want to drag everything through another court case which will give them more publicity for their damned book?”

  Anna frowned.

  “Can we stop the book being published?”

  “Unlikely, not impossible. My advice would be not to bother. We already know it’ll be a carefully constructed web of half-truths. The more you fight it, the more grist you give to their mill of lies.” Mark cleared his throat. “Kenny Johnson contacted me last week. Molly had approached him to be part of the story—he turned her down. He wanted you to know that.”

  Anna and Brendan both turned to stare at Nick, waiting for his reaction.

  “I’m not letting that lying bitch win this,” he said, his voice flat.

  “Then counter sue,” Mark repeated. “Best case scenario, they drop the whole thing and you can do the same. You really don’t want to go back in a court, Nick. That b— witch will rake up every bit of dirt she can find.”

  “And the worst case scenario?” Anna said quietly.

  There was a long pause.

  “They win their case; you lose yours; you pay costs for both. But I don’t think it’ll come to that. If I did, I’d advise you to pay up now. Look, I’ll set up a meeting with the legal team I’ve used in cases like this. Listen to what they have to say; let them advise you.” He cleared his throat. “I suggest you liquidate some assets now if you want to fight this case—you don’t want this hanging over you, possibly for years. You’ll need the money, son.”

  Later that night after Brendan had gone to his own home, Nick and Anna were in bed together. Nick stretched out, his large frame taking up more room than Anna was used to. While he’d been away, she’d been sleeping in the starfish position. Now she was draped across him, her head resting on his chest, listening to the steady beating of his heart, feeling reassured by the deep rhythm.

  There was so much to say, but she didn’t want to break this moment of stillness, a few stolen seconds of peace in the whirlwind of the last few days.

  “What are you thinking about?” she asked after several minutes had passed, her voice soft and thoughtful.

  “I’ll have to sell the houses in Lewisham.”

  Anna sighed.

  “Both of them?”

  “I’m going to need the money,” he said stiffly.

  Anna craned her neck to look up at him.

  “Honey, there’s no guarantee the case will get to court.”

  Nick grimaced.

  “You know that Molly is a vindictive bitch—I just didn’t realise what a nutter she is, too. She’ll want the publicity alright.”

  “True, but the publisher won’t want to fight a court case—they’re too unpredictable. Right now, they’re going along with this for the publicity. But I seriously doubt that they’ll want to be taken to court. Once you counter sue, that will make them sit up and consider their assets. They’ll settle for costs, which will only be a few thousand. Hell, they’ll have made more than that in advance sales of their awful book,” and she huffed with annoyance.

  “Maybe,” Nick said grimly, “but you heard Mark: worst case scenario, this could ruin me.”

  A cold seam of ice penetrated Anna’s veins, and she sat upright in bed.

  “We’re in this together, Nick. Whatever happens, it happens to both of us. To us. You’re not alone in this.”

  “Yeah, well, it’s me she’s suing,” he growled, turning on his side. “Not you.”

  He flicked off the light switch and the room plunged into darkness.

  Tears pricked Anna’s eyes, but she refused to let them fall.

  She curled her body around his, resting her hand on his hip. But he didn’t move, didn’t respond, and eventually, he fell asleep.

  Anna laid awake, fear burrowing deep inside.

  NICK READ THE email from his old teammate again. It was almost too good to be true, and would certainly be the answer to his immediate problems: it would get him out of London, and also pay him enough money that he wouldn’t have to sell either of the properties in Lewisham, at least not immediately. It bought him time.

  Although it meant leaving Anna again.

  Nick rubbed his forehead. But she’d understand—he knew that she’d been worried about the money for the court case, as well.

  The relief he felt at the opportunity to earn some money was overwhelming.

  He’d tell her the good news when she came home.

  IN ANOTHER PART of London, Anna was reeling. Both meetings she’d had that day had knocked her sideways.

  Brendan was bouncing up and down with excitement.

  “Oh my God! This is huge! Immense! Vast! This is just what we’ve been waiting for, Annie! And if you want to do any features on gorgeous gay men in London … well, naturally, you couldn’t do better than me!” He flung his arms around her and squeezed tightly. “This is so exciting!” Then he leaned back and examined her face. “Wait, am I the only one excited here?”

  “No, no, really,” she said weakly. “I am excited.”

  Brendan wasn’t convinced and raised his eyebrow questioningly.

  “Uh-huh. You look like you just realized that you’re wearing someone else’s week-old knickers and the Vicar’s Shih Tzu peed in your herbal tea. What is going on with you?”

  Anna choked on a giggle and then started to laugh. And once she started, she couldn’t stop. Soon she was howling and snorting, her eyes watering and her mascara running, and Brendan’s eyebrows had shot up so high, they seemed as though they were trying to crawl off his forehead altogether.

  “Oh my God, you’re on drugs,” he gasped, passing her a paper napkin so she could wipe her streaming eyes.

  People were turning to stare at them in the Soho coffee shop.

  Brendan turned around and snapped at the gawkers.

  “Haven’t you seen a woman wet herself laughing before?”

  That set Anna off again, and even Brendan managed a reluctant grin.

  “Do you mind telling me what we’re laughing at?” he said, leaning forward and dropping his voice to a whisper that could be heard two tables away.

  Anna wiped her eyes then blew her nose.

  “Sorry, I’m sorry. It’s just … wow, life, you know?”

  Brendan narrowed his gaze at her.

  “So you’re not on drugs? Hmm, maybe you should be because you’re acting schizo. And since when do you drink herbal tea, by the way?”

  Anna sat up straight and attempted to smooth down her hair. Her laughing jag had left her feeling exhausted.

  “I just thought I’d try something healthy,” she said.

  Brendan leaned back in his chair and pinned her with a determined stare.

  “How long have we known each other?”

  Anna was taken aback by the conversation’s change of direction.

  “Gosh, since I came to London.”

  “And would you say that we know each other well?”

  Anna blinked, surprised by Brendan’s sudden seriousness.

  “Well, yes, I would.”

  Brendan folded his arms.

  “So why are you lying to me?”

  Anna winced. br />
  “Bren…”

  It was the hurt look on his face that unravelled her.

  “Bren, I … I’m sorry. It’s been a really weird couple of weeks.”

  His glare softened.

  “I know. But you can talk to me, Annie. God, you know that. Why aren’t we celebrating? You’ve been asked to be one of the anchors on the most-watched daytime show for women in Britain. Loose Women’s viewing figures are up 7% on last year. The audience spiked 13% when you were on the show before. Apart from anything else, it’ll be a giant fuck-you to Mouldy McKinney. Wait, you’re not going to turn this down, are you?”

  “I’ll have to think about it.”

  “No.”

  “Excuse me?”

  “No, you don’t have to think about it—you have to tell me what is going through your stubborn little noggin.”

  Anna sighed.

  “Okay, but you can’t tell anyone. Especially Nick.”

  Brendan’s mouth dropped open.

  “Are you having an affair?” he hissed.

  “No! God, no! Why would you even … you know what, never mind. No, I’m not having an affair. I’m pregnant.”

  Brendan’s mouth dropped open, then he stood up and screamed.

  “I’M GOING TO BE AN AUNTIE!”

  “Brendan!”

  He swooped down and pulled her into his arms, hugging her tightly.

  “My little Anna-banana has a bun in the oven! You’re going to be a mommy! Oh my God! I’m so happy I could cry!”

  And when he finally let Anna sink back into her seat, he really did have tears in his eyes.

  Several people in the coffee shop clapped and offered their congratulations. Anna blushed, cringed and thanked them politely.

  Finally, after taking a bow, Brendan returned to his chair, wiping a hand dramatically across his forehead.

  “A little notice next time you want to drop a bombshell on me, please.”

  Anna smiled sarcastically.

  “Next time I find out I’m pregnant and get offered a major TV show in the same day, I’ll text you.”

  “Fun-ee. Now, what does the Mr. Ruggedly-Handsome-Rugby-Romeo say about all of this?”