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“Well, first things first. We need to make some calls and find out if someone saw you two in the hallway at the hotel on Saturday night.” Liana stands and reaches for the door. “While I do that, Donna will call her lawyer friend and have him come over right away. We need to get these vultures under control before they make a bigger mess.”
“What should I do?” I ask, uncertain any of this was going to make a difference. Vic is so influential and popular. How can I go up against that kind of power?
“Go splash some water on your face. Fix your makeup and be ready.” Donna grins. “We’re going to war.”
“You realize this could amount to nothing, right?” I slowly stand, the weight of it all pressing on my shoulders. “This is Vic Simmons you’re talking about.”
“Listen. My ex was charming and sweet to everyone, but when it was just us, he was an asshole with a bad temper.” Liana’s eyes sharpen at the recollection. “I wasn’t the first woman he beat, and I’m sure I’m not the last. If Vic hit you, there’ve been others. We just need to find them.”
Donna nods. “Maybe if you speak up, it’ll be enough to inspire other women to do it too.”
“We can’t let him get away with this so he can hurt the next girl.” Liana holds my gaze and nods with confidence. “It only takes one with courage to bring the others forward. Are you willing to do that?”
Her words infuse me with determination. “Yes. Let’s do this.”
“Good.” Liana disappears down the hall.
When I head for the door, Donna stops me. “We’ll make sure this bastard pays for what he did.”
“Thanks.” I swallow the emotion lodged in my throat. The moment I reach the bathroom down the hall, I collapse against the sink. My chest tightens, my breathing shallow and panicked.
Facing myself in the mirror, I focus on deep breaths until the wave passes. My makeup is smeared, and I look like a wilting Salvador Dali painting. I grab a washcloth and soap and scrub my face.
The purpling bruises and small gash healing on my cheek are highlighted by the lack of product. Rather than reapply my makeup, I smear on some lotion and wear the injuries with pride. When the lawyer shows up, I want him to see what Vic did to me without the mask of makeup protecting my wounded ego.
I should call Rob, tell him before he sees it on the news. It’s not something I want to tell him over the phone, but he’s at work. I have until he gets off at five to get this shitstorm under control and catch him at home.
I’d rather him hear it from me than the tabloids, but it may be too late.
Chapter Twenty
Rob
Fucking finally. At five o’clock, I gather my stuff and bolt out of the ER.
It took every ounce of strength I possess not to storm out of the hospital and make a beeline for Marcy’s office the moment I saw that magazine. Summer tried to ask me about it, but I didn’t have the time or patience to explain it. Not when I needed to get across town and see her.
I hail a cab and give the driver her address. The entire trip is spent in torment, wondering what in the hell I am going to say, what she will do when I confront her.
She wouldn’t tell me who hurt her, wouldn’t go to the ER. But the truth is she couldn’t. Vic Simmons is a Hollywood superstar. He has leagues of lawyers and agents who would throw themselves into the flames to protect their client. Especially a moneymaker like Vic. Even if Marcy came forward and filed an incident report with the police, they would sweep it under the rug. No one would be the wiser.
It’s a damned disaster. I have half a mind to hunt the bastard down and make him pay for what he did to her. But where would that land me? Prison, that’s where. And pretty boy would get off scot-free.
Fury bubbles up inside me. By the time I reach her apartment, it’s a full-on inferno. I pay the cabbie and step back from the curb. A flash of neon catches my eye.
Marcy. She’s walking toward the door to her building, her arms wrapped around her torso. It’s mid-May and nearly ninety degrees, but she looks like she’s shivering in the cold.
“Marcy!” I call out with a wave.
She comes to a stop, her gaze snaps up at the sound of her name. Then she spots me through the crowd of pedestrians filling the sidewalk. As I make my way closer to her, her eyes widen. At this distance I can’t tell if it’s out of fear or relief, but it doesn’t matter.
“Rob, what are you doing here?”
I pull her against me. Her arms wrap around my waist, and her tense body relaxes. “I came to check on you.”
When I draw back, I tip her chin up and search those mesmerizing eyes. Gone is the heavy eye shadow and dark liner. Without makeup, the bruises stand out against her pale skin. The cut is healing nicely, but it’s still an angry red blemish against her porcelain skin.
Fury rises hot and heavy inside me at the sight. “I can’t believe that bastard hit you.”
