“You haven’t heard anything?”
“No.” He’d avoided the computer and the TV, had spent his time in the woodshop, building a playhouse and jungle gym. He liked working with wood, enjoyed the physicality of sanding, sawing and hammering. And constructing something so elaborate for Ty helped him have faith that one day his son would be back to use it.
“Hollywood’s in an uproar,” Ian said. “Hollywood Secrets Revealed put the pics online right away. I guess they didn’t want to get scooped. Then everyone ran with the story. Facebook, Twitter, celebrity blogs. They’re all buzzing about it.”
Simon had witnessed some added activity outside. He knew that his security personnel were having more of a fight than usual keeping people off the premises. “What are they saying about the rape accusation?”
“That it’s bogus, just like we wanted. Have you heard from your attorney on that yet?”
Yes. Harold J. Coolridge, attorney at law, had used the false accusation as his excuse for supporting a postponement of the hearing. He’d told the judge that there were too many issues that needed to be resolved before the court could make a fair decision, so he agreed with Bella’s motion. But Simon didn’t want to go into that with his manager. The more intricate details of his personal life weren’t any of Ian’s business. “No.”
“Then you will, and I’m sure he’ll be relieved.” He gestured at the window. “What’s so interesting out there?”
“Some chick’s sitting on the fence. She just flashed my security guys.”
“No kidding?” Ian hurried over to see for himself. “Hey, look at that.” He whistled long and low. “Nice tits. God, it must be great to be you.”
Simon rubbed his neck. “This place is crawling with crazy people and paparazzi.”
Ian didn’t take his eyes off the spectacle unfolding outside. “It hasn’t been this bad since Bella called the cops on you. How’s security holding up?”
“They’re managing, I guess. Godzilla—” also known as Lance Pratt, Simon’s best bodyguard “—had to knock some fat guy on his ass when he slipped through the front gate along with the delivery truck that brings my groceries, but…that’s been the worst of it.”
Ian shook his head. “I wouldn’t want to tangle with Godzilla. He’s a bruiser.”
He was also a loyal friend. Simon knew Lance would get him a fifth of vodka if he asked for it and not tell a soul, but that wasn’t the kind of friend he needed at the moment. He needed more people like his hard-hitting publicist. Maybe she wasn’t a barrel of laughs, or even particularly good for his ego, but she demanded he follow the rules—more so than anyone else.
“How’s Gail handling the onslaught?” he asked. The paparazzi had to be all over her; she’d never had to protect her privacy so was therefore much easier to reach.
“Haven’t talked to her. She’s shut herself in her house like you have and won’t come out.” Pointing outside, he clicked his tongue. “Aw, they got her.”
Simon didn’t care about the girl with the camera. He had too many other things to worry about. Besides, women acted in zany ways to get his attention all the time. “Will Gail be able to handle the pressure when she does come out?”
Now that there was nothing exciting going on, Ian turned from the window. “Of course. She’s tough. You know that.”
Truer words were never spoken. Gail had such control of herself, her life. Simon envied that. When he’d married Bella, he’d been so sure he was doing the right thing, so sure he’d do a better job of being a husband than his father had.
“When does she plan on surfacing?”
Ian clipped his sunglasses to his shirt. “Don’t know. I checked in with Joshua this morning. He said Gail won’t pick up, even for him. I guess the news that she was seeing you got her in some kind of fight with her family.”
Simon felt his muscles tense. “They don’t think I’m good enough for her?”
“You know how judgmental people can be. Give her father a Ferrari and everything will be fine.”
Simon didn’t get the impression Gail’s father was that easy to placate. “She’s old enough to make her own decisions. It’s none of their business.”
“Doesn’t matter. They don’t want her with someone who has a reputation for sleeping around.”
Ian’s words cut, but Simon had gotten damn good at pretending nothing could hurt him. He was actually surprised that something this small could bother him. It was the lack of alcohol, the new vulnerability. He had to figure out how to shield himself some other way.
“On top of that she’s afraid her phones are bugged,” Ian went on. “She won’t trust her cell, either. Even Josh insisted on calling me from somewhere other than the office.” He chuckled. “She’s militant, man. That’s what makes her so great at her job. I’m being straight up with you. I wouldn’t want to go into this with anyone else.”
Simon agreed and—suddenly—wanted to see her. His manager meant well but often did more harm than good. Maybe he could draw some strength from Gail’s no-nonsense, do-or-die approach to life’s tougher choices. Maybe spending a few minutes with her would give him a fresh shot of determination. “When are we supposed to get together for that romantic dinner?”
“The one where we leak your location to the press but pretend we’re shocked when they show up? We talked about next week sometime, right?”
“Let’s do it tonight.”
Ian straightened. “It’s already after noon. How will I get a message to her if she won’t answer her phone? I guess I could text, but who knows if—”
“Go over there.”
“And if the paparazzi follow me?”
“That’s what they’re supposed to do, isn’t it? That’s what this whole thing is about.”
* * *
Simon wasn’t looking his best, but the restaurant was so dimly lit Gail couldn’t discern any one reason. He was well-groomed, well-dressed—more so than when she’d sat with him in the living room and plotted out their marriage. So…maybe it wasn’t his looks that were off; it was something else. The bravado that was normally such a part of him was gone. The way he kept shifting, he seemed tired, stressed, restless. She would’ve assumed he was bored, except that he’d drawn out the meal as long as possible, even though he had no apparent interest in eating. He’d downed five Cokes while barely touching the oysters on the half shell he’d ordered or the salmon and Italian sausage pasta he professed to love. When she asked him why he wasn’t eating, he said he wasn’t hungry.