Although the amazing Ethel and her magically disappearing knickers must soften the blow.
Will’s fatuous expression was meant to be sensitive and long-suffering. She recognised it from his regular attempts at emotional blackmail when things hadn’t been going his way. “Breakups are never easy,” he said, lifting one broad shoulder. “But Lainie and I are still very good friends.”
That trite cliché that covered up all manner of hurt feelings and homicidal impulses.
“No truth to the rumours of friction between you and Richard, then?” Tara pushed.
Richard shifted lazily at Lainie’s side, and Will flushed. “As Sadie said,” he replied after a moment, “we’re all professionals.”
Tara made a sympathetic little grimace at the camera, in lieu of just inserting the subtitle Heartless Tart under Lainie’s close-up.
“It seems quite...fast, though,” she said to Lainie, really picking up a stick and beating that dead horse into the ground. “When did you first realise that your feelings for Richard went beyond those of a colleague?”
(A) When we spoke directly to one another for the first time, and I almost shanked him, and (B) Mind your own fucking business.
Lainie could feel the heat in her own cheeks. She was not going to be made out to be the cheater here. Whatever she said in response would likely have been cross, blunt and definitely not Pat-sanctioned, but before she had a chance to land herself in hot water, Richard spoke up in a slow drawl.
*
“The last time I checked,” Richard said, keeping his tone very light, “Lainie was a grown woman, capable of making her own decisions.”
His eyes were fixed coolly on the vapid blonde host. Thwarted ambition, he suspected. She had Hollywood signs in her pupils and was obviously straining at the bit in this second-rate studio. If she had the slightest bit of self-awareness, she would realise that attempting to slut-shame another woman on live television was not going to win her any popularity points. He shrugged off the additional, more unfamiliar level of anger. If he did feel...protective toward Lainie, it was all part and parcel of the role they were playing. “I don’t really think she needs to apologise for a private relationship between two unattached, consenting adults, do you?”
The host, whose name he’d temporarily forgotten, was taken by surprise. Perhaps she was unfamiliar with the reciprocal aspect of an interview, where her guests actually responded to her classless questions with more than Farmer’s brand of arse-kissing.
“Do you have a partner?” he asked conversationally, and she blinked.
“Well, I—yes,” she said, further startled and not recovering well.
“But naturally it’s your first and only relationship. You haven’t dated other people in the past. None.” He maintained eye contact. “I’m giving you the benefit of the doubt. I wouldn’t like to be irresponsible and just throw around implications of hypocrisy.”
The suspiciously taut skin around the blonde’s eyes quivered and attempted to crease. Lainie’s warm fingers momentarily convulsed around his hand.
After a long pause, in which he heard a stifled giggle from someone in the crew, the host pressed her lips together and switched her line of attack. He could almost hear the cranking sounds as the catapult turned in his direction.
“As opposed to throwing plates?” she asked with pseudo-sweetness. She was scrambling to regain control. “Or public temper tantrums? The Metronome has been hitting the headline recently with rumours of internal conflict and diva behaviour. Would you care to address that?”
He lifted a brow. “Which aspect in particular? Or should I begin with the plate-tossing and work my way forward?”
The blonde opened her mouth, but Lainie cut in. “Unfortunately,” she said, “it’s all true.” She turned to look at him, and he watched the mischievous twinkle come into her eyes. His gaze moved briefly to her mouth, which was lifting into a cheeky smile. “I am a world-class diva. If I miss a cue or forget my lines, I just take it out on the props. Start chucking plates around the stage. Vases. Goblets. If I’m really frustrated, I’ll drop-kick the silverware into the stalls.” She winked at their visibly hostile host. “It’s an extra ten points if you land a silver spoon in the royal box.”
Trenton laughed suddenly, and Sadie directed a malevolent stare at the poor bastard.