Mr. Beautiful (Up in the Air #4)(45)
Author: R.K. Lilley

I couldn’t stand it.  I’d rather she raged and caused a scene.  Instead, she closed me off, closed herself off, while she processed, sometimes asked a few questions, and then eventually came back around.

It was always on her timeline, though, and often after spending copious amounts of time with Stephan, who could soothe her as no one else could.

I looked at Stephan, knowing this wouldn’t go over well, but, "Can we have some privacy please?"

He looked at Bianca.  Much to my relief, she nodded for him to go.

I sat beside her, but not close, not touching.

She was so untouchable then, and I couldn’t stand to even try to when she was like this.  That wasn’t what I came to her for.  Until it was right again, I didn’t want to touch her, not even for comfort.

"It was all staged.  Clark is getting the full video now.  It will show you very clearly that I was not a willing participant in that.

"I know that.  I saw your face in the video.  I could just tell.  That’s not what’s bothering me.  You lied to me."

We hadn’t had an interaction like this in a very long time.  She was acting like she didn’t trust me, and I just couldn’t stand it.

She grabbed her phone, scrolled through it briefly, and then handed it to me.

I squinted at the picture on the screen, then cringed.  It was a photo of me.  My college days, I saw.  At a frat party.  I had my arm around a girl with dark hair.  Her hand was on my crotch.

I remembered the college me, and though I didn’t remember her, or that night.  I knew the college me had f**ked her right after taking that picture, or at least it was more likely than not what had happened.

The hair was different, and she was much younger here, but the picture was clear enough that I could tell it was Winona.

I glanced up at her.  "I didn’t remember her, I swear.  Whoever sent you this did a lot of homework into an obscure and unmemorable night in my past.  Why?  I couldn’t tell you, but I did not remember this, did not remember her.  I swear it.  I never would have lied to you on purpose.  I never would have let her work there for even five minutes, for that matter, had I known.

Finally she looked at me, studied me for a long time, as though working something out in her head.

"You really slept with that many women that you could run into some and not remember?"

I looked down at my hands, wishing my answer were different, for her sake.  "Most of them, I think.  Yes.  I’m sorry."

She shifted beside me and suddenly she was burrowing into me, her arms wrapping tight.

Shudders of relief rocked through my body.

There she was, my lover was back, just how I needed her.

Touchable.

I could breathe again, the tight thing gripping my chest finally loosening, my hands running over her.

Time passed.   And I held her.

"I owe you an apology," she said eventually.  "I’m sorry that for that little blip in time, I felt some doubt in you.  It was just, everything was laid out so convincingly, so fitted to my own insecurities.  Those pictures were so awful, and then to find out you had slept with her and told me otherwise.  The idea that you would hide it from me and be working with her, it really messed with my head."

"I swear, I didn’t know, didn’t remember her at all.

"I know.  I know.  I believe you.  I just, when you’ve led a life like mine, with so much heartache, and then become so happy you can hardly stand, I guess I was just waiting for something, something to ruin it all.  I’m sorry I was susceptible to that awful stunt.  I swear to you that it will not happen again.

It took about three days, but finally the rest of the story came out, or most of it.

The woman was mentally unstable, obviously, but the press found proof of it now, and released it.

And the rest of the video was found (thanks to ninja Clark and Lenny’s hard drive) the part that showed the whole interaction, un-doctored.  Even without audio, it was pretty obvious I’d been ambushed by a crazy woman, and had not been an active or willing participant.

My phone rang.  It was my buddy Parker.  "Hey, man," I answered.  "How are you?  How are Sophia and Elliot?"

"We’re fine.  Listen, I have something to tell you, something I just found out that I figure you need to know."

"Okay.  Go on," I said slowly.  His tone spoke of something ominous.

"That scandal.  That setup with the na**d woman in your office that was plastered all over the press—"

"Yes, I’m well aware of all of that.  What about it?"  It was the last thing I wanted to talk about.

"Jules was behind it.  She was working with your office manager.  She was sleeping with him.  She set it up.  All of it.  She was working with that deranged woman.  They were old friends from college."

I was shocked, though maybe I shouldn’t have been.  "Why?  What on earth could she possibly have to gain from it?"

"I think she’s come unhinged, to be honest.  Either she’s deluded herself that if your wife left you, she’d have a shot, or it was just some sick sort of revenge.  Whatever her motivation, things are going to change now for her.  She’s won’t bother you anymore, I assure you.  I just wanted you to know.  You see, my parents are aware of her part in it.  With you being married now, with no contact with Jules, even they are seeing just how serious her problems are.  They’ve cut her off, won’t support her, won’t give her a dime unless she gets herself help."

"God, your sister is a psycho bitch."

He wasn’t offended.  "Yes, yes she is."

"Thank you letting me know."

"Of course.  Hopefully it will bring you some peace of mind to understand what all was behind that."

"It does."

CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN

MY JOB

"Bronson Giles," I said as soon as Tristan answered his phone.

There was a pregnant silence and then, "Who?"

I sighed.  "I’m not the police.  I need to hear the entire story."

"No clue what you’re talking about."

"Just tell me this:  Why him?  What on earth set you off about some washed-up old actor?"

I knew it had something to do with Danika.  That was a given.  When Tristan started breaking things or hurting people, there was only ever one answer.

"This is feeling an awful lot like that Milton Sagar incident," I prompted him.  "Remember that?"