Right now, Lila was the clear favorite in terms of fan support. Online and elsewhere, Ashley was called a backstabbing home wrecker who should be ashamed of herself.
Lila glanced down at her plate and the gooey peanut-butter glob on the end of the dill pickle and felt like retching. The combination smelled awful. How could any woman—pregnant or otherwise—ever eat this? Luckily, she had a way out.
“I don’t feel so good,” Lila said, and dropped the peanut butter–clad pickle onto her plate. “Excuse me.”
She ran to the nearest bathroom, slammed the door behind her, flipped on the fan, and leaned against the marble countertop. She took the opportunity to muss her hair strategically, so that it looked at once like she’d been sick, but also managed to be close-up ready at the same time. It was an art, much like perfecting the deliberately rumpled bed-head look.
She had to admit, since dyeing her hair a few shades darker, she looked a lot like a younger Demi Moore. The darker hair suited her. Her cheeks, however, didn’t seem rosy enough for pregnancy, so she applied some extra bronzer, hoping to get that perfect expectant-mother glow. She sighed. Faking pregnancy was a lot of work.
A text came in from Jessica.
GIVEN UP ON THE PLAN YET?
Lila grabbed the phone. NO AND IT’S WORKING, SO THERE, she typed.
Jessica might have been one of Lila’s oldest and dearest friends, but sometimes the girl simply had no faith. Jessica had made it clear from the start she didn’t support Lila’s fake-pregnancy plan.
“What happens when you do get him back and then he finds out you’re not pregnant?” Jessica had asked.
“Miscarriage, obviously. But not until I’ve got Ashley out of the picture. Way out.”
“Lila, we’re not in high school anymore,” said Jessica suddenly, sounding just like Elizabeth.
But Lila wasn’t buying. “Are you kidding? All of life is high school.”
She wasn’t about to listen to Jessica for love-life advice—not given the state of her estranged marriage. Lila thought her friend might be jealous. After all, Jessica’s big ditch-her-career-for-Todd plan hadn’t worked out. Lila was on the verge of really winning Ken back, and she knew firsthand just what a sore loser Jessica could be.
Like that time the two of them were nearly at each other’s throats when they both went after that gorgeous Jack in high school. Of course, Jack turned out to be a pitiful thief and druggie, so maybe that was a memory best left forgotten.
“And what if he doesn’t come back to you before you’re supposed to start to show?”
“I’ll think of something,” Lila said, glancing down at her still-flat belly. She made a mental note to eat something salty. That would give her just the little bit of bloat she might need to look pregnant. After all, it worked for the starlets on TMZ. If any one of them went to In-N-Out Burger, the next day there’d be “baby bump” rumors.
Lila hadn’t seen Ken since last week’s True Housewives show aired. In it, they showed Ken and Ashley on a romantic date. The two of them even kissed. If Lila closed her eyes, she could still see that scene as it had played out on her television.
“You know, you’re so pretty.” The minute he said that, he had blushed bright pink. He might have been six foot three and able to throw a fifty-yard touchdown against a blitz, but the guy just had no defenses against pretty women. At his core, he was just kind of shy.
Even when Ashley had thrown herself on him in the limo ride home, he still seemed reluctant to take advantage. Ken was just too sweet. No wonder Ashley had sunk her talons into him so deeply. He never stood a chance.
After that show aired, Ken’s Twitter page and even his NFL team received tons of hate mail. Nobody liked it that Ken was messing around with Ashley while he had a pregnant wife at home. Nobody cared if they were separated or not. The scandal even led ESPN news.
For that, Lila might have felt a little twinge of guilt. Ken was not the asshole they were making him out to be. He was actually sweet to a fault. But then, she didn’t really feel bad. All was fair in love and war.
Just like some of the rumors Lila may have started online about Ashley Morgan—that, for instance, she might have once been a stripper and, briefly, an escort. No truth to it, of course. That’s why they were called rumors.
Lila heard a commotion outside the bathroom door. She heard Devone shouting, and another voice, too.
After a quick check in the mirror, she went to investigate and found Devone nose-to-nose with Ashley in Lila’s living room. All the Housewives cameras focused intently on the train wreck.
“You need to leave this house right now,” Devone shouted at Ashley Morgan, who had just arrived bedecked in too much jewelry and makeup, per usual. Her long, straight blond hair gleamed shiny and thick with new extensions.
“This is my show, too, and the producer invited me, so you can’t tell me not to be here.” Ashley wasn’t about to back down. “And I’m here to talk to Lila.”
“Devone,” Lila said, trying to appear like the mature one. After all, she was pretending she was going to be a mother. “It’s okay. Let’s hear what she has to say. Maybe she wants to apologize.”
“Apologize?” Ashley spat. “I am not going to apologize to you. You need to apologize to me about all those vicious rumors you started about me. I’ve never been a stripper—or a call girl.”
“No? Well, I don’t know what you’re talking about. I never started any rumors, but I could see why someone would.”
“Exactly what does that mean?” Ashley threw down her clutch on the couch.
Marina jumped up, her eyes bouncing back and forth between Ashley and Lila, trying to decide whom she should support. Marina only backed winners.
Devone, however, came down decidedly on Lila’s side.
“You need to calm down, Ashley,” Devone said. “Lila’s pregnant. Don’t go upsetting her. Remember the baby.”
“Right. Like anybody is believing that!”
“Are you calling me a liar?” Lila’s voice was low and dangerously calm.
“So what if I am?”
“Take it back, you bitch,” Lila hissed.
“Who are you calling ‘bitch,’ you stupid slut?” And then Ashley just lunged.
Lila couldn’t have orchestrated a more perfect scene.
Lila put her hands protectively over her stomach. “Don’t hurt the baby!” she cried, frantic. She met Ashley’s furious gaze, and thought checkmate, even as Devone grabbed Ashley from behind, stopping her midstride, and all Ashley managed to do was swipe at Lila’s arm, leaving barely a scratch. Lila wasn’t really hurt, but the damage to Ashley’s reputation would be permanent.
Ashley had just tried to hit a pregnant woman on national television.
“Back away from my wife!” Ken’s voice thundered in the living room. All the women turned to look.
“Thank God!” Lila stood, her palm still resting on her lower belly.
Ken’s anger drained away as he looked at Lila. He looked at her holding her stomach. “She’s having my baby, and I’m the father. I want to be with her—if she’ll have me.”
Tears sprang to Lila’s eyes. In that moment, she knew she’d won him back. She nodded. A huge smile broke out on Ken’s face, like he’d just been handed a Vince Lombardi trophy.
He crossed the room in four big steps and swept her up in his arms.
“I love you, Lila and I love our baby,” he declared, covering her with kisses. “You should have called me. I found out from the TV!”
“I know, Ken. I’m sorry. I didn’t know how to tell you.”
“Well, I’m here now, and I want us to be a family.”
He didn’t care that the room was full of Housewives costars and a whole camera crew. Neither did Lila. She returned every one of his kisses. Lila did manage a triumphant glance thrown at Ashley, who was busy turning five different shades of furious.
“Let’s go somewhere a bit more private,” Lila suggested, glancing around at
the cameras.
In true form, Ken’s face lit up. He cradled her carefully in his arms, lifting her up off her feet, and then jogged with her up the stairs.
They fell on the bed together, outside of camera reach, with a laugh, and proceeded to shrug off their clothes. Neither one cared that they’d left the rest of the crew downstairs.
“I’m so glad you’re back,” Lila said, wrapping her arms around him.
“You’ve made me the happiest man alive.”
“You mean it?” Lila asked, a guilty twitch working its way up her spine. She quickly squashed it. Love and war, she reminded herself. And her feelings for Ken were as close as she ever got to love.
“I’ve never meant anything more,” Ken said, a sweet grin on his face. “Wait,” he said, struck by a sudden and urgent concern. “I’m not going to hurt…the baby, am I?” He blinked innocently at her.
Poor, sweet Ken, Lila thought. “No, of course not, silly.”
But by then there wasn’t any more time for talking.
Chapter Eleven
About a week later, Bruce shaved and showered and put on a suit. Annie was the first to notice.
“Wow, Bruce, you really look great.”
“You think so?”
“I second that,” Jessica said, looking up from her laptop. She and Annie sat in his living room, which had seen better days. The makeshift PR war room for Bruce’s case just couldn’t seem to stay neat, no matter how much Mme Dechamps fussed with it.
Extension cords ran in all directions, feeding power to a small army of laptops, a fax machine, and a paper shredder. Despite all the clutter, little progress had been made in Bruce’s case. They all still waited to hear what other charges the D.A. might throw at him in the Robin Platt case. Meanwhile, Jessica kept plugging away at the PR campaign, even though it seemed more and more avenues for positive PR dried up every day. Morning shows weren’t interested in promoting innocent Bruce anymore. Most of them were desperate to get a Jane Doe exclusive. They were offering to shadow her face, disguise her voice, anything to get the accuser on television, but so far Jane Doe remained elusive.
“I thought it was about time I stopped sulking,” Bruce said, and straightened his tie.
“Besides, I want to look good when I get fired today.”
“Bruce, you own the company. They can’t fire you,” Annie said. This much was true. He was the chairman of the board of directors at Patman Social Impact Group. The company had already invested in projects that built waste-product renewing plants and experimental methods of cleaning water.
Before the scandal broke, Bruce and Patman Social Impact had acquired prime real estate for a wind-powered plant to clean water, beating out Rick Warner of Warner Natural Gas for the same stretch of land. But yesterday, word came in that the EPA planned to deny them the permits they needed to develop the land.
Skittish members on the board had called an emergency meeting for that afternoon to deal with the news. Bruce couldn’t blame them, even when he’d heard a rumor they might want to take a vote of no confidence in him.
“Don’t let them bully you,” Jessica told him.
“It’s okay, I can handle it.” And for the first time in weeks, he felt like he could. Yes, he was heartbroken over Elizabeth’s leaving, but he’d never been the kind of guy to sit around and wallow in self-pity. At least, not for long. The company needed him, and so did Sweet Valley. The land deal wasn’t just some other business deal that fell through. If Rick Warner got ahold of that land, he’d mine it for natural gas, and with Warner’s controversial fracking methods, Bruce really believed the drinking water of the entire county could be at risk. He had seen the documentaries of people lighting their tap water on fire. He wasn’t going to let that happen in his hometown.
And despite what Elizabeth or anyone else thought, he was a good guy, and he was going to show them all.
He climbed into his Porsche, tearing through the gate just as it slid open. He didn’t stop to offer quotes to the paparazzi still hanging around the sidewalk. And he didn’t bother slowing down.
Patman Social Impact Group took up the entire top floor of a glassed-in office building near the freeway. Bruce parked in his usual spot, front and center, and walked past the security guard in the lobby, who gave him a respectful nod as he passed.
Most of the board was already there when Bruce arrived. He grabbed a few notes and files from his assistant, Jill, on the way in.
“What’s the mood like in there?” Bruce asked her.
“Bad,” she said. “There are rumors they’re going to ask you to step down. Is that true?”
“It might be.”
“But you can’t let them do it,” Jill pressed. “You’re the heart and soul of this company. And…and…it’s just not right.”
“Sometimes things just aren’t fair,” Bruce said. “But whatever happens, it’ll be okay.”
“I hope so.”
Bruce took a deep breath and stepped into the boardroom. Conversations stopped midsentence as he walked briskly to the head of the glass conference room table. At least no one had taken his seat yet.
He glanced at the members of the board, some of whom he’d known for years. Few of them would actually look him in the eye. These were the men and women he’d golfed with, strategized with, and trusted with his company. They were like family. And now they were planning a mutiny.
“I call this meeting to order,” Bruce said.
“I ask for a no-confidence vote,” called Don Edgewater. Of all the board members, Don was the one Bruce knew least well. He’d come on board late, after the initial start-up, and they’d never really clicked. Not that it mattered now.
“Ladies and gentleman, a no-confidence vote won’t be necessary,” Bruce began.
A few, including Don, protested loudly.
“Let the man finish!” declared Thomas LeGrange, Missy’s father and trustee of the Patman Estate. Bruce was grateful to Thomas for at least allowing him the opportunity to speak.
“As I was saying,” Bruce continued. “A vote won’t be necessary because, effective today, I am voluntarily stepping down from my position as president of the board of directors of Patman Social Impact.”
Shocked gasps met the news. Even Don Edgewater was speechless. Bruce barreled on, determined to see this through.
“I realize that my personal life has become a distraction to the business of this company, and I do not want anything to interfere with the mission of Patman Social Impact.” Bruce took a deep breath and continued. “What we’re doing here is far more important than one person. I ask the board to continue the fight to win approval for our project. I think we all know the stakes if Warner Natural Gas manages to get that land. Potentially, it could affect the groundwater from San Diego to Los Angeles. Should that water become polluted, millions of people will be affected, including our own families. I ask the board to appeal the EPA’s ruling and seek another way to keep this project viable. We owe it to ourselves, to our communities, and to our families to see this project through.”
Several board members nodded their heads in agreement.
“I know every one of you personally,” Bruce continued as he met the gaze of each man and woman sitting around the table. “And I know that all of you believe in the importance of leaving the world in a better place than when we found it. I ask you to continue on in that spirit. That means I’m asking you to continue this fight. Our future and our neighborhoods depend on it.”
As Bruce finished, enthusiastic applause met his words, and every one of the board members gave him a standing ovation, even a reluctant Don Edgewater.
He nodded a thank-you in response, certain that he had done the right thing. Too bad Elizabeth wasn’t here to see this, he thought. Maybe then she wouldn’t be so quick to doubt him. Then, maybe she wouldn’t see him as a monster. As soon as he had the thought, he hated that he was still trying to prove himself to her.
When would he stop caring what she though
t?
Chapter Twelve
Elizabeth had spent the last week desperately trying to find a link between Robin Platt and Rick Warner. But no matter how hard she investigated, she couldn’t find anything. Her gut still told her Rick Warner might be at the bottom of this, but so far she could find no proof.
She desperately wanted to discover holes in Robin’s story, anything that might shed doubt on her version of events. Then she could hand her editors a story that would help Bruce instead of hurting him.
While she hadn’t given up on the Rick Warner link, she also knew she’d run out of time. She would have to run with the Robin Platt exclusive interview or she’d lose her job.
Now came the even harder part: admitting to Robin Platt she wasn’t Laura Christer, supportive therapist, at all, but Elizabeth Wakefield, investigative journalist.
Robin sat in front of her now, blinking.
“You lied to me?” she said, after Elizabeth had rushed through the story. “And now you want to run my story in the newspaper? But you can’t run my name! You said you wouldn’t.” Robin jumped up and began frantically pacing the room. “No one can know my name!”
Elizabeth felt a little nudge of suspicion. Robin seemed completely panicked at the thought of her name getting out there. But then, she was a victim, and unfortunately, there was still something of a taint and certainly an embarrassment to having your intimate life exposed. Elizabeth could understand that. That was the reason the media protected victims’ names—to give them the privacy they needed to bring their story forward.
“It will be anonymous, of course,” Elizabeth said. “You’ll be known only as Jane Doe.”
“Oh.” Robin visibly relaxed.
Elizabeth couldn’t put her finger on it, but something wasn’t quite right. In fact, Robin even seemed a little glassy-eyed. But maybe that was just her imagination. Or her own guilt at work. Elizabeth couldn’t trust herself to see anything clearly these days.
The Sweet Life Page 5
