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“They’re all crazy.”
I agree. “Let’s just go.” Bebe puts the car in gear and does a u-turn in the dead grass, flipping off my aunt as she passes. I rest my head back as we bump along the winding driveway and when we make it back onto the paved highway, I laugh.
“What’s so funny?”
“You. ‘You stupid whore.’” I look over at her and she’s smiling.
“God. She is a stupid whore.”
“Shit. She’s not even good enough to be a stupid whore.”
“Yeah.” Bebe laughs with me now. “Stupid whores all over the world are pissed off that I insulted them back there.”
“Thank you.”
She gives me a sideways glance and tilts her chin up. “I got your back, bitch. Always have. Always will.”
Chapter Seven
#IMightRatherBeSquare
“SO,” the reporter says with a conspiratorial wink. “Do you want the good news or the bad news?”
Marjorie has been an acquaintance of mine for a while now—more than seven years—and in that time, she’s hardly aged a bit. Looks younger than ever, in fact. Her short bobbed hair is blonde with streaks of hot pink. Her clothes are minuscule, and her shoes could be mistaken for stilts, that’s how high they are. In other words, she fits right in with all the other businesswomen I have close ties with.
“Bad.”
“Hmmm,” she says, taunting me with her straw. I get a little distracted by her glittery lipstick before I look back up to her eyes.
“Just spill it, Marj.”
“They have a lot of dirt on you, babe.”
“Like what?” I know what. I just want to see if she knows what.
She shrugs. “I’m not one hundred percent sure, V. But if I had to wager a guess, I’d say it’s more of the kinky fuckery type stuff.”
“Bullshit. If they had that, they’d run it.”
“And,” she says, ignoring my defense, “that Jasinda bitch is still making the rounds with her baby bump.”
“Damn. I really thought she was lying about that. But I guess not, huh?”
Marjorie puts her hands up. “You tell me.”
I eye her. Just because I’ve known her for a long time and just because we’re having lunch together doesn’t put us on the same side. “I already told you. It’s not mine. I’m one hundred percent sure because I wasn’t fucking her when she got pregnant.”
“Well, this is what I’m telling you, hon. None of that has gone away. Now, there are rumors that you threatened Keefe over at Buzz. And if that’s true, well, that might explain why they are still gunning for you. I mean, come on, Vaughn. You don’t threaten the annoying fly on the wall. You crush it.”
“I did.”
“You didn’t.” She’s smug in the wake of her words. “Threatening with a fly swatter does not a crushing make.”
I close my eyes for an exaggerated pause to collect my thoughts. I knew it went too quiet. “What’s the good news?”
“Well, see… now that’s gonna cost you.”
“Cost me what? I already fucking pay you.”
“A date.”
“No way.”
“Yes way,” she counters quickly. “I need you to take me to a party.”
“What party? Larry never even gives me those invites because I never go.”
“The Black Bash.”
“Well”—I laugh—“I’ll have Larry check to see if I was invited, but I’m pretty sure that’s a no fucking way. I’d probably be arrested if I hit that one.”
“I need you to get two invitations and I need you to come with me, Vaughn. For real.”
“They’re not going to let us in, Marj. They hate you almost as much as they hate me.”
“It’s a masquerade, Vaughn. And the theme is iconic movie stars. We’ll dress up.”
“Just tell me the good news and I’ll pay you whatever.”
“No, the good news will be delivered next Friday at the Black Bash. So be there or be square, mister.”
And with that, she scoots out of the booth, grabs her sunglasses off the table, and walks off.
Do I care about her good news?
I don’t know. I’ll have to think about it.
My phone buzzes across the table and I reach for it, palming the answer tab as I bring it to my ear. “Yeah.”
“Mr. Asher, this is Josey, your aviation coordinator.”
“Sure, yeah. What’s up?”
“I just wanted to make sure you knew that your wife went to Colorado today.”
“What?” Jesus fuck. My heart begins to jackhammer in my chest.
“Yes, sir. She scheduled the plane to Denver. And I provided a car for her, but she never showed up at the car.”
“She disappeared?” I can’t breathe.
“No, sir. We went through the security footage and she left with…” There’s a little pause as Josey consults her notes or something. “Bebe Chambers. Do you know her?”
“Yes. Thank you.” I end the call and take a moment to steady my heartbeat. Fucking Grace. I’m about to speed-dial her, but I stop myself.
Why do I have to keep tabs on this woman? Just why? Why can’t she call me for a fucking change?
Goddammit.
I tuck my phone away, stand up, throw a fifty down on the table, and walk out of the cafe lowering my sunglasses. There’s no paparazzi out here right now. And maybe that’s normal. I mean, if I think about it, nine weeks after the release of a movie, they taper off. They find someone else. They move along. Right?