“Who is he then?”
“Just a chef.”
“Someone famous?”
She couldn’t help making a face, because Desmond’s recent commercial success after he’d stolen her money and broken her heart struck at her pride. “Yes.”
He nodded as if that solved some puzzle he’d been working out in his head and leaned forward, folding his hands together. “You’re not going to tell me his name?”
She forced herself to stare into his beautiful blue eyes. Strange to think of a man’s eyes as beautiful, but they were. Soft as sea foam but deeper than the bottom of the ocean. “Why do you care?”
He smiled, slow and easy, until it reached every corner of his face, revealing his dimples. “I don’t know. Do you still love him?”
“Er...” For a moment, Bethany’s heart stopped before beating a rapid staccato against her ribs and then settling again. Was Hank Haverill flirting? With her?He’s an actor. A celebrity.Love ’em and leave ’em—that was the secret celebrity code of non-ethics they all followed, wasn’t it? And Hank had already admitted he needed money. He wouldn’t be sticking around Cleveland for long. He wasamusing himself out of boredom or for some other bizarre reason. Well, she refused to be his plaything.
Hank tilted his head and waited. The staccato drumbeat in her chest started up again, louder this time. “Cat got your tongue?”
The cell phone buzzed next to his left hand, causing Hank to glance at it. His lips turned down. “Sorry, it’s a text from my agent. I have to make a call. But don’t go anywhere. Our conversation is not over.”
Bethany was pretty certain her rear end was glued to the chair and her feet to the floor because she couldn’t move even if she wanted to.
But Hank was wrong. Their conversation was over. It had to be.
She didn’t know what Hank Haverill’s motive was, but he must have one. Maybe he wanted her to play nice with the press after he booted her out to launch his fitness center.
Her hands hurt, and she looked at them as if they belonged to someone else until she realized she had a death grip on the table.
She wouldn’t be taken in by another con artist, even if he was gorgeous, intelligent, and a TV star. She wouldn’t let him destroy her family’s legacy. Put her and the other tenants out of business on a whim.
She just had to keep reminding herself of that fact.
CHAPTER EIGHT
“Why haven’t you been taking my calls?”
To say Blackie sounded annoyed would be an understatement. Hank moved to an empty table, cupped his hand around the phone, and kept his voice low. “I was eating lunch.”
“For over two hours?”
“It was a four-course meal.”
“I don’t care what it was, I’ve been trying to reach you because I’ve got news.”
“What news?” The back of Hank’s neck tingled, and he straightened in his chair. The last time the back of his neck tingled was two weeks ago when he’d learned he was being sued for $5 million because Melanie claimed his dog, Woodrow, had chomped her leg on a private plane trip, and he did nothing to stop it.
“It’s not good. Are you sitting down?”
Hank eyed the wood table. Someone had carved initials into the solid surface: B + D, then scratched over the D so it was almost unrecognizable. He ran a finger over the B. “Yeah, I’msitting.”
“The network is canceling the series.”
Hank let out the breath he was holding in a rush and tried to stop the sinking feeling—like he had swallowed a brick—from taking over his stomach. He’d known this day was coming. Had prepared himself. Despite its initial popularity, the show had run its course. Its ratings had been down since December, and the network had put the show on temporary hiatus. In television, that spelled death. It was only a matter of time until the show was canceled. He knew that. Everyone knew that.
Hank cleared his throat. “I’m not surprised.”
“Well, have you considered Elizabeth’s idea?”
“Yeah.”
