The Scoop (18 page)

C
hris checked his watch for the hundredth time. Twenty-eight seconds since he’d checked it the last time. Today seemed like the longest day of his life. It kind of reminded him of being a kid at Christmas. He remembered as a child he was positive Christmas only rolled around every other year because it took so long to arrive. Smiling, he remembered his father telling him to wait until he was older, then it would come and go so fast, it would seem as though it never even happened. Dad had been right.

Waiting for his big night out with Abby was like waiting for Christmas morning all those years ago, when he’d barreled out of his bed and raced downstairs to tackle the pile of presents placed beneath the tree. Always anxious, excited, butterflies dancing in the pit of his stomach in anticipation of the big event.

He pictured tackling Abby in the middle of a pile of presents beneath a giant blue spruce. What a present that would be! And it wasn’t even close to Christmastime. He thought back to the many Christmases he’d spent with Toots growing up. She’d always made sure he felt as special as Abby even though he and Abby didn’t spend much time together. He didn’t know how he knew that, it was just one of those things that he knew.

Suddenly, thinking about Typhoon Toots put a damper on any fantasy he’d ever had about her daughter. She’d wring his neck if she knew his feelings for Abby were not of a brotherly nature, but he didn’t have to worry about that because she would never find out, simply because there was nothing to find out.

He glanced at his watch again. One minute sixteen seconds. At this rate he’d be an old man before it was time to meet Abby at the Buzz Club. The reason she’d asked him out for the evening did nothing to advance his status as one of LA’s top ten bachelors either; he felt like she was doing
him
a favor.

However, Chris knew if Abby needed him for a story, a scoop, about any of the starlets he’d dated, as long as he didn’t have a legal contract with them, he’d spill his guts in a heartbeat. Anything for Abby. Maybe he wouldn’t provide all of the sordid details, but he would come to her rescue this time because he knew how hard it was for her to ask for help. Her fierce independence was something he’d always admired about her, but there were times when he didn’t care for it at all. He wanted Abby to
need
him, to
want
him as much as he needed and wanted her. He told himself to forget about it because it wasn’t going to happen anytime in the near future or ever for that matter.

With two hours to kill before he had to leave, he whipped out his laptop. Accessing the Internet, he checked his e-mail, hoping for some news on
The Informer.
He scanned through sixty-four e-mails, answered three that were business-related, then sent his friend of a friend’s hacker friend an e-mail inquiring into the status of his investigation. Chris had a bad feeling about the entire transaction. Toots just might have to write this one off as a loss, a lesson learned, and move on. He cringed at a ten-million-dollar write-off. If the paper failed, which he expected, which he would bet money on, Abby could get another job as a reporter. She was good. Any of the metropolitan papers would hire her, but he knew that wasn’t where her passion lay. She loved tabloid reporting, and Chris didn’t think she was going to switch one style for another anytime soon. He didn’t blame her either. Hell, if anything, he admired her for her determination despite the rotten reputation the paparazzi had. Abby was the consummate professional, he had to give her that. She didn’t stalk the celebrities she wrote about, didn’t force herself on them if she just happened to “bump into them” while out and about. No, Abby took everything seriously.

Except him.

Abby turned the lights off in her office, packed her briefcase with three lighthearted articles she’d found on the Internet concerning a certain celebrity she planned to interview down the road, then called her dog. “It’s time to go, Chester. I have a hot date this evening.”

As she made her way down the hallway, Abby could have sworn she smelled Rag’s cheap cologne. She knew for a fact Rag wore three-dollar-a-bottle Brut because she remembered giving Chris a bottle of the smelly stuff for Christmas light-years ago. Maybe he’d slipped inside while she’d been engrossed in her reading. She paused outside his office, thinking that if he was inside, she would hear all the televisions blaring. Nothing. As she did earlier, she tried the knob, and the door opened immediately. She entered Rag’s nasty office and noticed right away that something was different. Chester emitted a low growl from his position at the door. Abby twisted around to look at her dog. That was not a happy growl. That was Chester’s
alert
growl.

“What is it, boy?”

Tail tucked between his legs, ears flat against his head, Chester growled again, the sound ominous in the quiet room.

“Shhh!” Abby whispered. Something was wrong.

Her gaze ricocheted around Rag’s office, searching for something, anything that might be different from hours ago. She drew in a sharp breath when she realized what it was. When she peeked inside earlier, she recalled, the desk chair had been far away from the desk, which was nothing unusual because Rag usually got up and never bothered to push his chair back under the desk. Someone had pushed the chair so close to the desk, the wheels were stuck on the edge of the hard-plastic floor mat. Maybe Mavis had wandered off while she’d been showing her mother and Sophie around. But Mavis hadn’t smelled of Brut. The rest of the staff had come and gone while she’d been in her office. If anyone had been in the hallway, Chester would’ve alerted her. It was one of many reasons she liked having the big dog with her at all times. The building had its creaks and cracks, but she had worked there long enough to become familiar with them. Someone had definitely been inside Rag’s office. Abby was positive it hadn’t been her boss. Chester appeared to be just as sure as she was.

Fearing one of his gambling buddies had come looking for Rag to collect a debt, Abby hurried out of his office.

“Let’s go, Chester! I don’t want to be around when Rag gets his ass beat.” She led Chester to the exit, practically running to her MINI Cooper. Inside, she secured hers and Chester’s seat belts before careening out of the parking lot.

Abby was grateful that traffic wasn’t a total washout, which was extremely unusual for that time of day. She made it to Brentwood in record time. She pulled into the driveway beneath the small carport on the side of the garage. Someday she planned to empty the garage of the last owner’s possessions so she could park in it, but for the time being, this worked. She removed her keys from the ignition, grabbed her briefcase, then released Chester from his seat belt. She glanced at her watch. She had exactly ninety minutes to shower and change for her date with Chris.

Inside, Abby tossed her keys along with her briefcase on a side table in the foyer. She hung Chester’s leash on its hook. Kicking her shoes off, one flying left and the other right before she headed to the kitchen for a bottle of cold water.

“Woof!” Chester’s signal that it was dinnertime.

“I know you’re hungry.” Abby filled his bowl with fresh water and scooped out three cups of kibble from a plastic container in the pantry. She added a few tablespoons of homemade gravy to the bowl, gave it a stir, and set it down on the floor. “Okay, buddy, you’re on your own for a bit.”

While Chester dined in private, Abby hurried to her bedroom, where she spent fifteen minutes searching for an outfit. Nothing too dressy, though she
could
dress knockout hot if she chose because she was going out on the town for work. She didn’t want Chris to think she’d dressed up for him, so she settled on a pair of skinny black jeans with a shiny silver tank top. She’d wear her slut shoes, the silver ones. Chris always called her
Shorty.
She’d show him shorty.

Abby took a long, hot shower, relishing the feel of the water as it ran down her neck and back. She lathered up, washing her hair twice with a fragrant, sweet green-apple shampoo. Wrapping a giant bath sheet around her, she combed out her hair, deciding to go “au naturelle,” curls and all. She applied a smoky eye shadow, lined her eyes with kohl eyeliner. Blush and a sheer pink lip gloss and she was good to go. She didn’t want to glam up too much. Maybe later at some point in time she’d glam it up and blow old Chris’s socks off. Ha!

Abby rummaged through her drawer, finding a pink lacy bra with matching panties. Before she could change her mind, she slipped on the sexy lingerie, telling herself she simply wanted to feel feminine tonight. Who knew? Maybe she’d meet the man of her dreams.

Right.

The man of
her
dreams was off-limits.

T
he Buzz was the current hot spot for celebrities in Hollywood, or so said the Style Network. Twenty minutes early, Chris scanned the crowd, hoping he wouldn’t see any clients or any female who could possibly be dangerous to his bachelor status. Couples, both gay and straight, were stacked against one another like sardines. He inched his way through the crowd, hoping to find an empty table. Rock music blared from speakers the size of small houses. Chris wanted to stick his finger in his ears, but that would not be the cool LA thing to do. Not that he followed LA’s so-called socially accepted rules, but he always seemed to manage to fit in with just about any group while remaining true to himself. More or less.

Spotting a tall table with two empty barstools across from the bar, Chris beelined to claim it. He’d just sat down when a leggy cocktail waitress with pillow lips greeted him.

“Just you?” she asked in a low, kittenish purr, nudging him with her voluptuous breasts. Chris hated the place already. It reminded him of why he was so burned out on the party scene.

“Actually, I’m meeting my wife here. I hired a sitter for the night to give her a break. Four kids isn’t a walk in the park, you know?” The waitress went from kitten to mountain lion in 0.2 seconds because husband-wife teams were not known for big tips.

“What will it be?” she asked, impatient now that she knew the tip would be the standard 20 percent. Four kids more than likely meant 10 percent. If she was lucky.

“I’ll have a Coke, and my wife will have a…water with a slice of lemon.”

The waitress scribbled something on a napkin, and dropped two cardboard coasters on the table before racing over to three older men who looked like big tippers.

Chris checked his watch. Ten o’clock. Abby should be here any minute. He knew for a fact that she was punctual, hated when anyone showed up late, because she made it a point either to be early or right on time. Maybe his watch was a bit fast. He continued to search the crowd for a petite woman with long blond curly hair.

“Who are you looking for? Your latest bimbo?”

Chris whirled around. “You sly little devil, sneaking up on me.” He offered up a grin as wide as the Pacific Ocean. “Take a load off, Shorty.” He got up and pulled the barstool out for her. “You want me to help you, is that what this is all about? So spit it out, Miss Reporter.”

“No, I don’t want your help. Well, I did, but now I don’t. I’m just short, Chris, not helpless,” Abby snapped. Why was she always so…persnickety with him? She suddenly felt like she was sixteen years old again.

“Actually, I think you’ve grown”—he peered at her spike heels—“about four inches. How in the hell do you women walk in those things?”

Abby smiled. Chris, of all people, would notice her heels. “They’re three inches, and I walk
very
carefully. I had to practice with them at home before I was comfortable walking in them in the great outdoors. Just for the record, they give me low-back pain. Bet that was more than you wanted or needed to know, huh?” A sound came out of her throat that Chris thought was a giggle. A
giggle!

The supercilious waitress brought their drinks, plopping his Coke down so hard it splashed over the rim of the glass.

“What did you do to piss her off?” Abby asked, not caring if the waitress heard her.

“I think it had something to do with the fact I told her I was meeting my wife, giving her the night off from our four kids.” Chris winked at her.

“She probably recognizes you from that billboard, you know, one of LA’s top ten bachelors, and knows you’re lying.”

“I didn’t ask for that title, and, for the record, it’s embarrassing,” Chris said. At first he’d had fun with the title, women hitting on him constantly, then it got old real fast.

Abby watched Chris out of the corner of her eye as she tried to see which bad boys and girls were on the prowl. “I’m sure you didn’t, but I don’t know of any red-blooded American male who would toss that particular crown. I imagine it has its…fringe benefits.”

Did it ever, but he wasn’t about to discuss his past relationships with Abby. Not now, not ever. The only relationship Chris wanted to discuss with Abby was his future relationship with her. But that was not going to happen. No way, no how.

All of a sudden, Chris’s mouth went as dry as the Mojave. He took a drink of Coke before replying. “It does, did.”

“Pick one,” Abby said. “Either it does or not.”

“Abby, if you must know I…never mind.”
What the hell came over me? I almost made a very big slip of the tongue.
“I’m done with that title, Abby. I’m not surprised you’ve been ragging on me about it. I gave it up a long while back. I had my fun, and it didn’t take that long finally to figure out the fast-paced lifestyle isn’t what it’s cracked up to be. We all make mistakes from time to time, even you, Miss Perfect!”

“Should I take that to mean the glitz and glamour is fading?” she asked in a teasing tone.
Please let him say it’s so.

“Like I said, that life is not all it’s cracked up to be, Abby. I want more from life than a night out with a woman who only wants to be with me because she wants to use me to advance her career.” Once the words were out, he couldn’t take them back. But this was Abby and she wasn’t like other women.

“If I didn’t know you so well, Chris, I’d be offended, but I happen to agree with you. Just for the record, I didn’t come here tonight to advance my career. When I called and asked you for a story, at the time I needed a tip, a bit of gossip, something, but I’ve changed my mind. I don’t need anything from you.”
Liar liar, pants on fire. I want everything you could possibly offer me. Me, Abby.

Slapping his face would have had the same effect as her words. He wished he had the guts to come clean with Abby, but he couldn’t. All he could do was to up the sparring, play his usual role of cocky friend.

“Good, because if I told you all of my secrets, then I’d have to kill you,” he bantered. Why couldn’t she see that it was killing him to sit there and pretend she meant nothing more to him than a good friend, but if that was all he was going to get, he’d live with it.

Abby’s blue eyes met his, intent and unwavering. Chris had that kid-on-Christmas-morning feeling again. His stomach muscles took on a life of their own, and his ears felt hot; so did his neck. Shit, he felt hot all over, who the hell was he kidding. He wanted to tear his gaze from hers, but he couldn’t make his eyeballs work. Abby broke the stare first, looking down at the table and tracing her finger through a minipuddle of spilled Coke. She started to speak, then stopped, glanced around the bar as though seeing it for the first time and not liking what she was seeing.

“You want to go somewhere else? Someplace…real?” Abby asked out of the blue.

Chris didn’t know what to say, so he just shook his head up and down, indicating he was okay with a move.

“Have you had dinner?”

“Does a pint of mint-chocolate-chip ice cream count as dinner?” he quipped.

“Depends on whom you ask. Me, I say it does. But I’ve had this hankering for a Pink’s chili dog for days. It’s heartburn on a bun, but they are sooo good.”

Chris laughed, remembering how much Abby loved their chili dogs. He did, too. “Pink’s it is. I’m game if you are.” He pulled a twenty out of his wallet and dropped it on the table.

“Let’s go. This music is killing me.” Abby hopped off of her stool too fast, stumbling on her three-inch heels. Chris caught her by the arm, pulling her against his chest. She smelled like spring flowers and warm sunshine. For one wild crazy moment, he thought he was going to black out.

“I told you those shoes were dangerous.” He glanced around the jam-packed club, searching for the quickest way out. “Follow me.”

Without giving her a chance to answer, Chris wrapped his arm around Abby’s waist, guiding her through the crowd of partyers. Twice someone bumped into them, almost knocking Abby over. When they reached the exit, Chris pushed his way through a group of giggling young stars. He recognized one of the starlets from a recent movie he’d seen:
Blondes Have More Dumb.
The title was even dumber than the movie.

Outside, the night air was cool and breezy but a welcome change after the bar. “I’m parked over here,” Abby said. “You want to ride together or take separate cars?”

“I’ll drive.”

Abby hesitated a moment before agreeing. “I can’t stay out too late. Chester’s home alone. Plus I plan to spend some time with Mom and the three Gs tomorrow.”

“I promise not to keep you out all night. Scout’s honor.” Chris grinned, displaying three fingers in front of him.

“You are no Boy Scout, Christopher Clay. Remember, I know you and your reputation.” Abby swatted his hand playfully as she followed him to his car, carrying her slut shoes in her hands.

Right then, right that very minute, Chris Clay wanted to drop to his knees and tell Abby he’d given up his bad-boy ways and was a stand-up guy just waiting for her to notice. But he couldn’t do that. Even if by some miracle he did drop to his knees and profess all, his gut told him Abby would laugh at him and not believe a word of what he said.