by Nicole Snow
For the next twenty minutes, I work on painting Owens delicately on the wood, wondering if there’s a subtle way I can sneak a dozen or so family pictures from her without blowing the surprise.
Then I hear it, a sound that just seems out of place in this house.
My spine stiffens and I sit up straighter, listening.
It’s a woman’s voice, and it’s not Jackie’s.
But it’s Ridge’s voice, too.
I hurry out of the sunroom, walk down the hall to the kitchen, and then stop just outside the living room. The voices are coming from the front foyer, I think.
“What the hell did you expect me to do, you ego freak?” the woman says, her voice high-pitched and strained. “You didn’t answer any of my calls. You must’ve told Tobin not to, either, because he only answered one. How else was I supposed to track you down?”
“There’s your mistake, hunting me down in the first place. None of this is any of your goddamn business, Bebe.” Ridge’s voice is pure thunder.
“None of my business, huh? How about the creep with a voice like a bad Tom Waits impression? He left me a message saying you’d better quit boasting about being engaged to some pumpkin bumpkin from Wisconsin or I’d be real sorry! And I’m not supposed to be upset? I’m not supposed to wonder what the hell is going on with you ever since you ran off to go cow tipping?”
My stomach sinks.
Another message.
Just like the one they left for Noelle.
If there was ever any doubt Clay isn’t behind all this, it’s gone up in smoke.
“Jesus, look...you don’t need this, Ridge,” the woman continues. “A bunch of rotten PR claiming you’re some kind of weirdo going after farmers’ daughters fresh out of high school is the last thing you need. I’ll never be able to shop your name again.”
“One, she’s in her twenties and those shit-eating jackals made up the rest like they always do, hand to God. Two, it’s complicated, but let me reiterate it’s none of your business. Three, fuck you for still trying to shop me around,” he growls. “How many times do I need to tell you, Bebe? I left L.A. I’m done with Hollywood and every last cup of its shit.”
“Ridge, listen.” Her voice softens as she sucks in a breath. “I get it. I empathize with how traumatic losing your mother must’ve been. I just think it’s time to—”
“No. It’s time to hop on a jet and go home. Find yourself some new talent. I can’t believe you wasted a day coming all the way out here to dirty up your designer heels.”
I’m about to back down the hall when my foot scuffs the floor. Ridge turns around and sees me.
Uh-oh.
My insides sink to my feet as he stares at me, his eyes still a dense blue storm.
“That’s her I’m assuming,” the woman says, turning up her nose. “The mysterious Miss Sellers.”
I wiggle several fingers like a waving idiot.
Nothing prepared me for this.
She steps up next to Ridge for a better look, all Hollywood fierceness distilled into a pint-sized lioness.
Her hair is red, professionally dyed and styled. If she wanted to, the woman could be a Reba McEntire double.
She’s tall, slender, wearing a black pencil skirt and fitted jacket that are fashion magazine-perfect. Her white silk blouse and patented leather heels complete the Bitch Queen ensemble.
Her outfit screams money! about as strongly as my jeans and basic sweatshirt scream Wisconsin poor. They might be comfortable, but I doubt my whole wardrobe costs as much as one of her shoes.
Ridge walks toward me, flashing a fake smile that only heightens my nerves.
He’s only doing it to ease my apprehension, and right now, good freaking luck.
He takes my hand, firmly, urging me into the living room.
“This is Grace Sellers, the one and only, soon to be my other half.” He flashes me another fake smile. “Grace, meet Bebe Silk, my former agent.”
He’s got to be kidding. No one has a name like Bebe Silk. Not naturally.
But as much as I’d love to focus on that, I can’t ignore the fact that he’s leaning into the wind. Playing up the lie he started at the Bobcat, the same whopper those tabloids got ahold of and ran wild with. Desperately asking me to go along with it.
Why?
“Really, Ridge?” Bebe rolls her eyes in her porcelain face.
“Really, Bebe,” he snaps. “Play nice.”
His tone is so harsh I look over at him, flinching at the anger etched on his face.
Oh, that gets her. Her eyes whip to both of us, dark and focused like some strange hawk rather than a human being.
Pointing past her, he then says, “Now that you’ve had your little peek into my life, how about you get back in your rental, drive out of here, and fly home to L.A.?”
Bebe doesn’t flinch, at least not in a way I notice.
Instead, she lifts her chin proudly and plants her hands on her narrow hips with an audible thump.
“You don’t want to talk to me like that, Barnet. I’m your only hope of ever working with a studio again.”
“Hell of a threat, considering I’m done with that for the thousandth time,” he says coldly. “You’re the one who wants me back. Royalties and residuals aren’t what they used to be with all the changes in media. But you know they’d kill to see me play one more film—or at least pay through the fucking nose for it.”
“I’ve never denied my interests. It’s you who still can’t figure out they’re the same as yours, money aside.” Bebe shakes her head. “I have people calling me, Ridge, asking if those hit pieces are true.”
“Bull. You didn’t come out here for answers. We’ve been in this industry long enough to know those dung beetles will roll a grain of truth into a fucking boulder.” He gives her a death glare, then raises a hand and points at her. “Tell them it’s true, Bebe. I’m engaged to Grace Sellers. And tell them that anyone who tries to get to her has to come through me.”
She throws her hands in the air. “Lovely. I see that temperament is back. That anger is what almost ruined your career. You know, it’s a miracle Hammond wasn’t in his right mind to press charges. Don’t go there again!”
His hand lets mine fall like deadweight.
“Enough. You know better than to say that name around here,” he snarls, his voice like a roaring wave, taking a ferocious step toward her. “Get. Out.”
Those two clipped words make me tremble.
Holy hell.
I can feel how stiff he’s become, see the fury curdling his face, and...
...I don’t have a clue what I should say, do, or think while he’s in this state.
The man I’m looking at now is a beast of brewing rage, a stranger, not the kindhearted guardian I know.
Bebe isn’t amused. She stands in the arched doorway between the foyer and the living room, tapping one heel, and waves a hand at the portrait of Ridge’s mother.
“What would she think of all this? Think of you? What you’re doing, still playing these games?”
“Breaking news: she’s dead,” he says coldly.
Again, I shiver, tucking my arms around me.
“And who was there to get you through it when she died?” Bebe jabs a thumb at her chest. “Me. That’s who. I’m the only person you’ve ever been able to count on! When you ran off, joined the Army, who covered your stupid ass? Me! That night, when the cops wanted to talk to you, who had a pretty little alibi waiting for you, Prince Charming? You guessed it—me!”
Alibi? Cops?
My insides go cold.
The world starts spinning.
Sure, police could mean anything, but I have this dread building.
Whatever happened was serious and somehow just...dirty.
Ridge turns, casting his stormy gaze. I feel like I’m shrinking into the floor.
I don’t understand that look. I’m too afraid.
I can’t connect with the pain, the agony, the brute plea in his dar
k pupils screaming, Grace, wait!
Swallowing the lump in my throat, I say, “So, I...I think you two need some privacy. Excuse me.”
Without waiting for a response, I pivot around and practically run down the hall.
14
No Grand Scheme (Ridge)
To no one’s surprise, I’ve officially hit my fucking limit on drama.
The frustrated growl I’d been holding in damn near shakes the room. It’s not because the slick, mouthy, all too catlike woman in front of me ever said anything wrong.
It’s because Bebe Silk—goddamn her—is absolutely right.
She was there for me all of those times. Second only to Tobin in helping ensure I didn’t drown in my own bad decisions.
I’m right, too. She’d done it for the money. I was her biggest workhorse.
Even now, I think she’d take a bullet for me if it meant getting my ass to agree to one more film and a cool seven-figure payoff.
Anything to keep her in designer shoes, imported wines, and a new addition for her castle outside Huntington Beach.
I try to swallow my hot anger without choking on puffed up pride.
“Let’s go. Right now,” I bite off, waving a hand, marching her straight to my office without explanation.
Since she’s already poisoned my day, we’re going to settle this now. Then I’m going to send her packing, even if I have to personally drag her to the nearest airstrip and throw her on a plane.
Bebe walks in first, dark amusement lashing her eyes.
Of course she’s enjoying this.
Of-fucking-course.
Closing the door, I walk over and sit down at my desk, pushing my hands out farther than they really need to be, blocking her from any dumb ideas. I swear to fuck, if this woman tries to sit on my desk...
The worst part is, she’d picked a great time to interrupt.
I’d been down here talking to Faulk, checking up on his intel, when the sensor at the end of the driveway pinged me with an unexpected visitor. The camera down there snapped a clear picture of who it was, and truthfully, seeing it was Bebe hadn’t surprised me.
I should’ve heeded Tobin’s warning and called her back.
“Well? What’s really going on here, Ridge?” she asks, plopping all four-foot something of herself into the chair across from me.
I hold in a sigh of relief.
“I’m engaged to Grace Sellers,” I say. “End of story.”
“Bullshit.” She shakes her head like she’s trying to get something out of those fiery-red ripples.
I shrug. “That’s my story and I’m sticking to it, lady.”
“You know, for an A-lister, you’re not very original. Didn’t any of those scripts rub off? Some of them had damn good writers behind them. That line is so old it wouldn’t work on my grandmother.”
“What if I need it to work?” I ask, staring her down.
“Why?” She frowns, rubbing her chin with inch-long red fingernails.
“No.” I shake my head. “You don’t deserve that. Not after you barged in here and had to self-insert into my business again.”
“Let’s cut the crap, Barnet.” She looks me in the eye. “You’re in trouble again. I knew it as soon as those trashy tabloids and gossip blogs started shouting your name from the rooftops. And that freak on the phone? My Gawd, I’ve heard better big shot mafioso threats in auditions. Just tell me what’s really going on and we’ll—”
“No. Not this time,” I whisper.
“Is this still about him? I know you must’ve heard...Linus Hammond died a few months ago,” she says.
Good.
That soulless maggot spawned straight from hell deserved a return trip there years ago.
“Yeah. I know. Got your message,” I grind out.
“Oh, cute. A reply would’ve been nice.” She sighs. “His death was purely natural. It had nothing to do with your disagreement...if your disagreement ever escalated that far, wink wink.” She motions like she’s zipping her bright-pink lips.
I stare daggers, wondering if this is the day she starts threatening me.
Blackmailing me with a heinous secret only known to her and Tobin.
There’s no telling if anything is truly beneath this woman.
“I know that, too,” I snap. “What’s your point?”
“What’s yours? If this isn’t about Hammond, then what? What else could it be?” she muses.
I say nothing.
Call me a bastard, but I wouldn’t have cared one bit if our disagreement killed him.
That’s what I was trying to do, wasn’t it?
That prick had it coming.
If it wasn’t for Tobin, I might’ve brought a fucking gun. Some days I regret not blowing his brains out then and there in the back of that place, even if it would’ve meant rotting behind bars.
Only, that would mean I couldn’t be here for Grace.
You’d better believe I’ll celebrate the day Clay Grendal gets neutralized, or applaud the man, or woman, that does him in. Faulk finally came through with good intel on his group. Lots of it, judging by the attachments.
I can’t wait to get this over with so we can pull a few guys together and talk options.
Then again...Bebe could help me play my hand so Grendal shows up where I want him.
“What’s it going to take for you to leave?” I ask. “Money? Because if that’s what you’re after, I’ll cut you a check right now. Severance, we’ll call it.”
She looks at me numbly but then turns and walks past the other side of the desk, to the wall where the new collage of military pictures Grace finished hangs.
“These are rather unique. It’s not quite art-art like the kind back home, but it has a certain rustic charm, doesn’t it? I saw the one with Judy’s pictures in the foyer. Where’d you get them?”
“Grace made them.” I don’t know why I bother telling her.
She lifts a brow when she glances at me. “Her? Really?”
“It can’t be that fucking hard to believe, can it? She’s got a good eye for décor.”
I let pride in Grace overwhelm the acid derision for this woman steaming in my blood.
Stepping over to my desk, she reaches out, clicking a drumming beat against the polished wood top with her wicked long nails. “I’m no longer your agent; you’ve said so yourself. So I’m not sure your little severance package would be appropriate.”
I’ve told her that several times.
Don’t want to have to tell her again, but if that’s what it takes to help Grace, fine.
Bebe can be my agent again.
“I never signed on with anyone else,” I say, every last one of those words like a rock on my tongue. “If you’re that hard up, then maybe, just maybe, I’ll keep the door open on one more film. Don’t get too excited. I’m not promising anything.”
Her eyes light up like dual suns.
That’s when I realize just how much Grace means to me.
Can’t imagine there’s another woman on earth worth this torture.
An hour later, after Bebe’s gone—satisfied for now and so willing to help, gag me—I walk to the cabin, talk to Nelson, and then Grace.
He’s still in bed but sitting up without looking like he’s about to fall over again. He doesn’t look as ash-grey as he did a few days ago.
Progress.
“Feeling better?” I ask.
“Getting there.” Nodding, he adds, “I owe you a lot, Ridge. An awful lot. I know I’m a real pain in the butt, but hell. You made the right call, making me cool my heels.”
I smile at Grace and the nurse. “If you don’t mind, I’d like a chance to talk to Nelson alone, please.”
Grace looks at me, nervous and concerned.
“It won’t take long,” I assure her. “And I promise I won’t wear him out.”
“Sure,” Jackie says, throwing back a kind smile. “We’ll be in the other room.”
I’m sincere about not wanting to ca
use Nelson setbacks, but I need him to know I’m trying to help. Sitting down on the chair beside the bed, I fold my hands in my lap and look at him.
“Remember boot camp, Nelson? Probably different in your day, I’m sure, but if it’s anything like the grind I went through...you had a drill sergeant, who put you through the ropes every day, so when the time came, you didn’t have to think. The response, the instant, was drilled into you.”
“Sir, yes, sir!” he says with a twinkle in his eyes. “How could anybody ever forget that circus?”
I smile, grateful he’s able to pull a little humor out of this. “That’s what we need now. Drills, practice, so we’ll be good and ready when the enemy shows up.”
The laughter leaves his eyes. “No, we’ll leave before they come. You’re crazy if you’re planning to turn your place into a battlefield against those sorry thugs.”
“The two of you don’t stand a chance alone. You have nowhere to go,” I tell him, raking a hand through my hair. “Enough running. It’s time to stand and fight.”
He’s shaking his head fiercely, even though he knows I’m right.
“I know this isn’t how you wanted it, Nelson. Not for you or Grace, and I’m willing to help you change it. Give you both a fresh start, but it’ll take all of us working together.”
He shakes his head, then nods, then shakes his head again.
“I’m no good to you, can’t even help fix this crap. That drill sergeant of a nurse won’t let me out of this bed except to piss,” he groans.
“Yep, that’s her job. It’s how you’re going to get better. Strong enough to help me out.” I don’t want to hint that I know as much as I do about his past, so I shift focus. “You’re paying for her, so you’d better get your money’s worth.”
“I’m not paying—”
“The VA is,” I interject, bending the truth. “You’re a veteran.”
He is, yeah, but I know full well the hoops veterans have to jump through to get decent medical care outside of an authorized facility. Of course I’m paying for the nurse and anything else he needs, and no, he doesn’t need to know it just yet.
“How’d you make that happen, anyway?” he asks, a good sign his mind is firing on all cylinders.
