by Lori Foster
As she’d told Drew when she first met him, she was the best at what she did. She could finesse anyone to her way of thinking.
Now she’d have a chance to prove it.
CHAPTER 16
MILLIE’ agitation was easy to see when Audrey finally met up with her outside her apartment. Spending so much additional time with Brett had her cutting things close, and she didn’t have a lot of time to spare before she had to leave for work.
“What took you so long?”
It surprised Audrey to see Millie so disheveled. Her hair looked like it hadn’t been brushed yet today, and dark circles discolored the fragile skin beneath her eyes.
“Millie? Are you all right?”
“I’m fabulous,” she claimed. “I finally have him, and this time he can’t avoid the consequences.”
“Drew Black?”
“Who else?” Millie scooped her arm through Audrey’s and they headed into the building. “He’ll be publicly humiliated now that the SBC is firing him.”
“You’re sure that they are?”
“Definitely. It should be happening right about now, in fact.” She laughed with anticipation. “Long overdue, if you ask me.”
Audrey frowned at the gleaming enthusiasm in Millie’s tired eyes. She wasn’t acting like her usual, quiet self. Instead of vindicated, she seemed almost gleeful with the situation.
“Let’s go into my place to talk, okay?”
Millie didn’t answer; she just went along with Audrey as they climbed the short stairway to the second-story landing in her unadorned apartment building.
“He’s screwing his publicist, Audrey. And the hoity-toity woman didn’t even deny it! Now tell me, how is a publicist going to enact change in his public persona when she’s become part of the problem?”
Before replying, Audrey unlocked her door and went in. Once she and Millie were both behind the closed door, she dropped her purse and gestured for Millie to join her on the sofa.
“Tell me everything, but we have to make it fast. I’m running late as it is.”
Millie’s eyes darkened. “So you had plenty of time to spend with Brett, but now that we’re on the cusp of breaking a huge story, you’re suddenly in a rush?”
Knowing her delay had hurt Millie, Audrey tried not to take offense at her comments. “I told you. I forgot my purse in the living room and I didn’t hear the phone ringing.”
In mild rebuke, Millie said, “But this morning we did connect, and still you kept me waiting.”
Guilt washed over Audrey. “I know, and I’m sorry. It’s just that—”
Suddenly Millie launched off the couch to stand. “Time is wasting. If I don’t break the story, someone else will. They don’t have the same details that I have, but it’d still dilute the impact.”
Uneasy, Audrey asked, “What details do you have?”
“I know that Gillian Noode jumped into bed with Drew Black almost overnight. I know that she’s been staying over at his house, probably screwing him in every room there.” She shook her head. “She’s obviously a slut. Even last night, when that poor photographer was killed, she stayed with him when any decent woman would have had the common courtesy to show some grief.”
Audrey hated this particular attitude from Millie. She’d never seen it before, so she wasn’t quite sure how to handle things. “Why do we even have to mention the publicist? I’m not sure I see the importance she plays in all of this.”
Tucking in her chin, her expression disbelieving, Millie stared. “You don’t see the importance?” She sat down with Audrey again. She even reached for her hands. “This isn’t like you, Audrey. What’s wrong? Is there some reason you don’t want me to do the story? Because if that’s it, you know I care too much about you to do anything to hurt you.”
Now that was more like the Millie she knew and loved. “I guess I’m . . . starting to look at things a little differently, that’s all.”
Her smile teasing, Millie asked, “Brett Bullman, right? I know you spent the night with him.” She leaned in. “How’d that go? I want details!”
Audrey grinned. “He’s . . . well, he’s pretty wonderful.” Her happiness bloomed. “I’m really falling for him.”
“I knew it!” Millie pulled her in for a hug. “I’m so happy for you.”
“Thank you. But . . .” She held Millie away. “Now that I know Brett, I realize that I’ve been wrong about some things.”
“Namely that all fighters are not the same, right?” Millie shrugged. “I get that. Brett is an exception—a really nice guy who just happens to fight. But what does that have to do with Drew Black and his whore?”
Audrey winced. “Could we stop calling her that? We don’t know what she’s thinking or feeling. She could be in love with Mr. Black.”
Millie laughed. “Yeah, right, and that’d make her an idiot and a slut.”
“Millie,” Audrey chided.
Still chuckling, Millie held up her hands. “Sorry. I guess I just can’t imagine any woman falling for his bullshit.”
Even though the coarse language was unlike Millie, Audrey didn’t want to express disapproval at her friend. Actually, she didn’t have time for disapproval. She glanced at her watch and groaned. She’d called in to work and told them she’d be late, but not this late.
“Isn’t it enough that the SBC has made it clear that they, too, find Drew Black lacking? They’re trying to clean up his blackened image, and he has to be humiliated, right? That should be the focus. I’d like to see you post the facts without involving Ms. Noode.”
Millie studied her. “I can kill that part of the story, no problem. But tell me why the about-face? Did Brett somehow change your mind?”
Audrey hoped it wasn’t an about-face. She’d never been the type of person who condoned slandering others. But saying so now would seem like an insult toward Millie and would make her feel like a hypocrite. Truthfully, until Brett had made the point, she hadn’t really thought how it might impact the publicist to be the focus of such negativity.
Like Millie, she’d lumped together all those associated with the SBC. And now, thanks to Brett, she wasn’t even sure the SBC was the bad influence she’d once thought. She really wished she had more time to ponder everything. But things were happening now, and she couldn’t very well ask Millie to pass up on everything.
If anyone could handle ugly truths, it’d be Drew Black.
“Brett and I talked about it, yes.”
“Aha. I thought so.” Millie slanted her a knowing look. “I suppose he’d rather you champion the sport, rather than expose it.”
“Actually, Brett hasn’t said anything about me exposing the sport. In his mind, there’s nothing negative to expose. But he does object to us putting the publicist in the spotlight.”
“Why? Does he know her?”
Audrey stared at Millie. Didn’t she see that Gillian Noode was an innocent woman, not their enemy? “Brett’s met her. But his view is a personal one, since he’s had attention drawn to his past before.”
“And he hated it?”
Glad that Millie hadn’t asked for specifics, Audrey nodded. “He’s still sensitive about it, especially since Mr. Black wanted to highlight the more tragic parts as a sort of human-interest draw.”
“Wow, poor Brett. Figures the SBC would stoop to exploiting one of their own like that. Drew Black is pure evil. I’m glad Brett refused.” She tipped her head. “He did refuse, right?”
Remembering that awful scene, Audrey nodded. “He was willing to walk away from the SBC if Mr. Black followed through in his plans.”
“Good for him.” Full of concern, Millie whispered, “Is he one of those guys who’s managed to turn his life around?”
Audrey shook her head in confusion. “I don’t know what you mean.”
“Did Brett used to be a drug addict or something like that? Or has he done time for robbery or something?”
“No!” Audrey couldn’t imagine Brett ever abusing his body li
ke that, or taking from others. “Nothing like that.”
“Then I don’t see how the SBC could use him.”
“It’s just . . . well, his parents weren’t the best, I guess.”
Millie snorted. “Whose are?” She stood, prompting Audrey to do the same. “My mom was a power-shopper who kept us in debt, and my dad spent too much of his free time working on an old junker he kept in the garage.” She moved toward the door. “No parent is perfect, believe me.”
“Brett’s were worse than that.”
“Divorced?”
Audrey looked at her watch again, and Millie was quick to say, “Never mind. You need to go and I need to spruce up my story.” She hugged Audrey. “Let’s talk tonight after you get off work, okay? And if you see Brett, tell him how sorry I am.”
Appalled by that idea, Audrey said, “Actually, it’d be better if you don’t say anything at all.”
Millie smiled. “I understand. Now go change clothes and get ready for work.” On her way out the door, she said, “And have a good day!”
Audrey stood there, a little frozen. There was something in Millie’s eyes, some fanatical light, that left her more than a little uneasy. She put a hand to her stomach, trying to quell the sick feeling, but it persisted.
In a rush, she stepped out the door and over to the landing. “Millie?”
From the bottom of the stairs, the door half open, her friend looked back. “Yeah?”
“Let’s meet tonight with the others.” Audrey licked her dry lips. “Now that we know the SBC is probably going to fire Drew Black, we should come up with a way to really push our point, don’t you think?”
Millie’s smile looked far too staged. “I’m way ahead of you.” She held up the cell phone in her hand. “I was just calling the others for that very reason. Let’s say six o’clock. We’ll see you then.”
DREW saw the crowd of protesters before he finished parking the rental car, and he knew without a doubt why they were there.
Nice.
Gillian could sink her teeth into this tableau with no problem. He couldn’t wait to see her reaction. But with the windows up, the air-conditioning and radio on, and her nose buried in assorted paperwork, she hadn’t yet noticed them.
She was taking this all very seriously, and he appreciated that, but really, it wasn’t rocket science. During their extended flight on a private plane to Las Vegas, and the short drive from the airport, she’d been studying a million and one notes.
“Hey, doll, time to look up and face some reality.”
She blinked over at him. “What’s that?”
Nodding toward the crowd, he said, “Take a gander.”
She twisted in her seat—and stared. Drew figured she was reading one of the many signs held in the air. They ranged from We Want Drew Black to Let’s Get Back in Black to The SBC Is Drew Black.
He leaned closer to her. “The gist of it is that they love me as is. They don’t want me to change.”
“I see that.” Awe sounded in her tone. Wide-eyed and disbelieving, she turned back to him. “We’ll get mobbed trying to get into the building.”
“Nah. They’re all very civilized.”
“You’re taking this”—she gestured toward the friendly mob—“in stride, too, I suppose?”
“ ’Course I am.”
As he got out and walked around to her side of the car, she gathered together her papers. The second he opened her door, she said, “You’ve seen this before?”
“Picket lines are nothing new, both friendly and otherwise. Every time we go to a new area, it’s a process of education. The politicians fuel fear by claiming that we don’t have rules, that we’ll put on a bloodbath complete with deaths, that we might even see the end of civilization if the SBC is allowed to perform. But the people always counter that.” He gestured at the men and women, of all ages, who protested Fran and Loren’s stance. “The fans know the truth of things.”
“And they love you.”
“They love the sport. And I’m a part of it.” Grinning, he took her arm. “Come on. Time to put on your happy face and reassure everyone that MMA isn’t going anywhere.”
For ten minutes they were held up as Drew stood for photographs, signed shirts, laughed and joked. No way in hell would he tell the fans that he might be forced into joining a different organization—unless Fran didn’t back down. These people wanted reassurance, and he gave it while dodging direct statements.
By the time they got into the building and on an elevator, Gillian was harried, and he felt damn good about everything.
With one hand splayed over her heart, she said, “That was amazing.”
“Yeah.” He stood with his arm around her. “I love that shit, I really do.”
She abandoned her heart to pat his abdomen. “It’s nice to have that additional aspect of fan support for our arguments. But Drew, don’t start getting cocky. I meant what I said. I want you on your best behavior . . . no, wait. Scratch that. I want you on better behavior than your best has ever been. Am I clear on this?”
He gave her a squeeze for her earnest intentions. “Makes you wonder how I got this far without you, huh?”
Her hand knotted in his shirt. “I won’t allow you to embarrass me with obnoxious rudeness. If you do, I’m walking out and that’s that.”
The elevator dinged at the top floor. “Got it. Mind my manners or you’re going to be cross. No problem.” At the moment, he felt too good to let threats bug him.
They left the elevator and crossed the hall to Fran’s office. She had a massive suite of rooms that overlooked the Strip. In the evening, the lights made for a truly impressive show.
Drew strolled into the outer office with Gillian and politely waited while she informed the assistant of their arrival.
Neither of them sat, and within a minute an assistant showed them into Fran’s office.
Loren rose from a padded black leather wing chair off to the side, and Fran came out from behind her desk.
The mood was solemn, tense. Screw that.
Before greetings could be spoken, Drew said, “You’ve got some outraged fans out there. And I hear they’ve been calling, e-mailing, clogging the message boards, all in all kicking up a fuss.” He grinned, ignoring Gillian’s shock as she went rigid beside him. “Now the ball is in your court. And Frannie, despite appearances, I’m sure you remember what to do with a ball, right?”
SHOCKED silence clogged the room. Gillian locked her teeth and her knees, and then she elbowed Drew. Hard.
Her aim was good—right in the guts.
He oomphed, bent forward, and wheezed, “Damn, woman. A simple ‘Shut up, Drew’ would have sufficed.”
Fran and Loren stared in slack-jawed amazement.
Gillian said, “Fine. Shut up, Drew.” Composing herself, she smoothed her hair, hitched her purse strap over her shoulder, and started over. Smile bright, she said, “Fran, Loren. Thanks for agreeing to see us.”
Fran eyed Drew as he grumbled and rubbed his midsection. She had a difficult time pulling her gaze from him but finally managed to give Gillian her attention. “No problem. I wanted to speak with both of you anyway.”
Loren coughed. “Why don’t we sit down?”
Drew made a presentation of looking at Gillian for permission. He started to sit, paused, and asked, “Is it allowed? Or will you clout me again?”
Oh, she wanted to clout him all right. Her aplomb shot out the window. “Sit.”
“Great. Thanks.” He rubbed his hands together. “So . . . we’re all sitting. Now what?”
Loren looked at Gillian. “I hope you can understand our dismay—”
Drew snorted. “You know you don’t give a damn about any of this, Loren. It’s just Frannie here who—”
Again, this time more calmly, Gillian said, “Shut up, Drew.” She leaned forward. “As Drew pointed out, through no fault of your own, of course, you are now in something of a predicament. Certainly there may be a few news reporters who t
ake issue with how Drew handles things. But more important than any small measure of censure, the fans love him. As is.”
Drew aimed both thumbs at his chest, and mouthed, Love me.
Gillian tried to ignore him. “They don’t want him to change. They support him as much as they support the fighters.”
Fran crossed her legs. “The fact remains that he does antagonize important people, and in doing so, he ruins connections that we need.”
“Oh, please,” Gillian said on a deprecating laugh. “Through his management on every level of this operation, he’s grown the sport at Mach speed. And let’s face it, those who disapprove of him are mostly interested in pleasing the public. And the public has spoken. They want Drew Black.”
Gillian could feel Drew watching her, but she didn’t dare meet his gaze.
Into the silence, he said, “If that glowing praise doesn’t win you over, then know that I have options.” He held up a hand before Fran could speak. “Yes, Frannie, I’m prepared to go to the competition. Your competition.”
“Under his leadership,” Gillian added, “another organization will grow to rival the SBC. Don’t doubt it.”
Furious, Fran shoved out of her chair. “You’re blackmailing us.”
“Not at all.” Gillian stood, too. “I can spin this so that no one will question your decision to keep Drew at the helm.”
“How?” Fran pointed at him. “Look at him! He’s so damn smug even now. He—”
“Generously gives of his time and money to help others,” Gillian said.
Fran’s mouth snapped shut. Loren grinned.
Drew’s head swung around and, very slowly, he came to his feet. Maybe she should have forewarned him about her plan of attack. But . . . as loudmouthed and obnoxious as Drew liked to be, he was absurdly private about the good things that he did for others.
Fran looked back and forth between them. “What are you talking about?”
“Gillian,” Drew warned.
