Seduced by Sunday
Page 64
“OK. We’ll handle this. I’ll handle this.”
Michael kicked off the covers, made his way to the closet, and grabbed his suitcase. “I need to know what you know when it happens . . . no matter what it is.”
“Got it. You coming home?”
“Eventually. I need to stop in Utah first.” Jesus . . . Ryder didn’t sign on for this. And if pictures did circulate . . . Michael’s father would see them.
“I gotta go,” he told Tony.
“Go. Get on a plane. Is there anyone here I need to call, anyone who can work with us to spin this?”
This isn’t happening! “Yeah, call Karen and Zach. Tell them what you told me. Send the e-mail to Rick, see if he can trace it. Don’t talk to anyone other than my family . . . and only the family that’s in California.”
“Got it. All right.”
Poor Tony was going to have a heart attack, or a stroke. Or maybe that was him.
Michael clicked off the call and tossed the phone on the bed before shoving his clothes in his bag.
He washed his face, brushed his teeth, and tossed his toiletries in his bag before leaving his room.
Val stood in the living room of their suite, swathed in a bathrobe. “I thought I heard you.”
Michael stopped, dropped his suitcase, ran a hand through his hair. “My manager called me.” He took a minute to explain the conversation. Watched as Val’s eyes grew cold. “I don’t know who sent the message. But someone knows we’re here, knows we’re looking.”
Val’s brows pinched together. “This is my fault.”
Michael shook his head. “This is the fault of the man behind the camera.”
“Alonzo.”
“We don’t know that for certain.”
“Doesn’t matter. You’re at risk because I didn’t stand up to my promise.”
It would be so easy to blame someone else . . . but Michael wasn’t brought up that way, and couldn’t let Val take the heat for this one.
“I’m gay. I’ve hidden that fact from every movie-ticket-buying fan, my parents, my friends . . . I’ve had a good run. I can survive this. I will survive this.” As the words poured out, Michael knew they were true. “It will devastate Ryder, and destroy my trust with my parents. I need twenty-four hours to make this right with the people I love. Then we can spin this to work for all of us.”
Val didn’t look convinced.
“Go back to bed,” Michael told his new friend. “In the morning, find your sister and drag her the hell away from this man. If he is the one behind this, he’s willing to take on Hollywood, Florida, and a few spots in the UK to get what he wants.”
“Taking me down isn’t worth your millions.”
“And I’m nothing compared to Alliance.”
“Alliance?”
“Meg’s boss . . . the man is fucking with a duke. Blake loves his wife, and when someone messes with her . . . God help him.”
“Sounds like someone I should meet.”
Michael smiled for the first time that night. “Make Meg happy and you will.” Michael stuck his hand out, shook Val’s. “Call with any news.”
“Same to you.”
Michael offered a quick nod, picked up his suitcase, and left Italy without a backward glance.
Chapter Twenty-Four
Gabi wanted off the boat . . .
She’d been popping Alonzo’s aspirin for four days just to open her eyes. If he noticed how awful she felt, he didn’t comment. He fed her, tucked her into bed, and offered to relieve her of the headaches that had been constant since they married.
Maybe she was allergic to marriage?
She wanted to think it was the yacht. Which wasn’t good either, but better than the man.
She stood on the deck, dark sunglasses hiding the sun from her eyes, a floppy hat on her head. The island Alonzo deemed their private honeymoon site was on a slow approach. He wanted to give her time off the yacht to see if her headaches would subside. She knew as they drew closer to the island that it wasn’t inhabited. Alonzo told her that he’d come across the island on his many trips in the area, and thought it would be the perfect spot to rest overnight, see if her headaches would finally go away.
“Motion sickness isn’t always in the form of an upset stomach,” he’d told her.
At this point, she was willing to try anything.
The captain maneuvered the yacht into a small cove like he’d done so many times.
“Where are we, exactly?” Gabi asked as Alonzo helped her into the small dinghy that would take them to the shore.
Alonzo hesitated, then said, “South of Cuba.” She sat and dipped her hand into the warm water. “I thought we were headed toward the Bahamas.”
Alonzo shook his head, offered a placating smile. “This was our destination all along. I wanted to share this with you.”
Gabi was fairly certain it didn’t take four full days and nights to maneuver around Cuba but didn’t question him further.
The small boat carried the two of them and two crew members to the shore.
In a few short minutes, Alonzo was helping her step onto the beach where hot sand and salt water met her toes. Standing up made her dizzy. If not for her husband’s shoulder, she would have fallen.
“I feel like I’m still on the yacht.”
“Sea legs. It will settle, don’t worry. Let’s move you to the shade while I have my men set up camp for us.”
The small beach wasn’t combed like that on her brother’s island, and she had to pick her way carefully to avoid cutting her feet on seashells.
Michael kicked off the covers, made his way to the closet, and grabbed his suitcase. “I need to know what you know when it happens . . . no matter what it is.”
“Got it. You coming home?”
“Eventually. I need to stop in Utah first.” Jesus . . . Ryder didn’t sign on for this. And if pictures did circulate . . . Michael’s father would see them.
“I gotta go,” he told Tony.
“Go. Get on a plane. Is there anyone here I need to call, anyone who can work with us to spin this?”
This isn’t happening! “Yeah, call Karen and Zach. Tell them what you told me. Send the e-mail to Rick, see if he can trace it. Don’t talk to anyone other than my family . . . and only the family that’s in California.”
“Got it. All right.”
Poor Tony was going to have a heart attack, or a stroke. Or maybe that was him.
Michael clicked off the call and tossed the phone on the bed before shoving his clothes in his bag.
He washed his face, brushed his teeth, and tossed his toiletries in his bag before leaving his room.
Val stood in the living room of their suite, swathed in a bathrobe. “I thought I heard you.”
Michael stopped, dropped his suitcase, ran a hand through his hair. “My manager called me.” He took a minute to explain the conversation. Watched as Val’s eyes grew cold. “I don’t know who sent the message. But someone knows we’re here, knows we’re looking.”
Val’s brows pinched together. “This is my fault.”
Michael shook his head. “This is the fault of the man behind the camera.”
“Alonzo.”
“We don’t know that for certain.”
“Doesn’t matter. You’re at risk because I didn’t stand up to my promise.”
It would be so easy to blame someone else . . . but Michael wasn’t brought up that way, and couldn’t let Val take the heat for this one.
“I’m gay. I’ve hidden that fact from every movie-ticket-buying fan, my parents, my friends . . . I’ve had a good run. I can survive this. I will survive this.” As the words poured out, Michael knew they were true. “It will devastate Ryder, and destroy my trust with my parents. I need twenty-four hours to make this right with the people I love. Then we can spin this to work for all of us.”
Val didn’t look convinced.
“Go back to bed,” Michael told his new friend. “In the morning, find your sister and drag her the hell away from this man. If he is the one behind this, he’s willing to take on Hollywood, Florida, and a few spots in the UK to get what he wants.”
“Taking me down isn’t worth your millions.”
“And I’m nothing compared to Alliance.”
“Alliance?”
“Meg’s boss . . . the man is fucking with a duke. Blake loves his wife, and when someone messes with her . . . God help him.”
“Sounds like someone I should meet.”
Michael smiled for the first time that night. “Make Meg happy and you will.” Michael stuck his hand out, shook Val’s. “Call with any news.”
“Same to you.”
Michael offered a quick nod, picked up his suitcase, and left Italy without a backward glance.
Chapter Twenty-Four
Gabi wanted off the boat . . .
She’d been popping Alonzo’s aspirin for four days just to open her eyes. If he noticed how awful she felt, he didn’t comment. He fed her, tucked her into bed, and offered to relieve her of the headaches that had been constant since they married.
Maybe she was allergic to marriage?
She wanted to think it was the yacht. Which wasn’t good either, but better than the man.
She stood on the deck, dark sunglasses hiding the sun from her eyes, a floppy hat on her head. The island Alonzo deemed their private honeymoon site was on a slow approach. He wanted to give her time off the yacht to see if her headaches would subside. She knew as they drew closer to the island that it wasn’t inhabited. Alonzo told her that he’d come across the island on his many trips in the area, and thought it would be the perfect spot to rest overnight, see if her headaches would finally go away.
“Motion sickness isn’t always in the form of an upset stomach,” he’d told her.
At this point, she was willing to try anything.
The captain maneuvered the yacht into a small cove like he’d done so many times.
“Where are we, exactly?” Gabi asked as Alonzo helped her into the small dinghy that would take them to the shore.
Alonzo hesitated, then said, “South of Cuba.” She sat and dipped her hand into the warm water. “I thought we were headed toward the Bahamas.”
Alonzo shook his head, offered a placating smile. “This was our destination all along. I wanted to share this with you.”
Gabi was fairly certain it didn’t take four full days and nights to maneuver around Cuba but didn’t question him further.
The small boat carried the two of them and two crew members to the shore.
In a few short minutes, Alonzo was helping her step onto the beach where hot sand and salt water met her toes. Standing up made her dizzy. If not for her husband’s shoulder, she would have fallen.
“I feel like I’m still on the yacht.”
“Sea legs. It will settle, don’t worry. Let’s move you to the shade while I have my men set up camp for us.”
The small beach wasn’t combed like that on her brother’s island, and she had to pick her way carefully to avoid cutting her feet on seashells.
