Chapter 40
Chapter Forty
Derek
“Is it just me, or is this the most anticlimactic moment ever?”
Laughing at Donovan’s entirely serious question, I slip my hand into hers as we walk across a sparse parking lot toward a nondescript two-story building in Pasadena.
I have to agree with her that the location is pretty underwhelming, but that does nothing to calm the nerves growing stronger in my chest, making my heart pound harder with each step.
“What were you expecting?” I ask, hoping to keep my thoughts from running wild.
I have no idea what to expect inside that building, but this visit was inevitable as soon as Hank’s PI friend reached out to me a few weeks ago with the final piece of information I needed.
Which means I’ve had a few weeks to overthink this encounter and imagine every way things could go wrong.
When we reach the unmarked glass doors at the front of the building, Donovan pauses and looks up, like she’s hoping to see through one of the upper windows. “I don’t know. Giant columns, billowing black smoke, fiery torches on either side of a gate made from human skulls?”
Snorting, I bend down and kiss her temple. “Seriously?”
“This is Hollywood Hot Scoop’s headquarters!
” she says, waving her arm toward the building.
“You’d think it would look more evil. And it’s not my fault that being back in California has thrown me back to my teen years.
If this were one of my movies, the scene I just described is exactly what we would be facing right now. ”
Honestly, I’d rather have her scenario than the reality in front of me.
“What if she’s in there?” I ask, then wince. I sound like the uncertain seventeen-year-old who just got told his mother wants to meet him for dinner.
“Then I’ll finally get a chance to give her a piece of my mind,” Donovan says without hesitation. She narrows her eyes at the doors. “In fact, I hope she’s here. I need her to know that I’m not the weakling I pretended to be in Moab and that she can’t scare me off with a few words on a screen.”
“Later,” I say, though I’m thoroughly enjoying the bite in her tone. We have a whole plan for the day that includes showing the world that Nova Tate is thriving, but first we need to drop in on Hot Scoop’s owner and editor in chief, Neil Shaw.
Also known as Brenda’s husband.
As soon as Hank’s PI friend, Chad, tracked down my mom’s confidential marriage license and followed a trail of DBAs and holding companies to get to Shaw’s ownership of Hollywood Hot Scoop, I felt so stupid for not figuring it out earlier.
Shaw has enough wealth that my mom would have had plenty of reason to brag about him instead of simply telling me she fell for him.
And if she really wanted to be in my life and be a family again, she would have at the very least told me his name.
But she kept his identity a secret; she knew I would eventually connect the dots and end up here if she let it slip.
“So, how long are we going to stand out here?” Donovan asks, squeezing my hand. “Some people—obviously not me—might start to wonder how you can jump out of an airplane without hesitation but be frozen with fear when it comes to a conversation with a silly little tabloid.”
I don’t know how she can make me smile when I feel like I’m barely holding my life together, but I love her for it.
“Can I admit something?” I’m stalling, yes, but something I learned while working alongside Pops the last few months was the power and peace that comes from accepting reality as it is. Not as I want it to be.
Donovan lifts an eyebrow at me. “Is that a real question?”
“No. I’m going to admit something. I spent two weeks training to do that plane jump and did several practice jumps, both tandem and on my own. Every single jump scared the crap out of me. I hated every minute of that stunt and wish I hadn’t done it.”
Squeezing my hand again, she smiles up at me like I just told her my darkest secret. “Even though that movie won you an Oscar?”
“Even then.” It’s better if I don’t admit how much I hate the Academy Awards as well. Yes, I’ve won twice and had three other nominations, but those three awards that I didn’t win are what fully pushed me to go to therapy after I met Bonnie.
Nothing like a blatant failure to trigger your maladaptive perfectionism.
Even years later, those losses still sit heavy in my chest.
“Okay,” Donovan says. “So, you’re afraid of falling to your death. That’s perfectly valid. It’s harder to see why you’re afraid to step through that door.”
I keep my eyes on the door in question when I say, “Because this conversation isn’t just about me. This involves the people I care about most. It’s not my body on the line but my heart, which isn’t nearly as strong as the rest of me.”
“Then it’s a good thing you’ve got me here, huh? Come on, Supes. You promised me a beach day.”
Letting her pull me forward, I follow this incredible woman who keeps changing my life, and step into the empty lobby.
We take the elevator to the second floor and head for the door that reads Pasadena Tribune.
Donovan doesn’t slow down, which means, before I’m ready, we walk into the small, unadorned office and come face-to-face with two people halfway hidden by gray cubicle walls.
The closer employee, a man who looks to be in his early thirties and has impressively vibrant lavender hair, is deep into whatever he’s typing on his laptop and doesn’t seem to notice us.
The other looks up, brow furrowing as she studies us, almost like she’s confused why anyone would have walked through the door. Unlike her coworker, none of her features stand out, and she has a timid sort of look about her.
For a moment, I wonder if Chad’s information was wrong and we really did step into a local newspaper’s office, but then I watch recognition spark in the woman’s eyes.
She swears loudly and says my name, clapping a hand to her mouth as she stares at me with wide, horrified eyes.
The man lifts his head and gets halfway through asking what’s wrong with her before he follows her gaze and sees us standing near the door. He leaps to his feet, knocking his rolling chair into the cubical wall, and adds his own curse to his coworker’s.
I get recognized everywhere I go, but it’s their fear that tells me I’m in the right place. Drawing confidence from their reactions, I stand at my full height and fold my arms. “I’m here to talk to Neil Shaw.”
The woman gulps and points to the door behind the cubicles. “He isn’t—”
“There’s no one here by that name,” the man interrupts. “Is there something we can help you with?” He seems to be getting over his shock, attempting an air of nonchalance that no one in their right mind would believe is real. Not when his hands are shaking at his sides.
Channeling the same character I used to threaten Brody, I step forward with heavy footfalls until I’m only a couple of feet away from the man and he’s forced to look up to meet my gaze.
“Yeah, so, I’m in a bit of a time crunch and have better things to do than pretend that you and I don’t know what you’re really working on here.
So either you can tell Shaw that I’m here for a quick chat, or I can assume that you’re the one who’s been writing lies about me and my friends, and we can deal with this man to man.
” I shift my gaze to the woman. “Or are you the person behind the slander? Because if so, Nova Tate would like a word.”
“Yeah, I would,” Donovan says in a growly timbre that sends a shiver down my spine.
Both Hot Scoop employees gape at us, all their thoughts on display on their faces as they seem to calculate their rate of success if they try to verbally spar with either of us. Their expressions range from disbelief to terror, with some impressive but delusional confidence thrown in the mix.
It’s the woman who breaks first. “We didn’t write that story about Miss Tate.”
“Gina!” the man hisses in warning.
“Well we didn’t!” she hisses back. “I’m not going down for something I didn’t write.”
“I don’t know what you think we do here, Mr. Riley,” the man says with false calm in his words, “but you have the wrong idea.”
Gina scoffs and rolls her eyes.
He glares at her. “If you want to get fired,” he mutters, “go right ahead. Then I wouldn’t have to put up with you anymore.”
Though she glances at Donovan and me, Gina turns her focus to her coworker and speaks in a mocking undertone that’s a lot louder than she must think, since I can hear every word.
Clearly I was wrong about her being timid; there’s plenty of bite in her words.
“Look at me, I’m Toby Penning and I’m so much better because I’ve been here three months longer. ”
“I am better,” he argues sharply. “That’s why I’m the senior writer.”
“You got lucky. It’s not my fault I had a dentist appointment!”
Toby groans. “You’re never going to let that go, are you?”
“If I hadn’t been gone, you never would have gotten that Derek story!”
“So why’d I get all the rest of them, huh?”
“Because you’re a suck-up and gave Brenda access to your account!”
“Don’t go there!” Toby snaps. Both of them have progressively grown louder as their argument continues. “Miss ‘I’m going to suck up to the boss and have no creative integrity’ is going to lecture me? You write whatever he tells you to.”
“He’s our editor. That’s literally what we’re supposed to do! You know what we’re not supposed to do? Take bribes from the boss’s wife.”
I don’t know whether to shout at them or start laughing, and Donovan seems to be equally confused as she comes to stand at my side and join me in watching the writing team implode as if they’ve entirely forgotten that we’re standing here.
What should we do? Clear our throats to remind them we’re here?
Wait until they run out of steam after giving us all the answers we came here for?