“Ouch. What’s with you guys?” I gripe.
“I’ll wait outside and let you two catch up.” Georgie leaves the room despite my protests. I’ve come a long way in the “speaking my mind” department, but my mother is the exception. I’ve never quite been able to tell her what I’m thinking or how I’m feeling. Not so much because I’m afraid of her as I am afraid for her. She is so sensitive.
“I’m sorry, Mom. I just didn’t want to worry you. Not when you’ve got so much else on your plate.”
She takes the chair next to me and grabs my hand. “Honey, but those are my problems to fix. Not yours. Yes, I might lose my business because of my ex-client, but I know how to start over.”
“But what about our house?”
She shrugs. “I can’t lie. I’ll miss it. But at the end of the day, it’s just a house, a thing. It doesn’t define me.”
“I know that, but it’s where you lived with Dad. Where we had birthdays and Christmases and—”
“And those are all right here.” She places her hand over her heart. “They’re not going anywhere. And who’s to say a fresh start wouldn’t be good for me, my career, and my home?”
A fresh start. “But you love interior design.”
“I did. I do. But life is short, and I wouldn’t mind starting a different business. I like a challenge. And I’ve already decided I want to downsize, so that’s that. I’ve found a realtor, and he assures me the house will sell quickly. I can use the money to find something else I love to do. Plus, you’ll get to finish your bachelor’s.”
“Oh, Mom…” She already took a second mortgage and maxed out her credit to keep us afloat. Now she’ll lose her home? “There has to be another way.”
“Abi,” she squeezes my arm, “you’ve always been so fiercely protective of the people you love. Even when you were little, you’d rather invent these crazy stories about how your shirt got torn or how your dinner ended up on the floor.”
It’s true. When I was in the first grade, some boy in my class decided to take a pair of scissors and cut a hole in the back of my shirt. I told my mom and dad that I tore it on the jungle gym. Of course, the teacher ended up telling her the truth. On more than one occasion, I also “accidentally” spilled my food on the floor because it tasted horrible. Really, I just didn’t want to hurt my mom’s feelings. Her cooking isn’t always so great, though she does make a mean lasagna. Still, my mom eventually figured it out after I made too many messes.
My mom goes on, “Now that you’re all grown up, you’re trying to be this one-woman army, Abi. But you know what? Shutting me out, pushing people away, and lying doesn’t protect anyone. It just hurts the people who love you.”
Man. Now I feel like a complete ass. Part of it’s because I’m realizing how much I’ve hurt my mom, but the other part has to do with Mitch. He lied to me. He pushed me away. All because he wanted to protect me. If I’d just stopped for one lousy second and asked myself what was really going on, I might have seen the truth.
Suddenly, I feel like a knuckle-dragging she-moron because I should know better. Instead, I spent all these months stewing over how he treated me. I hated him, I had fantasies about casting a spell that would give him a perma-limpy, and I allowed my anger to blind me.
The irony is that I think his protective side is sexy. He’s literally willing to do anything for the people he cares about. Even making a statement to the press that puts him smack in the middle of a huge scandal. From this day forward, Mitch Hofer will be known as the Olympic swimmer who brought down a global company. I’m guessing that’s not why he worked so hard to win four gold medals. I’m also guessing that the sponsors would rather pay a celebrity who will make their products the center of attention versus a WWII war criminal and his company.
“I’m so sorry, Mom. I should have told you about the job and why I took it.”
“All is forgiven. Just as long as you promise to never. Ever. Evereverever! Do this again. I can’t believe you took a job as a bodyguard.”
“I’m actually kind of good at it.” I look at my mother and her bloodshot eyes. “Not that I want to do this forever. I mean, I know I won’t. Not full-time anyway. I have to finish school, but for the time being, I enjoy it and I could really use the money.”
She sighs. “I…I…then I support you. But you’ve got to promise you’ll be careful and not keep any more secrets.”
This is a huge step for her, and while I know she’ll still worry, a heavy burden has been lifted. Protecting her, lying to her, worrying about her had taken on a life of its own. It created distance between us. But if she can handle my new job, then she can handle anything.
“Yay! I love when everyone’s happy!” Georgie pops back in the room. I suspect she was listening the entire time.
“Yes, and I promise no more secrets.” Lying to my mom isn’t who I am.
“By the way, Sam just called. Said Mitch is with him, safe and sound.” Georgie looks uncomfortable all of a sudden.
I frown, waiting for more info, but Georgie doesn’t volunteer it. “So? Where are they?”
“At the Weeno fashion show,” Georgie says reluctantly.
I sigh with grief. “So he really went.”
“Sam said it’s part of Mitch’s contract. He didn’t want to get sued for breach. The good news is that the Kemmlers are outed. Sam doubts they’ll go after Mitch when every eye in the world is watching them.”
“Isn’t Mitch still a key witness in his uncle’s murder?” I ask.
“Yes, which is why Sam went to make sure security is tight enough.”
I get that Mitch’s statement to the press has put a spotlight on this Kristoff guy and the Kemmlers, but I don’t like letting Mitch just roam free. What if they’re not done with him?
“Don’t look so worried,” says Georgie. “Sam will keep an eye on things, and Mitch is skipping the after-party. He said he’ll come straight back here when he’s done,” Georgie adds.
“Well, I’m going to the hotel, so…”
“Baby, why don’t you stay here and rest?” my mom suggests.
“I’m okay. Even the doctors said so, and right now a long hot bath sounds wonderful.” I need to decompress and digest. None of this is sitting right with me because I have to wonder if Mitch really meant everything he said to the cameras. And if so, why didn’t he say it to my face? It leaves me questioning him again, which drives me crazy. My heart wants to trust him. It wants to believe there’s something special between us. But my brain tells me I’ve been down this road before and, more importantly, actions speak louder than words.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
My mom decided to catch a flight back home to Houston so she can meet with her lawyer first thing in the morning and then start getting the house ready for viewing in two weeks. As for Georgie, she stayed with me to get things settled with the hospital and take me back to the hotel. Oddly enough, I feel all right. The mark on my chest smarts, but the rest of my body is in fair shape after that drug-induced power nap. My mind is a different story.
“Stop it,” Georgie scolds from the back of the Uber. “Mitch is going to be fine.”
I remove my slightly nibbled index finger from my mouth. “Is it that obvious?”
“I don’t blame you for worrying. I mean, there’ve been two attempts on his life in the space of a week.”
“Three. Someone tried to electrocute him in the pool.”
Georgie’s face contorts. “Seriously?”
I bob my head. “I think it was his friend, that Ash guy. By the way, what happened to him?” With all the commotion, I forgot to ask.
“The police hauled him off.”
“And how was Mitch when you saw him? Was he upset?”
Georgie toggles her lips from side to side. “I couldn’t tell. He was kind of acting normal, like he did in that press conference.”
So his good friend tries to kill him, shoots me, and he seemed okay with it all? “I really need to get to know him b
etter, because if you tried to barbeque me for money, I’d be devastated.”
Georgie reaches into her purse and grabs a piece of mint gum. “Want some?”
“No, thanks.”
She pops a stick in her mouth and starts talking and chewing. “Well, it’s pretty clear that Mitch is handling things the way most men do; he’s shoving it all down a deep dark hole and pretending it never happened. Plus, Mitch is super competitive, and I’m guessing he sees sulking as something only losers do. Henry is the exact same way.”
Her brother Henry is a pro-football player and a big, giant muscly teddy bear. On the inside anyway. On the outside he is driven, fierce, and extremely competitive.
“What is it about jocks being such feeling-haters?” she adds. “I swear I could never date an athlete. Except for Mitch. Actually pretty much all swimmers. They make me wet.” She cracks up. “Get it? They’re always in water and…”
I glare at Georgie.
“Sorry. Too soon for humor?”
“Yes. Especially because…”
“You want to go to the show, don’t you?” she asks accusatorily.
I bite my lower lip and nod. I need to see Mitch and confront him. I don’t know where we stand, and if what I feel for him isn’t mutual, then I’d rather know right now. “Maybe just to make sure everything’s safe?”
“You’re so protective. All right. We can go, but just for a few minutes. You need rest, girl, and I promised your mom to keep an eye on you.” Georgie tells the driver that we’re changing course.
“Thanks, G-cow. You’re the beast,” I say and give her hand a squeeze.
“No problem, Flabi. I’d moo anything for you.”
“Damn. Now, this was a mistake.” It’s early evening in front of a convention center near downtown Miami, and I’m watching people filing into the Weeno show while Georgie argues with Sam on her cell phone to get us inside. I’d talk to him myself, but I’m too busy letting my mouth hang open. I’ve never seen so many outrageous swimsuits. I’m talking about the guests. It’s like one giant costume party.
“Hey,” I elbow Georgie, “that guy is dressed as a duck pond.” He has on a blue bodysuit with plastic lily pads and rubber duckies glued to it.
“Shhh. I’m trying to listen.” She turns her back while I’m sure I look like a cat who’s just discovered the joy of ping-pong spectatorship. One by one, tree frogs, bananas, and people wearing nothing but innertubes stroll by.
“Is it Halloween? I don’t get it,” I mutter to no one.
A woman in a green mermaid outfit stops next to me. “Darn it. Where’s that damned ticket?” She digs through her clamshell purse.
“Excuse me.” I tap her glitter-covered shoulder. “What’s with all the costumes?”
She stops her search to give me a look. “You’ve never been to the Weeno show?”
Oh…well, excuuuse me. “Can’t say I’ve had the pleasure.”
“Uh. Okay. Well, it’s a thing.”
I never knew mermaids were so judgy. “And what, pray tell, is the meaning of this thing, oh single-flippered one?”
She looks at me like I just fell off the lame-o-nerd truck, which is absolutely correct. Got the dents to prove it.
“Well, you know they, like, have these parties after the runway show and give away prizes for the best costumes. They even pick one person’s design to be featured in next year’s collection.” She leans in a little and speaks from the side of her mouth. “But rumor has it, they won’t be around next year. No one’s buying their stuff.”
Not really a surprise. Their “stuff” is hideous, not to mention, any guy who wears a Weeno, Mitch excluded, is immediately pegged as an inchworm.
“That’s unfortunate,” I say.
“Yeah, well, the only reason people came this year is to see Mitch Hofer. In the flesh.” She winks. “Oh. And the free drinks are good, too. Ha! Found it!” She produces a ticket from her purse. “See ya inside.”
“Sure thing.” I give her a polite little wave. So this will be the company’s last show, then.
“All right.” Georgie stashes her phone in her jeans pocket. “Sam will be out in a minute with our passes. But be forewarned. He is super annoyed I’m here.”
“Annoyed or angry?” I ask.
“Mmmm…not sure. Why?”
Because Sam isn’t always so forthcoming with the facts. If he’s angry, then maybe he’s more concerned about safety than he’s letting on.
“No reason,” I reply.
“Wow! Did you see that guy? He’s dressed as a fisherman. Wait, why is his fish coming out of his pants?” Georgie squints, her eyes zeroing in on his crotch.
“That’s not a fish. It’s his dick covered in sequins.”
“Not that I’m a glamour queen, but this is some of the worst fashion ever.” Georgie is more of a casual girl. Her jeans and gray sweatshirt outfit, like the one she has on now, is pretty much her go-to. I’ve still got on my jeans from yesterday, though Georgie did get me a Dolphins T-shirt from the hospital gift shop. My shirt got trashed by the bullet and the paramedics. Thank god I had on that freaking vest. It had been a last minute decision to put it on.
“Ladies, here you go.” Sam comes up beside us, looking flushed and sweaty.
“Thanks, honey.” Georgie gets on her tiptoes and pecks him on the lips. “Is everything okay?”
“Fine.” He runs a hand over the top of his thick dark hair. “I’ve just had more of a challenge with the event organizers than I thought. They keep allowing people in through the side door because their costumes won’t fit through the main entrance.”
I crinkle my nose. “That’s not good.” It means they’re not going through security.
He adds, “A party of five just came in dressed as a walrus.”
“You mean all five?” Georgie asks.
“Yeah.” Sam doesn’t sound amused. “It was a lot of work frisking them.”
“I definitely need to get in there and see this.” Georgie claps excitedly.
Sam’s silvery eyes glitter with disapproval.
“Not that we’re staying long,” I say to placate him. “I’m still in yesterday’s clothes, and I need a shower.” My hair is pulled back into a ponytail, but I look like hell.
“It’s fine,” he says with a tired sigh. “Stay as long as you like. It’s safe. Otherwise, I wouldn’t let Georgie near this place.”
“Oh. Okay.” His assurance actually makes me feel better. Now all I have to do is pull Mitch aside and ask him point blank, How do you feel about me?
“I gotta go and keep an eye on the large aquatic sea creatures.” Sam gives Georgie a peck and runs off.
“Abi, love!”
I turn my head to see none other than Leland Merrick in a wetsuit. The type with the short sleeves and legs.
“Leland.” I offer him a tight smile. “Didn’t expect to see you here. And what are you dressed as?”
“Sexy.” He flashes a charming grin and turns his attention to Georgie. “Miss Walton, such a pleasure to meet the famous heiress who helped bring down her own father.” He leans in. “Any chance of getting an interview? We could do a full two-hour special.”
“Uh, no.” She looks at me. “See you inside, Abi.”
“Leland, what do you want?” I growl.
“We had a deal, love. And if I recall, I gave you lots of scratches, but here I am, all itchy.”
I roll my eyes. “Sorry. But I’m sure you saw that Mitch went public, so the scoop is gone.”
He leans in to whisper in my ear, “Oh no, doll, it’s just heating up. And I want an exclusive with Mitch.”
“Sorry. Can’t help you there. Besides, if you’ve ever met Mitch, he kinda has a mind of his own. I wouldn’t be able to pull any strings for you.”
“Fair enough. But tell him the Kemmlers have already agreed to talk to me and tell their side of the story. They’re refuting everything.”
I lift a brow. “Were you expecting them to come out and
say that Grandpa Ralf was a war criminal?”
“No, love. They fessed up to that little morsel. I’m talking about the hit on Mitch. They claim, vociferously, that they would never do such a thing.”
I shrug. “I’m not surprised.” They have a lot to lose, and considering their underhanded behavior, I wouldn’t expect them to just come out and say, “Oh garsh! Ya caught me.”
“Unless Kristoff decides to turn against his employer, then I’m afraid there’s no proof that the Kemmlers broke any laws, which means the crime will be tried in a court of public opinion.” Leland whips out a card. From where? I don’t know. The suit is skintight. I can see the outline of his strong biceps, pecs, and oh! And that, too.
Leland goes on, “Tell Mitch if he wants his story told properly, he’d better call—”
“Me!” The tall brunette from the fundraiser the other night jumps out of nowhere and snatches the card right from Leland’s hand. “You tell Mitch that this crusty old crumpet can’t be trusted.” She pushes her card in my hand. “But I can. I’ll make sure the interview isn’t edited to make him look like a paranoid asshole.”
“Gisselle,” Leland snarls, “what are you doing here?”
She smiles like she wants to bite off Leland’s face. “It’s a free country.”
“I’m referring to the fact that I—”
“Anonymously reported me to Homeland Security so they’d detain me at the airport?” She crosses her arms. “Ha. Nice try, buddy.” She pokes him in the chest. “But you didn’t do your research—like usual. My brother happens to work for them and guess what? There’ll be a nice surprise waiting if you get anywhere near a plane, boat, or train. Can you say ‘terrorist watch list’?”
“You evil twat.” He narrows his dark eyes.
“Useless knob,” she fires back.
“You get me off that list right now,” Leland demands. “My mum’s birthday is next week, and I was planning to surprise her.”
Battle of the Bulge Page 13
