Entangled Hearts Page 2

  She needed her twin. Kenya would be able to calm her frayed nerves and offer her some words of wisdom. Kenya had always been the levelheaded one, and Chynna prayed today would be no different. She rushed back inside, grabbed her iPhone and threw herself down on the king-sized, four-poster canopy bed in her master bedroom.

  Chynna dialed Kenya’s cell, praying her sister would pick up.

  “Hello.”

  “It’s me.”

  “Chynna, how are you, twinie?” Kenya said. At the euphemism that only Kenya used, Chynna smiled, and instantly, her heart softened.

  “Hey, twinie.”

  “I suppose you’re calling because of the press?” Kenya surmised.

  “Am I that obvious?”

  “Uh, yeah.” Kenya laughed heartily into the phone. “I know you better than anyone else and your face, our face, is all over TV and the Internet. People in the grocery store were giving me the stank eye. An old lady came up to me today while I was standing in line paying for my purchases and hit me with her handbag and told me ‘Shame on you.’”

  Chynna sighed. “I am so sorry, sis, to put you in the middle of this.”

  “Yeah, well, people sometimes forget that you have an identical twin,” Kenya replied. “I guess when you’re on a small-time TV show that no one watches, you’re invisible.” She laughed bitterly.

  “But it’s such a good show,” Chynna said.

  “That no one is watching,” Kenya repeated. “But enough about me. How the hell did you get yourself into this mess?”

  “It’s stupid, really,” Chynna said. “I was talking with Blake and lamenting how bad I was at acting, and he tried to comfort me.”

  “You don’t say?”

  “Don’t be sarcastic. It doesn’t suit you,” Chynna returned. “Anyway, here I was all down-and-out, and he plants a kiss on me that the paparazzi just happened to catch on film.”

  “Oh Lord, so what are you going to do?”

  “Lay low,” Chynna replied, “until the heat dies down.”

  “As if that’s possible, Chynna. You’re the most well-known singer in the country right now. Your last five singles have hit number one on the Billboard charts. Everyone knows you.”

  “Doesn’t matter,” Chynna said, sitting up quickly on her bed. “I have to get out of Dodge and quick. I was thinking about going to that spa you wanted to go to last year for our birthday that I had to bail on.”

  “I don’t know,” Kenya said skittishly.

  Chynna could completely understand. She’d felt terrible about canceling their birthday plans for a last-minute gig on the Oscars. Their first-choice singer turned up ill, and Eli and even Lucas had insisted she perform. “This is a great opportunity to cement yourself as here to stay. You have to strike while the iron is hot and take your fifteen minutes of fame,” Lucas had said.

  Chynna wanted more than fifteen minutes. She wanted a long career like Whitney or Mariah. So she’d canceled the day before she and Kenya were due to meet at Canyon Ranch spa in Arizona. Kenya had been furious with her and hadn’t spoken to her for weeks, even after Chynna had sent her the new Louis Vuitton purse and matching luggage. Kenya had returned it unopened and told her she couldn’t buy her forgiveness.

  “I promise this won’t be like before,” Chynna pleaded.

  “Don’t make promises you can’t keep,” Kenya replied tartly.

  Her words stung, but Chynna took them in stride. “And you’re right, but I’m telling you, twinie, I can’t take this. My house is besieged. They’re probably going through my garbage as we speak, trying to find some evidence of a supposed affair, and if they can’t find that, they’ll fabricate it. I need you, Kenya.”

  Kenya must have heard the desperation in Chynna’s voice because she relented. “Alright, alright,” she said. “I’ll come with you. When do we leave?”

  “I don’t think this is a wise decision,” Deacon said later that day when Chynna informed him of her decision as she packed her Louis Vuitton suitcases. “I think you need to stay in town and fight. You need to meet with Oprah or sit down with one of the morning shows and tell your side of things before this story spirals out of control.”

  “I agree with Deacon on this,” Chynna’s publicist, Fiona, said. “We’re in major damage control.”

  Fiona was a slender redhead with brilliant blue eyes. She wore nothing but designer suits and had a fetish for Louboutin shoes and Brighton jewelry. She might seem unassuming at first glance, but when pushed, Fiona was a barracuda.

  “Chynna, you know I’m not just your manager, but your friend, and this is serious,” Deacon started. “You’re in the middle of your first movie role that hasn’t even started filming yet. If you get caught in the middle of a scandal, they could rescind the offer.”

  Chynna’s eyes grew large with fear. “You really think they would do that?”

  “Image is everything in this town,” Fiona said, backing up Deacon. “Some celebs have survived the scandal, but many others never recover.”

  “And you have a morals clause in your contract,” Deacon added. “And we had to fight awfully hard to get you the role over other actresses.”

  Chynna read between the lines of what Deacon wasn’t saying. “You mean better actresses,” she stated.

  Deacon shrugged.

  Chynna couldn’t be angry with him. From the beginning of their professional relationship, she’d always asked Deacon to be honest with her—brutally honest. And Deacon always did exactly that. He was right about her acting, but that didn’t mean she didn’t have to like it. “You may be right,” she finally said, “but I’ve made my decision.”

  “What about the record label?” Deacon asked. “What do you suggest I tell them?”

  “Nothing.”

  “Excuse me?” Deacon peered at her.

  “You heard right,” Chynna replied. “You work for me not them. I don’t want them to know where I’m at. When this blows over in a couple of weeks, I’ll come back and do as you suggest.”

  “Lucas will not be happy about this.”

  Chynna thought about the gorgeous music mogul and hated doing anything that would hinder her ultimate goal of being in his bed and on his arm. “I don’t care, but you reveal my whereabouts to no one, including Lucas.”

  Two hundred miles from Los Angeles in Tucson, Arizona, Noah Hart stared into the eyes of a stubborn Egyptian Arabian horse at his family’s ranch. He’d been trying to tame the thoroughbred for weeks with no success. He reminded Noah of another stubborn female, Maya, the love of his life.

  They’d met in the sixth grade when he’d walked her home from school after several boys teased her about being too much of a tomboy. Maya had loved doing anything a boy her age would and hadn’t been afraid to show it. He’d always loved her fire and her spirit. She’d been ready to take on the three boys who’d teased her about not being able to spit or throw a fastball as fast as they did, but lucky for her, Noah had stepped in.

  Maya hadn’t been happy about the interference, just as this damn horse was not happy about being led by the bridle in Noah’s hands. “I don’t need you to fight my battles” she’d said. “I can take care of myself.”

  “Sure you could,” he’d countered. “But it’s always nice to have backup.” She’d captured his heart and he’d been besotted with her until the day she died in a car accident that also claimed their unborn child.

  Now, he stood ready for battle, ready to do anything to get this stubborn horse to conform.

  “Noah, leave that horse be,” his sister, Rylee, said with a slight Southern drawl from the other side of the fence she was perched on. “He’ll come to you when he’s good and ready.”

  “Stay out of this, Rylee. I can handle him,” he yelled over his back.

  “Who’s the vet in this scenario?” she responded tartly, reminding him that sh
e had a degree in veterinarian medicine from Texas A & M University. But so what he didn’t have some fancy degree? He’d been working on the ranch since he was waist-high, following their father, Isaac, around, and learning the cattle and oil business. So there was nothing he didn’t know about animals that Rylee could tell him, no matter how well- intentioned.

  “That may very well be the case, doc, but I’ve got this. Why don’t you go on and take care of that cow that’s about to give birth to twin calves?”

  “Humph.” He heard Rylee’s comment as he dismissed her concerns, but she rightly knew when to press an issue and when to leave him alone.

  It had been two years since Maya died, but Noah’s nerves were still raw and testy. He couldn’t believe God could be so cruel to take away the two things he loved more than anything or anyone in this world, save for his family and the ranch. It seemed like a cruel twist of fate to learn he’d lost Maya to brain death and that the baby’s chances of making it to term were slim to none.

  She’d been five months pregnant, and a fetus needed to be at least six months for any chance of survival outside the womb. The doctors had indicated they couldn’t deliver the baby because it wouldn’t survive. They’d kept Maya on ventilators for a week before she succumbed to her injuries and passed away just shy of six months when their son could have survived.

  It had broken Noah’s heart to lose them both, and he had yet to recover. He wondered if he would ever love another woman again.

  Chapter 2

  Packing her suitcase inside her brownstone on Sunday, Kenya had mixed reservations about meeting her twin at the Canyon Ranch spa. On countless occasions, she’d been there, done that with Chynna, planning something that would fall-through.

  Ever since they were little, Chynna had always outshone her. Even when they were born, Kenya had come first, easy breezy for their mother. Then Chynna, as always, had to make a special entrance and come out breach, causing much anxiety for their parents and the doctor. It had been touch-and-go for a moment, and the doctors hadn’t been sure they could save Chynna, but out she’d finally come, stealing Kenya’s thunder even as a baby. Her parents had forgotten all about their eldest girl because she was coddled comfortably in a blanket by the nurse. They had focused their attention on the wailing new baby girl who demanded their attention. And that had just been the beginning.

  When they were babies and toddlers, Chynna had always wanted to be the center of everything. She’d cry longer and louder than Kenya, who, according to their mother, would eventually cry herself to sleep, but not Chynna. She would cry until their mother had no choice but to pick up her screaming infant if only to pacify her. And so Kenya’s life of being in Chynna’s shadow had started.

  It had been subtle at first. Chynna refused to be dressed in the same outfit as Kenya, determined to carve out an identity for herself even then. Later, as they grew up, it had become more apparent, especially when their father had left their mother for another woman. Their mother had been devastated, but she’d rose above it to ensure Kenya and Chynna always had a roof over their heads and clothes on their backs. And well, when Chynna wanted signing lessons, she got them. Whatever Chynna wanted, she got. The only time Kenya had asked for anything was when she’d realized she’d had a knack for acting. Becoming someone else had been an escape for her. She could forget being ignored by all the boys who loved Chynna and never seemed to pay any attention to her even though they shared the same face.

  Acting was a respite from feeling undervalued. Being in school plays had allowed Kenya to be in the spotlight for the first time in her life. Why? Because as luck would have it, Chynna was a gifted singer. She had the voice of an angel and didn’t waste an opportunity to be seen or heard. Kenya, meanwhile, toiled at her craft, going to NYU and studying acting. Her mother had hated to see Kenya go, but she was too focused on going on the road with Chynna to mind Kenya much.

  At NYU, Kenya had flourished, finally coming out of Chynna’s shadow to see herself as she was: a damned good actress and wouldn’t you know it, a good singer too. No one knew that she could hold a note, much less belt out a song, but it wasn’t Kenya’s true calling. Instead, she’d worked on getting bit parts in Off-Broadway shows, then Broadway itself, until an agent who said she was made for television had discovered her. Kenya had preferred the quirkiness of New York to the superficiality of L.A., but her agent had insisted she try out for several pilots. It took a year and then some, but after toiling as a waitress, she’d finally managed to land a spot on a great cable TV series which just so happened to shoot in New York, her favorite place.

  It was the best of both worlds for Kenya. She would finally be able to do what she loved and get paid for it. The press on their show had been phenomenal, and she’d received rave reviews for her role over the last two years; but the show languished in the bottom of the ratings. Kenya wasn’t sure how long the show would go on, but she would keep trying.

  A buzzing doorbell awoke Kenya out of her reverie. She rushed over to press down on the intercom button. “Hello?”

  “You called for a limo?” a masculine voice said on the other end.

  “Be right down.” Of course Chynna had arranged for her to travel in style. Kenya should have expected nothing less.

  Kenya walked on top of her overstuffed suitcase and snapped it shut. She sure hoped she had enough clothes, but even if she didn’t, knowing Chynna, shopping would be inevitable.

  She grabbed her suitcase handle, her over-sized carry-on purse that held her magazines, her iPad, and the script of her next episodes she would film after the winter hiatus, and then headed toward the door. “See you soon,” she said to her eclectic apartment in downtown SoHo as she turned off the lights.

  When Kenya arrived in Arizona, she was surprised at how alert she was, given the seven-hour flight and connection between New York and Tucson International Airport. But then again, she’d sat in first class both ways, in an oversized, reclining seat, watched a movie, and had as many glasses of Chardonnay that she could possibly drink, thanks to the over-attentive stewardess. This was the best part of meeting Chynna: She always made sure Kenya flew first class.

  Exiting the terminal after finding her luggage at baggage claim, she found a liveried driver holding a sign that read “JAMES.” Must be me, she thought and headed in his direction.

  “Kenya James?” he asked when she approached.

  “One in the same.”

  “Great!” He reached for her luggage. “Follow me.”

  He led her out of the automatic doors into the beautiful sunshine and eighty-five-degree Tucson air. Coming from New York’s frigid forty-degree weather was quite a change for Kenya, and she reached into her purse to pull on the enormous Prada shades she’d treated herself too like the other Hollywood celebrities. She followed the driver to a limo waiting at the curb for her and slid in.

  She was greeted with “Twinie!”

  Kenya smiled as she saw her wayward twin dressed in a designer outfit. “Chynna!” She reached for her sister and gave her a long hug. After their embrace, Kenya sat back to look at her sister. Chynna still looked the same overall, but dark circles under her eyes were telltale signs of lack of sleep.

  “It’s so good to see a friendly face,” Chynna said.

  “The last week must have been hell for you,” Kenya acknowledged.

  “You have no idea.” Chynna reached across Kenya for the Dom Perignon that was in the center console in a bucket of ice. She grasped one flute, poured generously and handed it to Kenya before filling one for herself.

  Kenya chuckled as she accepted it. Of course, Chynna assumed she was ready to drink champagne at eleven a.m., because that’s how you rolled in Chynna’s world. “Thanks.”

  Chynna settled back into the plush leather seat of the limo and took a generous sip before looking back at Kenya. “The press are monsters. I never realized it before. They’d
always been good to me.”

  “Those people are not your friends, Chynna,” Kenya responded evenly. “You shouldn’t trust the lot of them.”

  “I know that,” Chynna said. “But I’ve never had them turn on me like this before. They are relentless, showing up everywhere I go, pressing me for information about this supposed affair with Blake. I never even had sex with the man! And now I might as well have a scarlet letter across my chest for all the good my protestations are.”

  “Well, that’s why I’m here,” Kenya said, smiling, “to help you get away from it all and have some peace. We’ll come up with a strategy to get you out of this mess.”

  Chynna laughed bitterly. “Probably not one that my label or my manager or my publicist will like.”

  “True,” Kenya surmised. “But whose life is this? Yours or theirs?”

  Chynna turned to stare at Kenya for a moment, as if hearing her for the first time since she’d gotten into the limo. “Mine, of course.”

  “Then act like it,” Kenya said sternly. “Stop letting them walk all over you.”

  “What do you mean?”

  Kenya turned to stare at her incredulously. She remembered how upset Chynna had been about recording her second album—that it had strayed from the sound of her first, but she’d given in to their demands. “Remember how you felt with your second album? Heck, your third?!”

  A frown spread across Chynna’s face. “Of course,” she said testily. “Why are you bringing this up now?”

  “Because your label doesn’t always have what’s best for you in mind, only what’s going to make them lots of money.”

  “I can believe that about most of them, but not Lucas,” Chynna said sullenly, folding her arms across her chest. “I believe he genuinely cares about me.”

  “Is this the same Lucas you’ve been mooning over and who hasn’t paid you one iota of attention?”

  “He’s just playing hard to get,” Chynna fought back.

  Kenya shrugged.