I’m not giving up yet. I know this is an extreme situation, and I love her enough to fight for her, to fight for us. I won’t lose her over this.
The next morning, I’m in the offices of Wallace & Hampton at seven.
After reading the file, Wallace takes off his glasses and sets them on the conference table. “I knew this one would come back to bite them. It was a shakedown. I thought they shouldn’t pay her a cent until we could confirm paternity. I wasn’t confident in the pregnancy test she sent them. The report looked bogus, and Aiden couldn’t even be sure if he slept with her or not. The whole thing reeked. But you know them. The threat of a scandal had their checkbook out faster than you could say payday.”
Wallace explains this situation far differently than Aiden did. Sorting through the three versions of this story I’ve heard, I tap my fingers on the arm of the chair. “I was told that Savannah required proof of the abortion.”
“A form that could have easily been forged. Savannah wanted to go with her to the clinic, but it was the eighties. Protests outside of abortion clinics were common. Especially in Texas. There was no way she could go, especially with how active she and Aiden were in the Republican party. So she waited in the hotel for the woman to return with the ‘form.’ I think the whole thing was a con, but Savannah was adamant. She could be… stubborn when she had her mind set on something.”
Like mother, like daughter. “This woman did have a kid though. Around nine months later. Aiden always wondered if the kid was his. Obviously he thought there was merit to it.”
Closing his eyes, Wallace nods with an expression that indicates this isn’t the first time he’s dealt with this issue. “Aiden carried a lot of guilt. For a lot of things.”
That’s cryptically ominous. “I’m guessing you won’t extrapolate, but I have to ask, do you know about other women? Specifically the woman who killed Savannah?”
“I’ve said too much already.” He lightly taps the folder with his fist. “What I can tell you is I’ll have an injunction on this before lunch. Valerie Benson will wish she never poked her head out of whatever hole she crawled out of.”
“What about the paternity issue?” I ask. “Quashing the book is only part of it. Ari’s really upset about the fact that she may have a sibling out there.”
Wallace flips a pen between his fingers. “I seriously doubt it. I’ll be sending my investigators to find out everything they can about her. I’ll ask them to look into the kid too. If she really wants to know, I can make it happen.”
“If I had to guess, she’ll want to know. Do we need her for any of this? She’s… taking some time to herself, and I’m not even sure where to find her.”
He shakes his head. “Aiden listed both you and Ari as executors of his estate. You’re all we need.”
I’m floored. Why hadn’t Aiden said anything? Why hadn’t Ari? “Me? I had no idea.”
“Well, he didn’t want Ari to have to manage all of this alone. He was under the impression you two were together, so for him, it made sense.”
I sigh. “I don’t know what we are right now. So what does it mean to be an executor?”
“In regards to this, you can act as the voice of the estate and take legal action in this matter. Once Ari gets back and is ready, we’ll go through the rest.” Standing, he pats my shoulder. “Don’t worry, we’ll get this taken care of.”
“We have to. This is breaking her.”
“It’s one of those developmental milestones she’s learning the very hard way.”
Not understanding his point, I furrow my brow. “What’s that?”
“When you finally realize your parents are human.” He picks up the file. “I’d better get to work. I’ll be in touch.”
The process isn’t as smooth as Wallace predicted. The judge rules that Benson’s actions are a violation of the NDA and if she continues to proceed, she’ll have to pay the terms set forth in the agreement. That’s fifteen million reasons to table her book. We receive word the next day that the project has been terminated.
But our victory is short-lived. The next day, David calls. Apparently Benson’s agent is pushing the book again, but instead of it being Valerie’s story, it’s her son’s story. The book proposal is exactly the same, except the story is to be told from his perspective instead of his mother’s. He’s called it Almost Aborted: Growing Up as the Abandoned Child of a National Hero. According to the letter attached to the proposal, while the NDA prohibits his mother from telling her story, he isn’t bound by the NDA.
Well, that’s one mystery solved. Ari has a potential brother: Blake Benson.
Wallace files for an injunction and files suit for libel, slander, and a slew of other complaints. His hope is that he can drown them in enough paperwork that her shyster lawyer won’t be able to keep up, but if this carries forward, the only way out will be through a paternity test. If Blake is, in fact, Aiden’s son, there will be very little we can do. He can tell his story to anyone and everyone who will listen.
I try calling Ari a million times, but it always goes straight to voicemail. I’m doing everything I can to deal with this for her, but I wish I could just talk to her and find out what she wants. She was less upset about the fear of exposure than she was about the fact that her parents allowed this child to come into the world without a father. Wallace thinks by the end of the week, a judge will order Benson to provide proof of paternity. I hate that, yet again, I’ll know something pivotal about her life before she does. I can’t help but worry it’ll only drive the wedge further between us.
Wallace and I meet on Thursday morning before the hearing, and we get a call from the Bensons’ attorney. They want to settle. Offer them more money, and they’ll go away.
After hanging up, Wallace taps his fingers on the table. “She’s afraid of that paternity test, and now she’s running scared. The question is do you want to pay them for a new NDA that will include the son?”
I’m not entirely sure what Ari would want to do, so I do what I think Aiden would have wanted. I may not agree with it, but it’s not my legacy. “Make an offer. I don’t want Ari to ever have to deal with this again.”
Wallace calls and makes a sizeable offer. Two hundred fifty thousand dollars. Probably not as much as a book deal would have brought in but a sizeable chunk of change. The rest of the conversation is a lot of “uh huh” and “um hum.” He clucks his tongue as he hangs up the phone. “Well, how ‘bout that.”
“What?”
“He can’t make a deal for the kid to sign an NDA because he doesn’t represent the kid. He never has. No one over there has been able to get the kid to talk to them.”
“So the book proposal?”
“Sounds like good ol’ Valerie was hoping if she could get a big enough offer for the book deal, it would convince her son to sign on. But she never had the rights to shop his story.”
“Fake it till you make it.”
He points at me. “Exactly. So all of this goes away for now. But the kid is still out there in the wind. At any time, he could come out of the woodwork sniffing for money. I don’t like the open exposure.”
I tap my chin as I consider our options. “Neither do I. What do you suggest?”
“Let’s see what the investigators come up with before we do anything.” Wallace promises to be in touch as soon as he hears something.
As I leave the building, I try to give Ari the news, but I just get voicemail. “Ari, it’s me. Again. The book deal is squashed. The judge awarded an injunction. If she says anything to anyone, she’ll have to pay you fifteen mil. She crumbled quickly. Wallace sent out NDAs to everyone at every publishing house she sent her proposal to. From the CEOs to the guys in the mail room. I don’t think this will leak. Wallace has a PI looking into her kid. I’m not sure if you want to know, but if you do, we can get some answers. Look, please call me. We need to talk about this. There are some decisions that have to be made, and I miss you. You can yell and scream at me if you want.
I just want to hear your voice. I love you. Please don’t let this come between us.”
When I click off, something deep inside tells me not to hold my breath for a return phone call.
Chapter Twenty-Four
Chase
It’s been a month without a word from Arianna. Not a single word. Maybe she and Henrik went back to Africa. I know she wanted to return to help after the flood. Regardless of where she went, I’m sure she’s with him. She told me that they didn’t work because she felt as if she had to mother him and she couldn’t be herself. But if that’s the case, then why is he the one she runs to when she’s upset? Charlie says it’s because he’s her escape hatch. He takes her away and allows her to completely avoid dealing with anything.
Ari and I have always had on and off again periods, but this is different. In the past, when we’d split, I could keep tabs on her through the Tennis Network, social media, and the press. But now she’s God knows where, off the grid, and I can’t cyberstalk her. I don’t know where she is. I can’t see for myself how she’s doing. All I have is my imagination, and it’s in overdrive.
Part of me wants to run after her, and part of me knows she needs time. Being in limbo is killing me, but this is part of the signature Arianna punishment. She’ll ice me out until she’s ready to talk. In the past, this sort of thing could go on for months. I’m more invested now than I’ve ever been, and to see and wait while she keeps me trapped in purgatory… it just hurts too much. But no matter how much it stings, she’s worth it. I’ll do my time and pray she comes around quickly.
Arianna may be gone, but life goes on. After Aiden died, I had my agent push anything and everything he could so I could be there for Ari. But since she doesn’t want me, I can’t just sit here and cry in my beer. I’ve got responsibilities and obligations that can’t be ignored. So back to work I go.
My month has been filled with talk show appearances, radio spots, and endless fucking meetings. My days start early and end late. I’d hoped keeping busy would be a good distraction from Ari, but she’s always there in the back of my mind.
This week, I get a break from the inside of conference rooms. I’m filming a Ford truck commercial. It’s amazing that a thirty-second spot takes a week and a half to shoot, but they want to show all the ways I use my truck all over San Francisco. They have me driving over the bridge, going to a club in the city, going to the hardware store to buy a shit-ton of lumber. What the hell I’m going to do with all that lumber they never say. Apparently market research says that people think after a long day at the field, I go home and build sheds or gazebos or some shit like that.
In one quick clip, they show me camping with a blond model. Ari was going to stand in as the model, but since she’s not here, they had to hire someone. Like a virus, she infected every thought I had that day. I just couldn’t shake her, and it put me in a foul mood.
I seriously doubt they got a second of useable film out of me. I just can’t bring myself to plaster on a fake smile and parade around like everything is fine. Nothing is even remotely close to fine. We’re not even in the same time zone as fine. My whole life feels as if it’s falling apart, and with Ari completely off the grid, there’s nothing I can do but wait. Some days I function like a normal person, then other days, days like that , everywhere I turn, I’m reminded of her, and I want to crawl out of my skin to stop feeling the ache eating away at my heart like acid. I can’t eat. I can’t sleep. I can’t think straight. The poor model took the brunt of it. I’m sure she thinks I’m the biggest dick in the world now, but I honestly couldn’t care less.
Today’s filled with more action shots demonstrating all the different types of cargo I can haul around in my truck. The director takes a break to set up for the next shot, so I return to my trailer and kick off the damn cowboy boots they insist I wear. I have a few pairs that I love, but they’re broken in. These things are new and stiff and the most uncomfortable things I’ve ever worn. I offered to wear mine, but costuming said they were too weathered. They’re fucking cowboy boots. They’re supposed to be weathered.
I’m scrolling through my emails when my phone rings with a number I’m not familiar with. The sucker inside me holds my breath, hoping it might be Ari, but those hopes are crushed when a man’s voice answers.
“I’m looking for Chase Brennan.”
Putting my feet up on the desk, I lean back in my chair. “Who am I speaking with?”
“This is Collin Schultz. I’m Arianna Aldrich’s accountant. I’ve been trying to reach her for a few weeks now, but I haven’t been able to. You’re listed as an emergency contact. Have you spoken to her recently?”
Is this guy legit? Scams like this are fairly common. Someone poses as a lawyer or accountant to a celebrity and weasels information out of the unsuspecting friend or loved one who’s just trying to help. I rack my brain trying to jar my memory, but it’s been years since I’ve been in the loop about things like accounting.
I open my laptop and email Wallace, asking for the name of Arianna’s accountant. “What is this regarding?”
“This is really a matter I need to speak with Ms. Aldrich about. Do you know where I can reach her?”
I refresh my email, hoping Wallace will get back to me. “I’m her boyfriend, and I’m handling all of her affairs while she’s away. Didn’t you say she listed me as an emergency contact? I’m sure she didn’t mean that I could help you contact her in an emergency. If there’s a problem, I need to know.” It’s not exactly true but true enough. She left and told me to handle everything. Our relationship status is just a technicality.
He sighs. “Yes, I suppose you’re right. There have been abnormal spending patterns. I’ve been her accountant since she was sixteen, and I’ve never seen her spend like this. I’m concerned. It’s not like her at all.”
The email from Wallace comes in, confirming this guy works for Ari. I was curious before, but now he has my full attention.
I put my feet on the floor, sit up, and grab a pen and piece of paper. “Like you think her identity has been stolen?”
“That’s what I thought at first. I actually had all of her cards turned off, but she called the banks and credit card companies and provided the proper authentication information, and they were turned back on. The banks insist she answered every security question properly and there’s nothing they can do, but I’m extremely uncomfortable. I need to speak with her to confirm everything is as it should be.”
For him to have turned off her cards, the situation must be serious. The more I hear, the more anxious I become. Thinking of all the things this could mean, I tap my pen on the edge of the table. “What kind of spending patterns?”
“In the last month, she’s spent hundreds of thousands of dollars.”
The pen falls from my fingers and rolls onto the floor. “I’m sorry did you say hundreds of thousands?”
“Yes.”
“In the last month? On what?” Either she’s in Africa and individually financing the rebuilding of this village, or something is very off here.
I hear the sound of rustling papers. “Clothes, accommodations, transportation, spas. Everything much more extravagant than she would typically purchase. She’s chartering private planes for all of her travel in lieu of flying commercial, which isn’t completely uncommon, but she’s never done it to this extent. She’s changing cities every few days, flying all over Europe. At the price for the daily charters, she could have bought a share of a plane and at least be earning some equity. She leased a boat, a forty-seven meter boat, in Greece. A ten-bedroom chateau in St. Moritz. With each place she rents, she pays for the month then leaves after a day or two. The biggest red flag is the charges at clubs. Tens of thousands of dollars in alcohol. Ari doesn’t drink. Certainly not like this. And large cash withdrawals. Oh my heavens, the withdrawals. Ten thousand here. Twenty thousand there. These are the spending habits I see of teenagers who have just received trust funds and lottery winners eager to blow through all
of their reserves as fast as they can. Ari is one of my most fiscally responsible clients. This is completely out of character.”
“Holy shit. What the hell is she doing with that kind of money?” Henrik. This has to be him. Impulsive, flighty, irresponsible—her accounts have him written all over them. Ari would never behave like this.
“I know. I’m really quite concerned. That coupled with the fact that she hasn’t returned a voicemail, an email, a text. I’ve never waited more than forty-eight hours for a response from her. I know I have no proof, but I can feel it. Something is not right.”
“No, Collin. Something’s not right at all. Let me make a few phone calls and see if I can find her.” I hang up and scroll through my contacts list until I find Douchenozzle.
“It’s not what it looks like, I swear to you.” His voice is tentative, almost as though he was waiting for this call.
“Oh really? Then tell me what it is, because right now, the picture looks pretty fucking clear to me.”
Someone knocks on the trailer door. “Mr. Brennan, are you okay? I heard yelling.”
I hold the phone against my shirt to block Henrik from hearing. “Everything’s fine. I’m going to need a few minutes. Do you think we can break for lunch?”
“I’ll ask,” the PA says.
I peek out the window to see that she leaves. Once she’s gone, I put the phone back to my ear.
Henrik’s still talking. “I understand why you might be pissed. If I were in your shoes, I would be too, but I assure you, it’s taken completely out of context.”
I try to keep my voice down this time. “There’s no context you can put this in that will make this sort of thing remotely okay. What the hell are you thinking?”
Love To Hate You Page 23
