Chapter 29 Georgina
GEORGINA
Reed leads me through several rooms on the ground floor of his impressive home, while I “ooh” and “aah” and take furious notes on my phone.
He shows me a game room. A wine room. A home theater.
We walk down a hallway and turn a corner and, suddenly, I’m standing in the most spectacular kitchen imaginable—a beautiful, sleek space that instantly makes me wish my mother were alive to see it.
“Do you cook?” I ask, running my palm over a sleek countertop.
“I cook breakfast pretty well. But, mostly, it’s my housekeeper, Amalia, who cooks in here. Caterers, too.”
“When is Amalia at the house, typically?”
“She stays overnight Monday through Thursday every week, unless I’ve told her to take off at five during any given week. Some weeks, I want complete privacy when I get home from work.”
I open my mouth to suggest perhaps this coming week should be one of those weeks of extra privacy, but the clever man beats me to the punch.
“Yes, Georgina. Of course, I’ve already told Amalia to take off at five every day this week. I had no choice, once I found out you’re a screamer. My house is big, but it’s not big enough to contain Georgina Ricci’s screams of ecstasy.”
I swat his shoulder. “I’ve never screamed like that with anyone but you.”
“Well, that’s a given.” He gestures for me to follow him. “The quicker we get through this tour, the quicker I’ll get to hear you scream again.”
He leads me through a set of French doors and around a corner, and, suddenly, we’re standing on a serene patio, complete with water features, twinkling lights, and manicured bushes and flowers.
“Am I dead?” I ask, looking around the peaceful space. “Is this heaven?”
Reed chuckles. “That’s what Henn’s wife, Hannah, said when she first saw this patio. That’s why I offered to host their wedding here—because Hannah loved it so much.”
“I can’t believe you let them have their wedding here. That was so generous.”
Reed shrugs it off. “All I did was open my house and wallet, and Hannah and her wedding consultant did the rest.”
“Wait, you paid for the wedding? I thought you meant you let them use your house for it—which, right there, would have been an incredibly generous thing to do.”
Reed pulls a face like that’s a ridiculous notion. “What kind of person says to his best friend, ‘Sure, you can use my house to marry the love of your life,’ but then doesn’t foot the bill?”
“Um, plenty of people say that. And I’m sure it’s very much appreciated.”
Reed waves at the air. “Go big or go home, baby. It’s one of my favorite mantras.” He points to my phone playfully. “Write that down, Intrepid Reporter. ‘Reed lives by the mantra, Go big or go home.’”
I roll my eyes. “I think I can remember you’re a big fan of ‘going big’ without writing it down.” I motion to our surroundings. “All I’ll have to do is look around me this week to remember that fact.”
“Suit yourself. I wouldn’t deign to tell a professional how to do her job.” He flashes me a charming smile. “Ready to move on?”
“Lead on.”
I follow Reed down a pathway, past a basketball court, and then past a beach-volleyball court, and a moment later, we’re standing next to an elegant black-bottom swimming pool overlooking the twinkling lights of Los Angeles.
“This is spectacular,” I say. “I love swimming—being weightless. If I lived here, I’d swim laps every day of my life. Or maybe, just come out here to float.”
“Feel free to use the pool any time you like. It’s heated.”
“Thank you. I’ll definitely take you up on that. Although, given that I didn’t pack a swimsuit, I think I’ll wait until after Amalia leaves each day. I wouldn’t want to give the poor woman an unexpected view of my ass.”
Reed arches his brow, his dirty thoughts etched all over his face.
“As you wish. Full disclosure, though...” He gestures above us, to a second-story wall of windows.
“That’s my bedroom right there. If I hear a splash, I’m gonna head straight to my window, hoping to see an unexpected view of your ass. ”
“As you wish. As long as you join me after I’ve gotten my workout in.”
“No need to swim as your work out. I work out every morning, first thing. I was assuming my shadow would join me.”
“Oh, I love morning workouts. I taught some morning classes at the gym at UCLA.”
“You taught classes?”
I nod. “Spin and Pilates.”
He gestures to my body. “Well, that answers that question. Well, hell. If you like spin, you should try out my Peloton this week.”
“Oh! I’ve always wanted to try one.” I frown. “Except... shoot. I didn’t pack my cycling shoes, any more than a swimsuit... probably because I thought I’d be on the road this week with one of my favorite bands.”
Reed pulls out his phone, ignoring my snarky tone. “What’s your shoe size, Ricci?”
“Oh. No. I didn’t mean for you to—”
“I insist.”
“I can’t let you buy me cycling shoes, Reed.”
“Tell me your damned shoe size, or I’ll sic Amalia on you. And trust me, you don’t want a determined Amalia on your ass.”
Reluctantly, I tell Reed what he wants to know, and he places the order.
“Thank you. You’re making me feel right at home.”
“My home is yours.” He drinks me in for a long beat, brazenly undressing me with his eyes. “How about we cut this tour short, and head straight to the last stop?”
“Nope,” I say. “I want the full tour. Plus, don’t pop a stiffy yet, dude. You’re not getting into my pants again until you’ve fulfilled your end of our bargain.”
He looks at me blankly.
“Alessandra’s demo? You’re required to listen to the first minute of all three songs.”
“Aren’t you forgetting a little something? Before I’m required to listen to a single song on that demo, you’re required to give me two lap dances and a striptease.”
I scoff. “I’ve already paid my debts to you, and then some.
Letting you eat me out at the stadium was the equivalent of five stripteases.
And the way you fucked me in that closet was the equivalent of ten lap dances.
Plus, regardless, all bets were off the minute that PA walked in on us, and saw my tits and wahoo hanging out, and you camped between my legs with shiny lips.
That was the most humiliating thing that’s ever happened to me, Reed. I get a free pass for that.”
Reed chuckles. “Fair enough. All right. I hereby release you from your debts, on one condition: I’ll listen to the demo in bed—while lying next to you.”
I raise my index finger. “If we’re on top of the bed, yes. Not in it. And if we’re fully clothed.”
He chuckles. “On top of the bed, but in our pajamas.”
I pause. “Agreed.”
He winks. “Tricked ya. I sleep in the nude.”
I giggle. “You’ve got to wear sweatpants, at least, or we’ll get too distracted and never make it through the entire demo.”
“I’ll wear briefs. That’s my final offer.”
I roll my eyes. “Fine, but I’m wearing my actual pajamas.”
He grins. “Always such a fierce negotiator. All right. Our contract is hereby amended. Sign here.” He puts out his palm and I mime signing my name across it. And then, with a charming, seductive smile, he slides his hand in mine and leads me away from his swimming pool to continue the tour.
“And here I thought only guys with small dicks had a thing for sports cars,” I say. “I couldn’t have been more wrong.”
We’re standing in Reed’s expansive garage, which is filled with not one, not two, not three, but six gleaming sports cars. As we’ve walked down the line of them, Reed has waxed poetic about all of them—although none more so than his Bugatti, parked at the far end. His pride and joy.
After Reed has finished telling me about his car collection, we come upon an elaborate shelving unit on the far end of the garage that’s filled to bursting with outdoor-adventure and sporting equipment.
I ask him a few questions about all of it, just to be thorough, and he talks enthusiastically about his love of fitness.
I gesture to a surfboard, and he tells me a few stories.
I gesture to a set of golf clubs and ask if he’s a big golfer, expecting him to nonchalantly dazzle me with his prowess on the links.
But to my surprise, Reed says he hates golf.
“I’d actually rather get a root canal than spend a day golfing. ”
“Then why do you have a fancy set of clubs? Just in case you wake up one day with the nagging impulse to torture yourself?”
Surprisingly, the question elicits a contemplative expression from Reed.
A deep furrow in his brow, followed by a deep exhale.
“Okay, Intrepid Reporter,” he says. “I’m going to throw you a bone, kid.
I promised CeeCee I’d let you unpeel one layer of my onion during this interview.
So, let’s unpeel it now, and get it out of the way—like ripping off a Band-Aid.
That way, we can relax the rest of the week with no stress. ”
“Sounds great,” I say, even though I’m thinking, Oh, honey, if you think I’m stopping at one layer unpeeled, then you don’t know me at all.
For a moment, Reed runs his fingertips over the gleaming head of a golf club, looking lost in thought. Finally, he says, “When I was growing up, my father was obsessed with golf. So, of course, since I idolized my father, I wanted to be obsessed with golf, too.”
Holy crap. I didn’t see that coming at all. I can’t believe Reed is talking about his father, without any coaxing.
Reed says, “My father used to golf every weekend. And, of course, during the week, he was busy with work and his mistresses. Although I didn’t know about that second thing until much later.
All I knew was, if I wanted to spend time with my father, which I did, then I had to pick up golf and tag along with him on the weekends. ”
My pulse is thumping in my ears. My fingers feel like they’re physically itching with the urge to take notes.
But I stand still, holding my breath, afraid to do or say anything that might break this unexpected spell.
I don’t know what’s prompted Reed to give me this scoop, and I don’t want to do anything to make him change his mind.
“Finally, around age twelve, about a year before my father got arrested, I could finally hit from the back tees, where he teed off. And, man, he was so proud of that. In the clubhouse, my father would tell anyone who’d listen, ‘My boy, Reed, is only twelve, and he’s already hitting off the back tees!
’” Reed looks wistful for a beat, before his face darkens.
“And then, out of nowhere, the FBI raided our house at dawn one morning and dragged him away. Suddenly, his face was all over the news. The press was saying he was some kind of monster. But since I knew he was innocent, I kept playing golf every weekend by myself, so I’d continue making progress, and continue making him proud once the trial was over and he came home. ”
Oh, Reed. The look on his face is making my heart squeeze.
With a deep sigh, he frowns at his golf clubs like they’re flipping him off.
“Obviously, nothing worked out the way twelve-year-old Reed thought it would. The jury convicted my father on all counts. He got sentenced to one hundred sixty-seven years in federal prison. And, for the first time, I devoured all the articles about him. I learned about the mountain of evidence against him. And I realized the jury had gotten it right. My father had done all of it. He’d lied and cheated and stolen, over and over again, while pretending to be a pillar of the community.
” He sighs. “And, all of a sudden, I felt ashamed to be me. Ashamed of my name. I worried people would think I’m just like him.
A liar and a thief.” His dark eyes find mine.
“And I sure as fuck didn’t want to play fucking golf anymore. ”
My stomach clenches at the hardness in his eyes. “I’m so sorry for everything you’ve been through in your childhood, Reed.”
“Everybody’s got shit from their childhood.
Terrence Rivers just happens to be mine.
” His Adam’s apple bobs. He manages a thin smile.
“All right, Intrepid Reporter. My onion has now officially been peeled, in accordance with my promise to CeeCee. How about I show you some memorabilia in my home office now?” He gestures to a side door.
“From there, I’ll show you the gym upstairs, your room. .. and, finally, mine.”