“Am I? Aren’t you who told my father where to find me in Whiskey Creek?”
“Yes, but that’s because he wouldn’t leave me alone. I didn’t want to piss him off. That wouldn’t have helped you. We talked about this.”
“Why didn’t you tell me, from the very beginning, that he was one of the executive producers of Hellion?”
“I didn’t know! He wasn’t the person who approached us. They can sell an interest to anyone they want and often do, to raise money. We don’t get to dictate that, and you know it. I found out before you did and didn’t pass it along because I didn’t want to upset you, but I didn’t know at first.”
That might be true, but there was more to what was going on than Ian wanted him to find out. “I don’t think he had to push you very hard to get you to tell him where I was. You wanted him to press me to leave Whiskey Creek because there was something in it for you.”
“Like what?”
“Money. What else?”
“Come on. Look at this place.” He pointed to the furnishings that surrounded them. “I’m doing fine. I’d never betray you.”
“Not unless it was worth it. What did Bella offer you? Or were you the one making the offer to her? When I didn’t come home, when my dad signed that release, which you probably never expected, did it spook you? Did you promise her a chunk of change if she could get me back here?”
“Listen to yourself,” he scoffed. “You’re talking crazy.”
“Am I?” Simon spotted what he’d been looking for from the beginning—Ian’s cell phone. Snatching it off the counter where it was charging, he checked to see if he could get into it but it was password-protected. He held it up. “What’s your password?”
Ian’s eyes widened. “That’s none of your business. Give me my phone!”
“Either you give me your password so I can see who you’ve been calling and who’s been calling you, or I’m going to the police. They can get your records. You and Bella will both be busted.”
The color drained from Ian’s face.
“What’s it going to be?” Simon demanded. “Do you tell the truth and take responsibility for what you’ve done? Or do I have to push it farther?”
“Shit,” Ian breathed, and sank onto the couch.
* * *
Gail’s stomach was a riot of butterflies as the plane landed. She knew it wouldn’t be easy to look into the face of reporter after reporter and tell them all that she believed Simon was innocent. It wouldn’t be easy to fend off all the paparazzi who’d be eager to get her reaction to Simon’s “cheating,” either. But she wasn’t going to leave him in L.A. alone. Not only was she his wife, she was his publicist. She’d figure out some way to get the situation turned around.
She was staring down at her ring when everyone started to deplane. She’d have to flash it around, use it as a symbol of his commitment. Maybe that would help....
“Have a nice evening,” one of her seat partners said. Fortunately, no one on the plane seemed to have any idea who she was.
With a smile and a nod, she collected her carry-on bag and made her way into the airport. Once she reached the gate, she stepped off to one side to call Simon and let him know she was in.
“Hey,” she said when he answered.
“You here?”
“Yeah. You?”
“I’m at baggage claim.”
“You could’ve picked me up curbside.”
“No, I decided to park. Can’t wait to see you.”
“I’m nervous,” she admitted. “This is going to be crazy.”
“I won’t let it get too bad. I promise.”
Was there anything he could do? She didn’t think so, but she appreciated the protective sentiment. “We’ll get through it either way. See you in a sec.”
Joining the flow of traffic, she headed down the escalator. There was a crowd at the bottom, most of them holding cameras of some kind. She could see the call letters of various television stations. Others were holding microphones, or lights.
Instinctively, she knew they were waiting for her. But how had they known when she was arriving?
Feeling her anxiety intensify, she hiked up her carry-on and searched the crowd for Simon. He’d said he was in baggage claim. But would he be there if all the media were, too?
Apparently so. It didn’t take her long to find him. He was standing right in the middle of the crowd, wearing jeans and a leather jacket, watching her walk toward him. The way everyone was waiting, as if they’d all come to yell, “Surprise!” she almost got the impression he’d invited them here. What was going on?
When her gaze met his, she asked that question with her eyes, but he merely smiled and started toward her. The media hurried to keep up with his long strides while taking photographs and video of them both.
“What is this?” she murmured when they were close enough to speak.
“Ian and Bella doctored that footage. They’ve admitted it.”
“They have?” She could hardly believe it.
“They didn’t have much choice.”
“You know what that means, don’t you? You can prove that she was purposely keeping you from Ty. You can win custody.”
“That’s what I hope.”
“So—” she glanced at all the media “—why are these people here?”
“I asked them to come and document this.” Pulling her into his arms, he kissed her. Then he held her chin in his hand as he said, “I love you, Gail. I haven’t cheated, and I won’t. I would never do anything to hurt you.”
The warmth of pure happiness poured through her as he kissed her again. The crowd grew thicker, the noise grew louder, lights flashed and cameras rolled, but she didn’t care if the whole world looked on. He was letting everyone know he was completely committed to her.
They were just pulling apart when one of the reporters said, “Oh, my God! Is that your ring?”
Epilogue
“You’re not having coffee?” Callie indicated Gail’s orange juice as the usual suspects gathered in the large corner booth on a Friday morning in August. The weather in Whiskey Creek was every bit as beautiful as Los Angeles, maybe better, since it wasn’t as hot. Simon was glad to be back.
“In all the years we’ve been coming here, I don’t think I’ve ever seen you order anything else,” Eve added, also eyeing the orange juice. “Of course, you’ve been gone a lot of that time, but still. No one loves coffee more than you do.”