NORMALLY, I LOVED THE sound of silence but today, not so much. I tried to call Harlow’s cell three times and each time it went to voicemail. I only hoped she didn’t think I was a psycho. I needed to get out of my house—it felt too small. Too quiet.
Just as I opened the door to my garage, my phone rang. It was a number I didn’t recognize.
“Hello, this is Grady.”
“Grady, this is Kayla from Buchanan Beauty. I have Afton Buchanan on the line.”
What good luck, maybe she could put me in touch with Harlow.
“Great, thanks, Kayla.”
“Grady James, I know this is highly irregular, but I wanted to let you know that we’d love to offer you the campaign. I’ve already shipped the contract over to your agent, Jennifer March, so act a little bit surprised when she gives you the good news.”
“Thanks, Afton. I’m happy to accept. And I can’t wait to work on the campaign. Um, by chance do you happen to know where Harlow is today?”
“Well, I assume that she is still at my beach house working on her website. Why?”
“I was trying to get in contact with her about a personal matter.” I opened the door to my Range Rover and climbed inside.
I heard Afton tapping on her keyboard. “I’m going to give you my address. You can drive over and talk to Harlow in person. She might have her phone on do not disturb since she’s working.”
Afton rattled off her address and I logged it into my GPS. “Thanks, I really appreciate this and the opportunity to be the face of the new campaign.”
“Not a problem, Grady. I’m elated to have you on Team Buchanan.”
Fifteen minutes later, I found myself maneuvering my vehicle around a circular gravel driveway, in front of a classic Hampton’s shingle clad home surrounded by lush landscaping.
Once I parked, I walked around the back of the main house, past the pool and then trudged up the back stairs of the guest house. I knocked on the sliding glass door, and Harlow appeared from the hallway. She gave me a small smile and a quick wave.
“Grady, what are you doing here?”
The smell of fresh cut flowers hit me when she opened the sliding glass door. Harlow wasn’t wearing any makeup, and her auburn hair was piled high on top of her head in a messy bun. Her eyes were red and puffy, which told me that she’d been crying.
“Hey, are you okay?”
“I’m not sure what I am.” Harlow motioned for me to come inside. “Would you like something to drink? I’m thinking of pouring a glass of wine, maybe the whole bottle.”
“Sure, I’ll take a glass.”
On bare feet, she sauntered towards the wine rack. As she reached up for a bottle, the white tank top she was wearing rose, exposing her flat stomach.
“Make yourself at home,” she called over her shoulder. “I assume Malbec is okay?”
I nodded and made myself comfortable on the couch. Everything in the living room was grey and white with splashes of pinks. My gaze followed her as she went into the kitchen, popped the cork and then poured two glasses. With the bottle and two filled glasses in hand, Harlow joined me on the couch.
“What’s got you feeling down?”
After handing me a glass she took a large gulp. “Well, it seems that I’m the reason that my ex is playing so horribly in the World Cup.”
I narrowed my eyes. “I’m going to need a bit more information.”
“Harry Brackman, my ex, I assume you know who he is, apparently, the UK tabloids are blaming me for his poor performance. We broke up last month . . . actually, I should say that he broke up with me—to focus on his game.” She handed me her iPad. “Knock yourself out. I’m the evil bitch who stomped on his heart.”
I read headline after headline, each one more hurtful than the previous. And I thought I was having a bad day with the tabloids.
“So, what brings you out here, Grady?”
Leaning forward I set the glass on coffee table. “I’m having some issues with the tabloids as well.” Scrubbing my hands down my face, I looked over to the window and stared out at the pool.
“More Heather drama?”
I turned back to face Harlow. “Yeah, I guess that today’s headlines are packed full of lies.”
“More than usual, anyway.” She rolled her eyes. “What’s Heather done now?”
I blew out a deep breath. “She claims that the mystery woman in the photo is the woman I left her for and that is why our marriage ended. What kills me is that Heather begged me to keep the cheating out of the tabloids.”
Her eyes went wide. “Wait, she cheated on you?”
“Yeah, with her personal trainer.”
“Oh my God, with Nate?”
I nodded. “Yeah, I walked in on the two of them going at in our kitchen.”
“Real classy, Heather,” she said, before polishing off the rest of her drink.
“Anyway, I ended up having to tell Haven that you were the one in the photo.”
Harlow curled one leg underneath her, and poured another glass. “Well, I’m sure that Haven had a good chuckle over that bit of news.”
I sagged against wall. “Actually, she said it would be handled, but now with your tabloid woes and mine, it’s got me thinking that we could use this to our advantage. What would you say if we pulled a publicity stunt of our own?”
She cocked her head. “How so?”
“Instead of denying the relationship, let’s admit it.”