Spencer learned two things during Monday's Happy Hour. First, that Brooke looked sexy even when she was wearing reading glasses and pouring over the notes she'd made in her tiny, cramped handwriting. And second, that Parker Manning was a pig.

To be fair, Spencer didn't even know Parker's name when he made that assessment. But Spencer's radar had started ticking when the guy had entered the bar, noticed Brooke at a table with her laptop and notebook, and made a beeline straight for her.

Not surprising, of course. Parker was a man. And Brooke had that ethereal beauty coupled with the kind of easy curves that make a man take notice.

All well and good, except that Spencer didn't like it when a man other than himself did the noticing. And he especially didn't like it when Brooke leaped out of her chair and threw her arms around any guy who took it upon himself to look at her that way.

"Who is that?" he'd asked Mina. They'd been in the process of making a list of all the things that had to get finished before the bar opened its doors on Wednesday. An essential task, no doubt about that. But at the moment, it paled in the face of Spencer's need to know the identity of the pretty boy macking on his girlfriend.

Mina lifted herself up out of her seat and craned her neck. "Oh, that's Parker Manning," she said, and Spencer decided that not only was Parker a pig, but he had a prissy-ass name, too.

"Who the fuck is Parker Manning, and why is he hugging my girl?"

For a second, Mina looked like she was going to make some speech about how Brooke was her own woman and she was allowed to have male friends and on and on and on. But she probably caught sight of Spencer's face, because all she said was. "You know. Parker Manning. His dad's Bertram Manning."

Spencer shook his head, and Mina rolled her eyes. "Serious old Texas money family. Ranching. Oil. Tech. The whole nine yards. Parker could probably buy and sell this whole town just off the interest on his trust fund."

Yeah, definitely not liking the guy.

"As for the hug," Mina added, "you'll have to ask Brooke. But if I had to go out on a limb, I'd say they know each other."

"Then I guess it's time for me to make his acquaintance. Why don't you finish that list?"

"Okey-fine," she said, her lips trembling from withheld laughter.

"What?"

"You're such a guy, Spencer."

He considered that, shrugged, and said, "Thank you." Then he headed across the bar, fully intending to lay flat Parker Manning.

He didn't make it that far. Instead, he was stopped by a familiar female voice calling his name. He turned, and found Amy Rice standing behind him, her arms crossed over her chest, and her expression wary.

"Amy?" She'd been one of the production assistants on Spencer's Place, and as a general rule she didn't look so small and fragile. "What's the matter?"

"I keep trying to call you, but I couldn't. So I came here."

"Call me?" He pulled out his phone, but there were no missed calls.

"No, I meant that I tried, but I couldn't."

He frowned. The words were clear enough, but he wasn't catching the meaning. "Do you want to sit down? Maybe take this a little slower?"

She nodded, and he tried to swallow his worry. She'd been a freshman in college when she started working for the show, taking classes around the crazy production schedule. She'd been a hard worker and never shy about asking for projects or help or even a raise. So this hesitancy was completely out of character.

"It's okay, Amy. Whatever it is, I'll try to help."

The words worked like magic, and he watched as her shoulders sagged in relief. "Thank you. I really appreciate—well, just, thank you."

He waited, not wanting to rush her.

"So, the thing is—it's about Brian Shoal."

Spencer forced his expression to stay neutral. "Go on."

"Well, I know that you and he—well, he screwed you with the money stuff. I know that's all gossip, but—"

"It's true. What of it?"

"It's only—I mean—well, I thought if you knew something, then seeing as you probably don't much like him, you might be willing to tell me."

"Amy, you're going to have to back up and give me a little more information."

She sucked in a breath. "He raped me. He drugged me at a party and he raped me and I'm pressing charges. And my parents are helping me sue him civilly, too, and my attorney says if I can find someone else he did that to, then it will help my case a lot, and that's why I'm here. Can you help me?"

She blurted it out so fast he couldn't process all the words. But that was probably a good thing. Any more detail than what he picked up on, and he'd be too livid to think straight.

"Brian Shoal drugged and raped you?" He wanted to at least clarify that one, salient point.

She pressed her lips together, and she nodded. "I'm not lying. You might—"

"I believe you."

Her shoulders sagged with obvious relief. "Can you help me?"

He drew in a breath, temper warring with pity. "Whatever you need, you've got my full support."

"Then you know someone?"

Unfortunately, he thought he did.