The Homewreckers(121)

Ribsy scrambled off the sofa and followed them to the bedroom door. Hattie bent down and scratched the dog’s neck. “Sorry, kid. It’s grown-up time.” She gently closed the door.



* * *



“Hattie?”

Mo placed his lips near her ear. After they’d made love, she’d promptly fallen asleep, snuggled in his arms. She smelled like that pink baby lotion his little nieces liked to slather on themselves after a bath, but on Hattie, it was sexy as hell.

“Hmm?” She stirred slightly.

“Your phone. I can hear it buzzing in the other room.”

Her head was on his chest, and he stroked her bare shoulder. This was nice. He’d forgotten what it was like to be with a woman who cuddled after lovemaking.

“What time is it? Morning?”

He reached for his own phone, on the nightstand, and chuckled. “It’s not even eleven.”

She yawned and stretched. “Is that all?”

“I think I tired you out.”

She raised her head and grinned at him. “We tired each other out. But in a good way. Right?”

He kissed her. “Very good. Do you need to answer your phone?”

“I guess.” She sighed and sat up, clutching the sheet to her chest. She rubbed her eyes and looked around the room. “Clothes. I know I was wearing clothes when we came in here.”

Mo felt around on the floor beside the bed and came up with his own polo shirt, which he handed to Hattie. “Be my guest.”

She pulled the shirt over her head and padded over to the door. Ribsy came bounding into the room and leaped onto the bed. He planted his head on Mo’s chest in the exact spot Hattie had just vacated.

“I think he’s jealous,” Hattie said.

When she came back a moment later, her face had a sour expression. She held up the phone. “It was my dad again. He texted and called. He’s super pissed about the Headline Hollywood story.”

Mo sat up in bed and reached for her. Ribsy growled and moved exactly eight inches, toward the foot of the bed. “Are you going to call him back?”

Hattie shook her head. “What’s there to say? Get this. He never watches television. He only found out about the story because his ex-girlfriend Amber called him up and read him the riot act because Jada referred to her as his quote ‘mistress.’”

She curled up beside Mo. “I texted Cass to tell her I know about the hit piece, and she texted back that she thinks Trae leaked the story to Jada Watkins.”

Mo hesitated. “I wasn’t going to tell you this, but I think he and Jada had a fling while she was in town filming.”

“You think?”

“Okay, I’m pretty sure of it. Trae left his iPad in the craft services tent that day, so I took it to his hotel to drop it off at the front desk. While I was there I decided to stay and have dinner in the lobby lounge and I spotted Trae and Jada strolling in, arm in arm. Very, um, friendly. Last thing I saw was them kissing, after they got in the elevator.”

“Oh.”

“He’s a piece of shit, that guy,” Mo said angrily.

“You don’t know the half of it.” Hattie told him how she’d overheard Trae bragging about bribing the city inspector.

“He was proud of himself,” she said. “But why would he leak a story like this to Jada Watkins? How did he even know about my father?”

Mo groaned and slapped his forehead. “Oh shit. Shit. Shit. Shit. I think maybe he figured it out from something I said.”

Hattie went very still. She felt the burn of bile in her gut. “You told Trae about my father?”

“Not all of it.” He gave Hattie a pleading look. “It was after we first started shooting at the house, and he was raging about you—like, ‘Why does she always have such a stick up her ass about following the rules?’”

Hattie jumped up and began pacing the floor. “And so, what? You just blurted out what I told you—in confidence, about my father?”

“No! I … mentioned that it might have something to do with your dad. Because he’d gotten into some kind of trouble with the law when you were a kid. That’s all I said. I swear.”

“You told him enough, though. And now everyone in the goddamn country knows my father is a jailbird who stole money from widows and sick kids and homeless people.”

She grabbed the hem of the polo shirt and ripped it off over her head, throwing it at him with shocking fury and accuracy.

Hattie stood in the middle of the room, her arms folded across her bare breasts. “This was a mistake. Tug always tells me, ‘Hattie, don’t get your honey where you get your money,’ or ‘Don’t ever dip your pen in the company ink.’ And you know what? He was right.”

“Hattie,” Mo said, his voice pleading. “I’m sorry. I never meant to hurt you. It was a stupid mistake. Please believe me.” He reached for her hand, but she brushed it away.

“You should go,” Hattie said, pointing to the door.





64

The Succession Plan




Tug called Hattie first thing the next morning, as she was getting in the truck.

“How are you, sweetheart?” he asked.

“I’m … hollowed out. I take it you saw Headline Hollywood last night?”