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My mouth opened in protest, ready to say I hadn't "handled" her at all, but he continued before I could.
"I can't believe they brought her on the show after the things..." He coughed. "Well, you know what I mean. Anyway, as far as most of us are concerned, you're still at the top of your game, and we're looking forward to seeing you put her in her place."
I could tell by his expression that he was willing, even eager, to go on, but would it help me to know what she'd said? No. If I heard her insults or insinuations, I would indeed want to "put her in her place" and I couldn't afford to do that. Not on this shoot.
"I appreciate the support. Now, if you'll excuse me--"
"Absolutely. And thank you for helping with Mr. Grady this morning. Becky really appreciates it. She was really afraid this was going to be difficult, knowing you're lining up a show of your own, and Grady's hoping to relocate here."
"Relocate--?"
I snapped my mouth shut. This one was tougher to ignore. A lot tougher. But I promised myself I'd investigate later. Right now, I had to concentrate on the ghosts.
As he headed into the house, I stepped off the porch and caught a flash from the shrubs, like the sun reflecting off a mirror--or a camera lens. A slower, more careful look around, listening for the rustle of a quick retreat. Silence.
It could have been nothing. Or it could have been a crew member sneaking around with a camera, hoping for a shot he could sell to the tabloids. Photos of C-list celebs aren't worth much, but if you can get ones that are embarrassing enough, you can make a few bucks. One last survey, then I headed toward the road, making sure I wasn't slouching or squinting unbecomingly, just in case.
AFTER CALLING Paige, I went to the kitchen to grab a sandwich. I hadn't been in the mood for a communal lunch, and it was almost two now. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Grady stride in. His gait was fluid, almost gliding.
"Hello," I said without turning.
"I need to speak to you."
My fingers tightened around my coffee cup, but I kept my tone even. "Good. I need to talk to you too."
"A private word, then. In the garden, please."
Hmm...That sounded suspicious, but there was nothing in his bearing or his manner to suggest he had seduction on his mind. Quite the opposite. Cool and professional.
"I'm right behind you," I said.
I followed him through the house to the back doors.
He still walked with that odd gait--graceful and relaxed yet purposeful. Some affectation he was practicing for an upcoming segment?
When we reached the garden, I tried to catch up, but he only moved faster. Afraid Claudia was peering from a window? Seeing me "following" him into the garden wouldn't make her any happier.
Finally he stopped, his back still to me. Then, as he turned, he inclined his head in an oddly formal nod, coupled with a tiny smile.
"Jaime O'Casey. A pleasure."
A dart of panic raced through me. No one in the business knew my real name. But if Grady thought this gave him some leverage over me, he was wrong. Vegas was just a stage name; I wasn't hiding anything.
I looked at him. His gray-blue eyes now shone a blue brighter than the sky. Impossibly and unnaturally bright. I backpedaled. He grabbed my arm. His fingers were so hot I could feel them through my sleeve.
That dart of panic found its target and exploded. I yanked back. His grip didn't tighten, but didn't give either. Firm as an iron shackle. This wasn't Grady but someone--something--using his body, and I had a good idea what that something was.
"Kristof Nast sent me."
Damn Kristof! This was why he hadn't told me who he was calling: I'd never have agreed.
"I'm sorry," I said. "There's been a misunderstanding. I don't talk to--"
"Strangers? A wise choice, but I'm hoping this time you'll make an exception."
Amusement sparkled in those beautiful eyes. Entrancing eyes.
"I've come to help you, Jaime."
