Free When Lightning Strikes by Brenda Novak Page B

who’s keeping track?”
    “Just me.”
    “Thanks for that.”
    “Maybe it’s good you’re tying the knot. Maybe this is the only
way you’ll ever say ‘I do,’ seeing as you cross every guy off your list before
you even give him a chance.”
    “Before I sleep with him, you mean.”
    “Same thing.”
    She arched an eyebrow. “Not quite.”
    A soft knock interrupted them, which surprised her. She’d
figured they were alone.
    Bracing herself in case it was the beginning of the media
onslaught—some reporter who’d somehow gotten in—Gail called out, “Yes?”
    It wasn’t a reporter. It was Ashley, her receptionist, who
poked her head into the room. “Thought I might catch you here.”
    “What brings you to the office on your day off?” Gail
asked.
    “The answering service contacted me. They’re being inundated
with calls from a guy with The Star, who claims he
has to talk to someone in the office right away.” Barely five feet, Ashley
looked more like a child than a twenty-one-year-old woman. Her large-framed
glasses added to the effect; they always gave Gail the impression she was
playing dress-up. “I thought maybe it was important, that someone should get
back to him.”
    Joshua’s eyes latched on to Gail’s. “You know what this
means.”
    “I do. Word is getting out.” It was time to quit fighting what
she’d agreed to do and throw herself into her role. If they had any hope of
pulling off this campaign, there could be no halfway measures. She had to play
the part even for her own employees.
    But when it came right down to it, she couldn’t lie,
bald-faced, to Ashley. She knew she’d feel ridiculous saying that one of the
most famous men in America had fallen in love with her, especially when he’d
never so much as given her an appreciative glance.
    She couldn’t bear lying to the rest of the people who worked
for her, either. Which meant Josh had to do it. “Josh will explain the situation
to you and everyone else.”
    Josh blinked at her. “I will?”
    “Yes.” Maybe it’d be more believable if everyone heard it
secondhand while she went underground, anyway. She’d take the phone off the hook
and hole up in her house for two or three days. That would go far toward
convincing everyone that her “relationship” with Simon was real. If she suddenly
went quiet instead of going on the record with an admission or a denial, the press would chase after the story that much harder
and break it that much bigger.
    The paparazzi would be waiting for her when she emerged, of
course. She wouldn’t be able to avoid them altogether. But hiding out until
Wednesday would save her a lot of acting, which she feared wasn’t her strong
suit despite the misplaced confidence she’d exhibited at Simon’s.
    Josh cleared his throat. “Right, I will. And you…”
    “Will be at home for a couple of days,” she finished while
packing up her briefcase.
    “Right again. Not coming in is probably a good idea. We’ll do
what we can without you.”
    “Thanks.” In a moment of clarity, Gail realized she’d set a
match to a trail of gunpowder by making that agreement with Simon. But it was
too late to put out the fire.
    All she could do was try to survive the explosion.

8
    R elieved to be safe in her little beach
house, Gail lowered the blinds in her bedroom, curled up on her bed and stared
at Callie’s picture and contact information on her cell phone. She’d never
purposely ducked a friend’s call before. At least not one of her friends from
Whiskey Creek.
    “Oh, what the heck,” she mumbled. “Get it over with.” Once the
news that she was seeing Simon O’Neal broke, she’d have to worry about her
phones being tapped or her house being bugged—laughable considering she was no
head of state or criminal informant. Her only claim to fame would be that she
was “dating” a box office hit.
    But tabloids were big business, hence the worry that someone
could stoop to such means to get inside