Shine For Me: A Ransom Family Novel Read online

  Shine For Me

  A Ransom Family Novel

  Rachel Schurig

  Contents

  Copyright

  Meet the Ransom Family

  1. June

  2. June

  3. Fox

  4. June

  5. Fox

  6. June

  7. Fox

  8. June

  9. Fox

  10. June

  11. Fox

  12. Fox

  13. June

  14. Fox

  15. June

  16. June

  17. Fox

  18. Fox

  19. June

  20. June

  21. Fox

  22. Fox

  23. June

  24. Fox

  25. June

  26. Fox

  27. June

  28. Fox

  Epilogue

  Also by Rachel Schurig

  About the Author

  Copyright

  Copyright © 2022 Rachel Schurig

  All rights reserved.

  Ebook Edition, License Notes

  This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or used fictitiously. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is coincidental and not intended by the author.

  Cover design by Crowe Covers

  To find out more about her books, visit Rachel at rachelschurig.com

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  Visit her author page on Facebook (https://www.facebook.com/RachelSchurigAuthor)

  Follow her on Twitter (https://twitter.com/RachelSchurig)

  Meet the Ransom Family

  The Grandparents

  William Sr. and Ruby Ransome

  The parents and their children

  Reed and Paige—Everly (25), Presley (22), Santana (20), Vega (15)

  Cash and Sam—Wyatt (37), Will (27), Silas (22), Cecelia (17)

  Lennon and Haylee—Lyric (21), Cadence (18)

  Daltrey and Daisy—Rose (28), River (26), Fox (23), Violet (18), Ash (18)

  Levi and Karen—Alexandria (26), Phoenix (20)

  June

  My earliest clear memory is of a camera flash going off in my face while a bunch of strangers shouted my name.

  I was probably three or so, not that it really matters. It’s an experience that I would have had long before I could possibly remember, and one that I continue to have to this day. To this very moment, in fact.

  “Juniper!” One of the photographers yells. “This way!”

  “Over here, Miss Cain!”

  “Who are you wearing tonight!”

  “Can we get a shot of both of you?”

  A hand lands on the small of my back and I do my best not to physically react in front of the crowd of paparazzi. I’m pretty good at pretending I’m not affected by things—I guess that’s kind of a requirement of the job.

  “Miss Cain! Mr. Ransome! Over here!”

  Fox Ransome’s hand tightens ever so slightly on my back and I have to fight back a shiver. It would be a lot easier to pull off unaffected if he didn’t smell so damn good.

  “Shall we take bets?” Fox murmurs in my ear, close enough for me to hear the rasp of his voice over the continued shouts of the photographers. “How many headlines tomorrow?”

  I quickly scan the crowd of men and women holding cameras. It’s a big turn out tonight—not at all surprising considering the event—and it’s not just the usual assortment of gossip mag photographers and freelancers hoping to get picked up by the celebrity blogs. Jimmy Cain’s 75th birthday is notable enough to garner attention from actual news sites.

  “At least five,” I tell Fox, and he makes a scoffing noise.

  “Total low-ball guess, Cain,” he says. “I’m saying closer to ten.” He expertly angles us to give the photographers on the left a better view, and I smile in that direction without even thinking. This has never been my favorite part of my job, but it’s a hell of a lot more enjoyable when Fox Ransome is at my side.

  Most things are a hell of a lot more enjoyable with Fox at my side.

  “Shall we put money on it?” I ask. “Twenty bucks to whoever is closest?”

  He chuckles, looking down at me, and another flurry of flashes goes off. Damn it. That little move right there probably brought the number closer to his guess than mine.

  “You’re on. Terms?”

  “The headline has to use the term royalty,” I say. “Not just mention our families.”

  He grumbles a little under his breath, the gorgeous smile never dropping from his face. “Fine,” he says. “I still say you’re going down.”

  Shortly after the first time Fox and I were photographed together, we noticed a pattern in our tabloid and internet coverage. Apparently, the people who write headlines love to point out that we both come from “entertainment royalty.” Cain is the most well-known and influential name in Hollywood, while Fox’s dad, Daltrey Ransome, is the lead singer of one the most popular bands of the last quarter century and co-owner of a major record label. Magazine editors go crazy when we’re out somewhere together. We’ve been the subject of some truly ridiculous headlines over the past two years.

  Hollywood Princess and Her Rock and Roll Prince?

  America’s Sweetheart Stuns Red Carpet with Rock’s Bad Boy.

  Match Made in Entertainment Heaven: Cain and Ransome Together Again

  You’d think eventually they would get tired of pushing that same angle, but so far, there’s no sign of it slowing down. It’s a given that we’ll appear on news sites tomorrow, even with the sheer number of celebrities and Hollywood bigwigs attending this party. It remains to be seen how many of them will hit the “industry royalty” angle, but I like my chances for winning the bet.

  A woman in a headset gestures to us, and I let out a sigh of relief. The next set of show dogs are here for their turn to preen for the cameras.

  If I’d been hoping for a chance to relax once we got inside the hotel lobby, I was fooling myself. We’ve barely walked three feet when we’re approached by a portly man with slicked back hair and a blindingly white smile.

  “Well if it isn’t Hollywood’s favorite pair!”

  I experience a brief moment of panic. I have no idea what this man’s name is, but his face is familiar enough that I’m assuming I should know him. To my great relief, Fox holds out a hand, grinning broadly. “Mr. Booker, so good to see you again.”

  Rapidly I flip through my mental Rolodex of boring Hollywood people I’m supposed to know and it hits me. Lou Booker, a mid-level financier. He’s not the top of the heap as far as Hollywood money guys go, but he’s powerful enough that you don’t want to be on his bad side.

  A fact Fox is clearly aware of, based on the way he’s got the charm turned up full blast.

  I allow myself a moment just to watch him in action, marveling yet again at how good he is at this crap. For someone who’s only been in the business for a little more than two years, Fox plays the role well. He has a great memory for names, a talent for making people feel like his primary focus whenever he talks to them, and the looks to take him far in this business.

  But there’s something else, too. That indefinable spark that certain people in this industry have been blessed with. I recognized it the first time we met, seeing as how I’m no stranger to that spark myself, having been raised around the cream of the crop of Hollywood stars.

  It’s hard to descr
ibe, that combination of confidence, sincerity, and charm, but whatever it is, Fox Ransome has it.

  That’s probably why he went from staring in a cable network reality show to headlining a major action blockbuster in the span of two years.

  He’s good at this part, too. The making nice with the executives and money guys part that I hate so much. Somehow Fox manages it without seeming smarmy or stuck up. No, Fox is always fully himself in these situations. I don’t think I’ve ever met anyone in my life with such a strong sense of their own identity. It’s attractive as hell.

  I sigh to myself. Really brain? I wonder. Do we really need to get on board the mooning-over-Fox-Ransome-train already? I’m not even inside the ballroom yet, and there’s a long damn night to get through.

  “You okay?” Fox asks, and I blink, realizing belatedly that Lou Booker has disappeared, leaving us alone.

  “You zoned out a little there,” Fox continues.

  “Oh, God,” I mutter, guilt and fear twisting in my belly. “Was I rude to him?” The last thing I need is for my grandfather to find out I offended someone with deep pockets at his birthday party. The mere thought has a bead of sweat forming at the bottom of my spine.

  “You were fine,” Fox says, giving me a worried look before his jaw clenches in annoyance. “Asshole wouldn’t have noticed if you were talking anyhow,” he mutters half under his breath.

  Then it hits me. “That’s why he was familiar,” I say, smacking Fox’s shoulder. “Boob Looker!”

  Fox barks out a surprised laugh. “What?”

  “Lou Booker! We call him Boob Looker because he’s physically incapable of dragging his eyes north of a woman’s collarbones.”

  Fox has to bend at the waist he’s laughing so hard. We’re garnering quite a bit of attention in this swanky, stuck-up crowd, but I couldn’t care less. Making Fox Ransome laugh is by far the best part of my night.

  “That’s terrible,” he says, wiping at his eyes as his face grows more serious. “You shouldn’t have to put up with shit like that.”

  I shrug. “That’s Hollywood, babe.”

  “It’s still bullshit.”

  I gesture at the crowd of cameras just outside the door. “They weren’t taking our pictures because of what’s in our brains, Fox.”

  His eyes glint. “Pity for them. They don’t know they’re in the presence of the Kingswood Day School spelling bee champion two years running.”

  I blink a few times, surprised he remembers me telling him that little fact about my childhood, while trying to keep my eyes from going all heart shaped.

  This crush is getting more inconvenient by the day.

  “And they also don’t know you are a giant chess nerd.”

  Fox sighs, looking toward the ballroom. “I know half the people in this town were probably dying for an invitation to your grandfather’s party, and this probably sounds totally ungrateful, but I would so much rather be home playing chess right now than spending the night here.”

  And this is the biggest reason I love spending time with Fox. It’s not his magazine cover good looks or his ability to charm asshole Hollywood guys with deep pockets. It’s the fact that he doesn’t fall for all this crap. Maybe it’s because he grew up in a family full of famous musicians or maybe it’s just his personality. Regardless, Fox has no illusions as to what the celebrity scene is really all about.

  I feel a rush of gratitude for whichever reality show producer first had the idea that this guy would look good on camera. If he had never been discovered, he wouldn’t be standing here with me right now. He wouldn’t have been around to keep me company on three different sets or for all the promo that went along with those movies. I’d be walking into this party alone. And I wouldn’t have this friend—the best friend I’ve ever had, if I’m being honest.

  “Let’s make the rounds and maybe we can sneak out early,” I tell him. “We could stop at In-and-Out on our way home. Or that taco truck you like on Sunset.”

  Fox holds his arm out for me, impossibly blue eyes twinkling under the light from the massive overhead chandelier. “I knew I loved you for a reason.”

  For just one moment I allow myself to believe he means it. That we’re not here merely as co-workers who hang out sometimes. That we entered the party together because we’re together, not because we’re about to start filming another movie and the studio wants to get our faces out there. I pretend that the family I have waiting inside are the kind of people I would be proud to introduce Fox to. I pretend that when he looks at me, he sees half of the things I see when I look at him.

  But when that moment is over, I push it all down. I’m never going to be with someone like Fox. Imagining anything else is just make believe, every bit as fake and fantastical as the movies this town is famous for.

  June

  My face is starting to hurt. It’s a familiar feeling, one I get when I’m on a press tour and have to smile for hours on end. Attending an industry party is pretty much the same as doing promo for a film. You have to always be on.

  Fox stays with me for the first half hour as we mingle with the assembled Hollywood glitterati. Eventually he runs into someone he knows in real life—some music producer who’s done a lot of work with his dad’s band, Ransom, over the years. I watch his face as he shakes hands with the man. It’s a slight change—I doubt anyone else would have noticed. But I spend a truly ridiculous amount of time watching Fox Ransome and I’ve gotten pretty good at picking up his subtle cues.

  Something around his eyes relaxes, his smile growing just a touch more sincere as the producer pulls him into one of those one-armed backslapping hugs guys do.

  “And who’s this pretty lady?” the older man asks, grinning at me, but not in the skin-crawly way of Boob Looker earlier.

  “Ted, this is my friend, Juniper Cain,” Fox says as the producer holds out his hand to take mine.

  “Friend, huh?” Ted winks at Fox. “I’ve seen the two of you snuggling up for the cameras. You telling me that’s all fake?”

  Fox laughs like it’s the most ridiculous thing he’s ever heard and my heart dies, just a little. “Just friends, Ted.”

  The guy shakes his head, eyes on me. “Never took you for an idiot, kid.”

  I put on my very brightest movie star smile. “He couldn’t keep up with me.”

  Ted and Fox both laugh. I guess my acting skills are still up to par, at least. Silver lining.

  “Kid, there are a couple people here who know your dad and uncles,” the producer says. “They’d probably like to say hi if you can spare a few minutes.”

  Fox casts a glance in my direction, like he’s not sure if he should leave me. “Go ahead,” I tell him, even though him walking away is just about the least appealing thing I can imagine.

  “I don’t want to leave you on your own.”

  “I’m related to half the people in this room,” I remind him. “I’ll be fine.”

  His eyes narrow just a bit, and I know the thought of my family isn’t very reassuring to him. But he looked more relaxed talking to this Ted guy than he has all night, and I want him to have the chance to go and visit with his dad’s friends. So I reach out and squeeze his forearm, trying not to think about the cords of lean muscle under my hand.

  “I haven’t seen my grandmother yet. I should go find her.”

  He nods, still not looking entirely comfortable with the idea, but I make my smile brighter and take a step back. “We’ll meet up later, okay?”

  “Sure, June.”

  I get that warm melty feeling in my chest again, the same one I always get when he says my name. June. Not Juniper. Not the name that gets plastered on movie posters and headlines, the name nearly every person in this room would use. Not the name my grandfather insists on calling me because, “brand consistency is very important. June is an old lady name. Juniper Cain is a movie star.”

  “Please call me June,” I’d said to him the very first day we met. And he had. He always does.

&nbs
p; I like that way more than I probably should.

  Which is probably why I grab a glass of champagne off the nearest tray when I walk away and down the entire thing in about three seconds.

  “Jesus, Junie,” a familiar voice drawls near my ear. “Slow down. There can only be one disreputable Cain twin, and I have the hot-mess title on lockdown.”

  I look over at my twin brother and don’t bother to stifle a laugh. His tie is loose already, the top two buttons of his shirt undone. His chestnut hair—the exact same shade as mine—is covering his forehead in a careless sweep. He looks bored and above it all, a combination that somehow has always worked for him.

  “I thought you were shooting in Milan,” I say in lieu of a greeting.

  “It was Corfu,” he says, shrugging. “Grandpa called earlier in the week and said he’d arranged time off so I could come home for this shit.” He makes a mock-excited face. “A whole twenty-four hours. Aren’t I the luckiest?”

  I wince. An industry party bookended by two trans-Atlantic flights isn’t much of a vacation.

  “Did he at least send the private jet?” I ask.

  James Greyson Cain III rolls his eyes. “Of course. You think I’d actually fly commercial?”

  “Do you practice sounding like an asshole, or does it come to you naturally?”