What I Did for Love (Wynette, Texas #5)(48)

“And this is a date, damn it. Our fifth this week.”

“Bull,” she said, keeping her smile. “This is business, damage control like all the rest. I told you—it’s not a date until we’re both having a good time, and in case you haven’t noticed, we’re miserable.”

He clenched his teeth. “Maybe you could try a little harder.”

She dunked her second biscotti in her coffee and took a desultory nibble. At least she’d gained a few pounds, but that was small compensation for being trapped in an impossible situation with the press dogging them…and with a man who trailed testosterone.

He set down his own cup. “People think pictures don’t lie.”

“These do.”

The headlines read:



Marriage Over! Next Stop Splitsville

More Heartbreak for Georgie

Georgie’s Ultimatum! Get to Rehab!



Even Bram’s old sex tape had resurfaced.

They’d been trying to repair the damage by hitting all the paparazzi hot spots daily. They’d bought muffins at City Bakery in Brentwood, lunched at the Chateau, visited The Ivy again, as well as Nobu, the Polo Lounge, and Mr. Chow. They spent two nights club hopping, which left Georgie feeling old and even more depressed. Today, they’d shopped at Armani’s home store on Robertson, Fred Segal on Melrose, then stopped at a trendy boutique where they’d bought a set of obnoxious matching T-shirts they’d never wear anyplace but in public.

They’d only been able to risk a few separate outings. Bram slipped away for a couple of mysterious meetings. She took a few dance classes, went for an early-morning hike, and sent a huge anonymous check to Food for the Poor’s Haitian relief program. Generally, however, they had to stick together. At his suggestion, she was pulling the publicity-hungry celeb’s favorite trick of changing her clothes several times a day, since every new outfit meant the tabs bought a fresh photo. After having spent the past year trying to stay out of the public eye, she didn’t miss the irony.

The other coffee-shop customers had been content merely to stare, but now a young guy with a scraggly goatee and a fake Rolex came up to their table. “Can I get your autographs?”

She didn’t mind signing autographs for genuine fans, but something told her these would be up for sale on eBay by the end of the day.

“Just your signature is okay,” he said, confirming her suspicions as she took the felt pen and pristine piece of paper he handed her.

“Let me personalize it,” she said.

“You don’t have to do that.”

“I insist.”

Personalizing a signature devalued it, and his loser’s mouth grew sullen as he realized she had his number. He muttered the name Harry. She signed, “To Harry, with all my love.” On the next line, she deliberately misspelled her last name, adding an e to York, so the autograph looked bogus. Bram, in the meantime, scrawled “Miley Cyrus” across the other piece of paper.

The kid balled up both signatures and stalked away. “Thanks for nothing.”

Bram slumped back in the chair and muttered, “What the hell kind of life is this?”

“Right now it’s our life, and we need to make the best of it.”

“Do me a favor and spare me the Annie sound track.”

“You’re a very negative person.” She made her point by launching into the chorus of “Tomorrow.”

“That’s it.” He shot to his feet. “Let’s get out of here.”

They set off down the sidewalk, their hands linked, his bronze hair glistening in the sun, hers desperately in need of a cut, and the paps trailing close behind. The trip took a while. “Do you have to stop and talk to every little kid you see?” Bram grumbled.

“Good photo op.” She didn’t reveal how much she loved talking to children. “And who are you to complain? How many times have I had to stand around while you flirted with other women?”

“That last one was sixty if she was a day.”

She’d also had a big mole on her face and bad makeup, but Bram had admired her earrings and even given her an eye-smolder. He did that a lot, she’d noticed, bypassing the beauty queens to stop and chat with their homelier sisters. For the space of a few moments, he made them feel beautiful.

She hated it when he did nice things.

Still, his generally foul mood had lifted her own, and when she spotted a pretty flower shop, she pulled him inside. The interior was fragrant, the flowers beautifully arranged, and the clerk left them alone. Georgie took her time studying the arrangements and finally chose a mixed bouquet of iris, roses, and lilies. “Your treat.”

“I’ve always been a generous guy.”

“You’re going to bill me, aren’t you?”

“Sad, but true.”

Before they got to the register, his cell rang. He glanced at the display and flipped the phone shut without answering. He was on the phone a lot, she’d noticed, but seldom where she could overhear. She held out her hand before he could pocket the phone. “Lend it to me, will you? I need to make a call, and I forgot mine.”

He passed it over, but instead of punching in a number, she flicked through the display to the most recent entry. “Caitlin Carter. Now I know your lover’s last name.”