Remember Me Part One Read online

  PRAISE FOR REMEMBER ME

  “A romance for our times. Relevant and real with all the feels.”—Meredith Wild, #1 New York Times Bestseller

  “The perfect blend of romance, suspense, beautiful love, and steamy sex. Nelle broke me into pieces but put me back together again.”—A.M. Hargrove, USA Today Bestselling Author

  “Sensual and emotional with edge of your seat mystery and intrigue. You won’t be able to put it down.”—Aleatha Romig, New York Times Bestselling Author.

  “So relevant with characters that could step out right from the headlines. 5 Gripping Stars.”—Raine Miller, New York Times Bestselling Author

  “A beautiful, emotional, heart-wrenching tale of love lost and rediscovered identities. An incredible book from an amazing author!”—Angel Payne, USA Today Bestseller

  “A sharp and suspenseful plot drenched in Hollywood glamour and sex.”—Alessandra Torre, New York Times Bestselling Author

  “Nelle L’Amour effortlessly weaves a web of intrigue that left me breathless and flipping pages late into the night.”—Adriane Leigh, USA Today Bestselling Author

  “Six thrilling stars! Clever, sexy, and romantic. Romantic suspense at its best!”—Auden Dar, Amazon Bestselling Author

  “The best book Nelle has ever written. Gripping and emotional and ran out of tissues.”—Gloria Herrera, As You Like It Reviews

  “An amazing second chance romance that touched on a sensitive subject with insightful zeal. Such a touching and bold story.”—Book Lovin’ Mama

  “Powerful, inspiring, dark, raw, surreal, suspenseful, provocative, and filled with feels, steam, and romance. Another hit by Ms. L’Amour!!”—Goodreads

  “Wow! I can’t honestly remember the last time I read a book that had me gripped from the first page right through the entire book as this one did!”—Goodreads

  “A fast-paced, thought-provoking storyline with realistic characters and very sexy romance.”—Book Bellas

  “Be prepared for titillating twists and turns and a slow burn suspense with a shocking, breathtaking life or death ending.”—Amazon Reader

  “Remember Me is best love story I have ever read.”—Goodreads

  Copyright © 2019 by Nelle L’Amour

  Kindle Edition

  All rights reserved

  Ebook Edition: August 2019

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or used fictitiously. Any resemblance to events, locales, business establishments, or actual persons—living or dead—is purely coincidental.

  No part of this ebook may be reproduced, uploaded to the Internet, or copied without permission from the author. The author respectfully asks that you please support artistic expression and help promote anti-piracy efforts by purchasing a copy of this ebook at the authorized online outlets.

  Nelle L’Amour thanks you for your understanding and support.

  To join my mailing list for new releases, sales, and giveaways, please sign up here:

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  NICHOLS CANYON PRESS

  Cover by Arijana Karčić, Cover It! Designs

  Proofreading by Mary Jo Toth and Virginia Tesi

  Formatting by BB ebooks

  BOOKS BY NELLE L’AMOUR

  Secrets and Lies

  Sex, Lies & Lingerie

  Sex, Lust & Lingerie

  Sex, Love & Lingerie

  Unforgettable

  Unforgettable Book 1

  Unforgettable Book 2

  Unforgettable Book 3

  THAT MAN Series

  THAT MAN 1

  THAT MAN 2

  THAT MAN 3

  THAT MAN 4

  THAT MAN 5

  THAT MAN 6

  Alpha Billionaire Duet

  TRAINWRECK 1

  TRAINWRECK 2

  Love Duet

  Undying Love

  Endless Love

  A Standalone Romantic Comedy

  Baby Daddy

  An OTT Insta-love Standalone

  The Big O

  A Romance Compilation

  Naughty Nelle

  FROM THE AUTHOR

  Remember Me is the most important book I’ve ever written and, in my humble opinion, maybe the best.

  I am offering the first thirteen chapters to get you excited and to make sure this book is a good fit for you as it deals with sensitive subject matter that may be a trigger for some.

  At its heart, Remember Me is a unique second chance romance that attests to the power of true love and proves that the family you love more than life itself is worth fighting for. And sacrificing for.

  Thank you from the bottom of my heart for taking a chance on Remember Me. I hope that you will want to read all of Skye and Finn’s epic love story and that it will stay in your heart forever.

  For every woman who has been sexually harassed or assaulted and above all, for every brave woman who has dared to speak up.

  TABLE OF CONTENTS

  Praise for Remember Me

  Title Page

  Copyright Page

  Books by Nelle L’Amour

  From the Author

  Dedication

  Epigraph

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Follow Nelle

  About the Author

  “Above all, be the heroine of your life, not the victim.”

  —Nora Ephron

  CHAPTER 1

  “Thanks for meeting me here.”

  “No problem,” I say, adjusting my seat at a table for two at a small coffee shop in Silverlake. It’s off the beaten path. Not crowded, it seems to be frequented by artsy young locals. Hipsters. The vibe is funky, filled with flea-market finds and local artwork, including, to my surprise, one of my husband’s abstract paintings. It’s definitely not the kind of place you’d expect to find one of Hollywood’s A-List actresses, Nicole Farrell.

  Sitting across from me, she’s barely recognizable. Devoid of makeup, she’s wearing an oversized gray hoodie and a Dodgers baseball cap, which holds back her flaming red hair and partially obscures her face. Even without makeup, she’s stunning with her porcelain complexion, high cheekbones, full lips, and almond-shaped green eyes. In fact, she’s more exquisite in person than she is on the big screen.

  Last month she won an Emmy for her portrayal of Gloria Steinem, the outspoken and daring twentieth century crusader for women’s rights and equality. The critically acclaimed movie was a Netflix original. Nicole’s acceptance speech was exceptional. Moving. Heartfelt. Teary-eyed, she thanked the Television Academy and accepted the award on behalf of women everywhere, urging them to speak up and to fight for the respect they deserve.

  She takes a sip of her piping hot coffee, then sets the cup down. I have no idea why she wanted to meet with me nor am I prepared for what she has to tell me.

  “Skye, I’m a big fan of yours,” she says, her voice sincere. “Your piece last month on human trafficking was amazing.”

  “Thanks,” I say humbly. “The feeling is mutual.”

  She quirks a small, fleeting smile. “I need to get something off my chest . . . something I’ve been hiding.” Her voice is unsteady, nothing like the confident actress who delivered her bold acceptance speech.

  She takes a deep breath and then slowly spills out the words: “I was sexually assaulted by . . . ”

  Silence. A long tense pause.
r />   “Tell me, Nicole, by whom?” I anxiously wait for her to answer and finally she does.

  “Sheldon Greenberg.”

  At his name, I visibly jolt and feel my vocal chords shake. “That’s a serious accusation.”

  She looks at me imploringly. “Please. You must believe me.”

  “I do.” How could I not? Sheldon Greenberg, one of the most powerful men in Hollywood, lives in a dark, distant place of my mind. A suppressed memory I’ve tried to forget.

  My companion lets out another breath, this time of relief. “Thank you. I came to you because I thought you would. And because I felt I could trust you.”

  “When did it happen?”

  “Seven years ago. When I was twenty-three . . . ”

  Inwardly, I shudder. About the same time as me.

  “I was auditioning for a recurring role on one of his Criminal Justice shows. He told me I got the part. Meghan Jones . . . the no-nonsense DA from The Bronx.”

  I remember her on that series . . . from when I used to watch it. A standout character and performance. A woman after my own heart—fearless, ballsy, and self-confident in a tough male-dominated world. A perfect blend of grit and grace. Anxious to hear more, I take a sip of my hot beverage as she continues.

  “I was ecstatic as it was my first big television break. Then afterward, he told me he wanted to meet with me to talk about my career.”

  All ears, I set my coffee cup down and reach into my backpack for the pocketsize recorder I always carry with me. “Nicole, do you mind if I record this?”

  “Please, I’d rather you didn’t.”

  “Can I take notes?”

  She nods. “Yes.”

  My hand still in my bag, I fish for my small spiral notebook and a felt-tip pen. Slipping them out, I place them on the table, opening the notebook to a clean page. I remove the cap of the pen and put it to the lined paper.

  “So what happened?” I ask.

  Her eyes darken as she recalls the incident. “He asked me to meet him at the Chateau Marmont where he was staying. When I got there, I assumed he’d be at the restaurant, but he wasn’t. So, I went to the front desk and inquired about his whereabouts. The clerk called up to his room and told me he was ordering room service and expecting me. So I took the elevator up. It was the penthouse suite.”

  She takes another sip of her caffeinated beverage and I do the same. “I rang the bell and he came to the door. To my shock, he was wearing only a bathrobe. Despite my reservations, I accepted his invitation to share some champagne with him. Letting him lead me inside the suite, I was taken aback by its size and grandeur. I was just an ingénue from Indiana and had no experience with Hollywood glitz and glamour.” She pauses. “Or Hollywood power.”

  After one more sip of her coffee, she perseveres. “He poured us each a glass of champagne and we toasted to my career.” Her face tenses. “Then, he told me I owed him.”

  “Owed him?” I repeat back her words, my brows lifting.

  “Let me see if I can repeat his exact words.” She makes air quotes. “‘Sweetheart, I’m giving you the opportunity of a lifetime. Do you realize how many girls like you would kill to get a starring role on Criminal Justice?’” My companion pauses, setting her hands down on the distressed wood table and giving me time to jot down her words.

  “What did you say?” I ask, looking up at her.

  “I merely shook my head and then he threatened me. “‘Girls like you are a dime a dozen. If you’re not nice to me, I’ll recast the part.’”

  Nice to him? The word nice doesn’t belong in the same sentence as the pig.

  “Then, he untied his bathrobe.” She pauses again, her lips quivering. “He was wearing nothing beneath it and had an erection.”

  I remain speechless as tears fill the actress’s eyes. Genuine ones, not the kind you put on for show. “Then he shoved me down on the couch and forced himself on me.”

  “Jesus. Did you try to fight him off?”

  “I tried to free myself, but he was too big and powerful for me. And he was hurting me . . . groping my breasts . . . squeezing my nipples.”

  The fucking sleazebag.

  “The creep hiked up my skirt and ripped off my panties.” She blinks back tears. “And then he . . . r-raped me.”

  She breaks down and begins to sob. Feeling her pain, I reach across the table and rest my hands on top of hers. They’re cold as ice and shaking.

  “It’s okay,” I say softly. “Thank you for sharing your story.”

  To myself, I say, “The sick bastard.”

  Sniffling, she blots the tears spooling down her cheeks with a paper napkin. “I wish I’d come forward sooner, but I was afraid.”

  “Better late than never. What made you reach out to me now?”

  “The Emmy. When I accepted it, I felt like such a hypocrite. Here I was playing the part of a brave woman who stood up for herself and I was a silent victim. Sheldon was in the audience . . . the front row. I swear he was leering at me, taking credit for my success. And mentally undressing me. All I wanted to do was throw my Emmy at him and shout out what he did to me. I’m such a coward.” She bows her head in shame.

  “No, Nicole, look at me.” Her head lifts slowly and she meets my gaze. “You’re very brave.” I squeeze her hands. “I mean that.”

  “Skye, I’m not the only one he abused.”

  A cold shiver zigzags down my spine. With all the will power I can muster, I refrain from sharing my past. “There are others?”

  “Yes. We have a kind of secret club. Not everyone was raped like me. But he forced himself on them, touching them in places he had no right to be and coercing them to perform other sexual acts against their will.”

  She goes on to give me a list of names. A dozen in all. My initial shock gives way to abomination. Holy shit! Greenberg’s a monster!

  Her sobs subside. “Skye, I’ve come to you because I want to expose what he did to me and so many others.”

  “You’ve come to the right person.” I shoot her a reassuring smile. Inside, I’m burning up with rage. “When I’m done with him, he’ll never work in this town again.”

  “Thank you.” A grateful smile and then it fades. “He took a part of my soul that I can never get back. I don’t want more women to lose theirs.”

  The check comes. I insist on picking up the bill, scribble down a few things, and then slam my notebook shut. My eyes flit to my husband’s painting, a mash-up of oils and garbage he aptly titled Hollywood Trash. Sheldon would have worked too.

  After all these years, I’m going to take the monster down.

  Time’s up.

  CHAPTER 2

  “Relax, baby,” purrs Finn, my husband of seven years as he massages my breasts, cupping them with his deft hands.

  “I’m trying.” Trying is the operative word. I have a shitload on my mind. An investigative reporter for Conquest Broadcasting News, I’m about to break a story that’s going to blow the entertainment industry apart. If all goes to plan, I will have all the evidence I need to bring down one of Hollywood’s biggest players. The repercussions are formidable. Like bowling pins, one by one, every womanizing asshole in this town will go down. And each time one does, I’m going to do a happy dance. This is the story that’s going to put me on the map. Maybe win some kind of Pulitzer. Get me my own news show. And best of all, let me at last have my revenge.

  Finn tweaks my sensitive nipples, cutting into my mental exposé. “Skye, baby, you’ve got to stop working so hard. Whatever story you’re working on, let go of it.”

  So erotically charged by my husband, I arch my back and moan, managing a few words. “I can’t. It’s too important.”

  “What’s it about?”

  “I can’t tell you yet.” Nicole swore me to secrecy. I haven’t even told my boss about it though I will have to. I’m not sure what he’ll think. Sheldon’s production company, Greenlight Entertainment, is a major supplier to Conquest Broadcasting. Best known for the long
-running series, Criminal Justice and its various spinoffs set in gritty cities from coast to coast. Dominating the network’s prime time line up, the highly rated franchise has earned Conquest billions of dollars in advertising revenue.

  Since the meeting with Nicole, I’ve interviewed other victims—including Zoey Taylor, the star of Conquest’s hit comedy, Perfect 10 and wife of action star Brandon Taylor—who told me Sheldon Greenberg squeezed her ass and masturbated in front of her when she was working as a masseuse. While I have numerous allegations of this sort, running the gamut from sexual come-ons to making victims take showers with him, the key is getting concrete evidence. Tomorrow. Fingers crossed. Until then, it’s he said, she said. Nothing that can be taken to court.

  Finn continues to play with my breasts. “Baby, I’m worried about you. You’ve been so distracted lately.”

  “I’m sorry,” I mumble. “The story is close to home. It’s personal to me.”

  “You need to be closer to home. To us. Maybe it’s time to get a desk job. It’s too damn risky being in the field.”

  He nuzzles my neck, his day-old stubble brushing against my flesh as I process his words. He’s even urged me to quit my job and stay home ever since our life changed drastically nine months ago. Heated arguments have ensued, straining our marriage. But I can’t. Uncovering the truth is in my blood. I need to be in the field as much as he needs to be in a studio. My stories are his paintings; my words, his brush strokes.

  My breathtaking husband is an artist—a painter—but his creative talent extends from a canvas to a mattress. From his studio to our bedroom. So gifted. And he himself is a work of art, with his sculpted, hard as marble body and chiseled face that looks as if an Italian master crafted it. Deftly, he slides a hand down my torso and puts two long, skilled fingers between my legs, coaxing me to spread them. Still tweaking a nipple, he begins to rub my hypersensitive bud. I wriggle and moan louder as he works it harder and faster. Succumbing to his touch, I feel the beginnings of an orgasm crashing through me. The intense pressure building and building. All I can think about is my release. Finn knows how to push all my buttons. God, does he!