When Lightning Strikes (Whiskey Creek #1)(34)
Author: Brenda Novak

As if on cue, the door opened. When a male hospital worker walked in, Simon offered her a wry look. “I’m safe with this one.”

Gail was too preoccupied to respond to his joke. “Do you have some reason for being here?” she asked the young man.

A sheepish expression appeared on his face. “Actually, I’m a huge fan.” He held up paper and pen as his gaze darted in Simon’s direction. “I was wondering if…if maybe I could get an autograph. I’ve seen Shiver so many times.”

“If you don’t mind—don’t mind an X,” Simon said, but Gail knew he was too groggy to hold a pen. And it was his right hand that had been injured. This guy was probably a nurse or an X-ray tech or someone who should know better than to barge into a patient’s room without a legitimate reason.

“Get out and let him rest,” Gail said. “And if you don’t post a sign on the door saying that only authorized personnel are allowed in, I’ll file a complaint and then maybe a lawsuit.”

The man’s eyes rounded. “But…I didn’t mean to… What kind of lawsuit?”

“I’m sure a good attorney could think of something. If you like your job, you wouldn’t want to be the cause of all the trouble.”

“No, ma’am,” he said, and hurried out.

Simon chuckled. “Jeez, with you around who needs security?”

She sank into her chair, which felt no softer than it had before. “I’m glad you feel that way because you won’t have any security in Whiskey Creek.”

The humor fled his face. “I won’t?”

“No. No maids or chefs or drivers, either.”

He scowled. “Why the hell not?”

“It’s too insular, too alienating, especially in a place as small as Whiskey Creek.”

“Somebody’s got to cook.”

“I’ll do it if you’ll do the driving.”

“Are you any good?” he asked skeptically.

“I’m not bad.”

“Fine. Because I’m a hell of a driver. We’ll bring the Ferrari.”

She crossed her legs. “Do you want everyone to hate you even more?”

“Money’s the one thing I’ve got left. I might as well enjoy it.”

“Later. Otherwise, it’ll look like a shield—or an enticement. This is about creating a humble image of reform.”

He tried to adjust his pillow despite his bandaged hand. “You’re making your hometown sound like a real bitch.”

She’d been trying to make it sound like a second chance. That was what she believed it could be. And, unlike Ian, Simon understood, or he never would’ve agreed to go there. He even seemed a little excited by the opportunity, although she guessed that once the drugs wore off, he’d also be frightened by the challenge. It’d been a long time since he’d gone into any relationship on an even footing. In her estimation, that was why he had no true friends.

In Whiskey Creek, it would be different. Simon would be normal, just like everyone else, or as “normal” as someone so famous could be. She hoped that he’d engage others and develop some mutual trust and respect, self-sacrifice, deep feelings. Those were the things he needed right now.

“Most of them won’t kiss your ass, but you’ll survive,” she said.

“I can hardly wait.”

Chuckling, she called up the ESPN website on her phone. “Did you hear that the Lakers are taking on the Heat tonight?”

He rested his injured hand on his chest. “What are you talking about?”

“Basketball.”

“I know that. I’m wondering why. You hate sports.”

“I’m beginning to rethink my position. Anyway, you used to be a big fan of the Lakers.”

“I haven’t been following them in pre-season.”

He hadn’t been keeping up with a lot of the things he normally enjoyed. She thought that should be remedied, too. “I know. So?”

“So what?”

“They’ll be starting out strong if they win.”

“How many have they won?”

“Eight of their first ten games.” She filled him in on the details before going on to the rest of the sports news. Then she moved to other sites and shared snippets of information about Egypt, China, Sudan, anything that involved people outside the U.S. She hoped doing so would remind him that L.A. wasn’t the only city in the world, that there was much more out there than fame and the movie industry and his current problems.

Hearing about people being killed and driven out of their homes seemed to put it all in perspective.

“You think you’re smart, don’t you,” he said.

He’d caught on. She smiled innocently. “Excuse me?”

“How am I going to put up with you?”

“Pretending to love me will be the biggest challenge of your acting career.”

He didn’t respond for a few seconds. Then he said, “How many people live in Whiskey Creek?”

“Population 2,000, give or take a hundred.”

Sleepiness no longer seemed to be an issue. “And they’re all going to hate me?”

She dropped her phone in her purse. “Give or take a hundred,” she repeated.

His eyes narrowed. “I’ll have them eating out of my hand in a matter of weeks.”

“Glad to hear it.” She had no doubt he could do it; she just hoped she wasn’t one of them.

14

Every diamond was huge, much bigger than any Gail had seen before. And the prices… The average American house didn’t cost this much.

Mr. Nunes, who sat in Simon’s living room with the nondescript briefcase he’d carried in, had spread his entire cache of loose diamonds out on a piece of black velvet. “This one is the finest quality you’ll ever find,” he boasted as he held up yet another five-carat rock. “Just look at the clarity.”

It was beautiful. But so were the others. “How much?” she asked, and braced herself for another shocking figure. The last one had been four hundred and thirty-five thousand.

Nunes was starting to show some irritation at her continued insistence on knowing the price. “If it’s the one you like, I’m sure Simon and I can work something out.” He leaned forward to gaze deep into her eyes. “This is your engagement ring. Price is no object.”

Easy for him to say. But, surprisingly, Simon didn’t argue with him about that. He didn’t ask for smaller or cheaper diamonds, either. He simply looked on, wiggling the fingers that dangled out of the sling on his arm.