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Normally she’d have laughed at Ralph’s ridiculous comment, but her spine tingled with impending doom. “Don’t suppose you’ll wait here while I talk to him, will you?”
An inelegant snort was all she got in response.
As she approached her SUV, she straightened her shoulders and prepared for battle the only way she knew how, by channeling what remained of Scarlett. “Something I can help you with, Chuck?” she asked in as snooty a voice as she could muster.
“Get it, girl,” Ralph mumbled beside her, bolstering her confidence even more.
Even though things were a disaster with Keith right now, she wouldn’t tolerate Chuck speaking poorly of him.
“New boyfriend?” Chuck asked, tilting his head. He stuck an unlit cigarette between his lips.
“That’s why you’re waiting by my car? To ask if I have a new boyfriend? Wow, Chuck, I didn’t realize you cared so much. I’m flattered.”
He tossed his head back and let out a laugh that grated on her nerves. Beside her, Ralph stiffened, “Oh I care,” he said, “but not about who you’re fucking. Though I gotta say if you shook Benson off you made the right choice there. His old man’s the town embarrassment. Mom sure was sweet, though. If you know what I mean.” He winked. “Of course the price had to be right to get it from her.”
Mickie ground squeezed her fists together to keep from bitch slapping this asshole across the face. Did he seriously just disrespect Keith’s dead mother by calling her a prostitute?
Ralph wrapped a hand around her forearm. “Oooh, boy, there better be a point to all this. I’m the only thing standing between you and my girl clawing your eyes out. So I’d either say what you came to say or move the hell outta the way.”
As though he just realized he was in the presence of a gay man and believe it might rub off on him, Chuck tensed and seemed to flatten himself against her car.
“For Christ’s sake,” Mickie muttered. “Just walk the hell away.”
“Uh, yeah,” he said, still giving Ralph the side-eye.
Ralph, in all his glory, took a step closer to Chuck. “You okay? Looking a little pale there. Need me to feel your forehead?”
The idea of Ralph touching him snapped him out of whatever homophobic trance he’d fallen into. With a grunt he stepped forward until he was in Mickie’s personal space. “You know, I figured out who you look like,” he said, standing too close. His breath smelled of breakfast meat. “It’s that actress, Scarlett. Think someone saw her in Vegas yesterday.”
“Huh,” she said affecting a bored tone. “I’ve heard that a few times.”
“I’ll bet you have.” With that, he strode away, whistling the theme song to one of Scarlett’s more famous movies. In seconds, he was in his car, pulling out of the parking lot.
Mickie doubled over. “He knows,” she whispered. “He hates Keith, and he knows.”
Ralph crouched down beside her. “Hey,” he said. “Listen to me. He’s an ass. And we don’t know anything for sure. Bullies like him aren’t smart. If he does know, he’ll probably come at you asking for money or he’ll post a pic of you to social media. If he does that, you come at him with guns blazing. He won’t know what hit him. You’re Michaela fucking Hudson and you won’t take shit from anyone.”
He was right. She had the resources to keep Chuck from doing anything that could out her. Unless he went and sold a picture of her to a tabloid. Then she’d be screwed. But it didn’t seem his style. He’d be more the type to demand money from her directly. Either way, she could ruin him and that gave her some measure of comfort.
Like Ralph said, she was Michaela fucking Hudson and it was time she started acting like the badass she was.
“Ralph,” she asked as she straightened, “will you marry me?”
Laughing, he threw an arm around her and guided her to the driver’s side door. “There’s my girl.”
CHAPTER TWENTY
KEITH WALKED INTO his room only to draw up short at the sight of a large man sitting on his bed, reading a mechanic’s magazine. Of course, that man was his brother, but still, he let out a curse as he drew his shirt over his head. “How long have you been hanging out in here?” he asked Jagger as he tossed the grease-stained shirt into his hamper.
“Not long. Half hour, maybe.” Jagger set the magazine down and speared Keith with a look that had him sighing.
“Guess my reprieve is over, huh?” He picked a black T-shirt out of his drawer and tugged it on.
“Reprieve?” Jagger laughed, then kicked his feet over the side of the bed, bringing himself up to sit. “There was no fucking reprieve. We’ve been trying to pin you down for three days, but your stubborn ass has managed to evade all of us. What, have you been sleeping at the garage?”
