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I return to the mysterious obstacle at the foot of Georgina’s bed and discover it’s a cardboard box emblazoned with Courthouse Copy Service on its side. The exact same kind of box Leonard always has in his office. And, instantly, even before I’ve peeked inside the box, I know what I’m going to find inside. Stephanie Moreland’s lawsuit. But, still, just for kicks, I look anyway. And, yep. No surprise. There it is. Stephanie’s complaint, sitting right on top a stack of documents.
A puff of air escapes from my nose. I should have known Georgina had it. There’s no way Georgina would have seen reference on that printout to a settled sexual harassment lawsuit and not beelined to the clerk’s office to get a copy of it. But why didn’t she tell me she’d read it, when she asked me about the case? Because she thought, if I didn’t know she’d already read it, then I might lie to her about Stephanie. And she wanted to catch me in a lie.
For a moment, I feel betrayed. Hurt. Angry. I feel the old familiar urges bubbling up. The ones I feel whenever a woman gets too close. When I feel my walls being threatened. The urge to run away, push away, shut down. That’s what I’m feeling. As usual.
But then, I take in Georgina’s beautiful, sleeping face... and I remember the secret she shared with me tonight. The way she laid herself bare to me. And the panic inside me vanishes. The urge to run away, push her away, shut down subsides.
Okay, so she got the printout of lawsuits and noticed I’d settled a sexual harassment case. Considering what that asshole Mr. Gates did to her, it’s no wonder she was especially determined to find out everything she could about Stephanie’s claims. At least, to Georgie’s credit, she came straight to me and asked me for my side of the story, rather than jumping to conclusions and instantly believing Stephanie’s lies like they were gospel.
My heart rate is slowing again.
This is not a problem.
Georgina is simply doing her job.
And doing it well.
After what she’s been through, I can’t blame her for wanting to know what kind of man she’s been sleeping with. Good for her for following the breadcrumbs. She might be young. And she might be smoking hot. But Georgina Ricci is nobody’s fool.
I grab the blanket from the foot of the bed and gently cover her with it. I bend down and kiss her cheek gently, and turn off the light. Goodnight, Intrepid Reporter.
I stare at her for a long moment, not wanting to leave her side. But, finally, I drag my ass to my room. Which is where I brush my teeth, shower, and, finally, blessedly, crawl into my bed with an exhausted groan. But before flipping off my light, I grab my phone and send a text to Henn:
I need another favor, brother. Find out where Georgie went to high school. It’s in the Valley somewhere. A guy named Gates is the football coach. They won two championships in four years. I need you to hack into his phone and computer and dig around. See if you find a vulnerability. I don’t know exactly what I’m looking for. All I know is I want you to find something, anything, I can use to go Left Eye Lopes on the guy’s ass. I want to burn this motherfucker’s entire life to the ground, Henny. Just like Left Eye burned Andre’s house. No mercy.
Chapter 22
Georgina
“Good afternoon,” I chirp to CeeCee’s personal assistant, Margot. She’s seated at a desk, holding down the fort while CeeCee is still on vacation in Bali.
“Georgie!” Margot replies warmly. She hops up and gives me a hug. “How are you?”
It’s a standard question, obviously. One I’ve been asked in polite conversation countless times in my life. One that should be answered with a simple, “I’m great! And you?” And yet, today, upon hearing that simple question, every fiber of my being wants to shout maniacally, “I think I’m falling for Reed Rivers!”
It’s the same maniacal reply I wanted to shout at Amalia this morning, when she kindly asked if I’d slept well. And the same thing I wanted to scream at the top of my lungs at the barista in Starbucks, who asked if I wanted my coffee drink hot or cold. Truly, I don’t know how many more times I can be asked how I’m doing or how I slept or how I want my coffee, and be expected to not shout in reply, “I think I’m falling for Reed Rivers!”
Because... I think I am.
Hard.
Obviously, I don’t want to fall for Reed. Indeed, I’m trying very hard not to do that supremely stupid thing. But it’s a hard thing to resist doing, after the amazing conversations we had last night, followed by the magic of this morning.
