Читать книгу Red Carpet Arrangement - Vicki Essex - Страница 14

CHAPTER SIX

“WE HAVE TO find out who she is.”

Jamie peeked up from her desk as Limelight Whispers’ editor-in-chief, Lance McVeigh, paced behind his enormous desk, his thinning straw-yellow hair forming a wild halo around his head. A pattern of coffee-ring stains linked across the wood-veneer tabletop like caffeinated chain mail. Two open packages of cigarettes lay atop a small stack of file folders. Lance had been trying to quit all year.

On the other side of the desk, freelance investigative reporter Charlie “Chameleon” Durst watched him with the poise of a cat, one ankle crossed over his knee. His tailored blue suit fit his lean, angular form very nicely. He might have passed for an important investor, except that he wore white high-top canvas sneakers. She almost never saw him in his “regular” attire—the last time he’d been in, he’d worn a golf shirt, cargo shorts and black socks with sandals, as well as big sunglasses and a wig of thick black hair.

As if he knew she was watching him, he met her eyes and raised one dark eyebrow. Jamie averted her gaze and refocused on the webpage she’d been working on. That didn’t stop her from listening in, of course—the open-plan office didn’t offer much privacy.

“Until I’m reimbursed for the sources I’ve paid off, I won’t go further with this story.” Durst folded his arms over his chest.

“C’mon, Chuck. The IRS is on our asses. Everything’s gotta go through accounting. You’ll get your money, just not as fast as you usually do.”

Durst shook his head. “I need cold hard cash to get the information you’re asking for.”

“What happened to being a good journalist?”

Durst bleated a short, unpleasant laugh. “You think this is journalism? I was nominated for a goddamned Pulitzer—”

“And, oh, how the mighty have fallen,” Lance deadpanned. “But that’s not my problem, is it? I’ll remind you I’m the only one willing to believe the word of a proved liar.”

Jamie sank behind her computer, sensed her colleagues doing the same. Charlie Durst’s career had ended after he’d been caught plagiarizing numerous articles he’d written for a national newspaper about five years ago. Now he chased celebrities for a living. That Lance would mention the scandal made her cringe. She thought Charlie had paid for his mistakes long enough. It had nothing to do with her crush on him, of course.

“C’mon, Lance. I’m not made of money. Spot me some cash so I can complete the next leg of this story.”

The older man snorted. “You’re gonna need a whole lot more than a first name and speculation to get me to open my wallet.” He screwed off the cap of a bottle of antacids and popped two into his mouth. “Bring me definitive proof this woman exists and has a tie to Riley Lee Jackson. And I don’t mean the word of a couple of rent-a-cops.”

“It’s always been enough before. What’s changed? You finally grew a conscience?”

Lance glowered. “According to Legal, I can’t afford any more lawsuits.” He took a few bills from his wallet and dropped them in front of the reporter. “Bring me something good, ’cause until then you’re not getting any more than that. Now get the hell outta here.”

Durst took the cash and pushed up in one smooth motion. Jamie fixed her eyes on her screen and held her breath as the reporter walked toward her.

Just talk to him, Jamie.

He was three steps from her desk.

Say hello. Tell him you loved that piece he did last month.

Two steps.

Tell him you studied his stuff in journalism school. Tell him you did your independent study on his work.

He was right behind her.

“Mr. Durst!” She spun around, nearly crashing into his long legs. The man jumped back as she almost rolled her chair over his toes. She leaped to her feet and stuck her hand out. “Jamie Yarbo. I wanted to tell you I’m a big fan of your work.”

The corner of his mouth lifted. “Before or after I got shit-canned?”

Her words stalled. “I... I...”

“Sorry, I don’t let myself get an inflated ego when pretty young women throw themselves at my feet.” He winked, though there was more than a hint of self-deprecation in his eye. He shook her hand firmly. “Nice to meet you, Jamie. And, please, call me Charlie.”

Butterflies took flight in her belly. She pulled her shoulders back, intent on not letting his “pretty” comment faze her. “Would you like to go for a cup of coffee?”

He regarded her with a tilt of his chin. “When?”

“How about now?”

His smile spread. “She moves fast. I like it.”

She grabbed her purse, heart pounding. Who knew when he’d be in the office next? She rarely saw him, and this was the first time she’d had the nerve to speak to him.

They went to the café on the ground floor of the building. The food wasn’t anything to write home about, but the coffee was fresh.

As they carried their coffees to a table in the corner, she said, “I couldn’t help but overhear... Lance was really riding you hard.”

Durst lifted a shoulder. “He’s allowed to. He’s one of the few guys in town willing to pay me.”

“You take amazing photos.”

“Thanks, though they have more to do with luck than any skill of mine. A twenty-thousand-dollar camera does the rest.”

“You’re so humble.” She nearly slapped a hand over her mouth. She hadn’t wanted to play the simpering, starstruck ingenue, but she couldn’t help it. “I mean, you’ve done so much... All those stories...”

“Thanks.” His sardonic smile nearly melted her insides. “What do you do at Limelight Whispers?”

“I’m the fun-and-games editor.” She cringed inwardly. It sounded as trivial as her mother made it out to be. She amended sheepishly, “I put up the daily puzzles, comics and horoscopes, in addition to a lot of general web upkeep. I’m also working on the redesign. And I copy edit. I’ve written a couple of stories, too. I hope to write more.” She was babbling now.

Durst sipped his coffee. “You go to school for that?”

Jamie’s face flamed. Yeah, it wasn’t the Woodward and Bernstein type stuff she’d always dreamed of doing, but it wasn’t as if she was being given the opportunity to find her own stories.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean that as an insult,” Durst said kindly. “All I meant was that the industry is tough right now. Almost not worth the college tuition to go into it professionally. But kudos for sticking it out. Any job that pays the rent is a good one.”

Was that all the advice Charlie Durst had for her? She leaned forward, trying to act casual. “So what’s this story you’re working on for Lance?”

He gave a dry chuckle. “I think you know exactly what it is, Miss Little Pitcher With Big Ears. I bet everyone in the office knows.”

She lowered her voice. “You’re looking for the woman Riley Lee Jackson helped at the premiere, right?”

“Isn’t everyone?”

“But you’re the only one who has a name.”

“One I paid for, sure. No guarantees it’s not fake. Do you know why I go around in disguise so often? It’s because people recognize me. They don’t trust me and won’t talk to me. They think I’ll lie and make something up about them. In real journalism, you don’t have to pay for good information or wear stupid costumes. But in this town, with my past...” He trailed off with a grimace.

Poor Charlie. Clearly, he’d learned his lesson—the man deserved a second chance.

She decided to forge ahead, despite her misgivings. She didn’t want to burn Kat. She’d been sitting on this information out of a sense of loyalty to her friend...but that had eroded with every unanswered email to her friend. “Maybe I can help you.”

His eyebrow rose skeptically, but he didn’t laugh at her. She had his attention. This was her chance to finally prove she could be more than a web mistress.

“I think I know who the woman is.”

Charlie sat very still. “Do you have proof?”

“I might.” When Jamie saw those photos of the mystery woman Riley Lee Jackson had ushered into his limo, she’d recognized the outfit Kat had worn, the stoop of Kat’s shoulders, the line of her body. The pink streak in her hair was faint enough to be mistaken for a reflection, but Jamie would recognize it anywhere. Along with Kat’s cryptic messages, which she’d traced to a five-star hotel, Jamie was certain her friend was the woman in the picture...and Riley Lee Jackson was her baby’s father.

She’d planned to go through Kat’s things to see if she could confirm her initial suspicions—maybe find a diary or something that proved Riley was the baby daddy. But Kat had already packed her things and was on her way out of the apartment the day after the premiere. Jamie had felt betrayed when Kat hadn’t let her in on her big secret. She’d thought they were friends. She’d thought she was more than someone with a couch to Kat.

Charlie’s eyes narrowed. “It’s been over a week. Why didn’t you bring this information to Lance?”

“He doesn’t listen to me. To him, I’m just a code monkey. Anyhow, I thought maybe you and I could work together on this.”

He chuckled drily. “Well, might is a long way from actual proof. I need something concrete to go on.”

“What I meant was I know her personally.” She hesitated. “Maybe not as well as I thought, though.”

Kat knew she wanted to be a reporter—this story would’ve been a huge boost to her career. Indignation rose in Jamie. She would’ve protected Kat, made sure she was treated respectfully. But instead, Kat had lied through her teeth the whole time she’d lived under her roof and eaten her food. She’d had every opportunity to ask for Jamie’s help. Well, now that window was closed.

Charlie Durst watched her carefully, brown eyes steady. “Okay. Tell me what you know about this woman Riley Lee Jackson was with.”

She smiled. “How about we talk about it over dinner tonight?”

* * *

IT WAS LATE afternoon on Monday when Riley drove through the electronic gate to his home in Modesto. The high white adobe walls surrounding the property suddenly reminded him of levees holding back a tide, though which side the danger came from, he couldn’t say.

It’d been a long morning. His flight had been delayed due to mechanical errors. Then he’d had to force himself to smile and take pictures with fans at the airport arrivals area, where locals had gathered to welcome their megastar home.

“Fans are your bread and butter,” Sam had reminded him. “They’ll watch anything you’re in now, no matter how bad. Treat them well, and they’ll treat you well.”

He knew she was right, but he was dog tired after a week of parties, events, interviews and talk show appearances. He’d take off for his European tour in a couple of weeks, and after that he had the Pacific leg of promos to do. He’d been through it all before, of course, but not on this scale.

He pulled his car around the driveway and parked next to his mother’s sedan and an unfamiliar-looking electric blue hatchback—probably the rental he’d arranged for Kat.

He frowned as he examined the vehicle. He’d picked a fuel-efficient economy car not because he was cheap—he could buy several of these brand-new off the lot without making a dent in his bank account—but because he didn’t want Kat thinking he was an open wallet. Now that he saw the car, though, he regretted his choice. It looked like a dinky little toy. The baby couldn’t possibly be safe in that when there were Hummers and Escalades zooming all over the parkway.

The baby. His baby. It hit him anew, a fresh blow that had him leaning heavily against the hatchback for support. As much time as he’d spent diverting people’s attention from the premiere’s events, he’d hardly contemplated this new life he was about to take charge of.

If it was really his. Doubt still lingered. He didn’t know Kat, not really. But his gut told him there was no way the child could be anyone else’s.

Wishful thinking? Maybe.

The guesthouse door opened and he looked up. Seeing Kat standing there was like being smacked in the groin. Her vibrant pink T-shirt made the faded streak in her hair look even paler in comparison. Her eyes were the blue of the sky, huge and shimmering against her pale cheeks. Her tentative welcoming smile drew him forward, and he stopped himself when he realized he was moving toward her. “You’re home,” she said.

Home. Was that what this place was? It felt as if it’d been forever since he’d slept in his own bed. Then again, he spent so little time here he’d barely worn a groove into the new mattress.

He gestured distractedly at her rental, putting one hand on the hood to ground himself. “You need an upgrade.”

Her eyebrows knitted together. “Why? This is fine.”

“I thought they’d bring you something...safer.”

“It’s really unnecessary—”

“But I’d prefer it. For the baby’s safety.”

She crossed her arms over her chest.

Tell her you want to keep her safe, dummy. He didn’t. Awkwardly, he cleared his throat. “How’re you doing?”

“You mean how’s Sweetpea?” She mirrored his motions with a wry look. He hadn’t realized he’d mimed the roundness of her belly, which seemed to have grown since he’d seen her last.

He tucked his hands sheepishly into his pockets. “Sorry, I didn’t mean—”

“I’m fine. The baby’s doing a bit of a dance right now.” She laid a hand over her stomach. “Guess he’s excited to see you.”

Something stuck in Riley’s throat. “Can I...?” He reached out, but snapped his hand back. Just because they’d slept together didn’t mean she wanted him pawing at her. “I mean, I don’t need to, but—”

“Of course you do. Here.” Gently, she guided his hand to the taut surface of her stomach.

Something brushed and knocked against his palm. He drew back. “Whoa.” He stared at his hand, as if it might be marked. “That’s...that’s crazy. Does it hurt?”

“Not really. Sometimes he’ll knee me in the bladder, though. Kick me in the spine. Not fun.”

Riley stuffed his hands back into his pockets, but he already wanted to feel that weird sensation again. A life he’d helped create banging around the inside of this woman...

“I’m going to take my stuff inside, say hi to my mom,” he said hastily. “Will you join us for dinner?”

“Actually, I was thinking of staying in tonight. Kaylee’s been so obliging, cooking for the nonvegetarian, and I don’t want her to feel as if she has to. I can make do for myself.”

“Oh.” He wanted to sit down with her, to talk to her...to face her and absorb her. And yet a part of him held back.

“Why don’t you join me?” she invited. “I’ve got enough for two. I’m making pork chops. Don’t tell Kaylee.” She smiled impishly and put a finger to her lips.

Images of domestic bliss, of pretty Kat as his wife serving him dinner, flitted through his mind. He shut them off almost violently. “I should probably spend some time with my family first.”

The warmth drained from her eyes, though her smile remained. “Okay. No worries.”

“It’s good to see you.” Riley mentally kicked himself. He sounded as if he were greeting an old classmate in the street. For Christ’s sake, he was an actor—a man whose job was to understand all the subtleties and subtext of language and words, a man supposedly in full control of his body and tone. And yet, in front of Kat Schwinn, he couldn’t do much more than babble and blurt out stupid things.

“You, too.” She retreated inside.

Idiot, he chastised himself, and went in to see his family.

* * *

IT’S GOOD TO see you.

Kat knew she shouldn’t read any more into Riley’s words, but she couldn’t help searching for deeper meaning. Had he meant it? Or was it simply a platitude to keep things between them pleasant?

Or was she trying to see something that wasn’t there?

I should probably spend some time with my family first.

Right. She wasn’t his family, and the baby wasn’t born yet, so why would he spend any time with her?

She closed her eyes, summoning the look of astonishment and wonder on his face when he’d felt their baby kick. She’d wanted desperately for there to be a connection, but his hasty retreat had said plenty. The man was terrified.

He’s still processing, she told herself. Considering his fuss over the car, at least she knew he was concerned for the baby’s well-being. But she wanted more than overprotectiveness from him.

Admit it. You want him to care about you as much as he cares about Sweetpea.

She pushed the thought away. She only wanted him for money and to be some kind of father to the baby. Her needs were secondary.

She made herself an omelet for dinner. She would have cooked the pork chops if Riley had joined her, but now it seemed pointless to make anything fancier for just one person. As it was, she was making do with whatever she could afford on her own. Riley’s mother had handed her a wad of cash for groceries, but it made Kat ill to think she’d have to accept it every week.

To that end, she knew she had to find some way to make money after the baby was born. She refused to become a complete moocher. Yes, she needed Riley’s support, but it was for the baby, not her. Bartending and waitressing weren’t conducive to parenting, either. No, she needed a steady source of income that would preferably keep her at home or give her regular hours.

She’d spent the past week researching online courses and certificate programs to bulk up her résumé. She wasn’t bad with computers and had kept a personal travel blog with a fairly large following. In hindsight, she could’ve monetized it with ads, but she’d never been interested in doing that. Still, web design was an option. And with her clerical skills, she was certain someone would hire her on a more permanent basis, maybe give her more regular hours.

She finished her unsatisfying omelet and was about to wash the dishes when someone knocked. She thought it might be Riley, or perhaps Winnie bringing her yet another blanket, or a bag of groceries or something else she thought Kat might need.