Текст книги "Perfectly Imperfect"

Автор книги: Harper Sloan

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Текущая страница: 4 (всего у книги 23 страниц)

Six months earlier

The offices of Buchanan and Buchanan

I’M NOT EASILY ENAMORED WITH someone. In my line of work, a beautiful face is a dime a dozen, and usually, those beautiful faces hold nothing but vapor between their ears. It’s made the simplest of relationships all but impossible. The intrigue was missing. Nothing there was compelling enough to keep my attention past a quick glance.

I wouldn’t say I’m a saint, but I’m losing interest in meager exchanges of sweaty bodies and awkward good-byes. That dreaded period of holding my breath and waiting to see if our shared encounter would make it into the rags. Meeting someone when you’re a celebrity of my status has also been a big consternation for the last few years. Women want Kane Masters the icon and not Kane Masters the man. They couldn’t care less what makes me tick, what makes me happy, what goals I desire for my future. They want the status and money that comes with being on my side. The only future they can see is one I would have to pay for.

It’s been fifteen long years since I starred in my first lead role. Fifteen years of nothing but success that has no chance of slowing down anytime soon. I could stop making movies tomorrow and that success would never die. It used to be the only thing I wanted in life. Acting was my one and only aspiration. It was never a question of if I would become one of the most demanded names in Hollywood—it was always when. Two years after my first major motion picture role, I won my first Oscar. The year after that, another. Multiple awards followed. SAGs, Golden Globes, BAFTA—British Academy of Film and Television Awards—you name it; I hold it in a shiny case in the media room of my Malibu beach house.

But in all of that success, it’s become painfully obvious to me in the last couple of years that I was missing something in my life. The meaningless affairs dwindled down to nothing. The attraction to the women in my normal circles disappeared. I began to see them for what they were, and I’ve been struggling significantly with that.

I want companionship. I want a partner I can build a life with outside the insanity of my celebrity status. I want more for my future than bright lights around me.

Aside from my brothers, my few closest friends, and my parents, there really wasn’t anything left for me. I’ve begun to believe I would never find someone to fill the emptiness haunting me.

Bottom line—I’m lonely. Surrounded by millions and still the loneliest motherfucker around.

But I will never be lonely enough to settle for one of the vapid, fake women who surround my lifestyle. I want someone real. I need a challenge. I want to feel that connection to someone I’ve never been able to find. That one you read about. The one that makes you feel alive. Awakens you with just a glance. I know it’s out there because I felt it once before; a fleeting feeling gone just as quickly as it hit, but it’s out there … otherwise, the movies they pay me millions to create wouldn’t be instant blockbusters. Everyone dreams of finding that feeling. And until I find it, I’m afraid I’ll spend the rest of my days wandering around like a lost puppy.

Even my agent has noticed a change in my normally full throttled drive. I’ve slowed down on the circuit; taking fewer offered roles, I’m focusing more on producing and directing. If I’m quite honest, I’m not even sure acting is something I want to do anymore. The industry has lost its glamor; I know if I have any hopes of finding that life partner I crave and a chance at making my dreams a reality, being in the spotlight will blind me from the path to find those things.

Who would guess that the real Kane Masters is a lonely little boy wandering around in a thirty-five-year-old’s skin second-guessing every decision he’s made up to this point? If I had just followed my brother, Kyle, in his footsteps outside this life of fame, would I be married now, too? Have kids? Be able to walk the streets without paparazzi swarming me? I’m sure, at the very least, I would be able to form lasting relationships with the absence of the lie-riddled tabloids. Kyle still struggles because of Jessica, his wife’s own fame, but they’ve been able to carve out a life for themselves that seems to work.

“Drop me off here, Cam,” I tell my driver, bodyguard, and friend when he pulls up to my attorney’s office at Buchanan and Buchanan. “I’ll just be a second. I need to see if Steven looked over the contract I had dropped off yesterday and I’ll be right back. Just wait here and I’ll be quick.” He gives me a hard look, and I know damn well it’s because he hates that I brush off the potential dangers my celebrity status brings. “Seriously, Cam. No one has ever caused a scene here before, and I’m just going to be in and out.”

Cam begrudgingly nods but doesn’t reply. I hear him turn up the book he had been listening to before I jumped in the car earlier this morning. Normally, I don’t give a shit what he’s listening to, but he’s been on a romance kick lately and he knows I’ll get pissed if I start getting into a book only to have to stop. Those romance books get me hooked every time.

Call me a pussy—but there’s nothing wrong with a man who enjoys a good romance book. My dad always said the best way to learn what a woman wants is to pick up some of the smut they love to read so much. Written by a woman, it might as well be a road map to instant pleasure.

I laugh to myself as I take the elevator up and step into the immaculate offices of Buchanan and Buchanan. I look over at the couple standing off to the side and give them a nod. I see recognition flash in the man’s eyes, but the woman next to him catches my gaze.

She’s beautiful—I’ll give her that, even with the shocked recognition written over her features. But her beauty isn’t something that causes me to take a second look. I will never understand why women feel the need to erase everything that makes them soft and feminine to turn themselves into one of those masks you pick up at Halloween. You know, the ones you put on and you could be screaming and carrying on within, but there wouldn’t be a flinch in your facial features.

Fake.

Unattractive.

I move my gaze from her frozen face and look down at her thin body. Don’t get me wrong; I’m sure there are men who love the sleekness of a smaller woman, but not me. I’ve always been attracted to women with curves. Because the women within my inner circle favor—like this woman—to pay for their beauty, the better part of my adult relationships have been with women like her by my side, even though my preferences run differently.

My best friend, Mia, was the voice of reason when my last serious relationship ended ten years ago. Jenn had left me claiming she couldn’t keep up with the expectations of being by my side. I still don’t understand it completely, but according to Mia, the media will rip anyone who isn’t society’s idea of perfect to shreds—something Jenn had been subject to for the vast duration of our relationship. Naïve enough to believe that ‘love’ was strong enough to protect anyone; no one was more shocked than I was when she didn’t last long after we publicly came out as a couple.

Since that day, it’s been nothing but women like the one before me. Women who I hold back with—not just emotionally, but also physically. Yeah, I love my women to have curves because I find them mouth-wateringly attractive, but also because when they lacked those curves I crave, I always feared I would break them if I fucked how I love to fuck.

Hard.

Bruising.

Rough.

Nothing but meaningless hookups followed the departure of Jenn. Hookups that I learned very quickly were a waste of my time and a headache of attachment issues from the women when you were done.

I turn the second her eyes flash with recognition, shaking me out of my thoughts as I walk over to Stacy, another insipid woman. Fake tits, annoying laugh, and a self-centered air seeping from her pores. I ignore her flirting and let her know I need to speak with Steven, turning before she can speak again and walking over to take a seat while I wait.

That’s when I see her.

A flash of something familiar hits me as I study her. I’ve seen this woman before. Somewhere, our paths have crossed. She looks miserable, but even that can’t disguise her beauty. A cloak of anxiety and fear wrap her body tightly as she shakes slightly while twisting her fingers together in her lap nervously. Her legs bounce and the movement makes her chest quiver. Moves that, even with them covered in fabric, I can tell are her natural tits.

Huge, larger-than-a-handful tits.

Fuck, I want to see her face. I’ve felt this before. A jolt to my senses I’ve experienced before followed by a protectiveness I’ve never felt before … not even with Jenn.

I sit in the chair to her left, just out of her eyesight, and wait for her to move. The way she has her head tilted now, I can’t see her face through her long thick brown hair. I take the time to study the rest of her, trying to place her body. Her thighs look like the kind that would cushion my hips as I powered into her body. Her body—ripe, full, and all woman—has my groin tightening.

Not much could take the attraction away from this timid little mouse. God, when was the last time I saw a woman who caught my attention at a glance? I glance back over at the couple in the corner, the man, and I remember. Except, if I’m right, it wasn’t the woman at his side that time but the one sitting full of fear to my right.

I was lost in thought when the Buchanan brothers walked into the lobby. Because they’re used to seeing my face when I come to see my attorney, Steven, I get a nod of acknowledgment, but they wisely don’t make a scene that greeting me would cause. My mystery woman fumbles to stand, and I watch as her bag snaps and crashes to the floor.

“Oh, God.” I hear her whispered words, but they’re so low, had I not been studying her so fiercely, I would have missed them. I feel her anxiety soar through the roof as she moves to collect the items scattered around her.

The desire to protect this woman—this familiar stranger—is so fierce. There’s a roar in my ears from my blood pumping so rapidly through my veins. I don’t even know this woman and watching her obvious struggle both physically and mentally is making my chest hurt.

And the moment I watch in horror as her heel catches on her broken strap, knocking her from her feet to her back in seconds, I feel like I’m being stabbed right in the chest.

What in the hell is wrong with me?

“What a mess, Brad. Aren’t you thrilled you’re finally going to be rid of … well, that?” My contemplation snaps from the woman prone on the floor over to the couple from earlier. What the hell? That explains some of the anxiety and visibly shaken demeanor from the mystery woman.

“Willow? Are you okay?” Randy questions, stepping forward at the same time Stacy starts squawking from her desk about some call he must take. Right, I’m sure.

Willow. I test her name out, repeating it a few times. Beautiful. Then it hits me, confirmation that this is someone I have met before. Brad Tate. His arrogance is something I’m shocked I didn’t place before, but seeing this woman—Willow—I remember with clarity exactly when the last time a woman instantly caught my attention. However, now I have a name to place with the face I’ve thought about too many times to count. A stranger who had once again captured me in her web without even uttering a single word. That connection. I felt it simmer before, but now, now, it’s a raging fire. I had ignored it before because it was clear she was spoken for then, but now … now, I’m not sure. I know damn well that Randy Buchanan is in family law, so why else would they be meeting with him?

“Kill me now.” I hear the gasped words thick with pain, but even that can’t hide the velvet tones that roll over my overheated senses. God, she even sounds like a dream come true. Husky voice made for sex.

“I’m sorry, Willow. I have to take this,” Randy explains and offers his hand to help her up, but I move quickly from my position and stand next to her before addressing Randy.

“Allow me.” My voice is thick with desire. Desire for a woman whose face I haven’t even seen in years. I clear my throat and wait for Randy to move so I can help her … help Willow.

“It’s all right, Mr. Masters. I have it. Won’t take but a second, right, Willow?” he states before bending once again to offer his assistance. Assistance I don’t want him to give her. I should be the one to help her. It should be my hands to touch her. No one else. Fucking hell, what is going on with me? I feel like I’m seconds away from beating my chest and pissing on the floor. I don’t even know if this is the same woman. Yet I’m acting like an animal just at the memory of what I felt only once before when I was sucker punched with just a gaze from across the room. Surely, this isn’t her. I just need a vacation. To slow down. Right?

Thinking quickly, I take a small step forward and stop Randy before his hands can touch her. “That might be, Rand, but it looks like you’re needed elsewhere.” I lift my hand, mentally making sure my fists are relaxed, and point over to a very vocal Stacy while she continues to huff in annoyance. I’m sure it’s because she’s not the center of attention. Randy nods once and moves away. I wait for a beat before bending down and balancing my weight on the balls of my feet before offering my hand to her.

That’s when I finally see her face.

She’s stunning. She possesses the kind of beauty that even her demeanor tense in pain and panic can’t hide. Her eyes widen when she looks into mine and I give her what I hope is a reassuring smile. Clearly, I need to work on my acting skills because I watch as her face heats and a light blush covers her neck and face.

Exquisite.

Just like she was the first time I saw her briefly, years before. She was there one second, lighting my skin on fire with one look into those brown eyes, and then she was gone. I had thought I imagined it, even after I asked about her, but seeing those eyes up close—yeah, I didn’t imagine shit. That connection I had been hunting was indeed right in front of my face. I let her slip away with excuses of too many drinks and a long dry spell. Not this time.

“I … please … I’m so sorry,” she mutters meekly. “Please, don’t worry about me … oh, God.”

“Willow, was it?” I ask, feigning the ignorance I should have at a ‘first meeting.’ Unable to resist any longer, I slide my hands under her arms and I help her stand. My body hums with arousal when her scent hits me. Peaches. Fuck, she smells like peaches? I bet she tastes like them too. Mentally slapping my undersexed mind, I look into her eyes, imploring. “Are you okay?” She doesn’t speak. Her eyes just continue to roam over my face, drinking me in as hard as I am to her. Shit, maybe she hit her head when she fell. “Do you need medical assistance?”

“I—I’m—crap, I’m okay. Only what was left of my pride was damaged.” She ducks her head, and I hate that I’ve lost her eyes. She moves to a crouch to start collecting her personal belongings, hurriedly cramming them into her broken bag.

“Kane, if you would follow me, I can take you back to Steven’s office while he’s busy,” Stacy purrs from where she’s now standing next to us. Her hands propped on her trim hips don’t hide the clear annoyance on her face. Can she not fucking see the woman struggling right under her nose? What a bitch.

“Are you okay, Willow?” I try again desperate to see those brown eyes again. I’m at a loss as to how to help her—how to protect her. This feeling of not being able to control the situation is doing nothing but amping up the adrenaline-fueled desire pumping through my system.

Her eyes move back up to mine. Is she shocked I’m still here? Or shocked that I care?

“I’m … I’ll—thank you for asking, but I’ll be fine.” Her words are reassuring, but her eyes show me how close she is to breaking.

With the need to protect her riding me, I attempt again to get her to allow me to help. “Right. I’ve no doubt about that, Willow. But it would ease my mind if you would at least allow me to offer some assistance.”

“That’s okay, Mr. Masters. I’m sure you have more important things to do. Thank you, though.”

She couldn’t be further from the truth. “Nothing that can’t wait for me to help a beautiful woman out,” I reply, trying to lighten the mood, but the second the words leave my mouth, I realize how gravely I miscalculated this beauty before me. She snaps her head back at my words, and before I can reach her, she cracks her head against the wood table she had been crouched in front of while collecting her belongings. “Shit,” I say under my breath pissed at myself for jumping her like an overeager hunter, spooking the doe-eyed fawn before I could even get close enough.

My body moves on autopilot, and before I know what I’m doing, the protective instincts she incites roar higher to a life of their own. My fingers thread into her thick hair, and I rub the spot she knocked with my fingertips. Her eyes dilate, and I know I’m not the only one who feels this connection between us.

“It’s fine. I’m fine. Please …” I watch her eyes shimmer, and I curse myself again when the feeling of failure hits me.

Not wanting to be the reason for her tears, I release my hold with a deep exhale. Losing the link to her warm skin has me clenching my hands again. Looking for something to keep busy so I don’t scare her again, I move to help gather the rest of her stuff, placing them slowly back into her bag. When the last pen is dropped inside, she grabs it and slams the bag against her chest.

A move of protection.

From me.

Fucking hell.

“Thank you,” she softly mumbles, her eyes once again refusing to meet mine.

“It was nothing.” It was everything.

“Well, thank you nonetheless. I’m sorry for interrupting your morning.”

I smile at the spark I hear in her tone. There’s the girl behind that fear. “At the risk of sounding like a jerk, the interruption was my pleasure.”

Her eyes snap to mine, and she just blinks at me. Her long lashes fan against her porcelain skin with every downward blink.

Stunning.

“Good luck in there, beautiful Willow.” Don’t leave. “Until next time,” I vow, mentally promising myself this will not be the last time I have my hands on her.

It takes herculean strength to move away from the hold she has on me. Each step feels as if an invisible cord is tugging at my chest.

Step—tighter. Another step—the cord jerks, and I turn to look back at her shocked face. Those beautiful wide eyes round with questions.

Soon, little doe … soon.

Present

UNFORTUNATE TIMING PUT ME OUT of the country on location filming for longer than I had wanted. Making it back to my little doe-eyed beauty was stalled even longer when I had to deal with some issues that had arisen back in LA. Add to that the obligations I had for press junkets for my next film’s release, and then I was finally able to come back to New York City.

Just as determined as I was the day I left.

Only this time, I have to deal with rumors floating around me that could potentially fuck up my chances with my doe. Stupid rumors I’m powerless to do anything about until it’s safe. Christ, when will I learn? One phone call two months ago was all it took for me to forget reporters are everywhere. They see everything.

“Did you get me the appointment?” I demand before shifting my phone to my other ear.

“Yeah, Kane. Not sure I understand your motivation in approaching the Logan Agency, but your appointment is set. You do realize that the cast has been set for Impenetrable? Extras were cast a long time ago. Hell, you’re in final stages of production, Kane. You don’t need anyone else. And … why the hell are you off on a scouting mission when you pay people to do that for you?”

I move around my penthouse apartment to the floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the city and mentally remind myself why I don’t want to kill my best friend and overall confidant in all aspects of my life.

“Seriously, Mia?”

“Okay, I mean, I kind of understand your plan, but I don’t think I can see what the end game is here? We both know this façade of finding models to act as extras is a bunch of bullshit. So, tell me. After you get in, how will you get the girl?”

I laugh. Leave it to Mia to see right through me. We’ve been close since high school drama class and that hasn’t changed since we both hit the big screen running. Most of the media assume that because of our closeness, we’re hiding a relationship, but they couldn’t be further from the truth. Mia and I will never have anything past friendship. We tried it, briefly, and thankfully, it didn’t ruin our friendship.

“I figured I would handle it like I do most things in my life, Mia. Wing it.”

Her lyrical laughter comes through the line, causing me to smile. “Yeah, Mr. Big Badass … not sure this is one of those times. From what I hear, Dominic Logan is a real hard ass. If you aren’t genuine in your interest, he’s going to see right through you.”

“You would be right, but lucky for me, he has a lot to gain here. From all the research I’ve done on the Logan Agency in the past six months, it’s a dying company. He’s overextended himself and his money, and fortunately for me, he’s grasping at straws to stay afloat. He’s lost more than fifty percent of his models this year alone when they refused to renew their contract. His lead photographer is leaving the agency, and there are rumors that more under his command are planning their exit as well. Best I can tell, I’m his savior.”

Turning from my view, I move from my sunken living room and into the kitchen to grab a package of Tim Tams from my stockpile in the butler’s pantry. They’ve become one of my biggest weaknesses since I discovered them while on location in Australia a few years back.

“How are you feeling? Mia, we really need to talk about things now that I finally have this plan of mine coming to fruition.”

She lets out a deep sigh. “Yeah, I know. Just not now. When you come back to California, maybe. When you figure out if there is even anything between you and this chick, sure. But no need to rock the boat right now.”

Grabbing one of the Tim Tams, I take a bite, swallowing half of the small cookie. I could polish off a few packages in one sitting. Those damn things are addictive.

“You’re eating those nasty cookie biscuit things, aren’t you?” Mia asks in my ear, letting me know the subject is closed. I don’t like it, but I’ll give her that play. She’s under enough stress; the last thing she needs is for me to add more to it.

“Nasty? You’re insane,” I huff around a mouthful.

“Yeah … they are. They melt in your mouth, Kane. That just isn’t natural.”

“That’s the best part,” I quip, knowing my favorite snack grosses her out.

“Anyway, Logan Agency … the girl—the mystery girl behind this ridiculous quest. You have told me next to nothing about her, Kane. That isn’t like you.”

And there’s a reason for that. “Nothing to tell, Mia. I don’t want to jinx anything.” Which isn’t a complete lie. I don’t want to jinx anything, but I also don’t want Mia to shoot this down before I even have a chance to explore it. I’m not a person driven by lust anymore; I’m a man who knows a real solid connection when it smacks you in the face. “I felt it, Mia.” I sigh. “I felt that zap. That feeling of being kicked right in the chest. All it took was for her eyes to meet mine.”

“Good God, you sound like a Lifetime movie,” she groans.

I laugh but don’t respond. Instead, I think about the last time I saw those beautiful doe eyes.

WillowTate. Daughter of Dominic Logan.

It took only five minutes of my charm to get her full name out of Stacy on that fateful day, and it’s taken me six months of planning to get where I am now.

Today is the day I put all my wheels in motion and find out if what I felt in her presence was as powerful as I remember and not a figment of my imagination. Surely, my mind didn’t make something like that up.

“As much as I would love to chat, Mia, I have to run if I plan to make that appointment.”

“Just promise me that you won’t do anything foolish that has your PR team running crazy?”

“Not sure that’s a promise I can make in good faith,” I joke with a smile that matches the one I hear in her voice. “I’ll call you later. You make sure and rest, okay?”

“I will. Be good,” she warns.

“Aren’t I always?”

I disconnect the call at her laughter and finish the package of Tim Tams before paging Cam and letting him know I’m ready to hit the road.

Five minutes later, we head out and I’m a few miles away from what will hopefully be the beginning of what I promised all those months before.

The Logan Agency looks just as pompous on the inside as the reputation it has built around its name is. Every overly decorated inch of the fifty-seventh floor screams success. If only they knew what my people had been able to unearth about the company most still think is so powerful in the industry.

The glamor hides its failings.

Failings I’m hoping to capitalize on today with my meeting under the guise of finding extras. I wasn’t completely lying to Mia when I hatched this plan and had her put the wheels in motion—getting a few extras for the movie I’m directing and producing is just the stepping-stone to the office. If I happen to find some, great, but I wouldn’t be losing sleep over not having some extra bodies we don’t really need. We’re in the homestretch of production, the final weeks before I’m finished directing my first film one hundred percent.

But really, the motivation behind today is just about getting back face-to-face with Willow, and hopefully, the rest will fall into place.

“Mr. Masters for an appointment with Mr. Logan, please,” I tell the older woman at the front desk. I’ll give her credit; if she recognizes my name or me, she doesn’t give anything away.

“I’ve got it, Mary. I was headed that way,” I hear and turn to look at the smiling face at the other end of Mary’s desk. Her eyes twinkle with mirth, and I know she recognizes me and has no issues letting me know she knows exactly who I am.

Ah, what is this one up to? Trying to get me alone? I’m sure she’s going to pass her number and a whispered fantasy she has about sex with the Kane Masters. She extends her hand, and I look down to see a substantial rock on her wedding finger. Christ, not another married woman.

“Kirby Evans, makeup artist extraordinaire here at Logan.”

“Kane Masters,” I deadpan and take her outstretched hand in greeting.

I watch in fascination as she closes her other hand around our combined ones and throws her head back with a deep throaty laugh. “Oh, calm down, Kane Masters, Hollywood hotshot, you’re at no risk of exploding these ovaries. They’re spoken for and happily so.”

She lets go of my hand, and I manage to keep a straight face despite the shock I feel from her bizarre outburst. Seems that I pegged this one wrong.

“I’ve been married for ten years to my high school sweetheart, Mr. Masters. It would take a lot more than some big bad actor to knock that down. Come on, I was headed back there anyway to check on a friend, so I’ll show you the way.”

“Call me Kane,” I shock myself by saying. Something about this woman, she could probably cause a monk to open up.

“Right. Well, Kane, follow me.”

She takes off down a hallway I hadn’t noticed, and with a smile to Mary, I trail behind her. Her slow, leisurely stride picks up speed at the yelling that can be heard when we’re about halfway down the long hallway.

“Oh, God. Willow!” she cries out weakly before looking back at me in shock. Without wasting a second, she turns her focus and begins running the rest of the way. My senses pick up at the hostile tones echoing around us, and I hurry to follow behind her. When I walk through the end of the hallway and into what must be the outer seating area to Dominic Logan’s office, I see Kirby standing stock-still in the opening of the office labeled with his name in neat gold script against one of the glass panel walls.

If it hadn’t been for Kirby speaking her name just seconds before, I might not have known it was Willow who stood before us facing off with Dominic Logan. She’s much slimmer than the last time I saw her. Her curves are still prevalent, but much less abundant than before. Just seeing her causes that connection we shared before to spark to life. Clearly, that isn’t lacking in the least. Even without seeing those beautiful eyes, I would know her anywhere—as crazy as that sounds even to me.

I was too busy perusing Willow’s lush body that I had zoned out until Kirby’s whimper caused my ears to perk up again.

“Yes, Willow. Are you happy now? The wrong woman died that day and every time I have to look into your eyes, the same eyes of your mother, I hate you more and more. So, do what I fucking said. After today, do me a favor and don’t turn back up. It would be nice not to have to see you again. Then maybe I could pretend it was you and not her who died!”

At Dominic’s words, I can feel my temper spiking. My anger soars through my bloodstream at the vile tone with which he’s speaking to his daughter. Before I can interject, Kirby’s harsh gasp has both of the office’s occupants swinging their heated gazes toward the doorway. I watch as the hurt soothes from Willow’s features when she sees Kirby; obviously, this is whom she had been heading to check on, and based on what we just walked in on, I would say she was just in time.

When those doe eyes move to lock with mine, embarrassment replaces her heartbreak, and I want to kick myself for being the cause, yet again, for added shame.

Shame that has no business ever crossing her face.

Shame that, despite not even knowing this woman, I would love to wipe from her features.

Those protective feelings once again confuse me. Not because they’re there, but because the intensity of them, so much stronger at this meeting, shocks me to my core. I know nothing about her, yet I would do anything I could at this moment to fix whatever is harming her.