TWENTY-SIX
ZAIRN WAS ALREADY on the roof when someone came to tell her it was time to go. With the rotors going, and an audience, they didn’t have time to talk. Not that there was anything to say. He may not be aware of the Anjelica thing at all.
At the club, they were whisked into a sea of people. They’d used the main dance floor for her birthday celebration. That night was access all areas. Their guests took up space upstairs, downstairs, and in the VIP suite, anywhere they wanted.
She had an appointment, so as Zairn was coopted by a bunch of unknown suits—that wasn’t a fair descriptor, practically every guy there wore a suit—she headed for their base.
Zairn had a preferred private pod in LA’s Crimson.
It had been his preferred space before her too, a lot happened in that room, but it was a place she didn’t mind setting as off-limits.
Mieux was the one she’d sent on the mission, but it was Stephen Barrow who opened the door to let Reeve Crosby inside.
“Want me to stay?” Stephen asked, eyeing Crosby like he wasn’t best pleased with the reporter.
“No, but don’t go far.” He started to leave. “But, hey, where have you been these last two weeks?”
“Here,” Stephen said. “Someone had to run the show with Ballard in New York.”
She liked that. How their family pitched and heaved and got things done.
“We’ve come a long way, Riot Guy. And to think one day you sent me to jail.”
His smile was lopsided. “Night’s still young, Kyst.”
As he slipped out, she just shook her head. What a world they lived in. But he was right, with her, and LA, there was always a chance of civil unrest and law enforcement intervention. They were kind of already halfway there.
“You rang?” Crosby said.
Not literally, but, yeah. “You want a drink?” she asked, going to the wall panel to adjust the lighting and the music.
She wanted somewhere quiet to talk, didn’t want to miss the party entirely. And a hostess knew how important ambiance was to getting what she wanted.
“Didn’t you get married today?”
“I did.” She glanced back. “Sit down.”
“And I’m here for… This gonna be like a pinata thing?”
“Are pinatas standard at weddings? We haven’t had one yet.”
“I meant—”
“I know what you meant.”
With everything in order, she stepped out of her ruby slippers and headed to the drink awaiting her on the table. Even on their wedding day, surrounded by friends, her drink monitor loitered on the other side of the glass, fixated on her drink.
“Shoes are a nice touch.”
“I thought so.”
“Like the hair too.”
“Thank you.” She dropped onto the couch, right in the middle. A novelty. She didn’t usually have the thing to herself. “Are you going to sit down?”
“I assume we’re waiting for someone.”
“Are we?” She sipped her drink and crossed her legs, bundling them onto the couch next to her. “Who? I didn’t know you had a plus one.”
“You have a plus one.”
“I don’t know where he is right now.” She relaxed against the backrest. “And you probably don’t want him to join us.”
“Why not?”
“Because his last experience with you involved a security bailout.” Short memory. “I don’t know that he knows what happened tonight.”
He chose a perpendicular armchair. “You really haven’t talked to him?”
“I said that, didn’t I?”
“So why am I here?”
“Everything, this entire conversation, is off the record.” After his nod, she continued. “I know what happened tonight. And unless it was some elaborate ruse, you did good.”
“Thank you.”
She leaned close to whisper, “Was it an elaborate ruse?”
Glaring, the question didn’t amuse. “No.”
“Why speak out?”
His mouth opened a little, he breathed, pondering? Checking himself? Did he plan to hold back or let rip?
“You are a human being, Roxie, and this is your wedding day. Do I think Zairn’s squeaky-fucking-clean? No, I don’t. But…”
Five second wait. Ten seconds. Was she supposed to say something? What was he expecting? She needed more information before making a move.
“Go on,” she said in her best patient, understanding therapist voice.
“There were things on the tablet…”
“Bad things? Incriminating things? Angry things? Dick pics? Homemade porn? Oh, are you a plushie?”
Didn’t he just get a thousand times more interesting!
The line of his lips thinned, except this time he wasn’t annoyed, he almost seemed… amused. Another person who thought she was crazy. Damn, why not own it?
“Things that might’ve been of interest to you.”
“Things I’d be mad at if I read them?” She touched the surface of her drink. “I meant what I said. Zairn’s the one you have to thank for that. He’s the voice of reason in a lot of rooms.”
“And that forty-eight-hour period was…” His inhale came with a head shake. “Is that how you live every day?” Ah, a little empathy, perhaps. “Waiting for someone to broadcast your biggest secret?”
“Unfortunately for the press, I don’t have any big secrets. I barely have any little ones.”
“If that’s true, why surround yourself with security?”
“Security is less about the media and more about the fanatics.” That wasn’t fair. “Sometimes, if we’re out and about, people crowd close, and they could get hurt. Security is there to keep people safe, not hide some dark secret.”
“You restrict access.”
“I don’t know any public figure who doesn’t. We can’t have an open door, ‘come on over and watch us eat’ policy. Sometimes we have to shower and sleep.”
“You’re entitled to privacy.”
“Wow,” she said. “Can I have that in writing?”
“I stand by what I said, you’re a celebrity and people want to get close. You’re living the dream.”
“One you know more about than you let on. How did you know what you said outside to Anjelica? About Zairn and his assistant?”
“Think you’ve got a mole?”
“In Tibbs? No.” Was Hell getting chilly? “I probably should’ve checked it was true before asking you.”
“If it was true? Zairn didn’t tell you about the phone?”
“I didn’t speak to him this morning, that was true. And don’t change the subject, tell me how you knew.”
“Tibbs.”
“It was not Tibbs.” She breathed out. “You were eavesdropping or someone was. Hotel staff?”
As far as she knew, her guy hadn’t left the hotel, so it would have to be someone with access to the suite.
“Maybe…”
And that sly expression intrigued.
It hit her. “The butler,” she said. “Damnit.”
Zairn probably hadn’t had the chance to tell the guy to take a hike. She’d been staying in that suite for a couple of weeks, it had almost become a home from home. Usually, their lives were protected, their privacy secure. Her guy’s rules should stand whether he was around or not. Lesson learned.
“I don’t give up my sources.”
“No, of course not.”
“The guy loses his job and I’ll—”
“We don’t go around firing people, or demanding they be fired.” They could demand certain people not be in their vicinity though. Preserving their privacy was important. “It is what it is.”
“Reasoned,” he said. “Will your husband agree with you?”
“I don’t know, ask Anjelica, apparently I make all the decisions and manipulate him, blackmail him.” The tapering of his eyes zeroed in, he tilted his head, suggesting confusion. “What is it? Come on. Just say it. This is a safe space.”
“Ha, if only that was true.”
“It is, for the duration of this conversation,” she said. “I’ve had enough champagne to loosen up the boundaries.” Her head dropped to the side as she whispered. “Just don’t tell Z.”
“You don’t seem like that, like you’d manipulate him. Maybe you do. From my experience you’re less… subtle.”
Blunt was one of Zairn’s favorite words for her. Thanks, Knox. Manipulation did take time and effort she’d rather not waste. And if they couldn’t be honest with each other…
She chose to take that observation as a compliment. “Thank you.”
“When it comes to the press… He’s much more relaxed with us now than he was before you.”
“And…”
“And explain it to me. I don’t—everything Anjelica says, you say it’s a lie.”
“It is.”
“So how do you sit here, smiling, living your life without… Why don’t you speak out? Tell the truth. Tell the people the truth, whatever it is.”
“Defend my relationship? My husband? My honor?”
“Yes!”
On a head shake, she laughed. “To who? I love him and he loves me. We have a life together, communication, respect… My life is incredible and I’ve never been happier. What difference does it make what a stranger says to the press? Saying it doesn’t make it true.”
“But your stream, the clubs, and—”
“Business is fine. And I talk to people through my streams, sometimes I answer questions. I’m always honest. I’ll tell the truth or decline to talk about something if it crosses a line.
Anjelica, she… either she’s a plant or she’s sick.
Z and I are more likely to help her get help than think about tearing her down. There’s no satisfaction in that.”
“People doubt, when you stay quiet, they think there’s a story.”
“Is that what you think? Okay…” She righted her dress over her knee. “Let’s say it’s true, that everything the faux mistress is saying is true.” No juicy quote in that. “Hypothetically.”
“Yeah…”
“That’s a conversation I would have with my partner. Even if we broke up, I wouldn’t go crying to the press, it makes no sense. There’s no validation in that for me. So knowing it’s not true, it’s barely worth a conversation with Zairn, why would it warrant one with Anjelica or the mass media?”
“You’re just cool with it?”
Her lips curled. “It’s today and tomorrow will be tomorrow. There are real, honest to God problems in the world that should upset all of us. Someone lies about Zairn today and someone else lies about me tomorrow, it never ends. We take a deep breath and appreciate what’s real.”
“Your relationship?”
“Yes.”
“Because you love him?”
“Yes.”
“And you’re sure he’s not cheating on you?”
“Yes.”
Beyond her drink observer, Sam stood by one of the VIP bars. Nice. Glad he’d come.
“I don’t think many people would be this understanding.”
“The world wants a cat fight,” she said. “And I won’t dignify it. Anjelica can shout and scream and stamp her feet. Nothing she says will impact my relationship or my happiness.”
“I can’t decide if…”
“I have the healthiest relationship in the world or I’m the most na?ve woman on the planet?”
More amusement. “Right.”
“I get that a lot.”
Her brother wasn’t alone. For once. Rather than be on the edge looking in, he was talking, animated, not as entirely grumpy as she might expect.
“What…?” Reeve’s head turned as he followed her line of sight. “Is there a problem?”
“No,” she murmured. “I just feel like that guy should be familiar.”
Not her brother, the guy standing next to him, in their little cluster. Her brother didn’t cluster. He didn’t socialize, not like the rest of the world did.
“This is your reception, shouldn’t you know everyone?”
She scoffed. “You might think so, but…”
“Don’t know the guy in the middle, but the guy with the red rose on his lapel is Ridge Wylde.” She mouthed the name. Good thing someone knew what was what. “Rose is an odd touch. He can’t have been in the wedding party.”
Because otherwise she really should know him.
That was one answer she could give. “It’s a Crimson rose. They were handed out as people arrived. Party favors.”
“I didn’t get one.”
“You didn’t come through the front door,” she said. And he wasn’t an official guest. Was the guy’s name supposed to mean something to her? “Am I meant to know Ridge Wylde?”
“He has a TV show.”
“Oh, a celebrity.”
“You might’ve seen his face here and there.”
Why would her brother be talking to a celebrity? He didn’t care about fame. Maybe, like her, he had no idea what the guy did for a living.
People were more than the sum total of their jobs. She was. Her guy was. Their friends. Their—what would Sam have in common with a TV star?
Curiosity piqued.
“There’s a lot of pretty people around here,” she muttered.
“That’s LA for you.”
All the pretty people. The city was rife with contradictions. Massive wealth juxtaposed with crippling poverty. Some cities had their own personality, their own attitude. After growing up in Chicago, she had to admit that New York was more her pizzazz. It had panache, its own style.
California wasn’t as familiar. She liked it, but the money meant more there.
No one could deny New York had prosperity.
Wall Street, Park Avenue, hello! But in LA, they wore their successes, enhanced them, begged anyone to challenge them.
Though when someone did, which did happen, there wasn’t the same front they’d get from Chicago and New York.
People were more sensitive, maybe that was it.
Reeve cleared his throat. “Can we talk about the last minute twist?”
“What last minute twist?”
“I heard Knox Collier got married too. To your best friend. Is it true?”
“Might be.”
“All that goodwill for the Anjelica thing over already?”
“You didn’t do it for goodwill. Maybe you did, but it’s my wedding day, so I choose not to be cynical.” For once. “If Knox Collier, and/or my best friend have news to share, it’s their news to share. Or not. What about you?”
“I didn’t get married today.”
Ha, funny. “Maybe not, but is there a special someone?”
Had she seen evidence of a significant other at his apartment? Not that she remembered, though she hadn’t really been looking.
“Are we friends now?”
The door behind her, the one they’d entered by, opened, swiveling her all the way around and putting Reeve on his feet.
No one should’ve been able to open that door except—
“Ah, my husband,” she said on a sigh, arms falling open.