California Girls

“Are you too old to have kids? Is that why your husband’s doing this?”

“Have you been in a three-way with Treasure?”

“Does it bother you that she’s so much younger?”

“When did your husband stop loving you?”

The questions hit her like poison darts, each more painful than the one before. She kept walking, her head high, her stride confident. She could see her car right up ahead of her. Neutral face, she chanted to herself. Neutral expression so no one knows what a bitch this was. She would get through it because she didn’t have a choice.

She reached her car. As she touched the door handle, the car unlocked. She slid into her seat, hit the door lock button, then started the engine. The photographers got close, but they didn’t crowd her and none of them raced for their cars. Thank God she’d been right—she wasn’t that interesting. Just interesting enough. Because of Treasure. If he’d slept with nearly anyone else, none of this would have been news.

She drove out of the parking lot with Rochelle right behind her and merged with the heavy traffic on Ventura Boulevard. She took the long way home, making plenty of unexpected turns, causing other drivers to honk at her. She wove through a quiet neighborhood, even stopping in front of a house for three minutes. No one else drove on the street. Only then did she allow herself to breathe.

She called Rochelle. “I don’t think anyone followed me.”

“I didn’t see anyone after you. Finola, I’m so sorry about all this.”

“Me, too.”

“It’s going to be everywhere by tonight. You’re going to have to deal with it at work.”

Not anything she wanted to think about. “I know.”

“How can I help?”

“I’m not sure, but I’ll be in touch.”

“Do you want me to get you a hotel room?”

Finola swore silently. Of course—because she probably couldn’t stay in her house. Not now.

“Let me figure out my next step,” she said. “I’ll let you know. And Rochelle? Thank you.”

“Of course. You know I’m on your side.”

Finola allowed herself a second of self-congratulation. She’d chosen well when it came to her assistant. As to her husband—not so much on the choosing.

She pulled away from the curb. Twenty minutes later her car was in the garage and she was on her laptop. She logged into the TMZ website, then swore when she saw the headlines. News of Treasure’s new lover was everywhere along with pictures of the singer with Nigel. Worse, there were clips from the interview on the AM SoCal show, showing a very shell-shocked Finola. At the time people had assumed she’d merely had an off show. In hindsight, everyone would know she’d just been told the news and was having to deal on live TV.

Humiliation and anger fought for dominance. Damn Nigel. Why had he done this to her? She hadn’t done anything to deserve it. He was a total asshole, but hers was the life that was destroyed. Nobody cared if their plastic surgeon had an affair with a singer. But she was all about home and family. Her brand was smart and fun, without any kind of edge. Her viewers would wonder, much like her stepfather had, how she was to blame.

Her phone started chiming as text messages came in, then it rang. She glanced at the screen. She didn’t know the number, so didn’t answer. She put it on silent, then watched as it buzzed as if it were being electrocuted.

She needed a plan. It was only a matter of hours until the press found out where she lived. The deed was in both her and Nigel’s names, so hardly secure. She really didn’t want to go live in a hotel. That would be too depressing and she would feel too vulnerable in such a public location. Anyone could knock on her door.

She dismissed her sisters. Ali was struggling with her own living situation and Zennie’s place was the size of a postage stamp. While she loved Rochelle, she wasn’t going to violate their relationship by imposing.

Her mother’s house was an option. Finola had kept her late father’s last name even after her mother had married Bill. She used it professionally and personally. Her mother’s last name was different, making her more difficult to trace.

She pushed Ignore on an incoming call, then dialed her mother.

“Finola, darling. How are things? I’m sorry you couldn’t come by yesterday but your sisters got so much work done. The whole upstairs is cleaned out.”

“That’s great, Mom. So I have a situation.” She quickly explained what had happened. “Can I come stay with you for a few days?”

“Of course. Your bedroom is always waiting for you, Finola. What a mess. I’m very angry with Nigel. I expected better from him. Pack what you need and come over. I’ll be waiting.”

“Thanks, Mom. I can’t tell you how much I appreciate this.”

“It’s never a problem.”

Finola hurried into the bedroom. She would need to pack enough to last at least a week, she thought grimly. Her work clothes were at the studio. Still, she had to assume she could be photographed anytime she was out in public.

It took her over an hour to pull everything together. Before she left, she called Rochelle and asked her assistant to pick her up a burner phone. When they hung up, she turned off her phone and wondered briefly if it would ever be safe to turn it on again.





Chapter Fifteen


Zennie nearly canceled her blind date Sunday night. She certainly wasn’t in the mood—not when she was still sore from her ridiculous fall down the side of a mountain. But Cassie had insisted on setting it up, saying it would take Zennie’s mind off her recovery, and Zennie hadn’t come up with a reason to say no quick enough. So she dutifully applied mascara, fluffed her hair and pulled on her go-to date outfit.