When Lightning Strikes (Whiskey Creek #1)(3)
Author: Brenda Novak

She didn’t get a chance to answer. When Gail started making her way over, he couldn’t help shifting his attention again. She’d located him, as he knew she would. She was nothing if not focused. And it wasn’t as if he could disappear into the crowd. He was always the center of attention whether he wanted to be or not.

What would happen from here on, however, was anyone’s guess. He’d never dreamed his ex-PR agent would have the moxie to show up at an event like this, where he’d be surrounded by friends and supporters, not to mention the regular contingent of hangers-on—people who were willing to kiss his ass regardless of what he did.

The girl had guts. He had to give her that.

“Simon?”

He looked up at her from beneath his eyelashes, as if he was too lazy or intoxicated to move. Maybe his temper, and what he’d said to Ian, had sparked the conflagration that had consumed her business, but he hadn’t intended for Ian to be quite so vindictive and didn’t want to take responsibility for it. Barring a few minor faults, Ian was a good manager. He’d certainly never done anything like this before. She could call Ian if she wanted to discuss the problem. It wasn’t as if she was entirely innocent; she’d vented her fury by making a series of unflattering statements that had wound up in the press.

Maybe when Simon O’Neal grows up, he’ll realize that women are good for more than just one thing.

Simon O’Neal is his own worst enemy. He hates himself in direct proportion to everyone else’s admiration. Why is anyone’s guess. The guy’s had it all. As far as I’m concerned, there’s no excuse for his behavior….

Maybe some people find him attractive. But I wouldn’t sleep with him if he were the last man on earth. There’s no telling what kind of disease he’s carrying….

There were other comments he couldn’t remember verbatim. Something about how he needed more therapy than even a fortune like his could support. And another about his being a waste of God-given talent, a man without decency, a charming Dr. Jekyll on-screen and an evil Mr. Hyde off…

“What can I do for you?” he replied, using the same overly polite tone with which she’d addressed him.

She lifted her chin. “Could I have a word with you, please?”

Was she crazy? He had no interest in walking off with her. “’Fraid not. Maybe you don’t remember, but we don’t have anything to discuss these days. And in case you haven’t noticed, I’m with someone.” He could feel Sunny’s interest in their exchange; she watched them but didn’t say anything.

Gail ignored her completely. “It’ll just take a minute.”

He flicked his hand, hoping she’d interpret the gesture for what it was—an indication that she should take herself off. “I’m busy.”

Unfortunately, she didn’t go anywhere. With a decisive tug on her tailored jacket, she cleared her throat. “Fine. We’ll talk here. I—I’d like to offer you an apology.”

He didn’t want an apology. People were beginning to stare, to realize she was the PR woman who’d dissed him. Everyone would want to hear what she had to say. He should get rid of her as soon as possible. But she’d just given him an opportunity to challenge the integrity she clung to like a battle shield, and he couldn’t resist.

“Are you saying you didn’t mean all the terrible things you said about me?” he drawled.

She hesitated while searching for words, eventually coming up with a response designed to placate him without being overtly untruthful. “I shouldn’t have said them.”

Damn right she shouldn’t have said them! She’d drawn first blood. She’d been so sanctimonious while sitting on the throne of her PR empire that Ian had shown her just how vulnerable she was. It’d been tit for tat, no big deal. And as far as Simon was concerned, their little…disagreement was over.

“No problem. I’m willing to let bygones be bygones if you are,” he said. “Have a nice night.”

“That’s it?” Her blue eyes widened.

He slung an arm around Sunny, slouching into her so he’d look comfortable and cozy and unlikely to go anywhere. “Were you hoping for more?”

Her bottom lip quivered as tears filled her eyes.

Ah, shit.

“I was hoping that you might—”

Jerry Russell, the director of his latest project, interrupted by walking up and bending to look in her face. “What’s going on here? You making the ladies cry already, Simon?”

“You got trouble, Simon?” someone else piped up, and that was all it took to send a murmur through the crowd that made everyone turn toward him.

Tears rolled down Gail’s cheeks. He could tell she was trying to hold them back but that only seemed to make matters worse. She was emotionally strung out and under scrutiny.

He had to get her out of here before he wound up on the front page of the tabloids again. One picture of her sorrowful face and some stupid paparazzi would report that he’d purposely and vengefully acted to destroy her: Box Office Hit Simon O’Neal Sends Small-Town PR Girl Packing. Which, thanks to Ian, was close enough to the truth that he wouldn’t even be able to fight it.

He couldn’t afford to give his ex-wife any more ammunition for the bitter war she was waging. If he didn’t clean up his act he’d never gain even partial custody of his son. The judge had been very firm about that.

People were starting to converge on them. He had to act now to avoid a spectacle.

“No trouble,” he said with a reassuring smile and, telling Sunny he’d be right back, slid out of the booth. “It’s damn hot in here. I think we’ll get some air.”

Taking Gail’s hand, to throw any curious onlookers off the scent of another disagreement, he led her at a measured pace, nodding and exchanging greetings as they passed through the other guests to an expensively appointed back room, one that’d been designated for his use. No one ever specified what such a room was for because it was for anything he wanted. He could do drugs in here, have sex, throw a private party…whatever.

He’d never been more grateful for it than now.

“What were you thinking coming here?” he growled as soon as he closed the door securely behind them. “And for the love of God would you stop crying?”

She dashed a hand across her face. “I’m sorry. I…I’m embarrassed, but…I can’t seem to help it.”