“Yeah, after it was too late. I was trying to defend her, not expose her. I wanted Xander Cole to look like the bad boy, not me. But sitting on the set, I become someone else. Not your son, or Harlow’s friend, or the kid from Sea Blue Beach. I’m Matt Knight, the big-time actor, the entertainer. You’ve seen the great actors or singers who go on a talk show and bore everyone to death. Letterman calls me because I’m entertaining.”
“Then learn to tell your own stories, not other people’s.” Dad poured another bowl of Frosted Flakes. “You’ve got to keep your head about you, Matt. Couldn’t you cut and refilm the show or something? You’d think after Booker—”
“I asked them to delete that segment. Instead they made a promo out of it. I called my publicist the next morning. Woke her up. Asked if she could get ahead of it, call in some favors or something, but she laughed at me. Said the billionaire locking out the beauty was PR gold. Even better if the romance isn’t over. It will be the hottest story. The alliteration alone makes it a headline. The Billionaire, the Beauty, and the Bad Boy.”
“You don’t need a publicist to get in front of this, Matt. It’s already out there. You might want to check in with Harlow beforeyou hit the hay tonight.” Dad added a little more cereal to his bowl of milk. “In other news, Harry’s going around to businesses, offering perks with Murdock, even a break in taxes, if they stand with progress.”
“Taxes? He can’t unilaterally cut taxes.”
“He can within a certain percent. He managed to get that passed in the last two years.”
“He’s a piece of work.” Matt’s spoonful of cereal tasted like cardboard. “Have you seen our signature count? Any more come in while I was gone?”
“I checked this morning. Looks like you have a little over a hundred.” Dad slurped the last of his cereal and carried his bowl to the sink. “Matt, why didn’t you talk aboutFlight Deck? Or your new movie with Cindy what’s-her-name?”
“I’ve talked aboutFlight Deckfor months on Letterman and every other talk show. The movie with Cindy Canon ... I don’t know. It was a better script to say I was still fired. And the story of me leaving Cindy at a seedy bar is old news. But the Billionaire booting the Beauty? That’s tantalizing. No one knew that story.” Matt shoved his cereal bowl aside and peered at his father. “How evil do I look in all of this?”
“Not evil. Just unwise. Selfish. Maybe a tad foolish.” Dad returned to the table with a microwaved cup of decaf. “Some collateral good might have come from you running your mouth. A couple of newspapers called Granny wanting to do a story on the ‘iconic’ roller-skating rink with connections to the Royal House of Blue. One was theNew York Times.”
“Won’t change Harry’s mind, but it might get us more signatures. I’ve been racking my brain to understand why I blabbed about Harlow. I honestly thought I was talking about Xander Cole, not her. I wanted him to get demerits for treating her that way.”
“I suppose in some twisted way, I see your logic.” Dad sipped his coffee. “The messages on the machine for you are reporterswanting to know about our special rink and town. Mostly they want to know about Harlow.”
Matt shoved away from the table. “I’m going to see her. Wish me luck.”
“She’s a good woman. She may not want to talk, but she’ll listen. At least for a second.”
“That’s more than I deserve.”
Jogging toward the rink, Matt fumbled for a fresh apology. But his words only sounded like excuses. He entered the side door into an electric atmosphere. The evening session was far from over. The floor was crowded with skaters, and in the foyer, Granny talked with reporters.
“Hey, what’s going on?” Matt gently tugged on her arm.
“I’m telling these kind folks about the Starlight.” She grabbed his arm and shoved him toward her office. “Will you all excuse us?”
“Matt, Hammel Porter from theMiami Herald. We met on theFlight Deckjunket. Is it true Harlow Hayes—”
“No comment.” This from Granny, who had a death grip on Matt’s arm until she closed her office door. “Harlow hid in the back room when the reporters and photographers showed up. Matt, what happened on that show?”
“My big mouth. Stay in here. Don’t talk to any more reporters.” Matt crossed the crowded rink with determination, sensing Immanuel’s gaze on his back.If you’re real, help me out, will you?
“Matt Knight! Hey...”
“Matt Knight, OMG!”
“Lieutenant Striker, can we get a picture?”
Hands grabbed at his T-shirt, his hair, his shorts, but he powered through until he arrived at the blue door markedPrivate. Four strides in, and he stood at the back room, knocking softly. “H, it’s me. Can we talk? Please.” Matt rested his forehead against the doorframe. “I don’t deserve it, but forgive me. I’m sorry. So, so sorry.”
After a painful, weighty moment, the door swung open with such vigor, he almost toppled over. A pale, exhausted Harlow fired off a couple of visual daggers, then slammed the door shut.
Fair enough. “Harlow, you have every right to be mad. I’m mad at myself. Livid. I don’t know what came over me. I heard myself talking, but it’s like all the words had a mind of their own. That guy,thatMatt Knight, wasn’t me. He’s an arrogant windbag. I promise I did not intend to tell your secret. Never, ever.” He gently slapped his hand against the door. “Please open up. I want to apologize to your face. You can slap me, kick me, spit on me.”
The door swung open again. “What good will that do? It’s out there. You can’t take it back.” Her blue eyes blazed. “Worse, you sound like Xander. Do I have something on my forehead that says,Betray Harlow? I’m starting to think my personal agency doesn’t mean anything to anyone. I’m just a pawn.”
“I’m sick about this, Harlow. I can’t sleep. I can’t eat.” Matt eased into the room and shut the door. “I am so, so sorry. And you’re not a pawn.”
“Why didn’t you talk about yourself? There’s plenty of juicy stuff there.”
