Various States of Undress (24 page)

“Shit,” she muttered and ran back inside. She saw Joan disappearing into her office and followed.

“I need to talk to Brett alone for a moment,” Georgia said.

Joan waved a hand. “Be my guest. But if the name Buddy Mambo doesn't cross his lips, then Knox isn't telling you the whole truth.”

“Buddy Mambo? The furniture guy?”

“One and the same.”

Georgia heard voices and glanced down the hallway. She leaned into Joan's office to whisper furiously. “If you're trying to tell me that Buddy Mambo is Brett's father, then just come out and say it.”

Joan shook her head. “If you'd been doing your job, I wouldn't have to say it. You'd know already.”

The dam burst and Georgia took a step forward. “If you deserved all due respect, I'd give it, but you don't.” She took a ragged breath. “You
know
he and I are involved. You have exploited that fact. And yet you still expect me to exploit him? What kind of person do you think I am?” she barked.

A flicker of something resembling guilt crossed Joan's face, but the woman smiled, anyway. “Oh, grow up, Georgia. All you got was a valuable lesson in what happens when you don't maintain impartiality.”

The voices got closer, and Georgia took a deep breath before turning around. She forced a smile as Brett came around the corner. “Hey, slugger.”

“Hey.” He grabbed her hand and kept walking.

She glanced up at him. Had he heard her talking about Buddy Mambo? She cleared her throat. “Is everything okay?”

“Shh.” He turned another corner and pulled her through the first open doorway—a small editing bay containing only a computer desk and chair. He shut the door and took her hands. “I need to tell you something.”

It was completely dark in the tiny space, but Georgia closed her eyes, anyway. “No, you don't. Who your dad is . . . well, it's nobody's business but yours, unless you choose to share it.”

His hands fell away. “What?”

“Exactly.” She leaned her cheek on his chest. “Okay?”

He stood there, motionless, and she ached for him to put his arms around her, but he didn't. Instead, he cleared his throat. “I got a phone call a minute ago from Baptist Memorial Hospital. My mom was injured.”

Georgia's head snapped up. “Oh no,” she whispered. “Oh my God.”

“The person I talked with said it wasn't a life-or-death situation, but I need to get over there. I don't want WHAP knowing about it.” His voice sounded hollow.

“That can't happen. I'm coming with you.”

“Sugar, you told me you've gotta fix that interview. How would it look if you bolted?”

“I'll figure it out later. Don't argue with me.” She opened the door and pulled him out into the hallway. A loud voice resonated down the hallway. “Is that Ship yelling at Joan?”

Brett frowned. “No clue.”

“We don't have time to worry about it,” Georgia said. “I just need to text Ernie, and he can drive us to the hospital.”

“Good.” Brett rubbed a hand across his face.

Georgia darted into her cubicle, grabbed her phone, and began typing. She looked up at Brett, who was still standing in the hallway. “Why don't you slip outside? There's another door leading to the parking lot at the end of the hall.”

“Okay.” Brett disappeared.

Georgia finished the text, grabbed her bag, and began to follow him but heard her name in the midst of the now-escalating argument at the end of the hall. She hesitated for a moment and tiptoed toward the noise. She stopped short and stared at Joan and Ship, who were standing face-to-face, just below the platform of the WHAP set.

“You told me it was okay to push those two together, and I did it. You said it was good for Redbirds' publicity. You never told me there was a line I couldn't cross!” Joan said in a hissing tone.

Ship shook his finger in her face. “Your station was in the shitter, and I handed you exclusive access to the players to get your ratings up. It was a win-win until you decided to push it.”

“I had the president's daughter on board. You can't blame me for pushing! I'm a journalist.”

“You're a hack,” Ship spat out. “And your judgment is completely out of whack.”

Joan crossed her arms. “I make the decisions around here, not you. And definitely not Georgia Fulton. She's so caught up in your boy Brett that she can't see reason.”

“Let me see that interview tape for tomorrow.”

“You'll see it when everyone else does, Ship.” Joan laughed. “Though I'm not sure you'll want to, since Georgia's work isn't exactly stellar.”

Georgia clenched her fists and started forward. Staring straight ahead, she walked past the bank of computer monitors, past Ship and Joan, and out the door into the twilit evening.

Ernie, who was waiting outside the SUV, raised his eyebrows. “Everything okay?”

Georgia shook her head as she jerked open the back door of the SUV and saw Brett inside. He looked miserable. “Give me two seconds,” she said. When she walked back into the station, Joan and Ship stared at her. For a moment, nobody said a word, and then Joan smiled.

“Georgia!” she exclaimed in a hearty tone. “As you may have heard, we were just discussing—”

“I heard,” Georgia interrupted.

Ship glanced at Georgia, a pained expression on his jowly face. “I'm so sorry,” he said. “This is all my fault.”

“I know that's not true,” Georgia responded quietly.

“Oh, but it is,” he insisted in a weary tone. “Brett's mother called me last week. She was worried about Brett's playing and told me that learning about Buddy had upset him. When I called you, Georgia, to ask you to back away from him, I should've talked about Buddy too.”

“I didn't know about Buddy,” Georgia said. “So why did Joan know?”

Ship sighed. “I warned her, just in case WHAP had found out and decided to leak the news.” He shook his head at Joan. “You told me you wouldn't leak it. You'll regret it if you do.”

“Leak?” Joan huffed. “Reporting the truth isn't leaking, and I don't regret anything I choose to allow on the air. But until we gather more facts, I'm not going to air the bit about Buddy no.” There was a desperate light in her eyes when she turned to Georgia. “Where are you going, anyway? You have work to do.”

Georgia stared back at her. This situation was hopeless, wasn't it? She hated her internship, and she despised Joan, who'd used her like a Kleenex since day one. There was no way for Georgia to change the interview to Joan's satisfaction without compromising Brett—and herself. She refused to do that to him.

“Joan, take me off of baseball. Take me off of Brett. I'll do any other kind of assignment, but I'm not going to turn that interview into sick tabloid fodder.”

“If you don't, you might as well walk out of here. We both know that you're not a quitter.”

Georgia's jaw began to tremble. She hated Joan for being right, but there was a lot more at stake than her own pride right now. Brett had faced his fear, hadn't he? She could do the same. She could walk away.

Georgia summoned up a smile. “I'm going where I need to go.” She dug in her pocket, yanked out her press pass, and placed it on a nearby desk. “I quit,” she said quietly.

Joan let out a gasp.

“If you don't fix that interview, your internship is over.”

“So be it.”

Georgia walked out the door and climbed into the SUV. Without a word, she reached for Brett and wrapped her arms around him. She didn't let go until they'd reached the hospital.

Chapter Thirteen

W
HEN
B
RETT WOKE
up the following morning, his back was stiff, his legs ached, and he was hot. He stood up from the uncomfortable chair in his mom's hospital room, and a cotton blanket fell from his chest to the floor. Automatically, he reached down and picked it up, but when he caught sight of his mom, he went still.

Margot lay on an adjustable bed, her body tiny in a sea of white sheets. Even though he'd seen her like that through the night, with the early morning sun filtering through the window, she was an alarming sight. It was made even worse by the foreign-looking oxygen tube in her nose. A line of stitches ran diagonally across her forehead in sharp relief to her pale skin, and her arm was wrapped in a plastic brace. The only thing that lessened Brett's anxiety was that his mom's eyes were open, and she was talking to Georgia.

“Did you call him? Did you call Buddy?” Margot asked in a raspy whisper. Her breath caught, and she began to cough. “Oh God. That hurts my ribs.”

“Yes, he'll be here in a bit. Shh.” Georgia took Margot's hand. “You want some water?”

Margot nodded and allowed Georgia to support her head. After she'd sipped from a straw, she settled back onto the pillows, wincing. “Can't believe the president's daughter is waiting on me.”

“It's a tough job, but somebody has to do it,” Georgia replied softly.

Margot turned her head to look at Georgia, and a hint of a smile crossed her lips. “I know all about tough jobs. I'm the queen of Memphis.”

Brett's lips quirked up too. His mom had often remarked—sarcastically, of course—that it was tough to be queen. Those remarks had always come right before she'd busted up a childhood squabble between him and Joe. But the squabble she'd been in last night was something else altogether. It was serious, scary, and it haunted him.

Last night, Margot had arrived for her shift at O'Brien's but hadn't even made it to the entrance before she was mugged. She could've just handed the attacker her purse, but she never was one to go down without a fight. And she'd fought hard—so hard that she'd ended up with bruised ribs, a concussion, and a broken wrist. She'd need to have surgery on that wrist today. The attacker was nowhere to be found, but that was often the case in the rough neighborhood where his mom worked.

Swallowing, Brett took a step forward. “How are you feeling, Mom?” he asked, knowing it was an inane question.

“Great,” she answered, just like he knew she would.

“Great,” he echoed and stuffed the blanket onto the chair. “Do you need anything?”

Georgia glanced up at him, a frown furrowing her forehead. “She's tense. Needs pain medicine,” she whispered.

“I'm not deaf,” Margot commented. “And I'll be fine.”

Brett shook his head. “I know, Mom, but you won't be able to work for a while. It's a lot to think about right now, but would you at least consider the idea of moving to St. Louis? Joe and I want to take care of you.”

“Forget it,” Margot said stubbornly. “You boys are Cardinals. You're in the big time. I'm not about to distract you from that.” She coughed again. “Besides, Buddy's gonna take care of me.”

Brett exchanged glances with Georgia. Her face was impassive, but he bet his wasn't. He hadn't broached the subject of Buddy yet at all. He was too afraid of what she knew—and when she'd found out. He was too afraid that she'd known and kept the knowledge from him.

He looked away. “Joe caught the red-eye and he'll be here soon. We can discuss it later.”

Margot waved a weak hand in the air. “You shouldn't have called him.”

“He never would have forgiven me if I hadn't,” Brett responded. And it was a safe bet that Joe wouldn't be forgiving about Buddy either. Eventually he would because Joe had a big heart, but it was going to come as a shock. What hadn't come as a shock was Brett's news that he'd been called up. Joe had simply said, “Way to go. I've always believed in you, you know.”

Brett looked at Georgia—her beautiful face pinched with exhaustion. She'd stayed up all night, and, though she'd said she would be going back to the station, she never had. He knew that her interview with him was due to air on WHAP in about half an hour, but still, she'd made no move to get up.

“Sugar,” he said in a low voice. “You know what time it is?”

“A little after seven,” she said. “I know. The station is only ten minutes from here.”

“You're cutting it close. Don't you think you ought to—”

“Probably.” Tears sprang to her eyes, and slowly she stood. “I'll just go splash some water on my face.”

Brett caught her arm as she walked toward the door. “Hey. You never told me what happened last night.” He paused. “When you went back into the station.”

She gave him a quick smile and kissed his cheek. “I'll tell you another time,” she said. And then she was gone.

It was obvious that she was upset—and not just about his mom. During the course of the night, she'd disappeared frequently, and when she'd returned to the hospital room, her eyes had been red. But every time he'd asked, she'd merely shaken her head. He assumed Georgia's anxiety had to do with Joan, and he worried. Especially since Georgia hadn't returned to the station to add the announcement about his being called up. Not that he cared about feeding his own ego—but she'd said that breaking the news was going to save her ass.

“Son?”

Brett turned back to the bed. “I don't know what's going on with her.”

“I know. Come here.”

Brett took the chair Georgia had been sitting in—it was still warm from her body, and he caught the faint, sweet scent of her shampoo. He sighed and took his mother's hand.

Margot turned slowly on the bed to face him. “What are you gonna do about her, son?”

“I'm not gonna let her go, if that's what you mean,” he replied.

“Good.” Margot closed her eyes. “Buddy will be here soon.”

Brett gazed at her, his heart breaking. She'd asked for Buddy last night, not long after she'd been admitted. Brett had swallowed his discomfort and called the man, but Buddy hadn't answered. After leaving four voicemails over the space of two hours, Brett had given up. What an asshole. A loser. A user.