Inching forward, she poorly fights a smile as she approaches me. “I have connections.”
I can’t stop the eye roll that comes from hearing that. “So do I,” I grumble back.
Undeterred, she continues moving until she’s right in front of me. “Connections withHollywood Hot Scoop?”
She’d better be about to tell me how she has any power over that website. I doubt she’s smart enough to have started it, and if my suspicions that she wrote the latest article are correct, she isn’t one of their main writers either. So how has she gotten behind the scenes?
“No…” I admit with as much reluctance as I can put into the single word.
Brenda lets her smile loose and puts her hand on my arm. “Then let me help you, Derek. Let me be your family again.”
“Let’s not go crazy,” I mutter, but I allow her hand to stay where it is. “So, you have connections, but how is that supposed to help me?”
“I can see stories before they’re posted.” Excitement colors her words. “If you let me into your life so I know what’s true and what isn’t, I can make sure they only say good things about you from here on out.”
A solid plan, aside from the fact that someone who truly had my best interests at heart would prevent any stories about me from circulating at all, good or bad. It’s never been a secret that I value my privacy, however little of it I actually get. But Brenda seems to think this is a miracle she’s prepared to give me, and my curiosity still hasn’t been satisfied.
“Who’s your connection?” I ask.
Shetsks.“Let me handle that side of things. You deal with enough already.”
She’s an imbecile—anyone who thinks they can manipulate their way into earning someone’s love is idiotic—but she’s not entirely stupid. She’s keeping the details of her connections close to the vest and doesn’t seem to fully trust me. I can respect that; I don’t trust her either.
I might be playing more of a long game than I planned.
“Okay.” The word tastes sour, but it’s the one I need to say.
Brenda’s eyes go wide. “Okay?”
Folding my arms, I nod once and settle my stance somewhere between confident and overwhelmed. “If you can help me out of this mess, I’ll think about opening up some sort of communication with you.” I won’t make any promises I don’t intend to keep, nor is it a good idea to completely stray from my usual independent nature, but hopefully this is enough to convince her she has a chance so she lets down her guard.
What I really need is time, and that’s something I have in painfully short supply.
“I’ll do what I can,” Brenda says, and there’s an edge to her tone that tells me she’ll only give as good as she gets. “Keep that assistant of yours close.”
I narrow my eyes. “The one who is apparently stabbing me in the back?”
“She’ll be useful to us both.” With a pat on my arm, she heads for the door with her head held high, and I can’t for the life of me figure out why she thinks she’s about to get everything she’s ever wanted.
Chapter Thirty-Three
Donovan
WhenIheadedtothe hotel lobby after leaving Derek’s room, I approached with caution. With thatHot Scooparticle circulating about me, I prepared to be swarmed as soon as I set foot on the ground floor, not knowing what kind of security might still be in place.
That did not happen, and I’ve been sitting here for ten minutes now with hardly a glance from anyone passing by. It seems Derek isn’t the only one who didn’t recognize me right off the bat. Even with Nova Tate in the forefront of people’s minds, I’ve evolved so far from that iteration of myself that it might take a lot for anyone to connect me to her.
Huh. That bothers me more than it should.
I hope Derek’s okay. I really didn’t want to leave him, but it was for the best, and I’ll keep my promise and stay close until something changes. He seemed strong enough to handle a conversationwith his mom, but then again I just got an up-close view of how thoroughly he can jump into whatever emotion he wants. I’m still reeling from how angry he sounded while talking about shampoo, so there’s always the chance that he was only pretending to be okay with facing his mom.
Maybe I shouldn’t have left. Or at the very least I could have stayed out in the hall and tried to listen in, just in case.
Groaning softly, I shift in my seat in my corner of the lobby and distract myself by watching the few people around me. The man and woman at the front desk are all things professional, typing away at their computers and answering the phones every few minutes. Not all that exciting. A couple of older men in business attire exit the elevator with suitcases in tow, chatting as they head to the doors and out into the sunshine. There’s a middle-aged woman on the other side of the lobby with a cup of coffee and what must be a riveting book because she hasn’t looked up even once since I got here. The front doors slide open again to let a man enter, and his purposeful stride enhances his large build and makes him look like someone I wouldn’t want to meet down a dark alley.
His steps slow halfway between the doors and the desk, and when his head turns to bring his gaze directly to me, a flash of fear runs through me. But then his lips lift in a familiar smirk.
Before I can fully process who’s standing in front of me, another man rushes into the lobby with a duffel bag slung over his shoulder and a panicked look on his face as he gasps, “Sir! You were supposed to wait for—”
