“Husband?” Olivia leveled a horrified stare upon first Scarlett then Laird, but made no further comment.
Tyrone, however, held out his hand. “Tyrone Halliday. I’m Scar’s agent.”
“I ken who ye are,” Laird answered curtly, but took his hand and shook it. “James Hepburn.”
“So how did you two meet?”
Olivia threw up her arms. “Who cares how they met? What I want to do is figure out how we’re going to explain this.”
“We’re not,” Scarlett responded firmly.
“Not? We must. Do you have any idea what sort of fiction the press are coming up with out there? We need a story to set them straight. Straightaway, before it’s too late.”
“I have no intention of explaining anything to anyone,” Scarlett stated more decisively. Her daughter began to fuss against her, no doubt sensing her mother’s growing agitation. Reaching for her button, she rang for the nurse, who appeared so instantaneously she must have been lingering outside the door. “Would you take her for a few moments, please? I need to talk to my mother and don’t want to upset her.”
The nurse nodded and gently removed the baby, wrapping her tightly in a blanket before whisking her away. Scarlett adjusted her hospital gown until she was covered again and pushed herself up. If she was going to have this conversation, she wouldn’t take the confrontation lying down. Laird, too, stood and glared at Olivia.
Her mother hardly noticed, pacing the room with visible agitation. “You cannot be acting like this. There are cameras everywhere. Spies everywhere. Any one of the hospital staff could pass information or pictures to the press. Put on some makeup, for Christ’s sake. You are better than this. What is everyone to think?”
“That maybe under all the outward polish I’m something better than just Scarlett Thomas?” She cocked her head. “Just as you like to think you’re more Olivia Harrington rather than just Thelma Lou Ellis?”
Tyrone shot Scarlett an approving nod. She doubted he’d ever seen her deliver such a killer blow. Much less stand up to her mother.
The pacing came to an abrupt stop. “Watch your mouth, young lady.”
Nevertheless, the reminder had Olivia straightening, smoothing her hands over the sloped sides of her cherry red,I’d-like-to-speak-to-a-mangerasymmetrical bob and down the front of her bronze suit jacket as she sucked in her gut. Just like that, Scarlett’s temperamental mother disappeared and the publicist/manager was back.
“An excellent reminder to both of us. We have an image to maintain,” Olivia continued in measured tones though her artificially green eyes spewed venom. “Though these last few months may have damaged yours irrevocably. People are talking, Scarlett.”
“And I don’t care what they’re saying, Mother,” Scarlett reiterated. “Not that I ever really did, but I care even less now.”
Olivia resumed her pacing as if Scarlett hadn’t spoken. “Tell me, is it drugs? We’ll find a good place. Somewhere discreet. I cannot understand how you slipped this by me, Scarlett.”
“It’s not drugs, Mother.”
“It certainly must be. We’ll have to come up with a story and something feasible. Tyrone?”
“We’ll think of something.”
“Better do it quick. We’ve got that makeup campaign coming up and the magazine cover shoot. We can’t afford to lose them. Though when they get a look at you…” She winced. “They’ll have to Photoshop the hell out of her, if they keep her at all.”
With a groan, Scarlett rubbed her eyes with the heels of her hands. She hadn’t slept well enough the previous night in the crowded hospital room to fight this fight with the nuance required. Spilling the entire truth of the matter was sounding pretty good right then but with the way her luck was going, her mother and Tyrone would try to see her put into a mental ward. That would help nothing and no one. “Gentlemen, could I have a moment alone with my mother, please?”
“Are ye certain, lass?” Concern and protectiveness was clear in Laird’s heavy brogue.
“I’ll be fine.”
Pride and encouragement shone in Laird’s pewter eyes. He nodded and held the door for Tyrone, who protested in perfect chorus with Olivia before Laird took him by the arm and escorted him out.
Laird
“I’ve got to say, you’re not at all the sort I thought Scar would ever hook up with,” Tyrone said, rubbing his arm after Laird released him.
Laird didn’t exactly understand all of the man’s words but got enough of them to discern an insult of sorts embedded within. Crossing his arms across his chest, Laird scowled down at the agent in a manner that normally sent lesser men atremble.
Built like a bull the man might be, but Tyrone was still a fraction of Laird’s size. Despite the difference, he merely frowned in return. The whole of his bald head creased in the process. He looked Laird up and down as if he were more a curiosity than a threat.
“Strong silent type, huh? I guess I can understand why she likes you.”
