Love & Loyalty (14 page)

“And cook for me.”

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“Right…and cook for you.” He laughed again, and Griffin wanted to keep score. Relaxed, honest laughter—twice in one five-minute conversation.

“I gotta see what's going on here in la-la land, but maybe Tuesday.”

“Tuesday is good. I might have off on Thursday, so we can drive up to Ed's Wednesday night.”

“Perfect.”

Griffin heard Jules's voice over the sound system, calling everyone to the buffet. Which meant Claus and the whore were on their way, and Daisy would be buzzing like a bug zapper.

“Sorry, I have to run. Dinner is being served, and there's a whole big Daisy thing…”

“Sure, no problem. I'm gonna go steam the floors.”

“You're a party animal, Jim.”

“Have fun.”

Griffin snapped his phone off and got up, then dodged the queuing crowd as they headed for the overstuffed buffet tables set up near the main house.

Waiters in smart red polo shirts helped people with serving; Griffin thought it looked like a posh episode of
Star Trek
. Red shirts and lobster. He wondered which one might get caught in the middle of a claw-to-claw battle between Claus's women tonight.

“Where's Daisy Mae?” he asked, catching up with Jules near the head of the tables.

“She's holding court with a group of—I don't know—male underwear models? No clue. They're all young and pretty, however, and God, someone tell her to not hike her dress so high,” Jules muttered, holding her walkie-talkie up to listen to the squawk from the head valet. “Claus and Lina are on their way through the house.”

“Crap, I should have drunk more…” Griffin checked his hair and the collar of his shirt in Jules's glasses until she smacked him in the chest.

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“Go run interference while I keep the line moving,” she muttered, gesturing him toward Daisy, her high-pitched laughter hurting both their ears.

“Right-o.” He snapped a salute and casually sauntered over to where Daisy was perched on a chaise, five equally stunning young men smiling at her attentively in a circle.

“All for me? You shouldn't have,” he murmured in her ear as he slid in next to her, wrapping his arm around her shoulders.

“You'll have to share.” Daisy pouted pretty, but the reality was that he made it a point to never pick up her disappointed leftovers.

“But of course.” Griffin winked at the bronzed Adonis closest to him, who seemed to be checking him out. Okeydoke. “Are you hungry?”

“No, I'm fine.” Daisy turned back to the Hispanic lad on her left, who seemed to be staring at Daisy like she was the buffet and he scored the first in line.

He wondered if there were head shots folded into their Speedos for later

“dropping off.”

“Claus is here,” he added against her ear, and she nodded without turning around. Griffin sighed but kept his smile bright, smoothing down the hem of her dress before he stood up. “Gonna mingle,” he lied, sidestepping the hunk who clearly considered following. “Later, fellows.” Quickly, before he sent out the wrong signal, Griffin jetted for the dinner line, gaze darting between Daisy—now alone with Juan Carlos or whatever his name was—and the entrance to the party where Claus would be exiting.

It didn't take long. Jules gave him a high sign and boom—there was Claus, all six-five Germanic blondness of him, sweeping onto the patio with a smile on his face and Lina on his arm.

He expected fanfare; he got a few people looking up from their plates.

Almost immediately his face fell, and he scanned the crowd for someone—

he knew it would be Daisy—and he knew it wouldn't be good when Claus 110

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noticed his wife being entertained near the pool. Forget the fact that the man was standing there with his mistress…

“Crap,” Griffin muttered, handing his plate over to a waiter and diving back into the milling crowd. He needed to get between Claus and Daisy as soon as he could.

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Chapter Sixteen

“Don't,” Jules warned from somewhere behind him, but Griffin kept walking. He stepped into Claus's personal space, blinding smile in place.

“Claus, man, good to see you.” Griffin gave Lina a quick glance, but it was clear he was blocking Claus's path and not here to chitchat.

“Excuse me; I'm looking for my wife,” Claus said, clearly disinterested.

“She's here, no worries. Just doing some entertaining in your absence.” Griffin stuck his hand out toward Lina, a statuesque brunette in half a dress and enough bronzer to turn the pool brown. “Griffin Drake, the most talented screenwriter in Claus's employ, so nice to meet you.” Lina's eyes lit up, and she curved her body toward Griffin as she shook his hand, her bangles clattering together. “So lovely to meet you, Griffin. Are you going to be working with me, then?”

“Oh no, no. Sorry. I'm backed up through the end of the world. Claus never lets me rest. I'm only here because a judge ruled against torturing prisoners of war.”

Claus certainly didn't laugh, and Lina just looked confused. Griffin felt his heart beating out of his chest. Baiting Claus? Really? He was going to be lucky if it wasn't his ass drowned before the end of the night.

“Anywho—the buffet is great, and I will absolutely recommend the margaritas. Have a few; they're wonderful.” Griffin took a step back and prayed heartily that Jules was over by Daisy, keeping her dealings with the playboy in the Speedo as squeaky-clean as possible, but from Claus's growing glare, it wasn't working.

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“Lina, tell Griffin all about your ideas for the film. I'm actually thinking he'll be perfect.” Claus all but shoved Lina onto Griffin's arm and headed for Daisy.

“Well, shit,” he muttered, trying to following without tripping over Lina's long legs.

“Let's go get those drinks,” Lina said, her grip strong. Griffin's eyes were on Claus, but Lina's voice whispered to him, “Let it go, okay? We should stay out of the way.” Mysteriously, her French accent had disappeared some time before the last two sentences.

“What?”

“Come on, we know there's going to be drama.” Lina's blank stare had been replaced by something more calculating. “They both want it. It'll make the tabloids, keep them in the news. Whatever.” The woman shrugged. “You and me are just names thrown into the copy. Let's get a drink, okay?” Griffin said nothing, blinking and staring at her like he was getting a message from God or getting Punk'd—stunned, stopped in his tracks, and speechless.

“I need to make sure Daisy is okay,” he finally managed, wrestling free from her grip. “Meet you at the bar.” Griffin turned and walked to where Claus and Daisy were standing…only to be intercepted by Jules.

“Hold up, it's okay for now,” she said, elbow in his sternum to keep him from moving.

“It's not okay. They're going to have a fight, and everyone is watching.”

“So what else is new? Did Lina go to the bar?” Jules peeked around him.

“Okay, brilliant. Let's hope she gathers a bit of a crowd over there.” Griffin shook his head. “What the hell is going on here? Lina's not even French, is she?”

“What? Oh she's just not
that
French. She went to school here.” Jules gave him an odd look. “Why do you ask?”

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“She's just…she's just not what I expected.” Hedda, Angel, Melody—all the names in recent and long-term memory were actually starlets who thought they'd be wife number three. Lina reminded him of…a stand-in. A stunt mistress, as it were. Something was definitely up.

“Go finish getting yourself some dinner, have another drink. I'll keep an eye on the craziness.” Jules's voice was soothing, but Griffin still felt like everything was off. Maybe it was him, though. If he didn't want to be here before, it was tripled times ten right now.

“Right, okay.” Griffin walked slowly to the now-emptied-out buffet, and gathered up an empty plate. He picked and chose, head swiveling back to Daisy and Claus's murmured conversation and then to the bar where Lina was talking to…Jules.

* * * * *

The warm evening air combined with all the tequila and weirdness had begun to take effect; he was ready for a nap or to do something stupid.

Toss-up.

Briefly he considered calling Jim again, maybe asking if he could leave this mess right now and fly back to Seattle, where things were simpler. It might be avoidance or a sense of the grass being greener, because how had he not noticed how much this merry-go-round sucked before now?

“Well, that's not true. I knew, I just didn't care,” Griffin muttered to himself.

He heard footsteps approaching and peeked out from behind a frond to see who had found his hiding place.

Jules, with two bottles of Corona and a sheepish smile on her face.

“What now?” he asked.

“Nothing. I think I have some 'splainin' to do, my love.” 114

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“You know, it just hit me that perhaps this was a setup…”

“Not for you, you know that, right?”

Griffin nodded as he took the beer and moved over so Jules could park herself beside him.

“They really need to get onto the front page that badly? A fake affair
and
a fake fight?”

Jules shrugged. “It was just an innuendo thing. Or it was supposed to be.

Then Claus showed up and got pissed because Daisy was actually flirting.”

“He's an asshole. Lina may be a fake, but the others weren't.”

“Hedda was very, very real.” Jules laughed wearily as she took a sip. “My God, that was seventeen months of hell.”

“I never understood why he dumped her. I was sure Daisy was destined for ex-wifehood.”

Jules turned and looked him, confused and half laughing, half frowning.

“What? I thought you of all people knew.”

“Knew what?” Griffin felt the ground shift beneath him one more time.

“Daisy told Claus if he dumped Hedda, she'd rip up the prenup.” The cold bottle of beer almost slipped out of Griffin's hands as a shock wave went through him. “Are you serious?”

“As a heart attack, love. I can't believe she didn't tell you! It was such a big patch of drama. Even with the shredding of the prenup, I thought Claus would run off with her, but no. He and Daisy just love the drama too much. It keeps them stuck together.”

That prenup was something Griffin had pushed her to get all those years ago, her cushion for when the romantic ride was over and the drama played out and Claus went for younger and hotter and whatever. It was horrifying to think she'd given it away to stop Claus from moving on. It was infuriating to know she had a chance to get away and didn't take it.

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He said nothing, drinking the beer and staring at the stones under his feet.

She hadn't told him. That resonated louder than anything else.

“Griff? Love, I'm sorry. I thought for sure she told you. You're her best friend…”

Jules meant well, he was sure, but those words just stung harder.

“Yeah, I know. She probably didn't tell me so I wouldn't worry,” Griffin lied. He drained his beer and left it with the other empties as he stood up. “I need to jet, Jules. Tell Daisy I'll call her later.” He heard words of protest behind him and caught a few folks trying to make conversation on the way out, but he kept walking, not slowing down until he reached the valets out front and requested his keys before realizing just how much he'd had to drink.

And the fact that Jim would be mighty pissed if he got caught driving drunk.

“Hey, listen, put my car in the garage. The bay they use for the deliveries.

Just talk to Jules—it'll be fine.” The head valet nodded and pocketed the keys; Griffin got out his phone and dialed the number for the studio's limo service.

He didn't want to wait out front where he could run into someone, so he started walking down the long driveway toward the road.

The car service told him twenty minutes. Griffin knocked on the window of the guard house, and they let him out with strange looks and offers of assistance, but he mumbled something about a car and kept walking.

There wasn't anywhere to actually go. The property stretched pretty far, the next closest house was at least a mile away, and Griffin had no illusions of how far he could walk (and back) before the car came.

His BlackBerry sat heavily in his pocket, beckoning him to call Jim again, but that seemed desperate bordering on lame. He didn't want to wear out his 116

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welcome. His second option was calling Daisy's voice mail and giving her a piece of his mind.

No. He needed to stew on that one a bit more. Griffin was pissed, and he could run with that—until he reached the part that it was
Daisy
, and then confusion mixed with the anger until all he wanted to do was slink away and hide.

Griffin kicked a few rocks on the road, keeping to one side so as not to end up a hood ornament on someone's Jag.

What a shitty headline that would be. DRUNK HOLLYWOOD

SCREENWRITER SMASHED—LITERALLY.

“Griffin! Where the hell are you?”

He looked up and squinted toward the gate, where a slim figure was stomping toward him. He knew that stomp and sighed.

“Go back into the house, Daisy Mae.”

“No! How could you leave without saying good-bye?” She reached him, swinging her shoes by the laces in his direction as she came closer.