Perfect Gravity (Wanted and Wired #2)(62)
She hadn’t bothered to hook her wig back on, and Kellen hadn’t encouraged it. He would always prefer her hair long and strokable, but this style suited her. Mature. Serious. Fierce.
The dude in the overalls slid a pair of sunglasses down his beaky nose and gave Kellen a narrow-eyed stare worthy of the most disapproving librarian. “Who’s this?”
Lots of ways Angela could answer that question, but her choice came as something of a surprise. “My partner,” she said, squeezing his hand beneath her overlong sleeve. “My lover.”
“Yer so-posh husband know about him?”
“Daniel’s dead,” Angela said, her voice exactly that: dead, flat, no-nonsense. “He survived the attempt on his life in October, but his faculties were severely impaired, and he had to be supplemented increasingly with chems and devices. A second attempt, by way of one of these recent smartbomb attacks, finished the job. He died the day before yesterday.”
“So you hired pretty boy here to dance on his grave or what? Not that I’m judging, but some people will want the sordids.”
“I’ve been having an affair with this man since I was fifteen,” she said. It was even true, sort of. Not counting that long dry spell in the middle. “I tried to get him out of my mind, even confessed tearfully to Daniel, but you know how it is with true love. We’ve been sneaking, this man and I, like Romeo and fucking Juliet. Also, I’m probably pregnant, but he doesn’t know yet, and I won’t know for another six weeks that it’s actually twins. Follow-up potential there, if the interest level is high enough.”
The dealer stared hard at her for a few more seconds, then said sternly, “Make it quadruplets and we might have a runnable rag piece with options for pickups on major channels, since you are—or were—a big-time senator and all.”
“Deal.” Angela smiled, that practiced, perfect smile he’d seen so often over the years.
The dude threw his wire-studded head back and hee-hawed. Then he rolled his balloon-chair back, stood up, and opened his arms wide. After the slightest of pauses, Angela let loose of Kellen’s hand and hugged the man whose name apparently really was Dead Fester.
When she extricated herself from the big man’s embrace, she was half laughing, half crying. She held out a hand, and Kellen approached warily.
What she’d said had had the taint of lies on it, but just enough had been true that he had to wonder. Was she pregnant? She’d only been widowed what, seven, eight weeks? It wouldn’t be obvious yet. Granted, her husband had been a hot-buttered asshole, but that didn’t mean they hadn’t been intimate. She’d had a tough note in her voice when she’d spoken of Daniel. A victim’s limp fury. Had he been at her unrelenting till the end? Every caretaking cell in Kellen’s body—and lord knew he had more than his fair share of those suckers—woke up worried.
He took her outstretched hand, moved to stand beside her, and nodded to Dead. Truthfully, he had no idea what to think, but in such situations, he’d learned it was best to stay quiet and soak up all information as it came at him.
“Kellen, meet Dead Fester, better known as SwankVid, Ursula Dioda, the GNN, and…did I forget one, Fez?”
GNN. Global News Network. Only the news reporting source of record for three multinations, plus the ZaneCorp. And come to find out the whole thing was run by…one dude in the back room of a flea market? This dude, moreover? Fucking hell. Pretty much everything Kellen knew about the way media worked just got stood on its head.
“Well, FanSource as well, but that one is a labor of love and is, I’m afraid, somewhat small.” He looked proud as a new mama. “You can call me Fez.”
Kellen shook his hand. “Is a pleasure,” he mumbled.
“Oh, it really could be,” the newsman/gossipmonger simpered. “I am not even kidding. You’re chin-droolingly hot. The dirty cowboy thing, right? Yee-fucking-haw.”
“Uh…”
“Fez,” Angela slid in smoothly, “would you like to guess my truths?”
“Happy to, Angel. Let me see. It’s true that you and Pretty-Boy Kellen were teenage sweethearts. Also true that Daniel is dead, and good riddance. True he survived October?”
Angela shook her head and held up one finger, like a little kid counting off maths.
“Ooch, strike one. Okay, the quads are fibs, which is such a pity. Multiple births are all the rage at the moment. Did you know the English princess-in-exile is enceinte? Very hush at the moment pending an auction for rights to live-vid the birth, but how tragic you’re lying about your condition. If it was true, the two of you would deliver at around the same time. Actually at the same time if you put a surgeon on retainer or banked the fetus. Are you sure you don’t want to run off and get yourself knocked up?”
This conversation was making Kellen uncomfortable. Also more than a tad wistful. If they’d stayed together, he and Angela could have a kid almost as old as wee money belt outside. What would that even be like, being somebody’s father? It didn’t take long for the possibility to settle itself over his life, in bright colors. Looked…well, not bad there.
“Three for four isn’t bad,” Angela said, ignoring the question. “In all seriousness, Fez, I’m going to need some amazing spin to pull this off.”
“What, bringing you back from the dead? Easy peasy lemon squeezie, Angel. Just you let Uncle Dead sort this one for you. Now, how would you like to debut your luscious new undead self?”