Free BeautyandtheButch by Paisley Smith Page A

their cause of the day? She
stepped closer to the door. “I’m sorry, Ms. Griggs. I’m not up to seeing anyone
right now.”
    “I realize that,” the woman said, “but I have a check for
your cause. Triple the amount you would have received for your charity had you
gone on to win the pageant.”
    At that, Ella’s heart skipped a beat. “A check?”
    “Please open the door. I’m here alone. I understand your
need for privacy. I just want you to know that you have friends and
supporters.”
    Ella reached for the doorknob.
    * * * * *
    “Ella, pick up,” Lindsey said, pacing in her circles in her
room. When the call went to voice mail, Lindsey growled in frustration and
tossed the phone on the bed next to her duffle bag.
    She wanted to cry, to pull her hair, to stamp her feet like
a kid throwing a tantrum. This was all her fault. If only…
    “Dammit,” she said through clenched teeth.
    A loud knock sounded on the door and she yanked it open,
hoping beyond hope Ella was on the other side.
    It was Maurice. “I got a call from Nigel.”
    “Yeah, well…” She raked her fingers through her hair.
    Maurice eyed her bag. “You cuttin’ out?”
    Lindsey shrugged. “Yeah.”
    Maurice’s eyes widened. “You can’t. Nigel practically
ordered me to film the Northington girl.”
    “Yeah, me too,” Lindsey said. “I’m not going to do it. I
quit.”
    “Quit?”
    Lindsey nodded.
    Maurice heaved a heavy-hearted sigh.
    “I’m not going to do that to her,” Lindsey reiterated.
    “Shit, Lindsey. You quit?” he asked again.
    “Hell yes,” Lindsey said as anger broiled to the surface
once more. “I just told Nigel I wasn’t going to film her. I stopped short of
telling him where he could stick his boom mic. I guess that blew my chances for
that job with Global Now .”
    “A little bit.” He shook his head. “I don’t want to do it
either, but I can’t quit.”
    “Then I guess you better collect all the equipment.” Lindsey
gestured to the cameras she’d neatly bagged and lined up on the desk.
    He took a deep breath and blew it out in a loud huff before
he strode in and collected two of the cameras. “Damn. Want me to tell her
anything for you?”
    Lindsey debated but the idea of having Maurice apologize for
her made her seem like a cold-hearted coward. “No. But do you mind holding off
for a while? I need to talk to her first.”
    “No problem.”
    She looked into his eyes for a moment. She was going to miss
working with him. She playfully punched his meaty arm. “For a dude you’re all
right.”
    He chuckled.
    “I’m going to miss you, you big lug,” she said and blinked
back a tear.
    “Get on out of here,” he teased. “Before you make me squall
like a baby.”
    She gave him a little nod, snatched her phone and then
darted out the door, heading up to Ella’s room.
    As soon as she stepped off the elevator, her heart hurtled
into her Chuck Taylor high-tops. The maid’s cart was parked outside the open
door. Would Ella really have gone without talking to her first?
    Lindsey stopped at the door.
    “ Si ?” the maid asked, stepping out with a bundle of
white sheets.
    “Is the woman who was staying here… Did she…did she leave
already?”
    The maid shrugged. “They told me the room was ready to
clean,” she said in heavily accented English.
    Her phone buzzed in her pocket. “Thanks,” she said quickly
to the maid as she retrieved her phone. Be Ella. Be in the lobby or in my
room.
    But Lindsey didn’t recognize the number. She answered the
call. “Lindsey Mitchell.”
    “Miss Mitchell, this is Arthur Schuessler, Joe Northington’s
publicist.”
    Lindsey’s blood turned to ice. She knew what she was about
to hear. “Yes?”
    “On behalf of the Northington family, I’m asking you to
refrain from contacting Ella, from calling her, and especially from being seen
and photographed with her. I’ll even go so far as to ask you not to speak to
the press regarding this issue as the