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While my dad was held spellbound as well, I asked, “Any sign of Maleficent?”
He gave a half snort at my reference to my mother. “She has a literary agent.”
“What?” My blood pressure likely just shot into the stratosphere. “You have got to be kidding!”
“She felt it was the courteous thing to let me know.”
I fought a gape. “So she’s serious about this book?”
Christ. I’d fallen down on the job with this one. I’d been so wrapped up in my web on the wall, nursery decorating, the Lux, and then having a baby that I hadn’t reached out to Jackson to get him to divert my mother’s bad intentions.
“Dad,” I said, feeling like a huge heel. “I’m so sorry. This is all my fault. She literally slipped from my mind with everything else going on. I promised I’d take care of this, and I will.”
“And I told you, this isn’t your concern. It’s mine.”
“No. We can work this together.”
With a grim expression on his ruggedly handsome face, he said, “Apparently, she has a ghostwriter. No deal has been made yet by her agent, but she’s confident it’s just a matter of time.”
As much as my dad was mesmerized by his grandson, I could see he fumed over my mother’s scheme to publicly air all their dirty laundry.
“She said something of the probable chances of it going to auction once they submit to publishing houses, and the seven-figure advance she’s now hoping to get.”
“She’s such a pain in the ass. What did you say?”
“Nothing. I hung up on her.”
“Dad!” I let out a small laugh because I could imagine her huffing about that when he’d so pointedly dismissed her. Still. “That’s not going to solve the problem.”
“Ari,” he said, keeping his voice level so as not to disturb Amsel as he slowly drifted to sleep in the crook of my dad’s arm. “What more am I going to do?”
“Sue her?”
He shook his head. “Whatever she has to say about me isn’t going to be slanderous. I didn’t win a Masters. No lie there. It’s already public knowledge. If anything, she should be worried about the names she’s including and how their wives—or ex-wives—are going to respond. Frankly, I’m shocked anyone would touch this project. Then again, maybe some of those big names she’s slinging around are getting something out of it. More notoriety. A lot of these guys are retired—this could spark renewed interest in them, give them a fresh shot of adrenaline.”
“Granted, it’s not a new concept to spill bedroom secrets for cash. But, geez, she could really turn a lot of lives upside down.” I frowned. “Ours included. The media would pick this up and start contacting you, Dad. Hounding you at the club. Following you around the course.” I let out a sharp sigh. “What a fucking nightmare.”
“Sweets,” he lightly scolded, “don’t swear in front of the baby.”
I nodded. “Right. I’m going to have to curb the profanity. Wait’ll I tell Kyle. He’ll go through the roof without his own daily dose of colorful words from me.”
“He’s still here?”
“He and Amano are practically besties, and he’s learning karate and all about guns and security systems and blah, blah, blah. He’s totally into the ninja warrior thing. Unfortunately.”
“This worries you?”
“I don’t want him to get hurt. He’s my closest friend, and he’s done so much for all of us. He’s such a great guy. I wish he had the chance to meet someone and—” My brow jerked up. “Whoa.”
“What?”
I suddenly recalled a conversation with another friend of mine, the night Dane had flown us all to the Grand Canyon for a special dinner. Tamera Fenmore was a striking blonde who had the most elegant yet saucy British accent and was currently single since, according to her, “Mr. Right’s GPS is skewed at present.”
Her eyes had bulged at Kyle’s solid build, all the muscles nowhere close to being concealed in the suit he’d worn that night. And before that at my and Dane’s wedding.
Speaking of weddings, my high school pal Grace, who bartended at the resort where mine and Kyle’s friends Meghan and Sean Aldridge had married—the exact place I’d met Dane for the first time—had taken a liking to Kyle as well.
“Maybe I should do a little matchmaking when we’re all out of this mess.”
