She’d called her mother, but there was no answer at home and the call to her cell went directly to voice mail. It was then that she’d called Sofia, who was forthcoming about what had become the latest celebrity gossip.
An anonymous source had told gossip columnist Poppy Rayburn that Ciara Dennison was a gold digger, trading in men every two years as if they were leased cars. The article went on to say that she’d used celebrity plastic surgeon Dr. Victor Seabrook and when she tired of him she’d moved on to Brandt Wainwright. The article ended with: Who’s her next target?
Brandt closed his eyes, hoping to shut out the photograph of Ciara clinging to Victor Seabrook’s arm that had been taken at a fundraising event to benefit juvenile diabetes, but the image of her beautiful face when she’d smiled at the camera remained.
He opened his eyes. “Yes, I did.”
Sitting on a stool at the cooking island, Ciara glared at him. “When did you know?”
Brandt’s gaze shifted to the images on the screen of the muted television. “I found out from Jordan. He emailed me when we were on the ship coming back from St. Thomas. I wanted to tell you, but I knew it would upset—”
“Upset me!” she spat out, cutting him off. “I’m livid because you lied to me, Brandt. I asked you if anything was wrong and you told me no. I don’t know what kind of women you’re used to dealing with, but in case you haven’t figured it out I am not a girl. Did you think I was going to have a meltdown? Or did you want me in a good mood so we could continue to—”
“You don’t know what the hell you’re talking about!”
Ciara went completely still. “I know you’d better not ever raise your voice to me again.” Her threat was low, cutting.
“Or you’ll what, Ciara?” Brandt challenged, his temper rising to meet hers. “You’ll leave me like you left Victor Seabrook? I don’t think so.”
Her eyes narrowed like she was a cat ready to pounce. “You don’t believe I’d walk out on you?”
“No. Because if you do, then you’d just validate the lies. You know what you are and I know who you are,” he continued, his voice softer, more conciliatory. “What you have to do is try and come up with the name of someone who’d want to discredit you.”
Covering her face with her hands, Ciara shook her head. “I don’t know.”
“Think, Ciara. What about a vindictive girlfriend or boyfriend?”
She lowered her hands. “Maybe I’m naive, but I never had a problem with anyone at the hospital. Not with my coworkers or supervisor.”
“What about an old boyfriend?”
“I dated one boy when I was in college, but we ended it after a year. He eventually married a girl from our graduating class. I went out with another guy a couple of years before I began seeing Victor. We’d see each other for a couple of months, break up, then we’d reconnect six months later. We both knew it wasn’t going anywhere, so we decided not to continue to waste each other’s time and ended it.”
“I need their names.”
Anxiety spurted through Ciara when she thought about Brandt’s request. “What are you going to do?”
“Nothing.”
“Nothing?” she repeated. “Then why do you need to know who they are?”
“Jordan’s coming over to talk to you about this. He’ll let you know what he needs to sue Poppy Rayburn and that rag she writes for for slander and defamation of character.”
Hot tears pricked the backs of Ciara’s eyelids. She was hoping if she kept a low profile the gossip would eventually go away. But it wasn’t going to go away. Not when the Wainwrights were talking lawsuit.
She shook her head. “No, Brandt. I don’t want my life disrupted with what amounts to silliness and a ‘he said, she said.’” Ciara couldn’t blame Poppy for writing the article. She blamed herself, because she’d known what to expect when she’d been seen with a man in the public eye.
“It’s too late, baby. This is just not about you or me. It’s about us.”
“Us because you’re a Wainwright?” she asked sharply.
“It’s about…” The intercom rang and, using only one cane, Brandt limped over to answer it. “Jordan’s on his way up.”
Sliding off the stool, Ciara walked out of the kitchen and into the living room. She wanted to cry, but couldn’t. She wanted to scream, but didn’t. It had taken only one public appearance with Brandt to start tongues