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Authors: Susan Donovan
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have been plastered all over her face.
"You OK, Christy?"
"I'm just fine." She pursed her lips and blinked. "Thanks for the tip, Brandon, and for coming out today. I do appreciate it, but Jack's love life is really none of my business, and it's certainly not news." She brushed past him on her way to the door but stopped when she heard Miliewski's nasty laugh behind her.
"You are so full of shit," he whispered.
Christy spun around, her mouth open in astonishment.
Brandon stood up and walked toward her, savoring Christy's surprise. "Anything that man does is news in this town—at the Star , the Business Journal , at all three affiliates plus Fox and even the local access channels, and you know it." He cocked his head at her and grinned. "You helped make it that way, Christy."
She didn't know what to say. His aggressiveness had caught her attention. She found it strangely exciting. Her heart began to beat a little too fast.
"And you and I both know that if Samantha Monroe happens to be Jack's babe du jour at the time he declares his candidacy—and he will declare, of course—the woman's life is going to be a living hell. You'll see to that, too. It's what you do."
Maybe it was the lighting, or lack thereof, in the Chatterbox, but Brandon Miliewski appeared vaguely attractive standing there, the assertive smirk helping his face appear broad and strong instead of merely chubby.
Brandon reached behind him and pulled out the chair Christy had been sitting in. "Now. How about that bottle of wine?"
Christy nodded. The confidence in his voice, along with his obvious appreciation of her talents, seemed to soothe her. "I suppose just a glass wouldn't hurt," she said.
4
Stuart bent forward at the waist and braced his palms on his knees, sucking air. Jack watched the sweat stream off the ledge of his friend's chin and puddle onto the hardwood floor of the racquetball court.
"Damn, Jack," Stuart panted. "Don't take it out on me. I'm not the one who got you into this. Kara should face this punishment. Not me."
"Kara can't return my serve."
Stuart looked up from his crouched position, blinking behind clear plastic safety goggles. "Like I can?" He straightened and put a hand to his lower back. "I gotta get some water."
Jack watched Stuart stagger out of the racquetball court and into the hallway and take a big gulp from his bottled water. Jack followed, knowing he had to ask just once more to make sure. "So you're absolutely positive there's no way we can back out of this?"
Stuart squirted some water onto his forehead and patted his face with a towel. "Sure you can, Jack. But then she walks away with everything—every dime she negotiated for, her monthly stipends and the trust fund—and you get nothing. Is that what you want? I mean, it's been exactly three days. What could the woman have done in three days to scare you like this?"
Jack laughed off the question. Sam Monroe didn't scare him. . .exactly. "It's a comfort level thing, Stu. It's too much, that's all. The kids. The friend. The friend's kid. The diapers. The dog. It's just not my style."
Stuart nodded, a sly smile moving across his face. "You know they aren't real, right, Jack?"
Jack chuckled at Stu's bluntness. "Of course they're real! I've been staring at them for days on end, and I'm telling you, Samantha is packin' only what God gave her. I know the difference."
Stuart stared at him with his mouth hanging open, then shook his head. "I'm not talking about the woman's ta-tas, Jack. Jesus! I meant they as in all the people you just mentioned."
Jack adjusted the Ace wrap around his knee and nodded. "Of course. I knew that."
"Anyway." Stuart took another chug. "What I'm saying is that Samantha Monroe isn't really your fiancee. She and her kids are just props. So if they annoy you, just go home to your condo and forget them. Don't let the situation get you down. Has Kara been running some numbers by you?"
"Yeah. Looks like Preston-Norwich is in to the limit
"You OK, Christy?"
"I'm just fine." She pursed her lips and blinked. "Thanks for the tip, Brandon, and for coming out today. I do appreciate it, but Jack's love life is really none of my business, and it's certainly not news." She brushed past him on her way to the door but stopped when she heard Miliewski's nasty laugh behind her.
"You are so full of shit," he whispered.
Christy spun around, her mouth open in astonishment.
Brandon stood up and walked toward her, savoring Christy's surprise. "Anything that man does is news in this town—at the Star , the Business Journal , at all three affiliates plus Fox and even the local access channels, and you know it." He cocked his head at her and grinned. "You helped make it that way, Christy."
She didn't know what to say. His aggressiveness had caught her attention. She found it strangely exciting. Her heart began to beat a little too fast.
"And you and I both know that if Samantha Monroe happens to be Jack's babe du jour at the time he declares his candidacy—and he will declare, of course—the woman's life is going to be a living hell. You'll see to that, too. It's what you do."
Maybe it was the lighting, or lack thereof, in the Chatterbox, but Brandon Miliewski appeared vaguely attractive standing there, the assertive smirk helping his face appear broad and strong instead of merely chubby.
Brandon reached behind him and pulled out the chair Christy had been sitting in. "Now. How about that bottle of wine?"
Christy nodded. The confidence in his voice, along with his obvious appreciation of her talents, seemed to soothe her. "I suppose just a glass wouldn't hurt," she said.
4
Stuart bent forward at the waist and braced his palms on his knees, sucking air. Jack watched the sweat stream off the ledge of his friend's chin and puddle onto the hardwood floor of the racquetball court.
"Damn, Jack," Stuart panted. "Don't take it out on me. I'm not the one who got you into this. Kara should face this punishment. Not me."
"Kara can't return my serve."
Stuart looked up from his crouched position, blinking behind clear plastic safety goggles. "Like I can?" He straightened and put a hand to his lower back. "I gotta get some water."
Jack watched Stuart stagger out of the racquetball court and into the hallway and take a big gulp from his bottled water. Jack followed, knowing he had to ask just once more to make sure. "So you're absolutely positive there's no way we can back out of this?"
Stuart squirted some water onto his forehead and patted his face with a towel. "Sure you can, Jack. But then she walks away with everything—every dime she negotiated for, her monthly stipends and the trust fund—and you get nothing. Is that what you want? I mean, it's been exactly three days. What could the woman have done in three days to scare you like this?"
Jack laughed off the question. Sam Monroe didn't scare him. . .exactly. "It's a comfort level thing, Stu. It's too much, that's all. The kids. The friend. The friend's kid. The diapers. The dog. It's just not my style."
Stuart nodded, a sly smile moving across his face. "You know they aren't real, right, Jack?"
Jack chuckled at Stu's bluntness. "Of course they're real! I've been staring at them for days on end, and I'm telling you, Samantha is packin' only what God gave her. I know the difference."
Stuart stared at him with his mouth hanging open, then shook his head. "I'm not talking about the woman's ta-tas, Jack. Jesus! I meant they as in all the people you just mentioned."
Jack adjusted the Ace wrap around his knee and nodded. "Of course. I knew that."
"Anyway." Stuart took another chug. "What I'm saying is that Samantha Monroe isn't really your fiancee. She and her kids are just props. So if they annoy you, just go home to your condo and forget them. Don't let the situation get you down. Has Kara been running some numbers by you?"
"Yeah. Looks like Preston-Norwich is in to the limit
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